370 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 22

22

Once an inexplicable fear of irretrievable loss burrows deep within the psyche of a highly impressionable child, any situation that hints of mystery, may signal warnings of danger.  When bolts of fear flash through the subconscious, anxiety shatters clarity as fast as a card table's collapse scatters a 500 piece puzzle all over the floor.

It's important to note that fear need not manifest itself in tragic proportions.  Growing up in a house where conflict resolution is determined by he or she who yells loudest, longest, will suffice.  Once levels of hierarchy are established and life settles down, a volatile, emotional environment may seem calm...for a while.  You know what I mean:  The calm before the storm … waiting for the other shoe to drop …

*Upon reflection, insight suggests siblings, who experience dissimilar emotional experiences, will develop character traits, which react to stimuli with different degrees of hypersensitivity to emotional reactivity.  Thus, situations, which develop into hot spots for one may be seen as 'matter of fact' to the other—and vice versa. 

Though, as mentioned in part one of this story, many of these early memories are my mother’s, portions of this detailed portrait of my childhood has been gained by browsing through family albums and reviewing a wealth of home movies, which had been proudly shot by my dad.

On countless occasions I remember sitting in the living room with my family in anticipation of great fun while Dad set up the movie screen, threaded the film through our Kodak projector, and turned off the lights.  I remember sitting in the dark, listening to the clickety-clack of film running through the projector and laughing, along with everyone else, at my antics, playing out before us, on that screen:
Here I am, bigger than life, dancing around in our living room, prancing in the park, wading in the shallow waters of Lake Michigan, tickling my baby sister, Lauren, pulling up her shirt, blowing raspberries on her tummy, giggling as she gurgles, laughing as she laughs, learning to roller skate—stand up, fall down, laugh at myself, stand up, fall down, laugh at myself—on the sidewalk outside our apartment complex—and in many of those albums and movies, where we see Lauren's adorable, little monkey face mimicking everything her big sister chooses to do, we also see white gauze bandages, rolled up and down my arms from my shoulders to my wrists.
Though festive birthday parties with all the trimmings, wind through the projector, Dad didn’t film our countless trips to doctors' offices or my hospitalization.  There are no shots of the medicine cabinet where my collection of prescription salves and tars line the shelves.  No movies show me crying through sleepless nights, while Mom, lying beside me, tries to soothe the burning nature of my itch, which drives me close to crazy and just won't quit, no matter how deeply I scratch.  Since eczema is a hypersensitive skin condition and as my scratching had commenced before Janet’s short life and death, no one will connect the severity of this malady with subconscious anxiety in serious need of release—for decades.  Upon reflection, this condition had manifested itself as my Achilles’ heel—a weak spot, signaling times when I feel sorely confounded, fearfully disturbed, deeply disappointed, or worried of failing in some ‘imperfect’ way to the point that I can't stop itching to get out of my skin until my fear of frowns has been identified.

If you think the last few scenes I've drawn are melodramatic—think again.  Whereas melodrama makes too much of nothing, nothing is more dramatically terrorizing than the inexplicable death of a beloved child, grandchild, sibling—followed by undeserved guilt.
When a baby sister fails to reappear and depression engulfs an entire family, the depth of this tragic horror may cause everyone involved to hold oneself insensibly accountable, and as penance must be paid when the wrath of God casts down a lightening bolt, which proves strikingly impossible to fathom, misery erupts in a variety of highly visual, visceral ways.  Whereas some over-achieve, some depress; some 'act out'; some can't eat; some over eat; some cramp up and bleed.  Why?  Because in the realm of mind-body-spirit, everything is connected.
Over time, I'll come to feel as wretchedly vulnerable and emotionally raw as my lovely mother, my strong father, and my vibrant grandma, who is the most religious of us all.  Day after day, we four remain locked, together, inside a cage, where, upon awakening each morning, the devastating awareness of every parent’s worst possible nightmare bites another chunk out of our hearts—and though I've no clue as to why my heart feels broken beyond repair—thank God, one day I'll come to comprehend that which a small child cannot.
In truth, I'll not have become invisible in the nest—though that 'feeling' will seem real until I learn to think so deep as to reflect back with a growing sense of objectivity, which precedes clarity.  And with clarity, concerning fate and reality, my broken wing will heal.

At three, do I grieve for Janet and yearn for her return?  Do I feel the need to pay penance?  For what loss do I mourn?  *Thank goodness answers to questions, as dark as these, will be mine once I choose to dive so deep into my mind as to peel away defensive layers and watch the light at the end of this tunnel illuminate two hot spots of fear, which had darkened my sense of self.  As insights collect within my mind, like swarms of fireflies flitting through a dark night, I’ll pinpoint a pair of subconscious fears, which, had darkened my trains of thought, narrowing my decision-making abilities for many years.

*When Fate shatters crystal clear peals of laughter into shards of abject devastation, how may the mind of a little monkey face mimic her caretakers’ dark plunge into hell?  What might an energetic three-year old make of the fact that life at home with Mommy and Grandma has changed in confounding ways, but Daddy still goes to work?  (Daddy must to go to work!)  After spending all day with Mommy and Grandma, Annie will wait impatiently for her Daddy's key to open the lock on her heart, which lies, heavily, within her chest, beating as fast as that of a small, scared bird, whose wings are too injured, to focus on anything other than the unraveling of her nest, which had once felt so safe and secure from harm.

