If Love has no time limit, does Grief?

It has nearly been 9 months since that evening in August when family and friends watched as Carleton passed from this realm.  In the months since, I have stayed busy, moving from issue to issue, task upon task, addressing event after event.

For the first four months, it was difficult to have more than one thought, one focus at a time.  Grief brought a volcanic eruption of emotion that covers every inch of life within the bounds of existence.  Yet, Time provides the benefit of distance from that moment when Death's door opens and Love stolen away.  Events require attention, people attempt to connect, and important skills begin to surface once again as Life cajoles me to move forward.  At times, Life has a way of reminding you that Time has not stopped for anyone, it is just being less demanding at the moment.

In the last nine months, I have felt a plethora of emotions.   I would say that it would be easier to list the emotions I have not felt, but I could not list one.  As with any intimate loss, what may be most jarring is the emptiness.  Living in those moments when you do not remember the last smile, the last time you kissed, the last time you were held, the last time you fought.  The first few months were confusing how overwhelming my emotions were to feel and yet be able to breathe.  Time has provided new abilities to constrain those emotions, cooling them.  Yet, after any volcanic eruption of severe magnitude, it is easy to move forward and enter a moment that catches you unaware.  Those moments feel as if you break through the newly formed floor back into the searing magma of emotions, if only for minutes.

For me, the first few months my body simply needed to recover.  My skin tone returned from gray to flush.  By month four, I had regained a semblance of my normal sleep cycle.  By month five, I felt pretty strong, emotionally and at peace with all that had occurred in 2013.  Yet, it was in months seven and eight that I have had surprises.

With my new emotional landscape calming, I began to look outward.  Yet, it seems with every television program, every aspect of life, each observation of others, I am reminded that I have lost something that my heart and mind desperately wants to regain.  Spring has come and with it new experiences and surprises.

I visited Celia at her home in Palm Springs.  It was warm and the second day there, in the early morning, I threw off the comforter that covered me.  In that moment, it seemed, the smallest bit of my brain which had either not been paying attention or had merely been lulled into the past raised an alarm.  The weight of comforters was enough to convince some part of my being that Carleton was still with me.  And, the act of throwing the comforter off, that weight jarred a part of my sense of self and triggered that small place of denial into great panic and grief.  It was as if I had not grieved at all.  That small portion of my brain or self was just now starting to grieve the way the rest of me had grieved for months.  It was ready to create another eruption of emotion.

What could I do?  It has been over 6 months since Carleton had died.  But, here I was again in the midst of grief almost as intense as the weeks following his death.  On the drive back home, the grief was so intense that as I cried, I even gripped my hand closed as if I was holding Carleton’s hand, I missed him so much.  Because, we would have been holding hands on the drive home.

Now, of course, my practical side begins flaring in alarm.  It is only expected that in the first few months’ people have to give someone in grief “space” to address their loss.  But, what about after the first 6 months?  Good grief!  Did I need medication?  Is this normal?  This must be a little excessive to feel this intensity of grief again!  Grief should be on a schedule just like anything else.  I think I could allow it some hours next Tuesday.  Would that work?  All these questions, judgments and fears came rushing to the front.  I feel pretty confident that those who grieve do worry about a time limit for grief imposed by others.  And, worry too, about our own imposing when we feel a need to verbalize our grief.

What I realized over the course of the next two weeks was that a part of me simply had refused to participate in the generalized “group grief” the majority of my brain and heart had experienced over the last 6 months.  This small part that was deep inside had simply found a way to avoid Carleton’s death.  It clung to the weight of a comforter to prove it was simply a nightmare and was awaiting the finish of the dream.  It had become numb to the overwhelming immediacy of the loss and the passing of Carleton’s death.  It had hidden from reality and had chosen to hibernate.  The lifting of the comforter was truly surprising and wrenching.  That action had ripped away the comfort which had been provided to a small amount of my hibernating memory.  Its responsive grief was volcanic.

As this part of me began to erupt in grief, another part of me was exasperated with the entire grief process.  And, if I was feeling exasperated, I began to worry that those who care about me most were exasperated with my grieving, too.  Worse, I became concerned that those who simply knew I had recently had this tragic loss would be thinking “get over it already”. 

I attempted to force the grief out, down, back, whatever I could to “get back on track”.  Yet, the more I attempted to control how I felt, the less in control I felt.  How was I to manage these volcanic eruptions?

