Athena: Denial

Augustine,

The first night, I hardly slept. I kept waking up to the smallest noise and realizing that I had not just had a nightmare...that it was real. And there was no going back or redoing it.

And I'm watching protests and seeing frantic petitions of impeachment or please to the electoral college. And I get it. I desperately want a redo. This whole election cycle has deeply shaken my faith in democracy.

I'm not sure what it is about grief that prompts denial, but I think it's actually the hardest part of the whole process for me. It's this feeling of numbness that washes over me over few hours as I realize: No. That actually happened. That's real. That's reality now.

Today, I coped with it by sitting in my dark room (I have black curtains to help block light in the mornings) and just listening to Frasier, trying to catch up on the sleep debt I've accrued. When my godfather died last year, I would just burst into tears every few hours, trying to process how this could possibly be real.

With death, there's a body or at least a casket. There's a funeral and a time set aside to go and grieve. There's people you can be with. There's some sense of closure. With divorce, there's some finality: somebody moves out [you learn to adjust to a new 'normal'], there's an official signing of papers at some point. But there's so much ambiguity too--so many things linger on, and the whole process takes months or even years. There's no one moment you set aside to grieve. My Nan's husband has Alzheimer's. The West Wing did an episode on that with CJ and her dad, "The Long Goodbye." That's exactly what it is...this just slipping away and erosion over time, a loss that waxes and wanes over time, so that you never get to fully STOP and deal with it. There's no stopping here too, and I almost wish there was. At least there's a community to grieve with.

And now this. And as terrible as it feels, it doesn't feel real yet, because there are blessedly two months left of 2016. In which President Obama still resides in the Oval Office, lamed by the countdown of the days and a Congress eager to obstruct him at every turn.

I get to live in denial until things are official. Until the Electoral College votes. Until he is sworn in. I'm trying not to--I'm trying to reach out to people, to make plans, to be shrewd and have important conversations in the moments when I'm not overwhelmed. But I also escape (I'm watching HIMYM, and though it's not my favorite comedy ever, it's making me laugh, which I needed so desperately) and I live in denial and though it prolongs things, delays, it makes things painful too.

With death or divorce or Alzheimer's...there's a sadness but it's an absence. And this is different here too, because this isn't one moment of grief to move on from. This is four years of potential grief waiting in the wings, of wounds waiting to be inflicted and ripped open.

At least that's how it feels today. Thus, I'd like to live in my denial a little bit longer.

+Athena

Athena: Shock

Augustine,

I slept for a total of about two hours last night. I kept waking up, hoping it had been a nightmare. Hoping that things didn't turn out the way they did. That Pennsylvania in particular hadn't broken my heart.

I wrote a post addressing my Republican friends. Urging them to reach out and denounce the hatred of their candidate amidst their victory. I wrote a letter to my students letting them know that they could reach out to me if needed. A few did.

But I can't watch Clinton's speech yet (she deserved so much better. It kills me the most thinking about her right now), or any of the other speeches. I've formulated plans of action in my mind, but the reality is...

I'm grieving. I am grieving. For Clinton, for the Dems (we lost so much more than just the Presidency this time around), especially for my friends who are in terror, for our country, for our citizens and our democracy. For myself.

I'm grieving personally too. It seems like a small thing in the midst of everything else, but my aunt and uncle are divorcing after almost 30 years of marriage...and that's a death too. It's figuring out how to say goodbye in a certain sense, to a person who has been a part of my life since I can remember, and who will no longer exist in my life in the same way at all...and will likely eventually hang out. There's more to that story, but I mention it because it's a parallel grief (Odd fact: this is the uncle whose sweater you have)

I'm still honest-to-God just stunned. I don't know how any of this makes sense, how this could possibly have happened. If the election had been a week ago, maybe, but emails were cleared up and polling dramatically increased, and I felt safe again. And I voted because I knew I wasn't safe enough to be complacent, but I honestly thought that my fears were just anxiety. I thought on one level that it just couldn't possibly happen. Not this time, not with this particular candidate.

I'm bewildered, and I want to cry and eat a lot of ice cream. I keep forgetting to eat, forgetting to move. Instead, I'm sending messages of love and support to my friends--but there are no words. And I want to talk about it, and do nothing but talk about it and figure out how to fix things and make plans and survive for four years, but I also can't because it still feels completely overwhelming and surreal.

So I think of Mr. Rogers. And I ask myself how I can be a good neighbor. And I hope and pray that I can figure out how to protect them.

+Athena

Athena: Grey

Dear Augustine,

I am too overwhelmed to blog tonight. I'm scared--for you, for me, for our country. I'm terrified, and have only just calmed down after a four-hour-long anxiety attack tonight.

But I have to hope that not all is lost. That we will survive this too and come out stronger in the end.

So in lieu of dealing with that...I'm sharing a post that I wrote about the livestream on Susan B. Anthony's grave today. I'm trying to see a little more grey today, when it feels very black.

"Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see." (Hamilton)

I understand that SBA is a complicated person--her voice for women's right to vote wasn't pure and perfect, it was shaded with racism, and that is unequivocally wrong. And yet, I'm still moved by the fact that we move forward slowly through time, being pushed along by imperfect people...people who caught a glimpse of the same ideals we continue to fight for, and which we seek to extend to all people: life, liberty, equality, justice.

I'm thankful for Anthony, and also for others who carried these values further: Ida B Wells, Mary Church Terrell, Ella Baker, Rosa Parks, Angela Davis, and many others.

I love you, my friend. Very very much.

+Athena

Athena: Common Themes

Dear Augustine,

So I started Middlemarch last month, but got a little bogged down. I had hoped I'd love it as much as I did Pride and Prejudice, but I think I prefer the narrative style of the latter a bit more. I am appreciating the wit and incisive social commentary [that featured in both pieces, tbh, but it's a little more extensive in Middlemarch]. What strikes me about both of these readers is that even though both were written over a century ago (P&P was over two)...so much remains the same, even though certain externals have changed.

I read about Mr. Collins's "mansplaining" to Lizzy Bennet after his proposal--how utterly convinced he was that he knew exactly what she wanted and that she was merely playing "coy". Not to mention his narcissistic monologues, his constant concern with status...and I immediately thought, "I know so many people like that." And multitudes of Lizzies and Janes as well.

Or Mr. Bulstrode (Middlemarch) who, at least thus far in the narrative, seems to be so much more concerned with his Puritanical religious codes than with actual people...and I'm reminded of so many who attempt to control people's behavior with their religious whims, indifferent to the suffering it might cause--in their mind, it's worth it if it "saves their soul."

And how many happy marriages or unhappy marriages or marriages for convenience I've seen--even though, thankfully, there are more options and freedoms afforded to women today, and property laws are blessedly different.

And I think that's what's so astounding in some ways about these authors--not just that they wrote classic stories, there are so many classic stories that appeal to universal themes and have the same sort of timelessness--but what's wonderful about Austen and Eliot is that they are writing specifically about the society's they live in: critiquing them, replying in writing in ways that perhaps they couldn't in real life, wittily crafting their narratives to expose the truth as they see it. And yet, despite how embodied their stories are, they still remain timeless to an extent. We're able to see what has remained alongside what has changed--and how fun it is to wonder how some of these heroines might have turned out were they to live in modern times.

I wonder what sorts of stories from our time--especially now that there are so many, and with the proliferation of self-published stories--will live on to become "classics." And what that will mean in a couple centuries, as I imagine there will be a constant flood of new voices from all walks of life. I wonder what sorts of critiques their will be about modern society, and the ways in which future generations will wonder about characters like us...and think, "I wonder what they would be like were they to love today instead of being constrained by the social pressures of their own time..."

It's impossible to imagine, honestly, but I sort of like to think about it sometimes. :)

+Athena

Athena: Jumble

Dear Augustine,

There are so many things swirling around in my head--and this is why I've always quit blogging before. Trying to pin any particular train of thought down and wrangle it into something coherent seems impossible so much of the time.

I want to write about the sermon today--which was painful and felt like a betrayal of a confidence, even though I know that wasn't the intent. Or I could write about the blessed joy of running into my good friend in the vestibule as I was literally running out of church after the service--a friend whom I couldn't explain things to, but whom I could hug. Somebody who got part of the anxiety that I've been feeling that's flowing together with everything else. Or I might need to write about the drama of this afternoon--of the death of a marriage that will be unfolding over the course of the next few months, or the death of a lovely church acquaintance, for whom I sang the eonia--all the way down to church.

But I'm not sure if I could pick one of those things, the thoughts are spinning too rapidly and they feel unfocused. And some of them I might explore over the course of the next few weeks, some I might never get to [and I have to learn to be okay with thoughts that fail to find their expression. That could be a whole other post.]

Instead I want to write about some of my students, because I thought of them while reading about your friend [may their memory be eternal]. Of my own student with CP who had such trouble pressing the calculator buttons...but was very good in math and is now a successful college student. Of the dear, dear heart who had selective mutism...and through some small miracles overcame their anxiety and began to speak with us, whose words--even now, years later--still feel like miracles. Or the other one who overcame anxiety and abuse, codependent friendships and finally the difficult transition of coming out...and is now engaged to be married and happy, teaching a class full of children with autism. Or the one I ran into this evening, whom I only taught for a year...and yet who excitedly told me all about their life and seemed sorry to see me go. Or the students in my current school who battle anxiety and learn that it's okay and figure out coping strategies...ones who are great conquerors of all things.

Every student is somehow a small miracle. There have been a few cases where I couldn't always see it--where my best efforts fell short or my own personal weaknesses and frustrations clouded my vision. But I still believe it to be true, even in the cases I didn't get to see for myself. It's an incredible thing to see them flourish and grow and come into their own--in both expected and unexpected ways.

And maybe I needed that reminder to face the upcoming week.

+Athena

Augustine: A Eulogy

"People always talk about how children teacch you unconditional love, and it's true."

