The Light through the Darkness

Kelsey Nicole, 5/28/86 - 6/20/09

I'm done being sad about the Penguins.  The rest of you can carry on with it if you want to.  I want nothing more to do with the incessant whining of the fan base about everything from who got fired to how it got announced that he got fired (seriously, that debate happened:  who the hell cares?!).  I'm choosing to move on. Summer is here - we kind of hope anyway - and there's a lot to do.  Summer movies, yard work, art festivals, more yard work, walks along the rivers, gardening, the job, running errands and pulling weeds.  You get the picture.  Life is hectic.  Life does not allow for a whole lot of time to reflect, and I've decided I'm spending too much of it concentrating on championships that aren't going to happen and mean-spirited neighbors who don't like dogs.

What I'd rather concentrate and reflect on is the amazing outpouring of support my daughter and I received recently when we signed ourselves up for what will be only the second NEDA Walk in Pittsburgh, the day after the fifth anniversary of losing my oldest daughter after her nine year battle with her eating disorder.  When we saw the date, we both got chills.  There has to be more than coincidence going on there, even to a cynical person such as myself.  So, I wasted no time in signing myself up, which automatically sets up a donation page.  I posted about it online and within minutes, a long time and dear friend had made a donation.  Within just a couple of hours, more people had joined her and my goal was met.  Since then donations have kept coming in, some from people I know are stretching their wallets to find the money.  Friends of mine, sure, but friends of my daughter from before the disease took hold who have remembered her for who she was, not the disease, which twisted her psyche and made her hard to love much of the time.  Friends of my younger daughter have donated, who is recovered from her own eating disorder, even though they are mostly young people trying to get established in life, so finding some extra dollars for a donation like that can be a challenge.  Others have picked up the link and shared it.  In summary, I am overwhelmed at the love and support we received.  It's more than the money, and I think a lot of the people who donated know that.  Now we have a purpose.  Now we have a reason to power through what will be a horribly tough anniversary.  And we'll remember my lost daughter in a positive way on that day.

Why is this walk important?  Because, simply put, this disease is a killer.  A destroyer maybe not of worlds, but of bright and promising futures.  It's hard to get a number on how many people (men suffer from ED too) just in the United States suffer from the disease, and the estimates vary wildly.  The reason for that is it's under-reported.  Particularly in men.  So I can't tell you if it's truly 8 million or 10 or even more than that.  But one thing every site and expert will agree on, it carries the highest mortality rate or any mental illness.  The NEDA website states, "For females between fifteen to twenty-four years who suffer from anorexia nervosa, the mortality rate associated with the illness is twelve times higher than the death rate of all other causes…”  That's an under-reported statistic too, sadly, since many people like my daughter will have causes other than ED as the primary cause of death, but, as I once wrote, something else may have pushed her over the cliff, but we all know what it was the drove her to it.

And, in Pittsburgh, ED lives in the shadows.  It's there.  I've known people from here who have battled it.  But they've gone elsewhere to do it.  There is a budding support system, but for a major metropolitan area, it's woefully lacking.  I noticed, as I think I told you, that when we went to Harrisburg to advocate for legislation to educate parents about the disease, we were the only two representatives from the western half of the state.  I have a theory about the tough steel town demeanor of the people here not allowing them to admit to the fact that a disease like ED, often misunderstood as to its origins, exists here.  But it does.  In both sexes.  So this is an important walk because it brings some attention to a true serial killer.  And because I love this town, I want to fight for it to be better.  And because I love my daughter, I want to honor her by fighting in her name.

I love all of you so much who have understood that donated to help make that happen.

If anyone else wants to, this is my donation page.

If you're in the area and want to join the walk, find out more on the Pittsburgh NEDA Walk Facebook page or visit the NEDA website.

The Aftermath

I love my Pens

For a number of years I wrote another blog that evolved into walking my readers through the journey grief takes you on.  I wrapped it up and flopped over here to try and start a new chapter in my life.  Of course, I'm still me at the core, so some of those same themes have come with over with me.  And one of the things I wrote about a lot was using sports as a "tool" to cope with loss.  I cautioned readers about doing that too fully, but I didn't always follow my own advice.  I never have.  Long ago, before even all the personal drama began, I was a co-dependent fan.  Sometimes that was funny, sometimes it was perhaps a little heartbreaking, mostly it was probably just pathetic.  I'm the woman who had to excuse herself and go into the laundry room after the Steelers lost to the Patriots in the championship game in early 2002 so I could cry.  And I didn't just cry a little.  I sobbed.  My heart ached not just because I wanted it for myself, but because I wanted it so badly for all the players.  I wanted Coach Cowher to go back to the Super Bowl and win it this time.  I wanted it because I hate the Patriots and their smug, model-handsome quarterback and evil, cheating coach (although, I've confess that none of us knew he cheated back then).  I feel like every hurt "my" team suffers cuts me as well.  I've got some major boundary issues.  But, what I know now is that I am far from alone.  And moving here has put a big point on that fact.

