Michelle L. Rusk's Blog, page 25

Telling Stories

It’s hard not to get dragged down by the seemingly endless roller coaster ride we’ve been on.

Some days are better than others and I find that keeping my list of things to do long, that even though I don’t finish the list, at least I’m accomplishing something.

Somewhere yesterday the depression set in as it seems to do every few days. I had decided I needed to focus on doing things outside my office, those little things that pile up on the kitchen counter or in the laundry room, the ones that don’t take long to do, but we constantly walk by and say, “I’ll do that later.” And yet we don’t. Yes, those things.

I did them and then I settled into reading the multiple extra newspapers our very kind newspaper lady has been bringing me– while we subscribe two two newspapers, she brings me the day or two old returns for two other newspapers that are in the recycling bin. But I had gotten behind doing my sewing so I sat down to read them.

It was there that I found out that director Joel Schumacher had died (how did I not know this??) and the man who wrote the screenplay for “The Great Santini.” I also ready obituaries and stories about people I’d never heard of, many who rose above lives started with immigrant parents and somehow ended up in Los Angeles at least for a few years. There were threads in these stories– garment workers, the death of a parent.

I found myself drawn back to the one thing that probably makes me happiest inside, telling stories. It’s telling the stories in my head, of people whose lives are influenced by those I have read about. It was that feeling that brought me out of my passing depression as I was knocked on the head once again for my true calling in this life.

Sometimes in my frustration with the chaos in the world I start to veer a bit from my journey. But. thankfully, I am aware enough that it pulls me back quickly.

Our Stories

A day soon to come will mark nineteen years since my first book, Do They Have Bad Days in Heaven? Surviving the Suicide Loss of a Sibling, was published. As I reflect on this journey, what I instantly see– my thoughts also prodded by watching Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” discussion with Dana Carvey about how a comedian can’t just get up and make people laugh anymore, it’s about who the comedian is now, too– I’m thinking about the nineteen years I’ve spent sharing much of my life story. And this has also changed with the addition of social media.

While it might see like I have shared all of my life, I haven’t. There are aspects that remain not under wraps, but perhaps their time to be shared isn’t yet. Some of that is because other people are involved and there is too much pain for them to share. But there also is a portion of my life that I don’t share because I don’t quite understand it. Instead, some of it I work out to some extent in my fiction writing that I work on five days a week. The rest I leave alone, trusting that one day I will share when I do understand it. Or maybe not.

Growing up with my need to be a writer, I never saw that I would be sharing my story in such a close personal way. However, Denise’s suicide changed everything for my family and it was Mom, whose words echo in my mind, said, “Tell everyone and anyone. Maybe we can help someone with her story.” I always joked that I’m sure she didn’t think I’d write a book about it, but it did give us all (I believe) some meaning to our loss as we did help others through it.

But as life has continued to forge forward, I continue to share what I believe is helpful for others, while leaving the rest of it until I understand it. I sometimes feel like I need to see it in the rearview mirror, when I have past it, to understand it in a way that I can share with others. For some people, I know they might think that I should share as I’m going through it as it might make me more relatable, but something tells me that I need to understand it before I share it. That’s the message I’ve continued to recieve particularly in recent years as it’s become less about sharing the story of my sisters suicide and more about what I have done with my life and how she remains in my life now.

I don’t believe that everyone has to tell their story. When it comes to grief, loss, and life, we must all travel our own journeys. While I’ve always been a person who wanted to know what motivated people, I understand that sometimes people are protective of their stories. After all, it’s all we really have. For that reason, we should respect those who choose not to share.

However, in my life, which I realize isn’t the same as everyone else’s, there is an intersection of my life journey and what happens to me and how I can share that to inspire others.

The Shadow of Sibling Loss

Over the years I have listened to many stories and read many stories of people who have lost siblings. These weren’t necessarily to suicide which means that sometimes they happened in early childhood. My sister Denise ended her life when I was 21 (she was just two weeks from her 18th birthday). At the time I thought I was very much an adult, however, now I understand how young 21 really is.

So when I think about sibling loss in childhood, It seems to me it can extend to about 25 because we’re still trying to find our place in the world (not that some of us every do as that seems to be a major mission some of us are on in this life) and we’re still separating ourselves physically from our families of origin.

There are many stories of sibling loss that weren’t discussed within families, as if the family just picked up the next day and moved on. For the surviving siblings, this was often painful. However, I don’t believe any parent did it out of malice. They had their own pain and were afraid of hurting their surviving child/children more. And there were other families where the death was openly discussed and the person always remembered.