Though it may be quite a while before this strong, spirited man feels like swooping up his delighted, little girl, who squeals with glee upon being tossed high in the air, Annie's daddy, who always wears his heart on his sleeve, will hold his wounded, three year old child close to his heart, as soon as he returns to the dismal apartment at the end of each day—day after day—week after week.  And thus, amidst all of these fearsome changes, one thing remains constant:  Annie feels safe and secure, nestling within her big, strong daddy’s protective embrace.

And thus will my father become my hero and best friend.

PS  As our future unfolds, Dad's only son will be born prematurely, too early to live more than a few days.  And when I watch my hero grow sad after his only son is buried, you'll watch me do my utmost to adopt that role, as my own.
By the time I grow up, my brain will fool me into believing myself capable of mending any relationship, which, having fallen off the pier, flails around in the deep end where dark, swirling waters cause confusion enough to pull both people down for the count.  In short, I'll have no clue how to differentiate between problems that I can work to mend vs. learning to accept problematic situations, which extend beyond my control, because it takes two to learn a dance as complicated as a tango.  In most cases, my well practiced, problem solving acuity will provide me with great success.  In others situations, this personal strength will prove my undoing.
Once again,  I write NGU on the board at the start of every family education class.  (Never Give Up)  Never give up on what?  On yourself!  *Because if you don't believe in your strengths, why should anyone else?  I also do not give up on HOPE.  Hope that relationships, which began with sweet dreams will not end in a couple's worst nightmare.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not talking about sticking with abusive partners.  *I'm referring to two people, working to identify defensive walls, on both sides, because making the most of life, where both cups overflow with love, makes much more sense tha looking back with a mind, darked with regret at closing the door when opportunity to embrace change for the better knocks—while misperceiving that others are accountable for your pain.  If we don't learn from history in time to make necessary changes—history repeats itelf.
Though denial may be a healthy place to visit in order to move through trying times, moving into Denialand with yesteryear's baggage tightly packed inside your head doesn't 'work', over the long run.  Why not?  Because if we can't muster the strength to face painful truths, which eventually manage to emerge, then we may not see the need to design a new plan for life when others suggest need for change.  *You see, if one person needs to grow in bright, new, expansive ways, while another shrinks back inside a tunnel of fear, both may find themselves deeply bewildered at feeling alone, each time they come together ... 
Now you tell me: Can I possibly fathom a train of thought as complex as that at the age of three?  In fact, it will prove quite taxing for my mind to put my 500 piece puzzle together once I grow up!  Gosh, I'm getting tired being three!  Got to move this story along ...

369 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 21

21
Imagine Grandma Ella’s mental torment after her daughter and son-in-law flee the apartment, carrying their lifeless bundle, wrapped in pink.  Imagine endless minutes, dragging into hours—imagine Ella pacing, pleading with God to be merciful—until finally, her son-in-law’s key turns the tumbler in the lock.  Ella runs to the door and blanching white as milk, she stands perfectly still, clasping both fists, prayer-like, beneath her chin.  The front door to our apartment swings open.  Jennie and Jack stand framed in the doorway.  The dull glaze of their eyes tells all. As instinct alerts Ella to the fact that far from being over, the anguish has just begun—every fiber of her being electrifies.

Two pairs of grief-struck eyes interlock with my grandma’s tormented stare. When Jennie's legs move woodenly across the threshold where grief awaits after shock wears thin is the powder pink blanket still draped loosely in her hand?

Fifty-five years after Sudden Infant Death Syndrome stole her child, my mother, nestling against me on my patio swing, expresses how she’d watched her mother’s face darken from chalk white to beet red.  And while I listen, utterly rapt, Mom describes Grandma’s fists beating her chest while agonized shrieks repeat this refrain:

C
“Oy Gudt!  Gudt! It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!  Why didn't I check on her?”

Jeannie, crying—grasps her mother’s shoulders, attempting to reassure her to no avail—

“Ma! The doctor said it’s no one’s fault.  Ma! It’s not your fault!”

While my small, up turned face plays anxious witness to the alarming nature of heart-piercing torment on all sides, my left hand reaches up toward one long, dark, shiny braid, which I’ll hold against my cheek, while my left thumb (always my left thumb) slides reassuringly into my mouth.  Now, with fingers tucking the curl at the end of that sweet smelling plait, comfortingly, under my nose, bewilderment, expressed in my eyes, remains fixed on scenes of mental torment, just like this one, which will take center stage in our lives for quite a long time.  For weeks without end, the braid on the right side of my head swings in synchronized motion with the upward tilt of my woebegone expression, which spins from Mommy's face to Daddy's to Grandma's, and thus does the sponge-like mind of a vulnerable child soak in anguished devastation, sucking human spirits dry of joy.

Had a camera snapped my image during that lengthy time, extending month after month, I’m sure a photo album would show the nails on my right hand scratching intensely into the crook of my left arm; however, here’s something no photo can expose:  Little by little, an anxious sense of insecurity will drill a hole into a four year old's high spirited, frightened little soul.  And from that fateful time forward, the self-confident nature of this blue-eyed, dark haired, little girl will have sprung a secret leak.

