I think I am loosing it. The signs of stress of being grief-stricken for over 15 years are starting to show themselves. I spend a lot of time preoccupied with what Sigourney might be thinking or going through at any given time. What is every Fathers Day like for her? I imagine, as best I can, what birthdays, X-mas and times alone with her thoughts are like for her. I sometimes concern myself with my son Jesse. Jesse and Sigourney are the only innocents here. I could have done something to prevent all this. Even Jesse's mom could have done more to discourage Patricia. But as far as Jesse is concerned, how does a 19 year old come to terms with the fact that his childhood passed from age 4 to adulthood without his sister being found and returned to his life. What's the healthy way to deal with it, express himself, relate to the outside world?
But the last week or so I have been reflecting on the toll this is having on me, on my productivity, my health and mental faculties. I think my memory is working at about 10% capacity. I have been planning on going for routine blood work every day since May 1st and here it is .. July 7th ... and I haven't made it yet. I haven't been to my dentist in over 3 years. Work competency has fallen to the point that I risk losing my business. Things that used to give me great pleasure, I just don't do anymore. If I go to the bathroom to get nail clippers, I don't remember why I am there once I arrive. I am self employed and depend on my wits to survive, but I am clearly slipping. I need rest but I can't sleep.
Talking with friends I said that I identify as being a fighter but not a winner, I never give up, I don't succumb to escapism and I am systematic in fending off vices and excess. But I am tiring and weakening and I have no real prospects of a turn around. My mental, financial and emotional resources are bone-dry. I feel that this problem could long-ago have been solved if enough time and money were devoted to it and I blame myself for not being more resourceful. I feel like I have let Sigourney down, as well as Jesse and the rest of my family. I know Jesse loves me dearly. I know my family is full of nothing but compassion for me. But the remorse of letting them down isn't lightened by that.
I can still be funny and engaging, make people laugh and find the words and actions to bring value to other people's days. But I can't seem to find relief for my own overwhelming pain. I try to encourage myself in the earnest belief that the world is full of others who face worse burdens and greater injustices than I do, and they carry on. An example of that was an ad for a book for sale about and by a woman who was imprisoned and faced the possibility of death every day. I was on the subway and I read the book tag line "A road to forgiveness." She (the author) is an inspiration to me.
The words of another friend often help a bit. "Victory is measured in the small things." It's true, I always get all "....Hollywood...." about success and failure. Somehow success is supposed to be to the deafening cheer of well-wishers, when meeting the bell for another round is a victory in itself, especially when you fully expect to take another shit-kicking just like the round before. It's the doing within – when you're without that separates the winners and losers, not the results. I have loved Sigourney as I have Jesse, every day of her life and that love is what pushes me to get up and fight, even if I stumble and fall. I will find her, or if I die before I do, the day I die will be a day I was fighting to resolve this abnormality. I will not fade or give in. My determination is my only legacy. My blood courses in the veins of my children so they are fighters too. Fighters and lovers – in my world you can't be one without the other. They are my Yin and Yang in a life during wartime. Pleasure and wealth and happiness can be the goals of my brothers and sisters that I rub shoulders with every day, but theirs is not a life during war time, so the luxury and constraints of such pursuits are theirs by default. There is a community in their endeavours. Any ability to relate to my fellows is based on memories of simpler times.
I am losing my mind one marble at a time, without an endless supply. But today, I stagger forward in defiance – "Come and get me life, is that all you’ve got?"
Joe
Jesse and Sigourney's Dad
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