Things You Should Not Say to a Grieving Little Girl

I've never really fit in among people my own age. I generally preferred the company of older people from as early as I can remember. There were some older people, however, that were absolutely clueless when it came to speaking with me after my father died. Since it's soon to be Memorial Day, the twenty-third anniversary of his suicide, my mind can't help but go back there a bit.

Here are some things said to me shortly after my father's death when I was 10. I think these things should not be said to a child or to anyone, really. 

"Your father is burning in hell. Burning in hell right now. Don't let anybody ever tell you different!" exclaimed an older relative to me at my father's wake. After the few months of horror in which I had tried to convince my father to live time and again, I was not really in the mood for this verbal assault. I still think it's outrageous that she said this to a grieving little girl. And so began my disdain for people who try to use the Bible as a weapon to hurt children or justify their reasons for hurting children.

"It would have been better if you had died instead of your dad. At least then your mom would have had your dad to lean on," said one of the more active women in my church when we stopped by it after my dad's death. I mean, even if you thought something that incredibly fucked up, couldn't you control yourself and not say that to a KID? I have eye witnesses to this. I am not exaggerating. I never returned there again. The preacher was a real asshole anyway who used to preach and brag about beating his son; I'm glad I never went back. 

"No man will ever want to date you someday if you say that your dad committed suicide. You should say he had a heart attack instead." And so began this worry in my head a lot as a preteen. Another thing that made ME undesirable! 

"You will have suicide demons follow you all your life, too. Better be careful." Yes, it was told to me, a young child just a day out of fourth grade, that I would be doomed forever, too, to have these fictional suicidal demons following me. Imagine the terror when I was then brainwashed to believe in demons! 

"Ew, your dad committed suicide. I'll bet you will, too," said to me with a look of utter disgust by a kid in the schoolyard after hearing the rumors about why I was so morose, more than likely. Not that I really got along with people very well with my social anxiety disorder, but, again, keep things like that to yourself. I was more mature than that as a toddler. 

If you want to comfort a child whose father has died, be careful what you say, or shut the fuck up.

A Very Brady Dream

I just woke up from a dream in which I was close friends with either Peter Brady (of The Brady Bunch, of course) or Christopher Knight, the actor who portrayed Peter. I'm not sure which it was as I never spoke his name, and I don't remember thinking it in my head, either. 

This was a somewhat stressful and short dream. Peter had a chronic disease that would be fatal unless he had an operation and treatment with medicine. However, he would only use homeopathy and other forms of alternative medicine. I desperately tried to convince him about all the years of progress that went into modern medicine, and I tried to explain the proof of how it could save his life. He was having none of it. All he would do was eat this herbal substance and rub it on his tummy for reasons unknown. 

I'm not sure why exactly I had the dream. I had discussed The Brady Bunch with my friend who happens to be a skeptic last night. So perhaps that was it. Also, although I have never seen it before, I've been watching My Fair Brady. Be careful what you watch and think. 

Peter was infuriating in this dream, though. Also, while I do understand the comfort of using it alongside proven medicines, quacks and evil charlatans who encourage people to ignore proven medicines are horrid. Scientific evidence suggests that homeopathy is no more effective than a placebo. 

I might add that, as far as I know, Christopher Knight and Peter Brady both are both not interested in alternative medicines. It was just an odd conflation in my subconscious Brady land.

I also want to add that I am a huge fan of The Brady Bunch. I have seen the original series, their 1970s variety show version, The Brady Girls Get Married, A Very Brady Christmas, The Bradys, the 1990s movies, and even the episode of Day By Day in which Ross has a Brady dream of his own. My very, very favorite is The Brady Girls Get Married (and its subsequent series, The Brady Brides). Ah, how I love that. 

Kmart, Chocolate, and Suicide

Twenty-three years ago I spent the month of May in a state of terror like I had the couple of months before it. My father had threatened my life on numerous occasions, and he had indicated that he was ready to end his own life.

Choosing to end his own life is what my father did on traditional Memorial Day in 1989, just a few months after I turned 10 years old. It was my first day of summer after the fourth grade. As you might can easily assume, Memorial Day has never been a holiday that I felt the need to celebrate in any sort of frivilrous way. (Even if not for my own situation, I never understood making light of such a day of remembrance, as seems to happen.)