I was lucky that Denise’s suicide and life were fairly openly discussed in our house (I don’t say completely as I was watched my parents struggle to talk about it with each other and like many families that have suffered a loss, in some ways it widened the gorge that already existed in their relationship. What helped, for me, was that we continued to let Denise exist in some way– as she should– even though her time with us on earth had ended.

Now that I’ve spent many years processing her death and while I don’t often talk much about it as I don’t feel the need to, what I mull over in my head is who I’m supposed to be in this life and how her death is part of that. But what I wonder is how much the path has been altered or made even more important to me to find since her death.

I don’t necessarily believe my path is about sharing Denise’s story although I understand that is part of it. Now that I’m continued to process and grow, I see it’s really connecting our childhood and what we shared in a different form through Chelle Summer. But there is also the writing aspect of it, the need inside my head to not just tell stories, but share them with the world. What I don’t know– and I don’t know that I ever will in this life- is if that need because stronger because of Denise’s death or if she hadn’t died, that I might never have pursued it so intensely as I continue to do (because I’m not where I want to be with it!).

I’ve heard the stories of many accomplished people who lost siblings young and how they were able to take their pain and sadness and turn it into something. What isn’t often obvious is how it ties into the loss. Maybe they were aware of it, maybe they won’t. Or maybe they are like me and were able to do something with it although maybe not what they thought it would look like. And then eventually the path wound us back to where we were before the loss.

Still after all these years, so many questions. The shadow is always there and always will be. I am not clouded by sadness in my life. My sister is with me and I know she and my mom in particular continue to keep me inspired. My biggest wonder comes from my drive and how those of us who have traveled this road find the strength to not just keep going, but truly make sure our lives are well lived because our siblings didn’t get that chance or ended their lives before they took off.

Signs to Move Forward

While we aren’t always aware of it, there is a rhythm to our lives and the events that transpire as we move through the day.

I was running Ash on Friday morning in the still-darkness of the morning when I saw my friend Art behind me call my name. My instinct was to continue running, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I turned back and walked with him and his dog Shirley. I wasn’t in a hurry as I had been the previous day when I had to be somewhere at 7:00 am.

What I didn’t realize was that taking the time to walk with them for a short way would put me in place to cross paths with my friend Jennifer a little later on my own run. Jennifer was feeling exasperated with life (as, I believe, we all have been to some degree recently) and I reminded her of several things, but notably that in life that doing what we’re supposed/doing the right thing often leaves us on a lonely road. That, however, is another topic for another day.

I hadn’t been to see Fr. Gene since November and it would have been easy to make excuses and put the appointment off for yet a few months as we walk through figuring out how to stay safe. But I also knew it would be good for me to take that drive to the South Valley and he told me we would sit outside (6 feet apart).

As we talked and laughed and caught up, I felt pretty positive and had a sense of freedom that I haven’t had much of in the past months. It’s a sense that I have on most days, but seemingly has been drown out in all the distractions.

I told him that I had my irritated moments but mostly I understood that what I’ve been through is a delay of what is to come, that I do believe positive things are ahead, and that when doors and windows close, somehow new ones open.

It was fairly breezy out (a good thing since we would reach 101 degrees at my house later that afternoon) and I looked down to see a feather had blown right up next to my foot. Native Americans believe that when a feather lands in your path, it’s a sign you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing.

There isn’t always confirmation (or maybe we aren’t always aware of them), but on this morning it came again as I drove home and the song “Hot Hot Hot” by Buster Poindexter began to play on the radio.

It took me a moment, but I was reminded that this was one of Mom’s favorite songs and I could picture her doing her “hip shake” (as my sister Karen calls it) when it would play in the 1980s.

It’s easy to be distracted and get caught up in what feels in our faces, particularly with the onslaught or constant news and posting on social media, but if we take the time to take a few steps back, the signs are there.

Forward. And it came from Mom which means it has to be good.

Believe

I obviously haven’t written in a month, not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because I felt like I was standing on a soapbox and I was talking to myself (or maybe at least my dogs, Lilly and Ash). It’s often hard in this digital world to know who sees/reads what I might have written. Without likes and comments, I didn’t know, nor did I know how many people who needed to hear my words were just scrolling by, not wanting to dig in deeper to find their hope and peace.

However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say and I knew I needed to return to my blog. I just didn’t expect the pain to once again explode over the past few days which left me not wanting to write. Again.

Yet this morning I streamed the daily 8:00 am (Pacific Time) mass from the Cathedral of Los Angeles, a place where Greg and I once attended mass, and something I’ve been doing nearly daily since the start of the pandemic. The priests, especially the Archbishop, have what I think of as very “thoughtful” words. The way the Archbishop speaks, I sense that he really has contemplated the words that he will speak, the words he is seeking to help people find hope and peace in this time.