As twenty-four hour days drag into weeks and months and this torturous time extends without end, imagine me lying on the living room floor, or curled up in my favorite spot, under the octagon, Chinese table in our front hall, sucking my thumb, twirling the curl at the end my braid, wondering—as did my mother and father—what happened to our baby?  Where did my baby sister go? Why did Janet disappear? Why couldn't she come back?  Why is everyone crying?  Why can't Mommy get out of bed?  What reassuring words can comfort a frightened child when a mysterious disappearance combines with heart-wrenching declarations of personal guilt on the part of one of three primary caregivers?
Then, after several weeks—when a crushing weight is unexpectedly foisted upon my mother—what impact might another sudden ice storm lay upon a four year old's psyche, which has been swerving away from 'centered' during this crucial stage of emotional development?  How might fearful traits, filtering into core strengths, influence invisible changes in my relationships?
As compassion melts into empathy, what will result when I can no longer sense one from the other?  And what of the relationship that I'm actively developing with myself?  How might the overwhelmed, undeveloped brain of a small child employ her defense system to dismiss excessive fears, which flood the conscious mind with confusion, self-doubt, anxiety and empathetic reactions as weeks and months go by?  *As I grow toward adulthood, how might subconscious anxiety coupled with empathy weave into the fiber of my parenting techniques?
(Thank goodness, I'll feel curiously compelled to attend parenting classes where a slew of adopted vulnerabilities will begin to absorb the importance of listening and speaking skills!)

If you ask why I'm drawing this self-portrait with such precise detail, I’d say:  As children’s personalities evolve, it's often difficult to differentiate between traits, which are innate and those acquired, experientially.  One day I’ll choose to stop sucking my thumb; however heightened levels of anxiety will cause me to itch to get out of my skin, throughout most of my life.  *Though the intensity of this itch will always be in direct proportion to how frightened, disillusioned, or disappointed I’ll feel behind the shield of my ever-ready-to-please-or-solve smile—that fact will remain unidentified until I have reason to study the ways in which denial erects defensive walls, behind which I'll keep scary secrets from myself.

In another self-portrait, which is easy for me to conjure up, today, we’d see a snap shot of a self-reliant little girl, who’ll have learned to keep herself contentedly entertained with books.  However, somewhere inside the darkroom of this child’s subconscious, a negative will not develop into a recognizable photograph until insight illuminates the main root of her anxieties, several decades, later.  Once this negative has been developed and held up to the light, we'll clearly see highlights, showing this child’s habit of rarely verbalizing any personal problems, which might caused a downcast expression to appear on either of her parents’ faces, as you'll see when we review the series of posts entitled: BULLY FOR ME.

Whenever fear or disappointment strikes my heart, denial will smother my cries, thus highlighting my inability to articulate the depth of pain I hide—from myself—in a pocket of my mind.  (Have you read the series of posts entitled: FIRST KISS?)    Once I’m finally able to differentiate my pain from that of my parents, I’ll consider myself fortunate, because it’s impossible to follow one’s heart until we do not fear flying solo.  *As you shall see, I'll have lots to learn about relationships, which grow enmeshed vs. those that grow close, in that the latter offers each person brain space to think clearly enough to make 'unpopular' decisions, based upon self trust.  *In short, I won't develop into myself until I recognize my vulnerabilities and work to free inner strengths, which childhood confusion had tied into knots.

As LIFE evolves and circumstances change, there is reason why the emotional climate within each home takes on a uniquely different atmosphere for every child.  *With depth perception, it becomes apparent that siblings, who share the same parents in the same house, are raised in dissimilar emotional environments.  I've come to believe it's easier to offer children roots than wings.
*While some children grow up feeling parched for affection, others may feel enmeshed or smothered, while at the other end of the spectrum, a fourth group stands separate and observant or openly rebellious.  Then there are children, who are consciously encouraged to develop such a sense of self trust that, with each step, taken toward adulthood, they feel open enough to discuss their discouragements, fears and differing opinions.  Rather than being chided when they don't conform, these children are gently guided to confront and work through their fears in such a mindful way as to achieve success in various aspects of life by approaching long-range goals in a step-by-step brainstorming fashion.  As the fears of these children are aired in an environment where emotional safety is assured, their instinctive connection to self confidence is enhanced for this reason:  When role models consciously tame their own impatience and tantrums by way of embracing creative methods of self control, anxiety quells, all round.  And thus does common sense suggest that children—who learn by emulating adult role models who have learned to approach problems with patience intact—will eventually brain storm toward solutions by carving channels into their minds, where trains of thought, necessary to making wise decisions, develop, over time. 
*As there are healthy and unhealthy ways to offer love, receive love, and feel loved, pockets of insecurity, which give rise to anxieties, exacerbate confusion within us all.  Once confusion gets the upper hand, love signals, which feel natural to one, may be misperceived and thus 'feel' strangely ominous to another ...

We often hear love is grand ... And that is true unless inner conflict creates confusion, and rather than feeling grand, love swerves off course, and life grows crazier by the day!  If today's train of thought rings a bell, I hope you'll stick around, so I can show you what Annie chooses to do during those mind blowing stages when each of her adorable babies turns two, and then in a flash, she finds herself raising a passel of t'weens and teens—and when she feels sorely unheard—guess who goes on strike!

