Lost

It's been a bizarre week of unbelievably tragic things, touching folks I know and care about. It's brought me full circle, afraid to pick up the phone. Since it's been the domino effect, I haven't had time to process anything, much less be supportive to others who are suffering.

On Monday my friend's ex-laws were in an auto accident; she died instantly, he was seriously injured. These were folks that I sort of knew, one circle removed, for more than 10 years. The funeral was Friday. My friend still hasn't been able to tell her son. I don't know how she can hold it together.

On Wednesday I found out that my childhood friend was discovered dead - allegedly murdered by her husband. Incredibly sad, surreal - and given what a tough life she had, especially since marrying the creep. It's bizarre to see a picture of your home-away-from-home, where all your memories live, surrounded by crime tape. Ceil was my mom's friend, Connie was my sister's and my friend; we'd take many day trips together, always up for an adventure. My earliest memories are of swinging with Connie, in her back yard, making up songs about her new puppy. Since they contained quite a bit of potty humor, I'm guessing I was around 4. We were in girl scouts together. We went to different schools so drifted away a bit. It also became apparent that Connie herself was different - not just because she had health problems and her parents were a tad eccentric. She was always socially awkward and tried too hard. Today she'd probably be diagnosed with Asperger's and some sensory integration deficits. I wish I could say I was the kid who stood up for her when the neighborhood bullies came a'callin. I wasn't.

It became awkward to be friends with Connie by middle school, but we'd still hang out on occasion. I was the Eddy Haskell friend, and all parents loved it when I came visiting. I always liked Ceil - her outrageous sense of humor and unapologetic laugh. She would say - out loud - that she wished Connie were more like me. It was inexplicably sad and uncomfortable so I just stayed away more and more. She and Mom took some amazing trips together, continuing the joint family tradition of adventures.

I saw Connie once after I had moved to Mpls. My trips home were rare but I was always kept in the loop of what was going on in the neighborhood. By then I had heard lots of stories about Steve, her husband, who was controlling, systematically alienating her friends and family. We had a pretty good talk that day, and I remember how she would both validate and discount the fears and concerns we had. It was effortless for her, years of practice of apologizing and appeasing. I wanted so much to believe her that even when I finally met Steve- he walked down to our house to retrieve Connie, with barely a grunt at the introductions - I didn't follow up with my well-intentioned promise to stay connected. I wonder if it would have made a difference.

When Ceil died of melanoma, Connie inherited the house. She and Steve lived there for the past 7 years. She worked part-time at the library and he worked for a bank. They let the place go - no more minimum maintenance even, much less the exhuberant gardening of the Ceil dynasty. Apparently there was some lawsuit over paying for the 2nd mortgage, and the house was auctioned in a foreclosure on May 6th, Connies' 42nd birthday. On May 19th, she was found with her throat slit. I can't get my head around it - too big, horrible to sink in.

It's been bittersweet, all the reminiscience with friends and family. A helluva way to reconnect with your childhood. Makes you want to go hug everyone, doesn't it? I'll wait here.

Just to round out the week: two clients quit, I completely spaced on my parent help day at school, and X was "lost" for 20 minutes on the playground at preschool. He tried to assure me that he wasn't that scared: "I wasn't alone, Mommy. There was a pigeon."

Good Lord save us. And I mean that more literally than I usually do.

Over all of this, apply a thin veneer of barely-contained rage, illness, exhaustion. My dad is visiting. His hearing aid isn't working and he's difficult to talk with under the best of circumstances. And after yelling at someone repeatedly just to make yourself heard, you really start to feel like yelling. All of the time.

Really, this is all too much. If I'm supposed to learn from these life events, can I not have the Cliff Notes version? Too much all at once and I can't even connect with the basics.

Tune in next week. Perhaps I'll be back to putting window-dressings on this mad, mad world.