This morning in his homily he said two very relevant things– “Everything is unfolding in the providence of God” and then “No matter what happens in our lives, the cross is the answer.”

I immediately thought I should post one of these to my church’s social media pages (of which I handle), that they are words many people would appreciate especially today.

However, something stopped me. I wondered, “What do I say to the people who ask, ‘Where is God in all this?’”

I believe there is a reason, a path, an opportunity, in all this pain. I believe (especially having worked with many grieving people), that everything happens for a reason and if we embrace the new doors and windows to open in it, somehow we will find our way through it. I also know that life isn’t meant to be easy and good all the time. Many storms are thrown our way and it’s how we react to those storms that helps us learn and grow.

It’s not fair. None of its fair. I have my moments of frustration and irritation and find myself having to work harder not to let it overwhelm me.

I don’t have the answers, but I also know that often in the thick of things we won’t find the answers. Sometimes we have to walk, to keep walking, to keep believing (no matter how hard that is), and have faith that one day we will understand.

Life has taught me many times that if I do that, at some point I will understand. Keep the faith, everyone. As the song goes, don’t stop believing.

And May Arrives

And suddenly– it feels– May is here.

While there still remains uncertainty in front of us, for me, I can’t believe that it’s May. It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly two months since Hattie died and not much shorter than that that Greg has been teaching from home.

In many ways, my life didn’t change. When we were to “stay at home,” I was just about a month past the end of my job and I was getting ready for what was supposed to be a summer of events selling Chelle Summer items between here and LA. My brain was busy sorting how I what I needed to sew each week. And I was balancing that with my Lenten goal of completing a manuscript.

I ended up having to throw the manuscript idea out the window. I struggled to write much at all, took a week off, and even that didn’t help. I just felt guilty that I hadn’t been writing when it feels like my brain is stuffed with my characters’ lives. It took me a while to realize it was the grief, the loss of the world as I knew, that was messing me up (combined with the loss of Hattie who had been with me for over 14 years).

But somehow in this, my inspiration for sewing didn’t wane. Once I forced myself to push past any frustration I felt about the current situation (which included finally stopping watching the news and look at headlines– I only allow myself to read the two newspaper that arrive every morning here and check headlines no more than once a day), I tried to at least finish something small each day so I could say I completed something.

Some days were better than others, but I did manage also to complete some items I’d cut months ago and not finished. And in this process, I realized that so much of my life, of trying to work through challenging situations, of the many losses I’ve faced, helped me with the current pandemic situation.

I didn’t want to look back and wonder why I wasted so much time. I made sure I made the most of it of what I could do, not worry about what I couldn’t control.

Now while I wait to figure out where to go next with Chelle Summer as some of the events are canceled, I know that at least somehow I did forge forward in a time that I could have easily wasted and disappointed myself in the end. I learned a long time ago that no matter what happens to use there we still have a good life and we still have opportunities. It’s up to us, however, to choose the road ahead of us.

Forward, Not Backward

I don’t believe we are born fearful– the kind of fear that holds us back– but instead we are are “taught” it through various situations that start to define us. Lately, I’ve been feeling that as I cope with my own disappointment that the events I had signed up for– starting this weekend and going into the fall either are canceled or remain uncertain at this time.

I’m easily finding myself falling back into my old ways of thinking, why me?, why this?, I’ve been working hard, why can’t I make things happen? But I’m also finding that– because I’ve taught myself to stop that thinking and instead ask myself what I can learn, what I new doors I can open– that I’m not staying in that place long. I know it would be easier to stay there, but I don’t want to. I want to go forward. That’s when I realize I’m just disappointed that all my hard work from several months ago feels like a waste in this moment as I need to find another way forward.

Life is a series of events to teach us how to go forward, how to not just manage our emotions of what happens to us, but learn how to navigate the events and happenings that we could easily let define our lives. However, we are given a choice of what to do with them. It’s easier to sit in a place of anger and sadness as many people are, and the harder journey is to go forward.

That harder journey on the unknown path is the most worth it though. Why would you want to go back and retrace your steps when you can go forward and create something new?

Motivating from Within

Whether we like it or not, as people, we are meant to interact with each other

While we are still able to speak to each other– although in different ways if we are used to being face-to-face with people– many of us are finding our interactions with people are more limited than usual. It occurred to me this morning, as I was mentally motivating myself for the day, what I hope to accomplish, that I don’t have as much energy coming from my personal interactions from others.