Hey!  I just realized that I've been developing some portion of my voice for most of my life … and perhaps the same is true of you!!

368. TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 20

20

He who is not conquering fear, every day, has not yet learned the secret to life.
                                                                             Ralph Waldo Emerson
When a home, filled with laughter and merriment, flips into the realm of mystery and loneliness—and if this unwelcome change remains frightening and chaotic for too long—then a deep sense of subconscious confusion may seep into a young mind.  If this sense of conflicted apprehension is not resolved then self doubt may develop, and anxiety, which accompanies self doubt, may block clarity of thought, over time.
As tragic experiences cannot be erased from the pathways of the mind, my ‘secret’ source of anxiety will spike whenever I face the choice of pleasing myself or pleasing someone I love.  As anxiety and inner conflict go, hand in hand, I'll find it exceptionally difficult to honor my needs over the needs of loved ones, friends, or colleagues, for decades to come.
On the other hand, once joy returns to our household, my relief will be so great that I'll stretch to great lengths ensure that warm smiles, beaming in my direction, will 'secure' my sense of inner peace.  However, I'll remain unaware of this fear:
In large part, my eagerness to please will be due to the fact that my mind will have absorbed 'a-waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop-attitude'.  And as one day in the distant future, the other shoe will drop, I'll have reason to revisit the chaos, which had terrified me at three.

Since this hanging ‘sense’ of tragedy will remain undetected within my subconscious for many decades to come, I'll adopt a strong need for self-control.  And once the other shoe drops, I'll feel compelled to tunnel into the past in hopes of exhuming misperceived beliefs, which had diminished my sense of self trust.
Throughout my adult life, I'll feed my need to resolve conflicts by absorbing, teaching, and writing articles about family communication skills.  On the other hand, I'll have no clue as to why this need proves so compelling.
For years, I'll drive myself down this path, believing that I didn't want to yell at my children.  It didn't occur to me that though most parents don't want to yell, the desire to be patient and kind does not compel most people to read countless books about developing speaking, listening skills, as well as personal accountability.  In short, I'll have no clue as to what had actually driven my need to devote hours of energy to this quest, every day, during the early-to-rise-non-stop-years of raising my rambunctious family.
If asked, Annie, when did you find time to be an integral part of active family life, while studying, teaching, writing, sitting on boards, taking up tennis, horse back riding, skiing, and enjoying an extensive social life in general?  I'd say:  Youth was not wasted upon me when I was young.  I'd felt more compelled to absorb this information, which still fascinates me to no end, than to sit down and relax.  I'd no clue why watching TV appealed to so many.  I spent my youth living.  And when I did relax, a novel, concerning family life, was often seen in my hand.  Now that my family is grown, I've come to appreciate another aspect of life—sleeping.
As I've had good reason and ample time to learn how to take better care of my needs, I enjoy studying, teaching, writing, socializing, reading, and sleeping!  *When it comes to patience with my work progressing, I've come to embrace:  Everything in its own good time.  *When it comes to self control, I've come to embrace:  Everything in it's proper place.  *When it comes to accepting unwelcome change, a dollop of flexibility is key to peace of mind.

As years pass and my quest to deepen self-awareness proves fruitful, I've grown aware of the nature of my subconscious (and thus secret) fears.  As I learn to take better care of my needs, I'll watch my relationships undergo a series of unsettling changes, which few will understand.  As a result of coming to 'know myself' more fully, my decision-making process will deviate from that which others had come to expect of me.  Though I'll consciously consider my needs, I'll not value the concept of generosity of spirit less.  Even so, I'll hear words like 'selfish', and all hell will break loose—inside me.  Why inside me? My habitual hold on self control will have become so well developed that I'll unwittingly repress frustration until inner conflict wholly exhausts my mind, body, and spirit.  As we move through the stories of my life, and you watch me work to identify personal vulnerabilities in hopes of developing inner strengths, I'll serve as an example of the human need for balance.   Centeredness.  Inner peace.

On the other hand, what may fate have in store for a child born in the aftermath of our family's  tragedy?  Which traits might this child, who'd not tumbled into an abyss of sustained torment, adopt?  Might a death, which had occurred before this baby's birth, influence the adoption of self defeating  traits, as well?

Misperceptions
Concerning ourselves and others
Run rampant for many reasons
*Misperceptions mess with our minds
How doth I know this to be true?
I've seen Much Ado About Nothing
And though some things change
*Human nature stays crazily the same
So, we all need to get a clue
As to when your brain is fooling you
Or my brain is fooling me
In short, it's helpful to know when
Our brains are fooling us, both!

If, at this point, you ask:  

Why did you become a pleaser?  Why didn't you 'act out' for attention, instead?

I'd answer:  Let's track back to my childhood, and every question, left dangling, will be answered in its own good time...