Here it comes again. The impending day usually sends me into some sort of gloom at some point in the month. Since it's been a difficult year, I got quite sad far ahead of time. I worked through it, and it's okay. Knowing that sadness is only temporary is helpful. The things you learn as you grow older.

I was lacking that perspective one May when I was in my second year of college. 

I was a very lucky girl to be going to college in NYC. (To this day I am paying for that decision with half of my income going towards loans for that experience, but I remain forever grateful that I got to do it.) I was lucky in many ways, but deep, dark depression can creep up on the lucky ones, too.

I had recently screwed up a film project that I was doing for a class that my mentor taught. I loved my mentor so much, and failing so horribly really upset me. It would take me a few years before I could even go back to my mentor because I was so dreadfully upset at having messed up on the movie project. (I had run out of money altogether for it, and I know that the actors involved simply saw that as unprofessional.)

I felt unloved and unlovable, even though that may have been an irrational way to feel. I was worrying on how I would continue to go to my college with the financial problems we faced. I was fearful that I would have to leave what I had found and loved so very much in New York City.

Also, I was recently rejected. I had been very careful to never assume anybody "liked" me. I had been taught in high school that guys found me repulsive, and I was not going to put myself on the line for any further embarrassment.

But this guy would always seem to "flirt" with me; he pretended to pour Snapple on my head a lot. He'd say nice things when this other friend of his (who hated me for reasons unknown) would say something snide or rude to me. In retrospect, he was just being polite or, if it was flirting, was just something he did like breathing. It affected me a lot, though, as I was not used to such attention, and I fell for this guy in a really big way.

His spectacular (spectacularly silly in retrospect) and seemingly cruel rejection of me (he would not even accept a cupcake for his birthday from me) really hit me hard. Yet another reminder that I was unlovable. On top of the incredible pressures I already was facing, that just crushed me.

At the same time I missed my canine companion, Marta, so incredibly, achingly much, and I felt guilty for going to school so far away from her. I was worried that perhaps she would be better off without me altogether.

I could try to lock down exactly what brought me so far down to that hopeless place, but I don't know that those who go through with suicide even fully understand that part of it.

So, one teary night, I walked from my New York City dorm on 23rd Street down to the Kmart on Astor Place. I looked for a rope. I really needed to just end this. I sobbed as I shopped; I was never one for controlling my emotions very well unless I was in a "numb" period, and this was not one of those safe times. I was desperate. Reminders of things that made me happy seemed to only stab at me as I shopped. I had to close my eyes to happy scenes in picture frames and keep my mind focused on finding the rope.

Through my teary stupor I managed to ask someone where hardware was. Perhaps the rope would be there! He pointed me in the direction with a look of confused sympathy. I thanked him as best I could.

I found the rope after some searching, and I slowly brought it to the counter. I did not rush, but I did not linger very long. This was time to end it. The cashier seemed to look at me a bit curious at my single rope purchase and the tears that rolled down my face as I realized the implications of my purchase. She didn't hesitate, and I paid her in cash. 

I walked out into the night. I had a bit of money left, which was fortunate. At that time McDonald's was serving veggie burgers, and that made me smile. I had enough for one so I went to eat it. The cashier did not charge me. She simply moved on to the next customer. Since I had so little money, I thought, wow, what luck. I went to eat my veggie burger, and a mean-looking security guard came to stare at me as I ate. I felt so guilty that, even without this pressure, I would have gone back and paid for the veggie burger. So that's what I did. I felt disturbed at having my "last" meal ruined in this way, though, so I was overall disappointed with the experience.

I strolled back to my dorm. It was getting late. I wanted to see my friends, but I was really shy. I loved being with friends; I loved that I had a group of friends here, although I failed to understand why anybody would want to be friends with me. It was all so nice. Yet, I just felt so undeserving. I felt that perhaps they all secretly hated me.  

I folded the plastic bag with the rope in it over a few times, hoping that it would disguise the contents of the bag if I did happen to run into anybody. This guy who had so thoroughly broken the pieces that were left of my already shattered heart just so happened to be waiting for the elevators at the same time I was. How embarrassing. He didn't say anything except hi. I smiled a bit. I knew he hated seeing me more than I was glad to see him; in spite of the awkwardness, I had felt a bit of a joy surge in my heart at the sight of him. He had been hope at one point.

