stabLe_hips

 Six years ago the theatres were dark.  They're dark on Mondays.  It's a day of rest for actors and stage hands.   Six years ago tomorrow, I started the day by reading, "Dan's son took his own life".  And nothing has really been the same for me since. Don't get me wrong.  His death didn't do to me what it did to his parents, his brother, his family, or his close friends.  But it changed something, intrinsically in me.  It started me on the process of leaving the church.  It started me judging people differently.  It started me realizing that our thoughts on suicide are deeply and tragically shaped by the moral compass of the church and that THAT causes the trauma. It started me realizing my own church-fed trauma.   It started me on the path to being a death doula.

my step son would like to piss on my grave, if only he wins the battle against his depression.  that's so him - say something vile with a feel sorry for me chaser. because, damnit, i don't have enough going on without him harassing and terrorizing me.   home from our trip - amazing although I realized the following: i am a caregiver, not a wife i sometimes miss being a wife my patient is demanding  my patient is selfish or self absorbed or a little of both my patient does not like driving the conversation