Essay assignments

I’m being asked to write down a lot of my thoughts these days, which is a bit of a challenge, because I find my thoughts are a bit more all over the place than usual. Maybe it’s just the shock of returning to work after nearly three weeks away. Maybe it was the distance I had without any kids in the house for more than a week. Maybe it’s the thoughts that go through one’s head as one approaches one’s 50th birthday.

I mean, the problem isn’t that I don’t enjoy writing (Example 1: this blog), it’s that I’m being asked to answer such specific things regarding Colin and our life without him.

So, in our final two sessions, my therapist and I are going to look at a writing assignment I was given. On the one hand – yay! – I get homework from my doctor that doubles as a blog entry. On the other hand, I actually have to do it.

He knows me well enough to know that I’ll forget an assignment if he only give it to me orally, so he sent me this email a day or so after our last session, changing the project from what we’d originally discussed, but at least putting it down so I couldn’t forget it. Here’s the questions I’m supposed to answer.

What am I afraid of when I fear I get triggered (like with the translation of the acrticle) In yourself that is, not what others might feel, but what are you afraid could happen within you or to you. What feelings might come up (the ones you said could be unpleasanr). Why are they unpleasant? What would you feel about having these emotion?

What am I afraid of happening or feeling when I have to go into te room C. used to be in? Why do I avoid it?

The article refers to an assignment at work where I sent back an item to the desk, saying I wasn’t up to translating a German-language article about a critically ill child. The room is a reference to the fact that I don’t particularly enjoy going into the room Colin stayed in for the two months he was here before we took him to hospice.

I’m still trying to figure out the answer. The best I have right now is “Why put myself through it?” but that seems like a weak answer. And it’s not as if I haven’t translated terrible stories since Colin’s death and just gotten through it. And it’s not as if I never go into the guest room. I’m contemplating just sitting in it for an hour or so sometime in the next day to see how I feel. Perhaps I’m just worried that I’ll realize it doesn’t feel any different than an average Thursday.

Meanwhile, before the kids went off, we were supposed to fill out a questionnaire, which the chaperones would then share with the kids at the end.

The questions, translated from German are:

We think it’s good that you’re going on the sibling trip because…

My hopes for you are…

During the week you’re gone, we are going to…

The thing about you I’ll miss most…

The thing I most value about you is…

The thing it’s especially nice to do with you is…

The one other thing I want to say is….

I’m not going to share how we filled out the form, partly because the forms should probably be private and partially because the answers weren’t all that exciting. Like, I wanted to write something deep and touching. And my motivations were deeper than “I want you out of the house for a week so I have one week less of summer break dragging you out of bed before noon.” But it was hard to answer some of the others.

Like, the question about what we’ll do while they were gone was simple: We went to Saxony for a few days. What we value about them was also easy: They’re great kids. But what did I hope for them out of this? I don’t know. What can one gain from being with a group of other kids who have also lost siblings? Do you share stories about the misery? About the deceased? How can I expect my kids to process these emotions with other kids when I find it so hard myself to say what I’m thinking about Colin’s death?

I might go on a trip with my men’s group in October and I wonder if it will really be helpful, or just an excuse to drink beer? Granted, I’m a little intimidated by doing this all in German: I do grief better in my native language. But the few visits I attended before the pandemic struck left me uncertain if this group – or any group – was the right one for me. One guy lost his kid 20 years ago and he’s pretty much come to terms with hit. The other guy lost his daughter a few years ago and says he refuses to go into her old bedroom, which makes me feel good about my relationship with Colin’s old room, but doesn’t really get me anywhere. One guy I can barely understand when he speaks and another seems permanently angry, but never seems to follow through on his plans to change his life.

So, what do I say to Emma and Noah as I send them off to grief camp? “Hope you unpack the emotions I’m still working through?”

The thing is, we still don’t understand what’s going through their heads. On the surface, they seem to be pretty normal and at ease with the situation. But you can’t help but think they’re like a duck, paddling furiously beneath the still waters. I just listened to an episode of “This American Life,” in which a woman talked about the death of her twin sister when she was 9. Meghan, the survivor, said she then spent the rest of her life doing everything she could to have a life twice as good, since she now had to live for Sybil, the deceased. Sybil had loved dance. Meghan hated it. So, Meghan signed up for dance class for Sybil. Meghan wasn’t athletic, but she felt she owed it so Sybil to run a nine-minute mile to win a presidential academic achievement award. She made sure she got into the best college possible, for Sybil. I’m not saying my kids are doing any of this, but you wonder.

I think that’s the thing I keep trying to convey to the rest of the world. I might look like I’m doing great six days of the week, but the seventh is a doozy. And, even if I’m doing good on a particular day, I can’t guarantee you that the rest of my family is on that day, so that counts as a down day for me. The proper response when a family member tells you “I’m grieving Colin especially badly today” is never “Yeah? Well, I’m doing spectacularly well today!” So it’s a lot to hold together and a lot to write about.

The kids are back and have already read their letters … and given us zero feedback. My writing assignment for Dr. Kehrer is due a week from Friday. We’ll have to see how that goes.