I got off at the eleventh floor and strolled to my room. I had my key out so that I could quickly get into my room. It was small with a loft bed. I climbed up to the bed with the rope in my hand. I was so very tired by that point, though, so I tossed the rope back down to the floor. I would deal with that tomorrow.

The next day I skipped class. I just wasn't feeling it. I could not go on as though I was a carefree college kid when I had such certain plans for my future. A friend came by after class, though, and knocked on my door. I was invited to Long Island for the weekend. I went there, and it was fun. Her parents paid for my breakfast when we went out to eat; I felt so guilty. I wanted to pay, but I didn't have the money on hand. Explaining that I didn't have money for things was not something I was able to do at that point in my life, though, so I would either end up appearing as a flake or a leech. Her parents did not seem to mind and would not let me pay even when I offered, though.

I went back to my dorm on Sunday. I made an excuse to leave early as I wanted to go ahead and get this over with. However, after paying for the train back, I had no more money at all. I had to walk back to my dorm room without even the money for a subway. I was desperate for some chocolate. Yet I couldn't even scrape together enough to go buy a candy bar at the convenience store. I called my bank hoping for a spontaneous change in the balance, but there was none at that time.

So finally I looked at the rope. Kmart was open for another two hours. 

For the sake of a bit of chocolate, I returned the rope. This time it was also through tears. I do not know what this perplexed-looking customer service agent was thinking as she processed the small refund for the unused rope, but she must have gotten the gist of it through my tears. Returning the rope suddenly meant something more than the fact that I had a hankering to eat more chocolate before my untimely death. Suddenly I realized that perhaps I truly did want to live. 

I went to the candy section in Kmart and got my favorite type of candy: peanut butter cups. 

I'm glad that I chose chocolate over death. In truth, I chose those I love over death, of course, as well. Things have not exactly been easy for me since that sad little May, but I have had lots of joy along the way. I am excited about many things on the horizon now. So much we would miss if we gave into the darkness that sometimes calls to very sensitive spirits.

A Musical Passion of Mine: "Key Largo" by Bertie Higgins

I was listening to the Music Choice radio station on cable a couple of years ago, and this song came on that I don't think I'd heard before: "Key Largo" by Bertie Higgins. I instantly fell in love with it. I had to look it up and download it. I then found the music video for it, and I loved the video just as much (maybe more). It's such a serene, pretty song. Ah, I just think it's heavenly. The lyrics are really fun to sing, too. 

Really, not many words are needed. Instead, I will share the music video in all its perfection. 

An Awesome Cinematic Road Trip: Loving the "One Week" Movie and Soundtrack

This morning, after the joy of vegan grocery shopping, I settled in to watch One Week. It's a beautifully directed movie that is sentimental, thought-provoking, and poignant.  

It poses the question from the start: What would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live? 

I really liked the leading character of Ben a lot. Well, you are set up to automatically feel for him as the diagnosis of terminal cancer is given almost as soon as the movie starts. Beyond that, he's a very well-written, deep character whose journey unravels beautifully on the film despite the tragedy that lurks on the horizon.

I discovered the superb acting of Joshua Jackson first in his role as Pacey in Dawson's Creek, and he gives a stunning performance of a lifetime as Ben. He manages to convey so much without going over-the-top, which would have been an easy trap to fall into here. Instead, he makes strong choices and really tells the truth in the part. It's beautiful to watch. 

The gorgeous Canadian scenery that we are privileged to observe as part of Ben's impromptu road trip is part of the movie's undeniable charm as well. It makes you want to chart your own journey across Canada and take in these visual pleasures for yourself.

This movie was extraordinary to me. It is not really the "sort" of film that I'd gravitate toward and expect to adore. I really do not enjoy watching most movies about cancer. I mean, I suppose that seems obvious. Who would enjoy a film about such a devastating illness? However, I do like some movies about morbid things; for example, suicide seems to be a big part of most of my very favorite movies somehow. Yet, movies about cancer are just too much for me usually. Perhaps the only other movie I liked with a plot involving a lead character with terminal cancer was A Message From Holly, a rare, made-for-TV movie from the early 1990s starring Shelley Long and Lindsay Wagner. I digress.