Ultimately, that is the process of grief.  Grief is.  It is the sister of Loss.  And, the reality is that Grief is going to be as loud as the pain of our Loss.  It seems that when Love passes through the Door of Death, Loss and Grief arrive.  They are never welcome nor expect to be welcomed.  Yet, Loss allows us to “see” our lost Love while Grief communicates the impact.  These twin sisters are a poor replacement for Love but the only ones allowed.  They are treasured and scorned by our Memory.  And frankly, Time does not control or have the ability to minimize Grief or Loss.  Time merely provides an avenue to create distance from these two Sisters. 

As I arrived at this understanding, I begin to breathe again.  Approaching Grief and Loss like a sister is a concept I can appreciate.  I have a great sister.  And, like my sister, Grief and Loss can be unpredictable.  Allowing space and time to allow healing when rifts occur makes absolute sense.  They must be handled with care, avoided at times, faced at times, visited at times, and definitely not taken for granted.  There will be times they require attention and some of those times will be at unexpected moments, moments that may be quite painful to experience.

But, hopefully, as in the case of my sister, these twin replacements for Love, perhaps, can find a place of peace in my Heart.  Grief and Loss will always be a part of me because they reside where Love once lived.  And, Love, being eternal, had a place for eternity in my heart.  Like my sister, they will always be in my thoughts, unlikely ever to be forgotten.  And, like my sister, perhaps we can exist without another seismic eruption to disturb the landscape for a great time to come.

Dining Out for Life San Diego, April 24th

Would you join me on April 24th and set aside breakfast, lunch and dinner out with friends?  Please participate in Dining Out for Life San Diego.



Grandma always said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  And, look at all the wonderful restaurants who are participating in Dining Out for Life on Thursday, April 24, who agree!

Adams Avenue Grill, Babycakes, Barrio Star, Bread and Cie, Café 21 - Downtown, Café 21 - University Heights, Crest Café, Fig Tree Café - Hillcrest, Filter Coffee House - Hillcrest, Harvey Milk’s American Diner, Great Maple, Hash House A Go Go, Hill Street Café, Lil B's, Parkhouse Eatery, Snooze, an A.M. Eatery, The Mission - Mission Beach, The Mission - North Park, The Mission - SOMA, and  Urban Mo's.  For the complete list of participating restaurants beyond breakfast, you can access the list here..

I have it on good authority that when you participate in fundraising events, calories simply don't count.  That means you, and your friends can dine out for breakfast, lunch and dinner and raise funds to help those with HIV while you help fight HIV in San Diego!  Please consider inviting at least two people to join you!

The work the San Diego LGBT Community Center, and other organizations, does is important for those who are living with HIV.  And, I hope you will appreciate how important it is to me that we provide HIV support services for the community.
The last three years, Carleton and I participated in this great event.  No matter how we felt, it was important that we join with the community.  We chose Hash House A Go Go twice before moving on to another great restaurant.

This year, I look forward to starting a new tradition with breakfast somewhere! Will you join me?  Let's decide on breakfast and then after work we can conclude at Hash House a Go Go.  Hit me up here or on Facebook and let's schedule where and when to have breakfast.

Please participate.  Oh, and if you are someone who manages other people, or are a business owner, what a great opportunity to take your staff out to lunch and impact the community while you nourish those who work with you!

This is one event where you never really know who you are impacting and how important participating is to those who you know.

So, plan to treat yourself and a couple friends to breakfast, lunch and dinner for a cause.  Believe me, I urge you just this once to splurge.

Opening Day at the Padres

Sunday is Opening Day of the new season for Padres baseball.

For me, it is a reminder that Carleton is gone.  The only professional sports shirt I have is a Padres one.  Carleton gave it to me.  The only sports shirt I have a picture of is one in which Carleton and I are going to the game.  I know he would expect me to be there whether he could go or not.  I will be wearing his jersey.

I have hosted events with friends at the Padres and will do it again this year.  I can't wait to enjoy a game with Dora, Sue and Mary Jo.  See you at the game, Dora!

I will be heading to the game on Sunday to enjoy the Opening Day at the Padres and the East Village Association Block Party on the street next to Petco Park.  I will be there around 2pm.  I hope you will come down and enjoy the festivities.  And, if you have one of the sold out tickets, come inside and join me as we "root root root for the Padres."

And, this year, let's hope the Padres do great.  Because everyone knows that there is only "One, two, three strikes, you're out, in the ol' ball game."

Returning to a Pastoral Role - Public Speaking

Years ago, I served as a Pastor in Portland.  I attended the Potter's House for over 11 years.  I actively participated in serving those who were in attendance.  In the last few years of that service, I was asked to be one of the Pastors there and regularly brought the message.