It might be talking to someone at the store (I’ve been sending Greg out for all errands), at estate sales, at church, the gym pool, or other places that are part of my routine daily life. I still have what I call my “morning community” when I run and run the dogs, the people I see around the park. But after that, I’m obviously home all day unless a neighbor and I gather outside to talk a few minutes.

I know that I do a good job motivating myself, maybe even too good of a job. But I do appreciate having contact with others and sometimes that contact is a reminder than I’m on the right path or is just enough to give me the motivation to keep going when I’m feeling tired or wondering if what I’m doing is worth it.

As I said last week, it’s like that third lap of a four-lap race, the place where we need to dig deep within ourselves and find the motivation and inspiration. Sometimes we can’t get it from others and this experience is a true test of seeing how much we can motivate ourselves. And with that, we’ll find more strength that we ever knew we had.

Digging Down Deep

There’s a metaphor I’ve been using since I was in high school that helps me through challenging times like right now. It all goes back to running (as it usually does for me).

The 1600-meter run, my specialty back in the day, is four laps, and I was taught in high school that the third of the four laps is the one you need to concentrate on the most because if you look at split times, it’s the one where you tend to drop off and run the slowest.

It makes sense because you’re past the excitement of the start and even the energy you still have into the second lap (thus reaching the halfway point of the race). But that third lap, ugh, you just want stop and so you slow down, knowing you still have that final lap to go.

I see people’s posts, I see the struggles right now, and I know my own struggles and challenges, of trying to keep myself motivated in the face of many unknowns. I’m tired of it and I want to know that certain things are going to happen. But it’s not that way and I don’t know when it will be.

In trying to keep myself inspired, motivated, and focused (something I pray for daily), I realized how much what we’re going through is like that 1600-meter race. This is the third lap. We’re tired, but that’s when we need to dig down deeper inside ourselves to find the energy, the inspiration, and the motivation, to make the most of the situation our world is currently experiencing.

And in that, I couldn’t find a good photo for this post, but in the one I used, what I see is that question of, do I jump in? Do I do this?

Yes, I do. The water is cold and uncomfortable, but if I can get through this third lap, I know I’ll be able to get through the fourth. And to the finish.

What are we supposed to learn?

In the early morning darkness of the top of the hill, a place where I can see the city lights to the west, I was in the middle of my daily prayer when I run Lilly. While I was there, I realized how little I had been praying for the world during this time. And it was in this prayer where I asked, What specifically should I pray for?

I was quickly reminded of the changes I’d made in my own life, in my own thinking, and how I’d neglected them since the virus has taken over our lives.

I had promised myself I would stop asking, “Why?” when something happened and instead ask, “What can I learn?” so that I could go forward. Yet for the past few weeks I’d been caught between “Why?” and trying to keep myself moving forward in the face of the unknown of when I’ll be able to resume knocking the dominos down to propel Chelle Summer forward.

Each day I pray that I be the person I’m supposed to be, that I do what I’m supposed to do. And I believe that I’m supposed to be something much bigger than I am. But that has brought uncertainty with it, feelings I don’t understand. It means standing in spaces I don’t get, in letting feelings wash over me that are uncomfortable. When I don’t get washed up in these moments, I’m reminded that these feelings are all about being something bigger, being who I’m supposed to be, translation they are logical and not so overwhelming.

The day before my surgery two years ago to have my uterus removed, I was scared. Very scared. I had tried to embrace the journey, but with less than twenty-four hours before the procedure, powerful fear overtook me. As Greg and I sat with our priest, Fr. Marc, who was going to give me the annointing of the sick, I said this to him and he quickly retorted, “You asked for it.”

I remind myself how quickly he snapped back at me and it in turn reminds me that I must feel this to go forward. It’s a yucky feeling because we like to be comfortable and this feeling means constantly stepping outside one’s box, never making myself so at home that I want to stay there.

We all have been caught up in our lives, in moving forward, in not feeling. We are distracted, we don’t pay much attention to the world around us. Many people don’t care.

Words from Pope Francis have stuck with me, when he mentioned our “ailing planet.” It struck a cord that we are being forced to stop, to stand still, to look around, to feel. This will take us further forward but we must ask what we’re supposed to learn from it so we don’t repeat where we’ve been.

I do this daily. I stand every day and attempt to face what I don’t understand. I hate the discomfort, but I know that if I’m going to have a well-lived life, this is part of the journey I must walk. We can’t go back and undo the virus or any of what’s happened, but we can make sure that we make the most of this overwhelming strange and uncomfortable time.