1053 TWINKLE TWINKLE—REVISITED 47

27
Janet’s death certificate does not state the cause of death as SIDS.  As it is written, my sister died from a 'pneumonia-like virus'.  That was sixty-four years ago.  Today, my parents would have been told that their child succumbed to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

When three adults stare into the empty crib before it's removed from my parents’ bedroom, common sense suggests that their minds can't fathom how, in the span of a few hours, a 'healthy' baby girl has 'disappeared'.  While trains of thought cycle round and round this tortuous, one way track, the little caboose has no clue, at all, as to why life has stalled, so drastically, day after day, night after night.  *Even so, she senses that nothing feels safe, and she doesn't feel good when her round, blue eyes look up to see only frowns, looking down.  And that makes me wonder, when does a child's mind begin to track a negative cycle, worrying about what may take place, next—clickety clack.

Though the loss of grandparents and elderly parents proves deeply painfully, such an orderly cycle of life is anticipated.  When irretrievable loss is wholly unexpected—out of order—and the life cut short had depended upon your loving attentiveness, it's common for a sense of undeserved guilt to magnify in the aftermath of tragedy.

The harsh reality of Janet’s death slashes my parents’ lives into two separate parts.  In a flash, all sense of order has darkened as though an electrical circuit, empowering our spirits, has been switched off, and resultant of fear, my emotional reactions will soon feel as indivisible from that of my parents as a string of holiday lights.

On the day when a loved one is buried, it's our custom for the immediate family to tear and wear a piece of clothing, symbolizing the tear in our hearts when life ends in death.  Following the funeral and for the next seven days it's our custom for family, friends, and colleagues to gather, bearing hearty meals to nourish our bodies, which do not hunger for food, while offering heartfelt condolences in hopes of nurturing spirits, too wounded to fly on their own—as of yet.  In short, during this initial week of mourning, which we call 'shiva', the flock flies as one, and all who want to pay their respects know that the grieving family will be at home, welcoming visitation.

In honor of The Sabbath we do not 'sit shiva' on Friday, after sundown.  The Sabbath, our day of rest and depth of reflection, rises above everything else.  When Shabbat ends on Saturday at sundown, our shiva resumes, and we welcome all who come to help us cope during this first week of bereavement.  As for three-year old me, there's no way I understand why everyone comes to party in our apartment, day after day, when our baby's 'disappearance' is making my family so sad.

On the other hand, I feel less scared, less lonely, with so many people milling around, hugging us close, keeping our minds busy until everyone has kissed us goodbye, because within seconds of closing and locking our front door, eyes glaze over; life darkens; our apartment feels like a tomb, and fear strikes again—and again—and again.

When anguished confusion and relentless mental pressure goes unrelieved, the defense system protects the processing center of our brains by dulling the conscious mind's connection to clarity.  As mental attentiveness experiences a melt down, the overwhelmed thought processor 'relaxes' into the spiritless, zombie-like sludge that accompanies devastation.  In short, denial disassociates the mind from life's harshest realities—most especially when those who depend upon you need you to return to work … as was true of my father …

Though Jack's peace of mind is awakened to a sense of raw vulnerability, my father must return to work while the weight of depression continues to hit Jennie, hard.  As for me, my mind can’t fathom the agonizing hours, which hang heavy in our apartment, day after day—however, I can sense this:

LIFE feels as dark as a black cat passing under a ladder at midnight—until Daddy gets home.

When our family doctor advises Jack to get another baby started A.S.A.P., my father agrees with the wisdom inherent in the voice of experience.

While I muse back to that day when Mom nestled close to me while we swung in tandem on my patio, staring up at 'my mountain (the same one that Dad had loved to climb with his grandsons in tow) rising high into a clear, blue sky—my mother's voice, flooded with memory, continues to hold me spellbound:

"One day, I arose from my bed and while walking through a fog, I noticed you trailing after me, looking up at me so sadly that I realized how listless you'd become.  At that moment it dawned on me that before Janet's birth, our entire world had revolved around you.  As I gathered you close—and you clung to me—I realized how lonely and lost you must have felt.  How much you must have needed me.  How much you'd continue to need me.  I mean, you were only three ... and gradually, as this awareness clarified for me, I willed myself to return to life."

In the aftermath of tragic loss

The heartfelt tenderness of a grieving mother

Recognizing her need to embrace
The vulnerability of her surviving child will be mine
However that is not always the case

I know of homes in which

The spirit of loving connectedness

Dies

And joy is never revived…
(Please remember this difference, as it will provide insight as my story evolves)

As my needs will be met, my spirit will revive, and, once again, I'll bask in the good fortune of being my mother's and father's child.