367 A REASON FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING IN ITS PROPER PLACE ...

By and by
You'll see examples of
Both sides of denial

By and by

You'll see that Mother Nature provides passage into Denialand

For good reason

By and by
You'll witness times when short 'visits' to Denialand
Will help me to move forward through agonizing times of high anxiety

By and by
You'll see how settling in for an indefinite stay
Creates smokescreens, which blow all sense of reality away

By and by
You'll see how lengthy stays in Denialand
Blind us to the acquisition of self defeating traits

By and by
You'll see how
Self awareness offers clarity to detect and tweak my defeating traits

By and by
You'll see how

Old dogs, with open minds, grow eager to learn new tricks!

By and by
You'll see how, the power of knowledge
Inspires defensiveness to shrink

By and by

You'll see how understanding

Opens mind space for personal growth

By and by
You'll see how, over time
Personal growth spurs changes for the better—all around

By and by
You, too, may seek deeper levels of clarity
Where one stops misperceiving of apples as oranges—for example:

Whenever you hear:  Leopards can't change their spots
You may respond, good-naturedly
True, but I'm a person, not a leopard!

After writing post 366
I felt the need to lift my mood (change my attitude)
So I sat down to pen a post, which might inspire my spirit to smile

And as I've achieved this short-range goal ...
By spending a moment resuscitating a positive mind set—
My spirit is eager to enjoy the sunny plans, which await me, today!
J

366 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 19

 Though I plan to begin to reveal the most painful details as TWINKLE TWINKLE continues to unfold in this post, I feel the need, in the interest of clarity, to review the moments before Janet could not be awakened from her nap.  I also feel the need to preface Part 19 of TWINKLE TWINKLE with this train of thought: 

It's important to note that a hanging ‘sense’ of tragedy will remain ingrained within my unconscious awareness for many decades to come.  And thus will my mind come to value a heightened appreciation for developing a strong sense of self-control, which will influence the way I choose to raise my children, down the road.  As tragic experiences cannot be erased, I feel the need to reexamine the consequences of emotional chaos in hopes of regaining a sense of inner peace, which I'd lost at the tender age of three.  As you read this post, I hope you'll ask yourself:  What might occur in the mind of a child who has no clue why her entire adult support system has fallen into an abyss of sustained torment?  What might this child make of Janet's mysterious disappearance?  What self defeating traits might chaos (and misperception) cause this child to unwittingly adopt?  As with everything else, there’s bad news and good news.

The bad news is this:  *It’s true that the chaos surrounding my sister's death catalyzed my acquisition of character traits, which did not serve me well.  The good news is this:  *By way of seeking out and working to apply insight to my life, fearful traits, acquired during childhood, may be identified, examined and tweaked for the better, once instinct leads me to develop into a deeply reflective adult.  In short, *open minds can reconsider preceptions at every age and stage of life.  Before we move forward in the life of a three-year old child, whose baby sister had 'mysteriously disappeared', let's go back and review the moments before anyone could possibly have fathomed what fate had in store for our family, next:
Since a gathering of dark clouds is beginning to hide the sun, which is sinking in the west, it’s time for Grandma to push open that screen door, so you and she can walk toward the buggy in which Janice had been napping on our back porch.

Grandma pushes the screen door open, steps out onto our private back porch, and upon bending over the navy blue buggy to rouse the ‘sleeping’ infant, the sudden shrillness of her scream, as she shouts out my mother’s name—Jennie!”—slices through my parents’ hearts as though they’ve been simultaneously stabbed by the same, sharp knife.  Dad‘s whistle dies midstream; groceries fall from my parents’ hands straight to the floor, and as fast as flying arrows pierce the air, the terrified couple flies toward Ella’s shrieks.

Crashing through the screen door, Mom’s and Dad’s eyes dart from the panicked expression on Grandma’s face to their baby’s sleeping form. Janet’s lifeless body lays heavily in the center of the buggy—just as she’d been laid to rest several hours ago—on her tummy, face to one side, long lashes sweeping down toward one sweet cherubic cheek.

Imagine my blond, blue eyed, solidly packed, five-foot-six, startled young father standing next to my sweet terrified young mother, as they and Grandma huddle around the buggy, peering frantically down at the baby who’d been so pink-cheeked, bright eyed and vibrantly alive only three, short hours ago—

         Imagine the expression of horror that imprints deeply into Jennie’s, Jack’s, and Ella’s faces as my mother lifts the small, limp baby out of that buggy, and Janet’s chin falls solidly against her chest—

         Imagine my mother cradling her child, attempting to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation, while my father spins around—flings open the screen door and holds it for my mother so the panic stricken pair can run through the dining room and tear down the hall—with my terror-stricken grandmother in close pursuit.

         Imagine a little girl, two weeks shy of three, staring up at her terror-struck mother, who’d grabbed a powder pink blanket out of the buggy to wrap around her precious baby, who's cold to the touch.

         Imagine three adults dashing through the dining room and down the hallway—while running in close pursuit—pulling up the rear is—the little caboose.

         Imagine my mother crying out, “Jack! Jack!  She’s OK!  She’s OK!”  Because the baby’s body is exhaling the breath that my mother will continue to blow into her daughter’s tiny mouth—all the way to the hospital.

         Imagine my father grabbing up the car keys on the telephone table—yanking our apartment’s front door open, so he, Mom, and their precious bundle can rush into the hall and down those same three flights of stairs without giving a thought to putting on coats—

Imagine a pair of pounding hearts running toward their car—leaping in—driving to the hospital as fast as the wind—

Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Breathe Janice.  Breathe

Oh God—please breathe, Janet, breathe!

