How to be Sad

I started writing something last May, when I lost that other baby.  I called it 'How to be Sad.'

I was sad and getting tired of being sad so I was trying to move it along by 'studying' my sadness.  

It worked almost too well.  

Pretty soon I was my normal happy self again and it no longer seemed relevant to publish. 

So I left my theories of Sad germinating on a back shelf in my brain.

And I didn't go back to water or check on them until today when I noticed a big leafy sprout popping out of my head.

like 

an aha! 

lightbulb 

gently 

bobb

ing 

on

 a 

stem

It was a full circle moment as I realized my self-therapy last May was not an isolated cure or a one off.  

My little theory had healed me

                            in progressive

                                            and permanent ways.

Maybe even cracked open a different seed: 

How to be Happy!

~~~

Let's look at what I wrote 3 months ago, and then I will share my sprig of epiphany with you :)

~~~

  How to be Sad

I don't have much patience for my daughter's perpetually half empty glass, draining like a sieve all over the floor.  

I have been telling my 9 year old melancholic for years that she can just (please) choose to be happy (already!)...

But I'm beginning to wonder if that is actually true.

Now that I am feeling Sad beyond my control...  

Heart flatlined.  Thoughts threadbare.  Kettle of my passion burnt dry.

Can we always choose?

I told the Safeway cashier last week when he asked how I was: 

"I'm happy and sad and all over the place."  

(with a really dramatic sigh, emphasis on the sad)

The young bearded fellow cutely refused to let my sadness through his checkout line, and we laughed about how I would have to leave it in the store then.  

Wouldn't that be something useful -- a customs checkpoint where unwanted emotional 'baggage' can't get through?

Then there's the advice of my yoga teacher, Anna.  Usually when I show up for class we giggle and beam at each other, fairy step a little, giggle some more, and wordlessly glow for a minute or two.

But since I lost this baby I haven't been fairy stepping much.  

The way I described it to Anna last month is still how I feel: like I've lost my best friend -- my joyful me.  I miss myself.  

I want my Self to come out and play.  But she's not there.

"Don't make her come out yet," whispers Anna, "you go to her, where she is...."

Well...

Not so keen on going there, 

but I do take a quick walk down the dark cellar steps now and then, when I think of Anna's words.  

"Knock, knock, knock....hello in there.....sad little Gigi...hello?  hello?"  

But the silence is unpleasant and very shortly I reply, "I guess I'll be going now."

The dull pain angers me.  I feel duped by the switcheroo hormones of being pregnant then not.  Really, it's my body's sadness, not mine.  Not even fair that I have to feel it.

I grow tired of waiting for this post-partum cocktail to burn off.

I want to shout at the little girl inside, 

"For God's sake kid, 

I AM HAPPY. 

Would you quit your moping?  

Just STOP!!!"

Oh. 

Does that ever sound familiar....  

How many hundreds of times have I ragged at my daughter to "just (please) choose to be happy (already!)..."

As if she could just run her heart through customs, pull out her official "DENIED!" stamp and, with the authority vested in her Higher Self, simply reject the melancholy.

Isn't it interesting.

I don't like being with my sad daughter.  

And I don't like being with my sad self.

So I have been developing a theory.

I call it my 'Pain Finds its Friends' Theory.

And it goes like this:  

Every single pain in the jukebox has its own familiar tune and sticky chorus.  If you're singing "woe is me, nobody likes me," you get a thousand opportunities to dance that one out.  If you've just lost a baby in the womb the song could be different for everyone, but mine is "oww, I'm not getting what I want."  And the B-side is "ohhh, I'm afraid of losing the ones I love."

It's fascinating: these songs are dialling up everywhere, in different ways.  

So I'm listening more carefully...

I'm going to be real vulnerable with you about the LP on my table right now, so you can help me test my theory...

"Ohhh, I'm afraid of losing the ones I love"  

This is how the piercing B-side spins me down:

Right as I was going through this miscarriage Tom became ill. 

His guts were aching in a strange way.  

He was lying in bed all day.  

He was completely unavailable.  

He seemed so OLD.

(fair enough, he is turning 60 in a couple months,

but he never ever seems it) 

Well, the worst kind of song started started playing.  

At the very same time as real loss was happening in my womb, fear of losing Tom was echoing the beat, etching smaller and smaller circles around my heart. 

Real pain accompanied by theme song pain.  

And when it wasn't that song, it was the flip-side:  

"Oww, I'm not getting what I want"

Over the following weeks of post-partum I had this obsessive urge to move to a new neighbourhood: Ottewell of course.  

(Ever get those late-night MLS attacks where you click endlessly on the impossible, like a sadistic stalker?) 

It was out of the question, not even close, not happening whatsoever.  But I kept pining for it and chasing it anyway, as if stumbling on the perfect listing at 3:00 a.m. would make it mine.

And the irritating lyrics played on..."You can't always get what you want" 

Well, at the same time I was also feeling a pull towards teaching again, and I carved out a beautiful career plan that was also quickly abolished.  Fine, I get it: "I'm not getting what I want."  

I don't get the baby, don't get the house, don't get the job.  

No wonder I'm sad!

In big and little ways, I got to feel the beat of that song every day.

Nothing is isolated.  There is no quarantine on emotions.  If the doctor asks, "Where does it hurt?" you may as well say, "here in my 'want-it-can't-have-it' plexus."

And that's the gist of my theory:

Pain finds its friends; 

      Sadness amplifies itself, 

                  Real pain seeks its familiar echo 
                                      in memories of older pain,

                                                  And...

                                  the heart holds just a few tunes.

(more like an EP or a hit single than an IPOD playlist)

Why does life play out in themes - usually just a few at a time - over and over?  

Because we are meant to hear.

These songs are meant to be sticky, get in your head, catch your attention.

The heart never stops singing 

but it can get stuck 

where there is a scratch. 

  

~~~

So, back to the present moment ~ it's midnight, the 1st of September ~ and I am re-reading this little article of mine.

Here is what I find stupendous about it all...

Something happened inside of me 3 months ago when I recognized the songs playing in the background.

I simply rose up out of the stuck groove.  I really did.  I said 'enough of this,' and lifted the needle.

I chose not to be sad.

But first I had to hear it...

             then I had to challenge it.

THAT IS NOT MY THEME SONG!!

It was a crappy record.  It belonged in a garage sale, or broken up into tacky retro wall art.

OK, one more...  

Impressive!

That bout of sadness cleared me up on so many levels.

So much so that when I went through another miscarriage just last week I had my half day of tears and then...

only joy.

The 'pain of loss' 

went looking for some friends 

inside of me,

and didn't find any.

Kind of cool, eh? 

Maybe it's a real key....How to be Happy!

Let me know if it works for you too!  

p.s. I am also getting better with my childrens' irritating, scratchy parts, their dark sides, and their repetitive stuck grooves.  

And that's a whole other blog...