(Once life offers my sagging spirit reason to embark upon a mission of self discovery, you'll see my think tank consciously seek insight into deeper truth as a means of helping my life force to revitalize, naturally, whenever tunnel vision causes me to lose sight of my strong sense of hope.

As you shall see, it's the depth of my sense of hope that inspires my mind to turn negatively focused trains of thought toward positively focused plans, which ultimately create change for the better, all around … But I'm getting much too far ahead of everything I'll have to experience during childhood before the path of self discovery shows itself to me …)

It comes to pass that on January 5, 1948—one month after my fourth birthday—thirteen and a half months after Janet’s mysterious 'disappearance'—my mother and father slip into their coats, bend down, offer me two smiles, two warm hugs, and two kisses as they leave our apartment and drive to the hospital, again.

For the next several days my mother is absent—then, when my high spirited, joyfully attentive father brings her home and his key unlocks the secret to happiness—I run down the hall to greet my parents at our apartment’s front door, and low and behold—what do I see?  Here, in my mother's arms, is a beautiful, baby girl, whose dark hair and small cameo features look a lot like—Janet—to me.  (Did my parents figure out how to bring her back???)

As my mother bends down and I breathe in my first look at the sweet face of my baby sister, does a little voice inside me say:

 “Wow!  What a beautiful, new 'doll'!  I can't wait to play with her!”

Or
Might memory rouse a ghostlike fear, which whispers, chillingly, into my four year old ear:

“Uh oh, Annie!  Here we go, again!  You'd better make sure that this one doesn’t disappear!” 

And, you can bet your bottom dollar that I am not the only person in our apartment, whose mind has absorbed the same, newly acquired, not-so-secret—over-protective fear.

*Once Lauren is placed in Janet's crib, I'll have no clue of acquiring a trait, which, in some ways will serve me well, while in other ways, this sense of empathetic protectiveness will, eventually, create inner conflict each time my needs conflict with the needs of those I love—thus intensifying my itch to get out of my skin.

*It can be difficult to know when a trait, which proves overly protective of others is, in truth, self-protective, as well!

*As that over-protective trait proves highly complex, I'll lose a vital sense of clarity, necessary to differentiate my needs from the needs of those I love.  And each time confusion hits, my voice will clam up.  However none would believe that possible, because if ever a child had personified Chatty Cathy, that child was me.

If you asked: Annie, which portion of your voice will have succumbed to subconscious fear?  I'd reply:  *The portion of my voice, which had succumbed to subconscious fear, had been the little voice of instinct, which did not feel free to clarify my needs—to me.  All that was necessary to make my need seem inconsequential was to see a loved one's frown …

*By the age of three, my need to feed the needs of others and receive their smiles superseded my need to feed any other need of my own.  If after feeding the needs of others a smile was not forthcoming, I felt unloved.  Lonely.  Invisible.  Subconsciously, I'd felt … unlovable and not at all safe …

Though selfless traits are commonly admired, deeper consideration suggests that unidentified anxiety may be in the driver's seat.  And swerving, too often, from one's own lane into another's is less healthy than most may think.

In recent years, while questing for depth in self awareness, I've had reason to ask myself many questions.  For example:

*Does it make sense to remain angry at those who think to know my traits—but do not—when, in truth, I'd failed to know myself as deeply as I'd believed?

*If latent insecurity breeds misperceptions, all around, then doesn't it make sense for each of us to work at identifying subconscious fears in hopes that with insight into deeper truth, clarity, illuminating undeserved guilt, may mend your relationship with yourself?

*Is it not true that The Truth will set us free?  Free of what?  Free of subconscious insecurities, all around!

*Subconscious insecurity causes us to fear—misunderstandings, misjudgments, undeserved guilt, abandonment, again and again!  Once vital relationships take a wrong turn, both sides erect walls; defensive traits buttress opposing points of view and personal strengths go AWOL.

*What, exactly, did Socrates have in mind when he implored his peers to:

KNOW THYSELF!

*Do you have a clue as to which fears tainted the clarity of Socrates' peers?

*Can you name traits, which caused the peers of this sage to 'kill the messenger'?

My family saga concerns personal beliefs in need of reconsideration.

Have you any clue as to how much I'd like to know what you believe, too?

Some time ago, a few brave souls answered my plea to feed my hungry comment box ... Imagine the smile you'll draw forth from within my soul

If, some day soon, you, too, feel free to choose to fly with that flock ...

2014
BTW ... If you don't feel like smiling at me, today, that's okay, for this reason:  As I've come to consciously understand the main reason for my fear of frowns, your friend Annie has gained a true sense of this fact … I've always been worthy of receiving love …