In One Week the audience follows the character's subtle transformation and discoveries of life when facing a large, looming, and devastating future. This flick is rather quiet and unassuming like the character of Ben himself. I think asking ourselves what we would truly do if we knew our time was running out on this earth is important. It's wise to live life accordingly because, in reality, life is extremely short. We only have a bit of time, and it's important to make it count. 

By the way, the very Canadian One Week soundtrack was incredible. Here's a listing of the songs if you'd like to compile a soundtrack of your own for your iPod or as a mix CD, as they don't seem to have an official one. Even though it's not in the movie, I also recommend adding "The Last Day" as performed by Marilyn Scott to the mix as well; the movie made me think of that song I so love. Here you are, a list of the soundtrack songs and details needed to compile your own One Week soundtrack as reported on IMDB:

 

"An Awful Lot of Sunshine"

Performed by Hugh and Rosie

Courtesy of Noodily Wow Records

"Imaginary Bars"

Written by Tony Dekker (as T. Dekker) / Great Lake Swimmers

Published by Harbour Songs / (weewerk) Courtesy Great Lake Swimmers / (weewerk)

Performed by Tony Dekker (as T. Dekker) / Great Lake Swimmers

"Hard Road"

Written and Performed by Sam Roberts

Courtesy of Universal Music Publishing Group Canada

"20 Miles"

Performed by Selina Martin

Lyrics and music by Selina Martin

"Calendar Girl"

Performed by Stars Courtesy of Arts & Crafts International

Written by Amy Millan, Chris Seligman, Torquil Campbell, Patrick McGee, Evan Cranley

Published by Arts & Crafts Music

"Don't Bother (Demo)"

Written by Bryan Lee O'Malley

Published by Bryan Lee O'Malley

Performed by Kupek

"Oh Canada"

Performed by Hugh Oliver Courtesy Indie Joe Records

Written by Jody Colero, Tim Tickner, Michael McGowan and Marco DiFelice

"Reborn"

Written by Ged Flood (Ged Flood / PRS)

Published by The dBc (Creative Elevation Music / SESAC)

Courtesy of Personiphonic Records

Performed by Ged Flood

"Nice Day"

Written by Scott L.D. Walker

Published by Scott L.D. Walker Courtesy of Endearing Records

Performed by The Salteens

"A Million Dollars"

Performed by Joel Plaskett

Courtesy of Songs for the Gang

"Skyway Bridge"

Written by Melissa McClelland

Published by Starcana Songs (SOCAN) Courtesy of Orange Record Label

Performed by Melissa McClelland

"DOING OK"

Music and Lyrics by Andrew Heintzman

Performed by Fried Up Fred and Co. Used with permission.

"Ricky Come Home"

Music and Lyrics by Andrew Heintzman

Performed by Fried Up Fred and Co.

Used with permission.

"Weighty Ghost"

Written by Paul Murphy, Loel Campbell, Tim D'Eon, Jud Haynes Courtesy of Labworks/EMI

Performed by Wintersleep

"The Great Escape"

Written by Patrick Watson

Published by Intrigue Music LLC Courtesy of Secret City Records

Performed by Patrick Watson

"Pacifist's Anthem"

Written by Andrew Penner Courtesy of The Baudelaire Label and Carat Music Brokering

Performed by Sunparlour Players

"Blackwinged Bird"

Written by Emm Gryner Published by Emm Gryner Songs

Courtesy of Dead Daisy Records and Carat Music Brokering

Performed by Emm Gryner

"Un Canadien Errant"

Performed by Melissa McClelland and Luke Doucet

Published by Einstein Bros Music, Deloris Music, Ellchris Music, Melissa McClelland

Melissa McClelland appears courtesy of Nettwerk Management; Luke Doucet appears courtesy of Six Shooter Records

Arranged by Andrew Lockington

Produced by Andrew Lockington and Jody Colero

Recorded by Alex Bonenfant at the Orange Lounge

Note: I adore movies. I prefer going to the movies, but right now do not have the opportunity to go to the theater very often so I'll be reviewing a lot of films I see on DVD or Netlfix. I use the term "review" loosely as I do not like traditional movie reviews and simply give my take on them. ;-)