Ultimately, there are two ways to look at loss, positive and negative. Finding another way to cope, then another, then another, is what keeps me alive.
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Growing up, I always heard “boys don’t cry.” Typically, this was followed by some deep wisdom like “brush it off” or “that didn’t hurt.” Tears were frowned upon to say the least! As a young boy, my grandfather was a huge influence in my life. He instilled in me a work ethic, a sense of responsibility, and a sense of perseverance that was borne of the life he learned in rural Virginia during the Depression and later as a railroad worker for 40 years. Sometimes I felt like one of the Walton’s, except I had shoes! Needless to say, tears were not a common occurrence – besides not much crying happened on the railroad!
The release of emotion is a coping skill, and there are literally hundreds.
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The shedding of a tear is a coping mechanism, and aside from all of the biology that goes into why and how we cry, ultimately it is a release of emotion. Now let’s be clear, I’m not talking about wailing, or stomping my feet, or on the ground rolling around. I reserve those times for when Tony Romo throws a game ending interception, and my Cowboys lose again! I’m simply describing the feeling of an emotion and letting it go. Here’s the irony, though, other than “toughen up,” why has this male myth of no tears been perpetuated? As mentioned earlier, the release of emotion is a coping skill, and there are literally hundreds, if not thousands of them. But how do you cope, or what do you do, when you lose the most important one of all?
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As a youngster, music was my escape. I began by playing drums but ended up becoming infatuated with the guitar. I switched instruments for all the right reasons that a teenage boy could have: girls! I never heard many girls scream, “I want the drummer!” so a guitar player I became.
As I look back, that was a very fortuitous moment, because as I learned to play guitar, I also learned what life was like growing up, when you are raised by an abusive, alcoholic, stepfather. Learning to play guitar was my divine intervention. My guitar went with me to foster homes, group homes, and even a juvenile detention center. Apparently, the dual pathways of an adolescent human services system (social services and justice) are fans of the six-string! Not to mention carting a drum set along would have been difficult!!
So a boy and his guitar grew into a young man and his guitar and eventually grew into a grown man and his guitar. My guitar was my constant, loyal companion. It accompanied me to sea while in the Navy, it accompanied me through my divorce, it even serenaded my son and daughter to sleep each night, playing Somewhere Over The Rainbow, but it had to be the clean version–they weren’t fans of Metallica meets Disney! But sadly, all that changed on April 7, 1999.
That morning was no different from the rest, except on this morning my right arm felt ‘asleep’, and unfortunately, it would never really “wake up.” Not long after that, my left arm began going to sleep, my right leg, and then my left. Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP) was the diagnosis. Unfortunately, that diagnosis did not come until May 2007, eight years and five surgeries later. During those eight years, when I desperately needed my coping skill, my “best friend,” this outlet was no longer available to me. I have lost much more since then, but it’s still the guitar that I miss the most.
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In the interest of addition by subtraction, sometimes losing what you love makes you find new things to experience.
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As I write this, I look across the room and see a guitar sitting in the corner, and I have the realization that it’s equal parts old friend and mocking enemy. Once I lost the guitar, I began running. Usually, it was to alleviate the frustration of learning to write left-handed, and then to alleviate the pain of a cheating ex-wife, but that’s another article! I no longer run. What used to be 7-minute miles became 12-minute miles. It’s not the pace that bothers me, in fact, I enjoyed running more after slowing down–I saw stuff at a slower pace! It’s the recovery that sucks!
Life isn’t what we always hope it to be. In the interest of addition by subtraction, sometimes losing what you love makes you find new things to experience. There are many people in the world much worse off than I, and I pray that this degenerative condition degenerates a little slower. But somewhere, there’s someone who has lost a coping skill, and I hope they read this! Perhaps it’s because of a medical condition like mine, or maybe it’s just bad luck.
Ultimately, there are two ways to look at loss, positive and negative. It’s just as easy to find something productive to do, as it is to find something negative or harmful. I won’t lie or act like depression was too good to darken my doorway. Nor will I pretend that I haven’t run the gamut of thoughts from why me, to alcohol, to suicide, which makes me human; not succumbing makes me healthy, it makes me strong! Finding another way to cope, and then another, then another, is what keeps me alive. Maybe you’ll discover something to help someone else, but find something to help YOU. Because, at the end of the day, some will choose the pain and loss, I choose to write…
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Photo: Flickr/ Kat N.L.M.