I began this when you were still “EJ” so pardon my late response. It has been a long month.
Thank you so much for all your kind words. You are absolutely right: “But it’s a dangerous slippery slope to silence yourself or other people because someone out there who is worse off.”
I believe we all have our own journeys here and that each is important and also unique. Each is different and presents us with something to learn or reject. In my own life it seems that the toughest times have brought me the most valuable lessons. If I compared, I’d learn nothing and squelch my own growth, hurting myself and therefore, others. If I compared, I’d diminish my experience as well as the experiences to which I compared mine.
When I chose to deny or hide from life, I grew bitter or overly sensitive. When I chose to face the ugly, especially the ugly created by me, it was hard. Facing and working through all the worry, shame and doubt with honesty was and is tough. But in the end, that always proved best, at least for me. Ugliness faced and worked through brought me forgiveness and love. Once I was able to offer these to myself, my heart opened. I offered them to others. Empathy grew. I truly can’t complain about much, except silencing voices from fear, hatred or denial. Support is empowering!
I am so sorry for you mother’s loss of your brother, sorry for your loss of him, too. At two months they are real and we are attached.
My grandmother lost a day old daughter, her 1st. Everyone said she was never the same. I believe them. She didn’t have my aunt for another 10 years. My mother was born almost three years later. My grandmother acted as if she was chronically depressed. For all the years I knew her, she rarely smiled. I thought that losing a baby must be the worst thing that could happen.
Thursday we buried a cousin. My aunt has lost a child now. And one she knew for 56 years, not for a day. Last May a cousin lost a 22 year old child. She visits the grave every week and asks how they failed that child, the younger of her two. Her older child marries April 16th. It is a wonder any of them function but perspective is everything, as you write. I believe how we react is our choice.
Each voice brings a different perspective and each story can and should be heard. It is important. We learn something from everyone if we are open.
I love that your son’s name is Ziggy! When my sister called me to tell me she was pregnant with her 2nd, I was so excited. I name everything. If I don’t, what am I to call that which I name?
My sister’s last name begins with a “Z” and her daughter’s name is Zoe (no umlaut), after our maternal grandmother. I “named” the expected child “Ziggy” because the “Z” fit, because I love Ziggy Stardust and Bowie and because I adore Bob Marley and his Ziggy.
Sixth months later a perfect baby boy was born. He is legally named Stephen James for his dad but we continued to call him Ziggy.
When he was beginning kindergarten, his father sat with him to help him decide, did he want to be called Stephen or James? The look on his 5 year old face was priceless. “I want to be called by my name, Ziggy.” Poor Stephen explained again and again but to no avail. Ziggy began Kindergarten known as Ziggy.
This past January he turned 21 and is still known by all as Ziggy.
His driver’s license does say Stephen James but if anyone called out either name, he’d never look up.
I’m writing a poem about him or that toad, I haven’t decided which. But I know it will be titled as above. I took that photo when he was 8. He had gotten hot one night while asleep so found scissors. The next morning my sister was horrified to see the mess he had made of his hair. He explained that his hair made him hot so he cut it and now he was cool: what else could possibly matter? But he got just as upset as his mom once he looked in a mirror.
He rode his bicycle over that day thinking that maybe I could help fix his hair. My sister suggested getting it all shaved off so it would grow back nicely and he’d stay cool until fall. We fussed with it some but I knew he had an appointment later that day. His head would be shaved. So he went to hunt toads and snakes in our yard. And lizards. He found a big, fat toad in a hole and wasn’t he proud? I mean, look at him? Even with that hair.
Two nights later he called for my sister. She thought he was asleep, could tell he was angry. She went up the stairs to find him with scissors, again. He had awakened because he was not and now he had no haur to cut off so how was he supposed to get cool?
So Ziggy is my absolute favorite name as everyone named it is uniquely himself. I am positive that your Ziggy is, too! I wish you great joy throughout his life!
I hope to finish my response to your work about Annie early this week. You, too, are a powerful presence on Medium, EJ but I suspect we haven’t seen anything yet! Your courage astounds me. You didn’t just write about Annie. You actually called!
I felt my answer that your search for justice or even attention to Annie’s story was cynical, something I am usually not. Reading your follow up caused me to cheer and restored some joy and faith.
Thank you for your kind words for me. Coming from you, they have a real meaning: thank you! I am honored.
Colette
