Tag Archives: Healing From Loss

Photoshop Therapy

Robin Botie in Ithaca, New York, photoshops a friend flying in clouds over trees..“Can you make a picture of me flying in the clouds?” my friend had asked, looking up from her wheelchair. That was 3 weeks ago. After cancelling and rescheduling several times, we were finally together in her apartment squeezed between the wheelchair, a big armchair and a card-table.
There were questions to consider: Would she fly horizontally or vertically? Did she want wings? What should she wear?
In my collection of cloud photos there were wispy cirrus clouds in a blue sky over trees. There were bright sunlit mackerel skies. But she wanted thunderclouds, lightning, maybe a tornado. “For my dark side,” she said.

It was raining when we shuffled outside to shoot her in a flying pose. She stood against the brick wall just outside the door, flapping her wings.
“You don’t look very happy to be flying,” I said. “Look down at the ground like there’s something special down there.”

Back inside, I inserted the chip from the camera into its slot in the computer. We sat at the card-table and chose a shot from the 21 images of my friend twisting, turning, banking into the wind with arms outstretched. I cut-and-pasted her form from the brick background to the photo of storm clouds.
“I need to be smaller. No bigger. Can you make me higher in the sky? A little more to the right …” she orders.
“You’re too pale,” I say. “I’m adding blush to your cheeks.”
“What about the dark circle under my left eye?”
“I can fix that.”
“Something’s missing: what am I pointing at?” she asks. “Should we put a rat in the picture?”
“I don’t have any photos of rats. What if we add another shot of you?”

“Let’s name this one ‘Ascension,’” she says, two hours and four pictures later. “Besides making me prints, what are you going to do with all these?”
“Well….”

A friend flies over stormclouds in Ithaca, New York.

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The Middle Ground of Grief

Robin Botie of Ithaca, New York, photoshopped faces of missing passengers from malaysian Airlines Flight 370 onto a Malaysian batik design.After I finished my son’s chocolates I started on the microwave popcorn in the pantry. When all six bags of the popcorn were gone I found cookies in the freezer. Riveted in front of the television, I ate recklessly. For the whole week.

“How can you lose an airplane?” I asked the TV screen that glowed maps of islands and oceans with red arrows.

On the third day of the missing Malaysian Airlines Flight 370, CNN News aired a gathering of the passengers’ family members. That’s when it hit me: 239 people were lost. Not just a plane. In the crowd, a man cried out for his son. Even in Chinese, I knew the anguish. It transported me back to the days just before my daughter’s death, when I waited and wished for a miracle.

“Middle ground,” my sister had explained in those first days of March 2011, “is a place somewhere in between knowing that you’re winning the war and when you get those first inklings that you’re gonna lose. It doesn’t mean anyone’s giving up. But it’s a first step toward that end, an end that no one is ready to acknowledge.” The miracle didn’t come. I hovered over the hospital bed to memorize my daughter’s face.

By the sixth day, I was tuning into the TV first thing upon waking and every other hour until bedtime. Between Lost and Found is the sweet time when people hold onto threads of hope that stretch thinner with each passing minute. The eighth day I prayed it was a terrorist hijacking. Maybe the passengers were hostages somewhere in Kazakhstan?

Lost is not knowing one’s whereabouts, unable to find one’s way. Lost means something has vanished. One can be lost forever. But there is a certain finality to being found. Once found, what you thought you lost turns into a welcome event. Or it is truly lost, cannot be recovered. And hope is yanked away completely.

It is Monday, the eleventh day. I mindlessly eat a bowl of leftover tiramisu in front of the TV as the mystery of Flight 370 continues. I crave sweetness and still wait, along with the family members of the lost passengers, wishing for a miracle.

The End of the Anonymous Care Package

Robin Botie's friend's daughter packs her stuff into a plastic shipping envelope in Ithaca, New York.We’re not at our sharpest in the throes of grief. Even 3 years into healing from the loss of my daughter, I have to be wary of my emotional responses to situations. Like recently when an anonymous package was mailed to me containing a 2-piece bathing suit, an expensive cellphone, 2 hundred-dollar bills, a postcard addressed “Lover” and assorted items related to staying healthy (see previous post). 2 days after I published the article about receiving this “care package,”

* after inspecting and inventorying the contents with the State Police
* after visits to Verizon to recycle or switch over to the new phone
* after spending $20 at the Computer Room to try to reset the phone
* after posting thank yous to my unknown benefactor on Facebook and Twitter
* after giving away half the money and using half the remainder to make a care package for a friend who just lost her husband
* after several sleepless nights wondering if some crazed guy from West Virginia who’d found my address was going to show up at my house
* and after 10 days on a wild ride trying to figure out who sent the package and why, and how I should be feeling about this gift –

I got an email from my friend’s daughter:

Robin, it’s my package!! It’s all my stuff!!!
I’m so sorry! It is extra things that I didn’t want to continue carrying and Mom suggested I mail it to you so we could pick it up … I thought she would have told you. I’m so sorry I didn’t include a letter – it was a last minute scramble to pack and get to the airport.
I feel so silly and sad. I hope this doesn’t disappoint you, but clarifies a huge mystery. I couldn’t believe as I read your blog post…. Wow.

Suddenly my emotions were exploding in every direction once more:

* This meant I did not get a Valentine’s Day care package after all.
* There was no more kind but kinky secret admirer.
* The prayer for happiness was not for me.
* Good thing I didn’t trade in the cellphone or throw out the sim card.
* I have to replace the money I spent.
* How will I tell my readers? It’s so embarrassing.
* Why the heck didn’t she put her name somewhere in the damn package so I could have been spared all this?

But mostly I’m laughing because this was something my own daughter would have done. And the whole thing was pretty silly.