Imagine my super-hero dad parking the car—

Turning off the ignition—

Flinging open his door—

Jumping out the driver’s side—

Running around the car to help his wife—

Imagine Jennie and Jack running into the emergency room—

A nurse takes Janet out of Jennie’s terrified, protective arms—

Imagine Jack sitting down.  Filling out paper work—

(Filling Out Paper Work????)

Imagine Jennie and Jack pacing while waiting—praying—

Pleading with G-d—Waiting—Waiting—praying—

Pleading—Waiting—Until finally—

They stand still as statues made of marble as a white-coated doctor walks toward them—and hearts pounding—they keep hoping—

Till that last shred of hope snaps in half—

Imagine their minds registering the opaque expression on the doctor’s face.

Do words make sense when a stranger explains that he can’t explain why their baby is irretrievably—gone?

How does one make sense of words that make no sense at all— 

Imagine two heavy lumps pumping hard and fast enough to burst inside Jennie’s and Jack’s chests, as irrational hope dies as surely as did their child.

Imagine the fiery throbbing that takes place inside their brains as though a red-hot iron vice is squeezing against the temples on both sides of their heads.

Imagine the impossibility of walking out of that hospital—

The impossibility of driving home—

The impossibility of leaving their tiny daughter behind—

With strangers—

In a morgue—

Imagine an autopsy ordered to determine the unknown cause of death—

Imagine my mother and father standing—

Turning to each other after the doctor, expressing his condolences, walks away—

Do they hold each other tight?

Do they sob?  Or has each frozen solid where they stand?

My mother doesn’t remember.  My father’s not living to ask.

Imagine two zombies walking out of that hospital.

Imagine all you like.

Though we can try to imagine every scene, we can’t imagine what Jennie and Jack felt, unless we’ve walked in their shoes.

All you and I can feel, today, is compassion growing strong.

We can’t fathom the pain that Jennie and Jack must endure as hours become days and days become weeks—unless your sense of empathy has experienced the torture of all-consuming, irretrievable grief.
Have you ever experienced a life or death situation, concerning your child?  

If Jack holds the car door open for Jennie that’s because it is his habit.  Picture she and then he droppiing heavily into their seats.

As the young couple sit side by side, an instinctive state of shock swallows the mind whole, thus allowing my parents some semblance of sanity.

Do they cry as they ride—side by side?

Toward their apartment, where Grandma paces and I watch in shock—

Because cry their eyes dry, over time, they certainly will—

Feelinghelplesshopelessdisbelievingwhollydevastated—

How does Jack concentrate on the road?
How empty are Jennie's arms?

How robotic can the human brain become?

How will they stand it when agony attacks their brains, pounds nails into their hearts, and ties their colons into knots once conscious awareness breaks through shock’s temporary merciful, mental fog?

My mother does remembers this:

“No!  No!”

Jennie cries out loud as Jack steers their car through traffic –

“It didn’t happen!  I don’t believe it happened!

It can’t have happened!  What happened?

Jack!  What happened?  What happened?

Where is she?  Where is she?  Janet!  Janet! –

“NO!  NO! NO!”

A changed man and woman step out of that car.  Jennie and Jack walk on legs that feel like logs.  Lifting feet, heavy as bricks, they climb back up those three flights of stairs.  If a brown paper bag, filled with groceries, had been forgotten and left behind on the back seat, earlier in the day, will it matter when that soggy bag sours the upholstery with a permanent stain?  *Who cares for 'things' when an emotional tornado tears through the mind, drowns the spirit, torments the soul, and whips the infrastructure of a nervous system—flat? 

        *Is there any wonder that we know people who have privately experienced so much emotional chaos that—in order to numb their minds to pain, which has grown intolerable—their high flying spirits deflate, little by little, over time?  *Might depression or denial offer solace, when clarity can't stand on its own?

       And what do we make of those who misjudge any anesthetized mind as having come too easily unstrung?  *Must the intelligence of an exhausted person stand on a soapbox and relate a detailed account of all he or she has chosen to endure—quietly—heroically—in the name of love—before a crowd of Doubting Thomas' reconsider hasty judgments and think to offer up the benefit of the doubt?

         As days and weeks pass, and night falls, will each person in this family awaken—in agony—as dark trains of thought, filled with undeserved guilt, thrash back and forth inside minds, anguishing over questions, such as —‘What could I have done differently?  What did I miss?  Or—Why didn't I think to check on her?’
       As two broken hearted parents rage war against fate, reflecting over every detail that the most responsible parents on Earth could not have changed, dark days will blur into endless nights—because night lasts forever and the sun does not shine when peace of mind edges over a cliff, and hearts feel dashed against the jagged rocks of LIFE.

(On second thought, make that four severely wounded hearts.   Jennie’s.  Jack’s,  Ella’s.  And one terribly frightened little girl.)

A myriad of ‘mistakes’ commonly takes place when the heart/mind connection remains overwrought, over long.  *When the central nervous system stresses, strains, and stretches in distress beyond belief—release—or relief, it’s imperative that each person recognizes turning points before breaking points occur—otherwise, one may slip into depression ... denial ... or both.  *We often do not recognize signs of depression creeping up, because a spirit, engulfed within a fog, is unaware of being swallowed whole.

