Congratulations Red Sox! Happy Halloween to All!

Down Halloween Lane

I really got into Halloween for years. Like my mother, Bettsey, I prided myself in making costumes by hand. I was in 4-H as a girl in rural New Hampshire and had learned to sew (wash cloth slippers, an apron, a skirt and blouse). I didn't make clothes for my kids the way mum had for me and my brother, but I did sew costumes from patterns or from old clothes.

Susie and Jack were long time best friends of Miranda and Kyle. Their mother Robin and I, for several years, constructed similar costumes for our kids. One year the kids were dressed as pirates in elaborate black, red, and white outfits, complete with shiny fringe and paisley bandanas and striped pants or skirts. One year the boys were Ninja Turtles (not made from scratch--just used their Ninja pajamas) and the girls were Hershey's Kisses. Another year the boys were Waldos (as in Where's Waldo). Not sure if that was when Miranda was a unicorn, but it might have been. One of my favorite Halloweens was the year I transformed my lime green nightie into a Tinkerbell outfit for Miranda, and cut up my wonderful, but completely worn-out, dark emerald green chenille bathrobe to make Kyle into the Crocodile from Peter Pan. Damn, was I clever, and damn, were the kids ever cute.

I really do need to dig into that box of a million rolls of unprocessed film to see what other pictures of Halloween there might be. Or I should call Robin and see what pictures she might have of those many Halloweens. The images of Kyle and Miranda when they were young bring alive again so many precious moments and, yet, it's not so hard for me to walk down the memory lane of their childhood. That toddler or schoolboy, that lively grinning little boy has been gone a long time. Ky's and my last Halloween together was in 2002 and he didn't even stay around to pass out candy to the local kids. He was most likely out doing something a mother shouldn't ask about!

this may just capture it

James and Kyle

Many thanks to Della's cousin Tish, who sent this photo of the boys, from Della's wedding in early December of last year.

Grief is complicated . . .

so i'm at the UCLA 12th Annual Review of Psychiatry and Psychopharmacology for two days. it's only day one. and i'm doing pretty well until lunch time. guess what the luncheon speaker's topic is? "Understanding Complicated Grief."

this is interesting. it seems there is non-complicated grief and complicated grief. and the differences seems to have to do with how long the grief is going on, how intense your yearning is for the loved one, if you are avoiding reminders, and if life has become meaningless. dr. o'connor does a good talk, comparing CG to MD (major depression) and to PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder). but then she gets into the neurobiological differences. and grief doesn't bode well for folk. she puts up pictures of the brain showing increased activity in the nucleus accumbens in the non-CG subjects. i get lost about here. but i do hear her mentioning that cortisol, a nasty substance we create more of when we are grieving in a complicated manner, is found in higher levels in folks with CG than with non-CG, and--here's the part i really understand--cortisol is related to increased morbidity and mortality.

take home message (the message I am taking home): i better get out of the grief thing soon.

better take home message: "Most bereaved individuals are psychologically resilient" (Bonanno et al., 2002).

i'm hanging in pretty well until there are a couple of questions. i've started to take a bite of the dessert, brownie. someone asks about parents' loss of a child, and of course the answer is: they don't do so good. i'm sobering at this point.

then my friend and the long time Chief of Social Work comes up behind me and grabs my shoulders, whispering that i am the most resilient person she knows, and i'm going to be fine, and--with that vote of confidence--i lose it. she goes back to her table and quietly i mop up tears with my extra large luncheon napkin, drink a bunch of water in order to avoid eye contact with my table mates--who have no idea what's happening since we are strangers--and pull myself together. but i sure can't finish the brownie.

one thing i remember dr. connor mentioning is that different societies have different ways of supporting grief. in some cultures, she mentioned, you have to wear black. it's expected. for a year. when sallie lived in Greece and nursed rhea's grandparents through their terminal illnesses, she was expected to wear black. the first thought you might have about this is "how gruesome" and yet, as sallie has said, at least in Greece people can identify you as a grieving person. no one is going to come bounding up with a big smile, saying "how ARE you?" you are not going to have to disappoint and sadden (and possibly embarrass) them with the awful news that one of your children has died. if you are dressed in black, they already know someone is gone from your life. they can approach with caution.

the talk was okay, though. i'd been so busy i had barely been thinking about kyle--well that's a lie, isn't it? but so busy that i hadn't "gone there" to the "ohmygod it's true" place for a few days. the taxes, then the project absolutely due Monday at dawn, and the late night work followed by the Red Sox games (bless them!) have kept me propped upright and plodding through.

so i made it through okay. and proceeded to my next seminar: Suicidality in BiPolar Patients. oh jeez . . .

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today my dad would have turned 89 years old, except he died of a massive coronary in 1979 at the age of 61. He never got to meet either of my children. He never got to see the Red Sox win the World Series.

Blair Jay Whitham, a large man, had a personality that was larger than most other folks. He filled a room with his presence, his voice, his laughter, and his stories. He made many friends and I loved seeing him at parties. Surrounded by people, he was relaxed, fun, joking, playful, and irreverent. Being a kid, I'm sure I missed out on most of the real fun. Although, we do know some quite juicy tidbits.

Dad was not an easy father. He was gruff and angry a lot of the time. Mostly impatient, I guess, with things that were not orderly or perfect. He was organized, efficient, held himself to high standards, and had a quick temper that flared when we kids were noisy, messy, or in some other way disappointing. I was mostly afraid of him, but I knew he loved me and was proud of me. After his death, in fact, I found a drawer full of newspaper clippings--reviews in the Boston papers of the plays I'd been in. When delighted with one of us, he'd say, "I'm proud of you." When disappointed, he would growl with sarcasm, "I'M PROUD OF YOU." Clearly saying he was not.

A dear friend of my dad and mum, Adore (short for Eleanor, and pronounced with emphasis on the A) Bice, who was at many of those snapper parties in the '50s and '60s, celebrated her 90th birthday a few days ago on the 21st. I'll never forget my dad singing out, to the tune of Edelweiss (Sound of Music): "A-dore Bice, A-dore Bice." I understand he didn't come up with it, but he sure kept it alive and took the credit! I still know Adore and Ken's wonderful boys and Ky, Miranda, and I spent many a 4th of July with their grandchildren in Malibu.

I saw Adore in late August. She came from Arizona to visit her son Tim. Dave was down from Fremont to join us. Dave's daughter Emily came over from UCLA. Adore took me aside, held my hand, and asked me questions about how Kyle died and how I was doing. I showed my slide show of Kyle, even though she doesn't see so well now. A few days later, Adore left a message on my cell phone. "Cindy, I just want you to know how proud I am of how you are coping with the tragedy of losing Kyle, and I know your parents would be so proud of you."

I am really hoping that there is a somewhere, up there, out there, where Dad has introduced Ky to snappers and that Ky is getting a real kick out of knowing his irrepressible grandfather. And if so, I know that Dad is proud of Kyle, because he sure loved a good set of brains and a good sense of humor. And I hope that Adore doesn't join them for a long long time.

Happy Birthday, Dad.
I love you,

Cindy Gayle

I love those Red Sox

they never let us fans get too comfortable, but they surely have been coming through for us. i hope they are ready for the altitude in Denver.


still not finished with my project so can't really blog until it's done!