I wrote this eulogy for a former student with cerebral palsy, who died when I was in grad school.

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I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not there now. I'm sorry I haven't been there this year.


I don't know what is that I need to be telling you now. You're so far away and soon you will be even further.


But as I write this I realize that you have never been far. You have always been present. It is us, the adults, the "mature" guardians who have forgotten how to be present.


When I met you I didn't know what I was suppose to do. How do I educate or work with a student who cannot speak to me? So I had to sit and be present with you. And in being with you and spending time with you, I would learn that you were not silent at all. You spoke mountains and miles, volumes of books to me everyday. In your laughter, sadness, frustration, pain, and unabashed joy I began to realize what it meant to be present. I learned what it meant to try with all of ones' strength because someone asked you to try, to laugh at simple mistakes rather than becoming angry, to stop realize that distractions and games can not replace the power of having someone else sit with you.


When I would tell people I worked with a students with special needs, they talk as if I have taken on some burden, and it made me furious. Yes, I had to wake up 5 days a week and be on the road before the sun was up in order that I could be at school on-time to pick you up. (And if I'm being honest, how many times did I have to text someone because I was late). But on the commute to work I would think about the joy of getting you from the bus and when I was burned out in the morning, I looked forward to my time with you in the afternoons. You were ready to sit and revel in time spent with someone else. I would see you brave difficult therapy and boring school days ready at a moment to slip into a moment of joy and laughter.

The truth is that I have learned from you. As I've grown, I've forgotten how to laugh and love and live the way you did most days. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the days that you were in pain and I didn't know what to do. Please forgive me this as I know only you know how. But you reminded me of all the hopes, dreams, and love that I could not remember and do not know when I am lost.


I'm at grad school now because one day sitting with you I realized that I have no excuse to not try. If you can come to school everyday and live with more love than I know while you endure daily trials, I can do nothing less than strive to be as brave and courageous as you.
I'm here now because of you which is why I cannot be there with you now. But as someone who knows how to be present and in the moment, always you are with me.


I would listen to these lyrics on the way to school in the morning. Thank you for teaching me about all the most important things.


Thank you and I love you

Gracias y Te Amo

+Augustine

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Sara Groves - I can't wait


When you reach the proper age
I will teach you to read and you can turn the pages
How to dress and tie your shoes
Your one plus ones, and your two times two's
And you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't wait

As you grow, I'll show you things
How to ride your bike and kick your legs out on the swings
To fold your hands and bow your head
How to say your prayers before you go to bed
And you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't wait

How do you sleep so peacefully?
How do you trust unflinchingly?
How do you love so faithfully?
How do you dance so joyfully?


Oh you'll teach me
Of hearts and dreams
And all the most important things
And all that I have lost along the way
And I can't
No I can't
Come teach me
Of love and dreams
And all the most essential things
And all that I have lost along the way
Cause I can't wait


How do you sleep so peacefully?

How do you trust unflinchingly?

How do you love so faithfully?

How do you dance so joyfully?


I can't wait

Augustine: Of loss and love and fire and rain, never would have come this way

Athena,

I've sat down to write to you multiple times these past days. I have several blank sheets with the date written across the top and I have sheets that are filled with rambling frustration. Finding an element of insight or truth often feels like digging in sand. Will every handful that you pull out, some slides back down. Some days it seems that I never get to anything of meaning after all the digging. Sitting down to write means I have to let down the barrier and listen to the voice inside, but there are so many other voices that were being quieted and they are no free to yell, scream, and whisper incoherently in my ear.

Anne Lamott encourages writers to think of the voices as mice. Do put them under little glass jars, turn up the volume to let them scream, and then turn the volume down low. I call mine ghosts. I don't like the name ghosts, it doesn't seem fitting. But the fact that I don't like their name seems even more fitting.

I've had occasion to write about a topic but whenever I sit down to do so, it feels like single person sail boat in a storm. I imagine the apostles in their small fishing boat being overrun by the waves. Somedays writing feels like insisting on casting a net out to fish while the storm is tearing the vessel apart.  I forget the storm can be calmed. Or I don't remember how.

"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."

'Touch, taste and smell your way to the holy hidden heart of it.'

There are not clear guideposts with directions, distances, and names. There are cairns, stacks of rocks, small and large, strewn across the landscape, sometimes close enough to see from one to the next, but often times they appear just in the moment when you wondered if you have entirely lost your way.

And in the moments when I pause and look up to see where it is that I am, I wonder if I am lost. I wonder "where are the signposts?" I look out over the land ahead that holds only stability but nothing else that I desire and wonder "why do I keep walking towards this?" But no other path seems stable or wise.

The blog was a new medium when I was in high school. I presented my senior project across a series of blogs. Mine was named after Jars of Clay lyrics which I also used as my senior quote:

"We look out way down past the road we came from

We're looking for redemption

It was hidden in the landscape

Of loss and love and fire and rain

Never would have come this way

Looking for redemption"

In those moments when I let myself question "what am I doing here?" I wonder if there is redemption hidden in this landscape?

+Augustine