Michelle L. Rusk's Blog, page 59

December 12: My Birthday and Our Lady of Guadalupe

Growing up in the Chicago area, I knew that Frank Sinatra shared my birthday (something I wasn't proud of until [image error]
I was older and began to like his music) and that Barbara Santella's birthday was the day before mine and Megan Shield's the day after mine. But when I moved to New Mexico and attended Mass on the first birthday I spent here, I found out there was something more significant on this day: the feast day of Our Lady of Gaudalupe, important to Hispanic culture but mostly unknown to my Polish/German/Irish roots.

My group for divorced and separated women meets at my church in the Guadalupe Room, part of an addition that opened a year ago. And last night at our second to last meeting, Cindi, one of the members of the group brought each woman an ornament she had made, of Our Lady of Guadalupe, part of the celebration her former husband's family had for his sister whose birthday is December 12 and who survived cancer as a young woman. Right after Cindi shared the gifts with everyone, Fr . Garcia, the pastor of the church came by to meet the women before the group ends. Because he was there, Cindi asked him to bless the ornaments and he did so after we all said a prayer.

We all think that our birthdays are special days– they should be as they are about us!– but I have a sense that mine is part of something larger, something that I was aware of twenty years ago but didn't appreciate until recently. Some of the women in my group told me about the processions their churches have planned today and the meals following Mass. 

Bonnie's Gift of Presence

One Christmas about ten years ago, my friend Bonnie, the woman who made my wedding dress and taught me how to quilt, told me that it wasn't necessary to buy her a Christmas gift. Instead, she preferred that I spend time with her and that I brought some of my friends who came to New Mexico to visit to spend time with her. Life had taught her that the greatest gift we can give is simply being present with each other.

During Thanksgiving week of 2005, I receieved a call from her daughter that Bonnie was very sick. She had terminal cancer and was in the hospital. I had been a terrible recent friend though. In 2005, I had been lost of my world: a huge remodel on on my house, my first trip to Europe, multiple contracts in the state of New Mexico to educate people about suicide, and my doctortal classwork. It had been difficult to get over to Bonnie's house to spend time with her.

But after she was moved to hospice, I knew it was important that I find the time for her each day. I had to fly to Washington, DC, on my birthday to attend a conference and then went to Chicago to see my family for a few days but other than that, I drove over to the hospice where she was daily and spent an hour or so with her. Depending on how drugged she was from morphine determined my length of stay.

Beyond Warning Signs and "The Question"

I spent several years traveling around the state of New Mexico educating people about warning signs and how [image error]to ask someone in they are suicidal. While we never reach everyone, much like everyone doesn't know CPR, there came a point where I knew that we needed to take it to the next level. And while more people are getting help, a good thing, the numbers of suicides continue to climb. Something is missing.

I've watched researchers do countless studies about risk factors but few people are looking at protective factors– what makes people resilient? Ed Shneidman, the found of the field of suicidology, said in his later years that it was ultimately about two questions: Where do you hurt and how can I help? Somewhere in all this research and educating people we lost the human element.

The Coin Update

There are people who think I find coins because I am looking down all the time. However, the reality is that I [image error]never found coins until after my dad died eight years ago which is part of the reason I have felt so strongly that they are left by him. And in the two months or so since I stopped picking them up, I continue to see them, mostly pointing them out to my boyfriend Greg if he is with me. Last week I saw pennies multiple times: one in the dirt at Cleveland High School between the stadiumn and tennis courts where we had gone to play tennis and three at Hurricane's where we went for breakfast on Sunday. 

Part of me still feels strange not picking them up but I had decided several months ago that I felt a little silly doing it now. My life has undergone huge changes, continually evolving in front of me, over these eight years since my dad died. I can't express how much I needed those coins during that time. They were the symbolism that held me together some days, the reminder from my dad (someone who was not very happily present in life here on earth) that he was still with me, that he supported me, and that everything would fall together again. While life isn't perfect, some major good changes took place this year (I'll be writing more about them on my birthday next week, December 12) and I don't sense the need to have the coins physically in my hands right now. I feel as if I am to leave them for someone else to pick up.

Happy 11th Birthday, Nestle!

