Should I or shouldn't I?

Tonight, I began to watch Auschwitz: Inside the Nazi State. I sometimes feel that it's my moral duty as a human being to remind myself of what we, as a species, are capable of. It keeps me humble and grateful for what I have. It keeps me empassioned for social justice. Tonight, as the show began to unfold into the horror that was Auschwitz I was interrupted by a telephone call. It was a friend from church, with whom I serve on several committees.

"You sound tired," she said. "I am... but I'm watching a TV show I'm not sure I should be watching." "Really," she replies, "what?" I told her. She agreed that I probably shouldn't be watching it right now, given all that's on my plate: dealing with my husband's bipolar disorder, our son the two year-old dynamo, financial worries, automotive trouble, actively grieving the death of a friend, skirting my depression.

Yes, I have every reason in the world not to watch a documentary that will more than likely bring tears to my eyes, I tell myself. It's okay.

Later, while reading Metafilter, I happen across this entry and I began reading. I don't watch NBC news so I am not familiar with Kevin Sites. When he goes on to describe the reverence and care with which the volunteers attend to the dead of the Tsunami, I am overcome. I cannot bear to look at more. I turn to my blog...

Is it okay for me to turn my face away? Can I sleep soundly knowing that I donated my fistful of cash to Oxfam? Can I sleep soundly knowing that the horrors akin to Auschwitz are being repeated in Darfur, while we have our hands firmly planted in Southeast Asia (and Iraq?)

I have responsibilities to my husband and to my son. I cannot join the peace corps and provide relief to the stricken. I am unable to liberate anyone from suffering. I feel powerless and overwhelmed. So, I tell myself it's a responsiblity of my own humanity to watch the Auschwitz documentary; to read the blog chronicling the disaster in Aceh; it truly is the least I can do.

But tonight, I just couldn't.

Blue holes

Hi there.

Yep, still here. I have had so much going on within the past few months, I've been too emotionally tapped out to produce anything of value for the blog. So, I've been quiet. I hope the crickets kept you company.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about Adam's death. I cannot imagine bringing a child into the world and watching him grow, become a track star, get married then divorced, go to college, become a chef, raise horses ... only to die by accident at age 35. He was an only child. My friend, his mother, is 60 years old and divorced. She is unable to bear the costs of another child, let alone have the energy to adopt. She is an only child. I contemplate the lonliness she's feeling and I feel as if I'm looking out into a great, expansive void. Why go on? What's the point? If your child, the sum of your dreams, love, joy, tears and hope dies before you... what is the point?

I understand that depression while actively grieving is normal. I am certainly grieving and I am certainly sympathetic. I look at my little one and I think about how I would feel if I were able to watch him grow to 35 years only to be taken from me in a freak accident. I cannot know, but I think perhaps the grief and pain of knowing a life that was and what never will be again, is the most torturous pain of all.

I guess this entry is dark, but it's where I am right now. I feel myself looking at the door of depression, praying it won't open and swallow me whole. Do not fear, friends, I am on meds. I am in therapy. I know what to do if it does overtake me. It is unnerving, though, looking at that door. My fingers tingle with the knowledge of the grooves I've made in the walls behind that door, clawing desperately to get out at first, then slowly into gentle despair.

I tell myself that it's situational, it's grief responsive, it's because I am powerless over so many things happening in my life right now. And that's fine... I just want these blues I'm carrying to stay blue and not turn black.