So along come the Penguins and it's just one more sports franchise I blur the lines with.  Don't get me wrong and don't go calling the police to tell them I'm a stalker - I've got enough issues over the barking dog thing.  I don't look for players when I'm out.  If I happen to see one - we did bump into a few young Steelers one morning at Deluca's last fall - I try not to harass them or hold them up.  They're human beings with things to do and places to go; I don't need to get in the way of that.  They give me what I want and ask of them when they suit up and take the field or the ice.  But I do "care" for them and feel protective of them because what it is they give me is a lot of joy.  An escape from all the worldly cares I have for a few hours.  They give me a feeling that I belong to a larger community than just little ol' me:  I am a member of the Steelers Nation, for example.  I feel they've earned my loyalty in return.

But in sports, as in life, a little rain will fall.  And there will be moments that are tough and cause us to share in disappointments. This week is such a time.  Literally and figuratively.  The Penguins are out of the playoffs in a shocking series loss to the Rangers when they had them on the ropes at one point leading 3 games to 1.  Therefore, you can imagine there is some fan grumbling.  If you're from outside the area what you likely can't imagine is the level and acidity of the grumbling.  It's like every single Penguin, Sidney Crosby included, personally stabbed everyone's beloved grandmother in the heart with a screwdriver and is getting away with it.  For me, the venom in the remarks people are making just adds to my own personal disappointment.  I tried turning on the radio after Boston also lost in their game 7 thinking that might mitigate things:  I lasted three minutes before I had to turn it off again.  The talk I did hear was centered on whether the Pens should hire Mike Babcock to replace Dan Bylsma.  Seriously?  I could live with that choice, no doubt, but think about what you're saying:  he barely got his team into the playoffs and they were ousted in the last round.  Why do you suddenly think he's the savior of the franchise?  Even if you can answer that, what makes you think he's stupid enough to even take this job?  I wouldn't.  Because the expectations here are just unreal, and if you don't deliver, the fan base will turn on you like the Hulk losing control.

I've written elsewhere about the Pittsburgh psyche when it comes to sports.  There was a huge loss of identity and prestige when the steel industry fell.  Men who had worked hard all their lives to provide for their families were suddenly brought down low by unemployment with no other skills or even jobs available to turn to.  So, the Steelers rise in the 70's gave them back some pride and a reason to smile.  We became the City of Champions, not the dirty, failed city along three rivers.  But we've never let that identity go.  People haven't seemed to separate what happens on the field with what happens to them.  It's an amazing electricity when the teams are winning as a result.  But when they lose...  Let's just say, I would leave town for a few days myself if I could just to get away from it, I hope every single member of the Penguins organization has packed some bags and hit the road.

But I sit here and look at the cup (pun somewhat intended) and see it half full.  I seem to be the only one.  I see a team that's made it to the playoffs eight years running.  I see a team that's won its division two years in a row, made it to the eastern finals last year and is a three time Stanley Cup winner overall.  I see great and talented players who we're lucky to get to come see in person 40+ times a year in a beautiful facility.  I am so proud to be a Penguins fan.  I'm just not terribly proud of the rest of my fellow fans right now.

I admit it, I cried like a baby after the game.  My husband asked me to call him, knowing I was here alone and that I would take it hard.  I couldn't. I didn't want to talk even if I thought I could.  I knew it meant that it'll be at least one more year before I can get that cup year back that I lost in 2009.  It's one more May and June that I won't have Penguins playoff hockey to distract me through rough reminders of all the others things I've lost in my life.  But, I was right when I cautioned all of us here a few weeks ago:  our days march on much as they would if the series had gone another way.  Our daily routines are much the same one way or the other. Now we just have more time to go see Godzilla.  Trying to be so loud and so angry that people are fired as a result doesn't change much, now does it?  It just keeps us all from moving on past it.  And don't think it means there's an automatic Stanley Cup in the immediate future, even though I do think the Penguins organization will have no choice but to bow to public pressure.  Again, I keep saying it, look at all the coaches the Capitals have had and how many championships?  Be really careful what you wish for, people.