Some can only imagine the growth that occurred in me at that time.  Others will likely assume the teachings were insightful if not engaging, and at times humorous or seen from a not so normal perspective.

In the years since, I have participated in church activities after my service there, but more usually, I look at issues, study them, dig deep, and sometimes, a pastor who I have known asks me to speak on a difficult topic which he or she feels uncomfortable addressing.  

I have addressed LGBT congregations on sex, forgiveness, grief, and other topics of import.  But, the last few years, I simply have worked in other areas.

Today, I am travelling to Northern California to an ACCS Weekend for a group called Allies of Christian Churches.  ACC (Allies of Christian Churches) along with Celebration Of Faith, is hosting their annual Dynamic ACC West Conference this year, 2014.  This event will take place March 28 thru 30 at the Wonder Valley Resort just outside of Fresno, CA.  

Pastor David Harvey asked me to speak on a topic of my choosing.  Rather than a religious topic, I decided to bring a workshop on decision making.  The role of decision making, tools to make better decisions, and the way to more successful pursue the goals, passions, and purpose in the life you crave.

I am excited to once again share insight into a topic that I feel so many need to understand more deeply.  I am even more excited to start a new journey of public speaking on topics to inform, educate and challenge others to take a more active role in their own lives, whatever the area of it they want to influence.

Family Red Alerts

My mother has adopted specific technology to communicate and support her values.  Over time, she has implemented a subtle but clear way of communicating to her children.  During times of calm, it is expected that we will call her to touch base after work hours normally.  This rule was never one that was discussed.  I simply learned several things about my Mom growing up and as a young adult that I continue to follow in the present.

Originally, I thought she was the first super hero.  Like Batman, you dialed and she answered.  Swiftly we learned that if it was not an emergency, do not call her at work.  The term "Emergency" was quickly defined as well.

As a teenager and young adult, I began to think perhaps that Mom did not know how to use a phone outside of work.  Perhaps she de-skilled after 5pm or that her phone at home had no numerical buttons to press.  What took 20 years to appreciate was that while she loves us, she chooses not to intervene without express permission.  Considering her children and their highly opinionated thought processes, it certainly explains why we consider her the wisest of people.

Her patient exercise of not calling us has developed its own rewards.  We call and call often with good news, great news and sometimes bad.  We share stories, make her laugh, ask for input, hope for encouragement, listen to her plans, listen for ideas, make sure she continues to be as vibrant as she has been.  She may be tired, eating dinner, knitting, or throwing the ball to Mandy, but she answers.  I have learned that when she does not know what to say, due to the emotional nature of the call, the best and most valued word she could utter is "wow".  I realized over the last three years that it spells "MoM" upside down.  I concluded what better word could one express?

In return, we listen to stories about Mandy, her springer spaniel, along with updates of other siblings and cousins, the beauty of the backyard, who will get the next Christmas stocking, when will Christmas cookies be baked, and perhaps a story from her past.  We determine visiting times at the house, prepare for to do lists, and ultimately, become reassured that she is well, will be among us a long time, and when the Earth shakes, we can still be comforted.

Facebook is not our chosen way communicate.  I am quite simply too political at times in some of my posts with friends at times too racy for her consumption.  For her, Facebook is for keeping track of my cousins, reading notes of silliness, and finding old friends.  Phone calls remain generally useful for inbound calls and to arrange Mandy's grooming. 

Over the last three years, she has adopted e-mails as an effective and useful tool for sharing a few of her general thoughts and general updates of good news about family.  She normally uses e-mail to forward something from one of the family to update the siblings.  She will choose this mode to share a proud achievement, a recipe, or a notice of when Christmas cookies will be delivered to all cousins and family.

Three years ago, I began to notice that Mom had adopted e-mail to inform the three siblings whenever bad news reached her about someone we know or should remember.  At first, I was surprised at this change in communication.  For before Dad's death, Dad was tasked with giving bad news not Mom.  I remember being just 16 when I got such a call from Dad while I was in Brazil about a friend from Hermiston, my age, who had suddenly died.  That call in 1986 became the format for 25 years of phone calls bearing bad news and death.  In was so consistent, that we would joke about it in a perverse way for Dad would start those conversations all the same.

I realized that Mom had chosen a different communication style for such bad news, and without discussion, had implemented it for herself.  After a few such instances, I began to tease Mom.  The teasing was more a response to my uncomfortable feelings that she did not use the same tactics my Dad had used.  Perhaps, also, because it was a form that did not provide quite as much information to me without action on my part.

