Gilda's Club

I went to my first "bereavement group meeting" at Gilda's Club (the best thing I've found in NY since May).

It was good.

It was really good.

I could talk or not talk. I could listen. I could cry as much as I want. And I did. I walked in the room and I started to cry and they just looked at me and some started to cry with me. They didn't know my name, Maura's name or anything that has happened in the last 4 1/2 months, but I guess it was obvious why I was there and they cried with me. They didn't need to hug me, comfort me, offer awkward words because they didn't know what to say... They just nodded and teared up.

Turns out, I'm not the only one who has lost a sister. And each one just acknowledges it is different for everyone. Just like it is different for me and Danielle. we lost the same person but we lost two different people because she was something different and yet the same to both of us.

But yeah, the best thing was, throughout the whole night, whether I was talking, or someone else was sharing, I could cry--and really cry, and it didn't break rhythm. It wasn't avoided, nobody tried to make me 'feel better' or tried to "help" me stop crying, and nobody drew attention to it. It was normal. I was not alone in the tears. It wasn't a big deal. It just was. It was such a breath of fresh air to have no expectation of crying or not. To not have to shut myself down to avoid uncomfortableness for the other person. To not have to force my thoughts of Maura to go to the back of my mind so I can just keep it together until I get home (which I usually can't--I'm the crazy lady in the sunglasses crying on the subway now). I didn't feel like I was burdening someone. I bet I could get in a fight and bring up my dead sister and still be in the fight. Because when you bring up a death, usually people feel like they just have to shut up. But in reality, while it may explain my erratic and irrational behavior sometimes, it is no excuse for craziness.

But the best part--of the whole night--was when at the end they told me I could bring in pictures and videos if I wanted. And then one woman said she knew I had a picture of Maura on me and that they all wanted to see her. They all wanted to see the picture of my sister who they didn't know. And so I showed them one of the pictures I had of her. The one of us at Christmas 2007 (a couple months before everything went to shit) that we took on her computer when we were goofing off and pretending to be Kate and Bianca from my favorite play and she was trying to teach me to make "sexy faces" which she eventually gave up and said I just failed and couldn't be taught. She had printed a bunch of them and put four in a frame for me for Christmas last year...almost a year ago. It was the best Christmas present ever. And there were extra ones that hung around the house that didn't get selected to go in the frame and I keep those with me now. In my Bible, in my journal, wherever I go, I always have her picture on me.

One of my friends noticed that my background to my phone is a picture of my sister not my husband, or whole family together--and she kinda scorned it. Like..."You have a picture of your sister?" with the unfinished part of her sentence ringing loud in her tone (why don't you have aa picture that makes you happy? this probably isn't good for you. what does your husband think of that? why don't you have a picture of him on your phone to see everytime you look at your phone? time to move on. time to honor your husband and put him there not your dead sister. it was sad but..." and I felt guilty. But I haven't changed my phone yet.

Because I can see my husband everyday. With my own laser-corrected, perfect-vision eyes. And his voice echoes in my ears when he calls and I can touch him with my own hands and feel his warmth at night when we sleep in the same bed. But I have to look at my phone if I want to see her face and its blurry like only an image on a phone can be, and I look at it ten, twenty a hundred times a day because its less obvious than pulling out a picture from my Bible and staring at it (although sometimes I do that too and hide it in my book so it looks like I'm reading but really I'm just looking at her picture). And I thank God for my perfect vision because I can't hear her over the phone and the last time we shared a bed was so long ago I can't remember the sensation of her heat. But I can remember her smell. Its in her clothes that I wear every day. I've washed most of them, but there are a few that don't fit me but I have them and you can faintly still smell her. Maybe its more in my memory than anything else now but I still press the shirt to my nose and inhale as deeply as I can.

And these people at Gilda's Club, they think that's okay. They think that if you need to see her picture then you see her picture. And if you need to cry, then you cry. There is no judgement in that room. No need to excuse yourself or apologize. There is no need for you to pretend. There is no need for you to hold back or be ashamed and even better, when you do, we'll let it alone. We won't pity you, we'll just let you be there in the room with these other people and cry and it is happening but its not dominating anything. As if no one was crying and we're just old friends talking about life. Which we are in a way. and its wonderful. Thank God my neighbor told me about them.

We even laughed about making a book filled with "What not to say" (which I think my mom wrote about in her blog at one point). and oh it was a good laugh. here are some of my favorite from the night:

1. "it's been 7 months, you should be doing better."
(it's ONLY been 7 months is more like it)

2. "After you reach a certain age, I think you're okay with your parents dying."
(if I only had a brain...)

3. "You know, we all have to die at some point!"
(yup, and hopefully your turn is next)

4. "At least you knew it was coming and you had time to prepare. It's not like it was a car accident or anything."
(oh, well, in that case...it doesn't MATTER, you heartless Nazi.)


Actually, Maura made a list like this on facebook once--"what not to say to someone with cancer" and I think I had inspired the whole list...as she said, I WAS the list. so you know. we're all stupid sometimes.

I told them my dream. The one with Maura and the football field and the silent, trench-coated man and woman coming after Maura and me fighting them and punching them with my ring and kicking them and Maura jumps over the bleachers with me, stops and says to me while she's smiling and laughing and her hair is practically glowing blondish/whitish and her smile is so beautiful and her face so friendly, "I can't go with you Lydia."

"I can't go with you Lydia." Its amazing how haunting those words are to me.

They told me time. They were living proof of time. They told me to learn from the life that she lived and the way that she died (sounded like a lyric from Rent which I started to sing in my head--
"Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes. Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand moments so dear.
Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes.
how do you measure, measure a year?"

She was peaceful. Joyful. Not complaining. Living every moment. not afraid to go. but wanting to stay and be around people. It was all about love for her in the end after all.

"How about Lo-oooo-ooo-ooo--ooo-oove?"

anyone?

and now,
"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses....let us strip off every weight..and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us by God..."

This verse makes me feel closer to Maura. Like she's there, in that cloud of witnesses, chillin' with Paul and Peter and John and Daniel and David and even Solomon. Surrounding me. Lookin at me...checkin up on me.

Its okay to look at her pictures. Its okay to remember her.

In fact. I must.