But anyway, the moral to the story is:  thank you Pittsburgh for teaching me some perspective.  I have learned that there is no value in wringing my hands over something I don't control.  The team lost.  I'm disappointed.  But, you know what, I'm choosing to count my blessings and move on.  The rest of you should do the same.

I don't about the rest of you, but I'll be back next year to see more puck drops

May Day!

From better, younger days

I've had my ups and downs since I've become single.  Or separated.  Or whatever-the-hell-this-is.  I've had days where it's been sort of peaceful.  That whole complete control of the remote control kind of thing.  There have been other days when it's been a nightmare of epic proportions.  Like the days when I was so sick a few weeks ago that I thought I'd rather die than feel that badly for another moment, but I had dogs and cats and work all to contend with.  My daughter did a great job to help when she could, but she couldn't be here the whole time.  The times on my own when I couldn't walk the dogs - heck, I could barely muster the strength to feed them - that I got to thinking that this whole thing was going to beat me.  Then came May.  Trying to decide on a roofing contractor, a lawn mower that won't start, the whole dog barking complaint situation.  Well, let's just say, it's not getting any better.  And it's just a rough month on principal.  For all of us.  It's Mother's Day for one thing:  that not-so-lovely reminder that I'm half the mother I used to be.  Then it's my daughter's birthday at the end of the month.  The daughter who isn't here to help her sister with me when I'm sick because she's sitting on a corner shelf in a black and gold metal container.  Not trying to be maudlin.  That's just the fact of it.  So, anyway, in case you were wondering, the only party going on at my house is a pity party.  It's not any better in my husband's neck of the woods, so I've avoided calling him to tell him that his failure to change his driver's license cost me $2,000 because I have to pay state income taxes on him.  (Apparently you can live in another state for a long period of time without being an actual resident of it by the simple act of being too lazy to go down to the DMV - wish I'd known that when I moved her and I could have dodged that stupid  EIT tax for a while.)  Another burden to bear alone for now so I can try to let him deal with his own issues.  Life is tossing some interesting challenges my way at the moment.  I'm worried I'm not up to them, and I'm wondering how all the women I know who are single, some by choice, some by circumstance, do it.  And they seem pretty happy -well, some of them at least - about it.  And all of them seem to handle it better than I am at the moment.

I keep thinking back to a conversation I had some years ago with someone at work who was going through a rough patch in her marriage.  I remember telling her in such earnestness that I felt that marriage had outlived its original purpose.  The practical reason for the convention, which had served our ancestors well during times when life was a manual struggle that took two people working constantly to try and manage, is long gone.  Women can earn their own living, go where they want, do what they want and hire contractors to help do what they can't.  None of us, male or female, I argued, needed another person to make them or allow them to be a whole person.  I was arguing my point because I wasn't fond of her husband and was passively urging her to leave him.  But more than that really was the fact that I believed what I was saying.  Now I think back on that and wonder if I was right.  Not that I'm sure that I'm wrong either.  I'm admittedly confused.

Now I wonder if marriage persists into the 21st century because we somehow know in our heart of hearts that it's not so much about the physical labor any longer, but the emotional tolls that are better shared by two than born by one.  That and the fact that with the cost of living, it takes two incomes to keep a roof over one's head.  One that doesn't leak or grow moss anyway.

There is a lot of brain damage that comes with marriage.  It's hard.  But is it better than the alternative?  Is the very fact that there is someone to share the blame with when you make a bad choice of contractors worth fighting over how many hours of hockey at night is going to be on the main television versus how many hours of endless droning on MSNBC?  What is the worth of having someone there to hold you when you make the fateful decision that one of your loyal dogs shouldn't suffer any more?  Does it outweigh the ability to say, "Screw it, I'm going to that Sunday night playoff game!" and not have someone there to guilt you out of it.

I'm not sure about any of it.  That's life I guess.  Do any of us really have the answers to most things?  I don't actually think so.  We sort of lumber on day by day and figure it all out as we go.  All I know for sure is I have such a respect, like never before, for all the single people I know.  You have earned that coveted singular possession of the remote control.  Use it wisely.