When every adult in a family has been struck, how might the surrealistic nature of such a drastic change affect the emotional development of a very young child, whose round, bright eyes are transfixed upon her personal loss—which would be—the safe haven of 'her world', spinning off it’s axis, spiraling up side down and crashing to a staggering stop inside a bottomless well that’s black as Hell.  Which part of this hellish turmoil can an inexperienced, attentive mind possibly process while waiting fearfully in the apartment, sucking her thumb and keeping close watch over her distraught grandma, who can't stop wringing her hands while wailing to God, as she paces back and forth from room to room until the small child’s parents’ return—with no baby to be seen?  And what of details, in the aftermath of that dreadful day, which few, if any, had known?  Details that I could not know until many decades had passed, and my 88 year old mother opened her memory bank and shocked me beyond belief while we were relaxing, side by side, on my patio swing, staring at the mountain, directly behind my house.  I remember my foot stomping the ground, stopping the relaxing, sway of that swing.  I remember blood pumping through my body as my head swung away from the peaceful mountain landscape and toward my mom.  I remember trying to fathom this memory, which she'd consciously secreted away—to protect someone she'd loved.
Later, upon regaining my composure, I reflected, more deeply upon details that I'd never known.  And I realized that after holding her tongue for all these years, my mother had offered me the opportunity to witness an amazing example of unconditional love.  *At that point, I came to see that unconditional love tends to offer up tons of pain unless insight leads a wounded heart and mind toward understanding and healing, which results in gain ... at first for one ... and then ... with patience/positive focus/hope and time ... healing may be inspired to spread ... all around.  

365 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 18

Time and again, SELF PROTECTIVENESS has reason to develop.   Time and again, Self protectiveness is the underlying reason why loving relationships grow complex, over time.  And though that's true in good times as well as bad, it's especially true in the aftermath of tragedy when fearful attitudes plague the mind with inner conflicts, which gnaw at inner peace.  *As inner conflict interferes with the development of self trust, here's what tends to develop instead:  Subconscious hot spots of insecurity, which may go undetected for decades on end
*Once I'd acquired this subconscious trait of self doubt,  fearful attitudes caused me to grow over-cautious, without any clue that my mind had absorbed self defeating traits, which would not serve me well.  And thus, in lieu of self awareness, I'll have no clue of this fact:  *Any experience that remotely rattles the latent memory of a deeply buried fear may cause anxiety to erupt.  *Once anxiety erupts, my defensive attitude may weaken the fabric of deeply valued friendships, romances, or professional relationships until I muster the courage to trust myself, more deeply, as time goes on.
Each time a subconscious 'memory' of pain takes a bite out of my sense of inner peace, you'll watch anxiety power up.  *As anxiety derails a straightforward track of mind, you'll watch clarity fog up and openness lean toward secretiveness.  And thus will the trustful comfort of conversations wain.  *In lieu of self-trust, anxiety heightens; vicious cycles pick up steam, and many aspects of life, which had once felt clearly secure, fog up and barrel down hill.
If you ask why that scenario is as true, today, as when the bard had lived and breathed to ink his quill, here is what I'd say:  There's bad news and good news.
Let's get the bad news out of the way, first:  *As long as both sides of human nature exist, every generation will face classic, universal and thus, timeless dilemmas ... *When traits, such as openness and trustfulness wain, emotional intimacy does the same.  *Once a frightened mind escapes from pain by seeking refuge in Denialand, self-trust has no chance to mature.  *If latent insecurities, carried over from childhood, remain raw, then one negative train of thought leads to another until negative attitudes fog up the logical thought processing center in our minds.
*If, over time, denial blocks one mind (or both) from acknowledging everything that's barreled down hill, it's impossible to engage in discussions, where honesty clears misperceptions and sparks of tension from the air.  *Eventually, distrust heightens frustration on both sides;  two defensive walls are raised; separate camps develop, and masks and shields hide how painfully spirits are drooping on both sides.  *If misperceptions continue to pile up and if neither wall is dismantled, all may lose sight of working, together, to take positive steps toward narrowing the gap, which widens if left on its own.

When misperceptions go undetected, a variety of unresolved issues may seem to fuse into one, and hopes of  resolving conflicts may become a lost cause.   At this point, two loving minds may have soaked in so much emotional chaos that neither partner can tell which end is up or ‘who’s on first’.

*As frustration builds behind both walls, fuses shorten, and erupting fireworks, which are bound to blow off steam, do not present a pretty sight for any to behold.

As to the good news:  With insight into defense mechanisms, which build walls around our insecurities, we come to see why trust and mutual respect must feel nourished if love is to deepen, flourish and burst into full bloom.  With self awareness, dark attitudes stop drilling holes into logic; half full cups, which had sprung leaks, refill, and once insecurity stops pricking each other's balloons, we grow wiser in terms of celebrating each other's steps toward personal growth, day by day.