In the middle of last year, as Carleton's health began to rapidly fail, when I was hardly sleeping, an e-mail from Mom arrived.  I opened it.  In it was a message of grave concern from Mom to me.  Upon its completion, I realized how worried my mother was for me, for my situation, for my care of myself, and my choices regarding helping Carleton. 

With care, she pleaded that I seek help for Carleton's care.  She challenged me with her observations that I was essentially providing hospice care which no one person could do.  She called me out on my Superman tendencies (funny, since she is Batman).  She shared personal stories of her own hospice experiences with her own Mom and the terrible costs it had to her.  She communicated her thoughts, her worry, and yet still did not command, did not intervene, she kept the choices mine.  Then, I recieved a call from my brother, who admitted having been in a call with Mom.  Mom certainly knows how to get her thoughts across and how to back them up with her own personal lobby.

Last November through e-mail sent by Mom, I learned that my Aunt Edie, matriarch in absence, was headed into comfort care.  She had lost recollection of many of my family years ago due to Alzheimer's.  Comfort care simply meant her body was at last at an end and they would keep her comfortable as her spirit moved from this plain into heaven.

And, in the same e-mail, another elder of my family was being placed in the hospice support system.  Uncle George, or as I had come to consider him, Eternal Man, the Patriarch of the Brown side of the family, the gentlest and perhaps one of the wisest, and certainly the most loved, had been fighting lymphoma.  Uncle George had been part of a daring duo, a duo admired by many in our family, that included his ever energetic wife (and my amazing) Aunt Lauretta.  I mostly expected Jesus to return to Earth and Uncle George would be here to greet Him.

After several more updates through e-mail, I finally and directly asked my mom about her choice of e-mail to communicate bad news, news of illness and death, and the sharing of personal stories to encourage and cajole.  I was curious why she had chosen this form of communication rather than the phone or some other method.  Her response was telling and direct.  She enjoyed sharing good news with each of her children individually, with our varied responses to that news, where no conflict is expected.  Yet, she found that repeating bad news, or revealing personal information, is something she does not like to do, especially three times, especially to her three children, children with great capacities for emotion.  Likely, also, three children who can sagely consider what to say but often times will say what comes to mind first.  It is her way of providing information that we may or may not want, but that she felt compelled to provide.  Yet, it allows us time to gather ourselves, our thoughts, and prepare for interaction.

E-mail, while it does not allow for instant emotional connection does allow her to carefully write her words, consider how we, as children, will respond to the message while providing her the time to get the words on paper as she manages her own emotions.  After all, to reach all of us in a timely manner, e-mail is likely most direct since one child lives in a different hemisphere on an unconnected continent and she is never certain how the news will be received and what we will be doing at the time.  It is her amazing solution which allows her to remain true to her non-interventionist values while bearing the news she would be expected to provide.

Her reasoning went further.  At the point we receive the e-mail, we can do with the information what we will do.  Mostly, I have learned, I call back upon receipt of such e-mail to see how Mom is feeling, to glean additional information, and to discuss what steps she will take and how I can assist.  I am certain each of us calls her.  It is not a question for me.  Sometimes, it simply takes us time to respond but Mom.

I have learned, that Mom is patient for the response, unwilling to intervene, expecting that if we need to talk, she will be available simply waiting to be Mom.

The Pontiff's Principles of Purpose for People of Faith

On February 24^th, news broke of the words shared by the Pope to the new addition of 19 new Cardinals to the College of Cardinals.  I am not catholic nor feel it necessary to research the diversity selection or how each will influence the future of this organization. I do care to share a brief moment on words attributed to the Pope which sparked some time of reflection. 

The Catholic Sun mentioned in the February 24, 2014 publication several portions of his message to the College of Cardinals.  “We love, therefore, those who are hostile to us; we bless those who speak ill of us; we greet with a smile those who may not deserve it,” he said. “We do not aim to assert ourselves; we oppose arrogance with meekness; we forget the humiliations that we have endured.”

Of course there were other words, other values, other messages he verbalized in his message, but those words of value were the values of essential service to others.  These words become focus for all those who follow the Christian faith or aspire to tenants of peace.  These values are certainly not for the weak of heart or those who wish to avoid disappointment.  Nor are these tenants valuable to any who prefer to focus on values of power and wealth.  Truly, these expressed tenants fly in the face, at times, of current thought and the easier paths of retribution, hostility, war, or even influence and popularity.