When my then husband and I went to the city animal shelter to find Chaco a sister in November 2003, I let him pick the dog. He fell in love with a yellow lab partly because while all the other dogs were barking, she wasn't. After all, who wants a dog that barks all the time? While he waited in line to reserve and pay for her, I went back to see her and guess what? She was barking right along with the others. And today at 11 years old she is still barking. For years I joked that she fooled him long enough so she would get a home.

Nestle has long past living her nine lives. In the ten years she's been with me she has: gotten hit by a car, almost gotten hit by another car, eaten a turkey, been attacked by Chaco so violently that she spent three months at the vet recovering, bit Joe so hard when she and Chaco got their choke collars stuck and Joe was trying to separate them that he had to go to the hospital and the bite got reported to animal services who then showed up and told us we had to quarantine her for two weeks to make sure she didn't have rabies, she taught Gidget al her bad habits, and she barks just as much as she did the day she moved in.

Missing Daisy

In my stairwell hang paintings of all my dogs by artist Kelly Jo Shows of Maine. Each morning I stumble down those stairs on my way out to run. And each morning I say good morning to my German Shepherd Daisy who died on this day.

I don't know why but I can't remember what year Daisy died. It was between 2008 and 2010. I could look up Gidget's vet records and I would know, notably because my then-husband and I got Gidget three weeks after Daisy died.

So much happened in those years and it all blends together in many ways. Daisy died of hemangiosarcoma, an evil cancer of the blood. One day in August a large mass popped out on her hip. We thought she had bumped herself against the patio furniture while playing with Hattie and we refused to believe the oncologist's report that she had terminal cancer. 

The Lights of Albuquerque

When I am driving home from my group for divorced and separated women at Immaculate Conception Church here in Albuquerque, there is a spot along that way where looking ahead I can see the lights in the east and looking back I can see the lights in the west. The lights make me happy, they give me a lot of hope in the night.

I derive a lot of energy from the woman in my group and as this second round (made up of women from the first round and several new women this time) winds down with just three weeks left, I am in the process of reflecting back on this journey we have taken together since June.

Gratitude and Thankfulness

Even on days filled with chaos, you know the ones, where the dogs are barking endlessly, the list of [image error]things to do seems never ending because the phone keeps ringing and the email pouring in with other items to be done, I am grateful for my life. Sure, there are aspects of my life that frustrate me and I don't understand why they are the way they are. Yet I know that there is much more in my life to be thankful for than to worry about.

It took me a long time to get here. It was years of retraining myself to learn not to worry or fret about what I can't control. I still have times where my worries overwhelm me but I'm getting better at letting them go because life has taught me that somehow things always work out especially as soon as I let them go.

Looking Ahead...But Not Too Far

I'm always talking about how we don't need to be looking back because it keeps us from going forward in our lives. However, there is such a thing as looking forward too much. I had forgotten about it until I was out running the other day and it got me.

I've had a tendency in the past (like most of my life) to look too far forward. Not only has it kept me from enjoying what's in the present but it also leaves me frustrated. I got a clear reminder of this the other morning when I set out on my run. The problem was, rather than enjoying where I was, all I could think of beng several miles ahead on my route where I would be finished. The more I thought that though the worse I felt and the worse my run was.

Self Care Through the Life Side

Much of my work for nearly twenty years of has involved working with grieving people. I feel very grateful for it because I have learned so much. The reality is, however, that it's very emotionally taxing. In Hawaii, I did four suicide-related presentations in five days plus spent two hours filming for a teen suicide video. By the time I got on the plane, I was happy but exhausted. 

I spent most of the weekend doing...nothing. I knew to give myself some time to recover. My laundry got washed but not folded. My boyfriend made me pancakes on Sunday morning. That afternoon we walked all four dogs for nearly three miles.

Yesterday I interviewed three grieving mothers for a research study I work for and by last night I knew I need a break. I also had completed an interview on Tuesday. This is in addition to a slew of other things I'm working on.

That meant that today I knew I had do to something different. It was a rainy day here in Albuquerque and I know myself well enough, because I derive most of my energy from the sun, that sitting at my desk would put me to sleep.