A relationship is like the climate in the Midwest, which grows better or worse, but doth not stay the same, very long.  *This post expresses my belief that a union made in heaven can transform into everyone's worst possible nightmare, one step at a time—if—trust stumbles and tumbles down hill—with no one growing the wiser as to how depth in self awareness may save the day.  *I've also come to see why positive focus plus patience, on the part of one mind, may begin to turn vicious cycles around, over time.
When asked why I work faithfully to turn insecure cycles around, my answer is simple:  The good health of my family is worth the work.  *In fact, being instrumental in catalyzing a rebirth of harmonic family life is the most crucial work I've undertaken, as of yet.
*As trust must continue breathing life into love, there are dark days ahead for two people who remain unaware of  the fact that insecurity causes us to drop each other’s hands.  As the dropping of hands leads to rolling toward the edge of the bed, a space opens for the devil to whisper of greener grass, beckoning from the other side of the fence.
With insight into defense mechanisms, which build walls of denial around insecurities, we come to see why trust and mutual respect strengthen the interconnectedness of two hearts and minds.  *Once we work to readjust negative attitudes, life lightens up; clarity fills in a story's holes; misperceptions clear up; cups overflow and generosity of spirit blows up each other's balloons!  How do I know this to be true?  Patience, my friend—once we turn off the heartbreak faucet, heartwarming stories will begin to pour forth.
*As instinct led me to study, teach and absorb family dynamics for several decades, I’ve come to believe that self doubt, which heightens anxiety, may be the culprit that erodes loving relationships, more often than we know.  *Since no one escapes childhood emotionally unscathed, shadows of self-doubt may be the ornery critters that darken perceptions into misperceptions.
*To our great misfortune, misperceptions distort the innocent intentions of loved ones in the same way that a fun house mirror alters the reflected image of each person, who stands before it.  *In short, that which we see through eyes of fear may distort the truth of another's vulnerabilities and strengths.  If you ask why we see certain people as 'better' than they are, while we 'see' others in a darker light ... well the complexity inherent in that answer will simplify, story by story.  On the other hand, here's a simplified answer that I can offer up, today:

*We tend to white wash the traits of certain people while painting the traits of others in a darker hue because—love is blind.  When love blinds us to clarity, we dismiss painful realities by moving into Denialand, where personal growth gets stuck inside a ton of baggage.   And we mistake narrowness for loyalty.
*Those of us who come down too hard on our own vulnerabilities tend to 'put down' the vulnerabilities of others, as well.  *In short,  if you expect too much of yourself, you'll expect too much of others, and if we expect too much of another, disappointment is sure to follow.  Once you learn to give yourself room to grow, that's when you'll 'do un to others ...' (and not before!)
If you wonder what this post has to do with traits acquired by two siblings, whose first five years of life had differed dramatically ... let's see what took place, right after my baby sister, Janet, died ... and then we'll witness environmental changes, which took place after my baby sister, Lauren was born  ...
PS  I've tired of highlighting certain insights to resemble light sabers, which empower our minds to ignite positive change.  In order to nip my growing sense of frustration in the bud, I've chosen to simplify this process, by starring those insights, instead.  *Lots of stars within a post points to the fact that I've readied my mind to re-experience a terrifying time, with less fear, due to absorbing insights more deeply than before ... J

364 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 17

 As many weeks have passed since I posted part 16 of this story, you might want to reread that post (and if you are new to my blog, you might consider reviewing the whole story, thus far).  In this way, your memory may be refreshed before we move forward—at long last—today!

Though the shocking nature of Janet's loss is huge, I’ve come to believe certain character traits, which I’d adopted in the wake of my baby sister’s death, may not have developed had the attitude of one family member not readjusted several weeks after fate hit our family with this irreversible tragedy.  And that's why I believe this vital concept must be considered:  Attitude is everything … therefore a change in attitude has the power to make any situation better … or worse.

Every now and then, during the course of my life, I’ve listened to my mother describe ‘the shock, panic, and horror’ which tore through my parents’ hearts so powerfully as to alter their perception of God’s protective arms embracing human life.  As you can imagine, the horror of a darling child’s shocking death catalyzed dramatic changes in all four surviving lives.  Excuse me. As this story continues to unfold, the nature of Janet’s death will have played a vital role in shaping or reshaping five lives rather than four.  Why five?  Because in addition to Grandma,  we must remember to include a child who will never have met Janet.  This child, to whom I refer, will be born into a family that has learned to fear sudden, inexplicable (and thus, emotionally chaotic) loss.

Common sense suggests that this baby's early childhood experiences will differ greatly from those of the surviving older sister.  And thus will my parents’ third child adopt a set of character traits utterly different from my own, because of this fact:  *Experience shapes attitudes in unconscious ways.  I often hear people wondering aloud about this next fact:  "My two children were raised in the same home by the same parents … why are their traits so different?"  Reflection suggests that fate offered my parents reason to reconsider certain attitudes, beliefs and decisions. As beliefs, attitudes and decisions change, so does the emotional environment, which influences the development of each child. Thus it's likely that siblings may not be raised as similarly as we surmise.
As my experiences differed dramatically from Lauren's during the formative, first five years of our lives, let’s take a deeper look at my first five years and see why I'd developed certain traits before we look at traits, which had developed, differently, in a child, born in the aftermath of a fearsome, family tragedy.  *As you shall see, good reason exists for children to remember a shared childhood so differently that their perceptions of themselves, each other, and family life, shape up differently, as well ...