Personally, it is good to remember that my best efforts in pursuing these tenants may fall short.  In my case, at times it seems too often.  Fortunately, with acknowledgment and repentance, these values provide a metric of true maturity without condemnation.  They become a beacon of how far I must continue to grow.  They do not measure failure, they provide a guide post of success.

It is good to be reminded of values that bring forth peace.  Certainly these goals, spoken by the current Pope, define my ideal of Christian engagement.  Yet, when used as a measure, reminds and humbles me of how far I must continue to grow to achieve its tenants.

These tenants remind me of how imperfect I am and how difficult the road.  Yet without judgment, these tenants continue to encourage me to pursue them, with patience and perseverance.  The benefits of their pursuit include Forgiveness, Peace, Hope, and certainly Love.

After so many strident words from various Christian quarters in the last 25 years, it is good to hear words of admonishment from the Pontiff.  While other parts of his message may cause me pause or concern, it is good to find portions where I can find common ground.  And, in that common ground can grow another value, Hope.

Dylan Farrow Matters Today

I was perusing through news on the internet and was drawn to Huffington Post, as usual.  As I was reading, I ran across an article about recent controversy over the nomination of Woody Allen for his work during his lifetime.

I have not seen much, if any, of Woody Allen's work.  Growing up, it became clear that my mother had no care to see his work.  I simply thought it might have been due to his style, focus, or flair.  Today, after reading Dylan Farrow's letter, perhaps that was not the only reason for my mom's avoidance of his work.

As I began to read the letter from Dylan Farrow, I vaguely remembered from growing up a case that involved Woody Allen.  Dylan Farrow was girlfriend, Mia Farrow's daughter.

Dylan Farrow has written an open letter about her time spent with Woody Allen.  She addressed the experience vividly.  She expressed her frustration, her current emotions, and her regrets.

As I read through the letter, I identified with Dylan.  I am often skeptical about those who mention they were sexually abused.  Sometimes, for me, it does not ring true.  And, certainly, in our society, I have seen the overwhelming assumption of guilt leveled at the accused without consideration that something may be amiss.

I am not skeptical in this case.  I have learned over time that those who have experienced sexual abuse have many of the same issues, feelings, and perspectives.  While some find peace, others do not.  Some forgive, like me, and some wrestle the remainder of their lives with what the predator did.

There, I stated it, subtlety.  Yes, I was sexual abused.  Not just once.  Not by just one.  And, it was over a period of years.  Two separate individuals separated by a three year break over a course of 11 years.

Reading Dylan's letter brought me smack dab into those memories I carefully keep quiet.  The attempt to avoid and hide.  Check.  The acknowledgement of the predator's skills.  Check.  The ability to hide from a watchful mother.  Check.  The feelings of guilt that we did not later pursue and hinder our predator's potential abuse of others.  Check.  The terror of being intimate or close to another male.  Check.  The failed strategies that developed to manage fear and emotions.  Check.  The immediate sense of revulsion when others even casually discuss the topic.  Check.

These were all the same feelings.  There were only two differences between Dylan and me.  I kept secrets that Dylan ultimately did not.

Likewise, I am relieved to have a mother who when she learned about those events from others believed me.  She blamed herself when I knew she could never have known.  She worried about me, not herself, first.  Dylan and I have great Moms.  I have siblings, like Dylan, who when faced with the same information, believed me.

It is the entire story of Dylan that makes me believe her story.  For it resonates wholly with my own.  It is not that someone can describe what happened for anyone can conjure those actions.  It is the consistency within the myriad of emotions which confirm or deny for me the gravity of sexual assault/abuse.

The similarities are striking.  The only difference I see between Dylan and myself is that I determined to forgive those who harmed me and move forward.   Through counseling and my faith based on wholeness, I succeeded in overcoming the damage done by my predators.  For it is not sex that predators damage, it is they take, by force, ourselves, our power, our confidence, our choice.  And there is little physical, and tangible, evidence of their crime.  So, I felt there was little recourse or benefit to pursue any legal action when I finally was old enough, and willing, to address the issue.

Dylan, as an adult,  seeks justice in a court of peers where Woody Allen could face justice.  I can only hope that Hollywood is in session to preside over the proceedings.  Consider this my "friend of the court" brief supporting Dylan.  I could not have offered "proof" of the sexual abuse in my own case.  It is likely that Dylan has only memories as a child to offer as proof as well.

Dylan asked in her open letter what my favorite Woody Allen film was.  I am so glad I can say I don't know one.  I for one, like my Mom, likely will never watch a Woody Allen movie.