grieving

Day 734

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2 months ago I made a presentation entitled ‘Understanding Resilience’ to a group of roughly 30 people in their twenties. It was well received and the feedback was encouraging. Here is the quantitative analysis, marked out of 5.

Content:  4.39

Presentation: 4.38

Relevence to me:  4.13

Overall:  4.38

It was interesting to see that the lowest score was to do with relevance. It means that while most of them liked the content and had an overall good impression of it, many of them thought it didn’t apply to them.

Perhaps it reflects the fact that at present they feel strong. Great! Long may it stay that way! If I had attended a presentation like that a few years ago, I would have thought the same. But I do hope that if any of their friends, colleagues or family is in a vulnerable place they will be able to spot that and reach out to them. I also hope that if they see a distressed stranger, they will be sensitive to that and offer support.

The low score could also indicate an inability of some of us to acknowledge our own fragility.

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Day 742

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Sad times are sad.
Happy times are sad.
Mundane times are sad.

Wish he was here to enjoy the renovations and the light that they allow in.
Wish he could rest on the new brown sofa.
Wish he could gaze through the big windows.
Wish he could come on holidays with us.
Wish he could help water the plants and mow the lawn.
Wish he could sometimes put the bin out on Mondays.

Wish he would do his Vietnamese accent for me and have me in splits! 
He would’ve loved the ‘contactless’ use of plastic cards.
Wish he could feel Milkshake’s incredible fur.
Wish he could meet some of our new friends and we his.
Wish he could finally agree with me about Jeremy Clarkson being an absolute plonker.
Wish he could have the satisfaction of knowing that he finally managed to teach me how to use dried oregano.
Wish he could open the marmalade jar for me when I can’t.
Wish he could rescue me from my computer problems.
Wish we could watch something silly on TV together.
Wish he would ask me for a lift to the gym.
Wish we could cook hot chicken curry for our friends.
Wish we could sit and talk. Then go for a walk.
Wish he would sometimes make tea for me when I got home.
Then play me a new beat on his drums.

Wish he knew how much he is missed, loved and cherished.
Wish he would appear out of nowhere, just like he disappeared into it.

Day 741

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“If you believe you’re a citizen of the world,” said our dear Prime Minister on the 5th October at the Conservative party’s conference, “you’re a citizen of nowhere. You don’t understand what the very word ‘citizenship’ means.”

That statement is a huge disappointment. I don’t agree.

What does the word citizenship mean?

It is variously defined as the position or status of an individual viewed as a member of a society and their behaviour in terms of duties, obligations and rights of a citizen and a person recognised under the custom or law as being a legal member of a sovereign state.

 For me, citizenship is a sense of belonging. While I hold a British passport, I don’t feel that the first 3 decades of my life that I spent in India count for nothing. I may not officially be a ‘citizen’ of India but I have an affinity and love for that land which far outweighs any official document. When I visited Uganda a few years ago, I felt like I belonged there. I felt a strong connection with the people and the earth. It felt like home.

 People who see themselves as citizens of the world feel part of a rich boundless tapestry rather than an isolated, discreet nation or group. They know, deep down, that a smaller vision of citizenship creates “us” and “them”.

 Perhaps world citizenship is a stance against people like the PM who manipulate the “us” and “them” to demonise the enemy of the day and thereby justify heinous acts of brutality. The unfounded suspicion of the “other” justifies total lack of respect. The difference in appearance is made out to be sufficient ground for fear and disgust.

The world is smaller than ever before. We all belong to one large family. Borders are man-made. All we need is love and respect. We all suffer hunger and pain in the same way. Our loss and anger is the same. Our blood is red, irrespective of the country we belong to. Enough blood has already been shed in the name of pettiness of one kind or another. Let us not buy into this small mindedness. Let us be proud citizens of the world.

Day 740

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It is a bright rectangular 3-D space, the sanctum sanctorum of my home. As I stand at its door I get a full blast of green through the huge clear glass panes that extend from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. I recognise the return of autumn in the random touches of auburn and yellow scattered across the garden. As I gaze at nothing in particular, I notice a brown leaf fall from its tree in the periphery of my vision. The grass is still an inviting carpet, just beginning to fade. The birds must be resting as silence is all I hear. It is exactly the way I like it.

Back in the room, lives a luscious brown leather sofa. Sitting or lying on it feels like being warmly hugged by it. This one piece of furniture transforms the room into a safe haven. It emanates an old earthy smell. Its roughness is ever so slight that it captures enough air to make it soft. Innumerable cups of aromatic Darjeeling tea have been savoured on it. It allows words to flow from a real place. It brings out the gems of secrets we keep carefully wrapped up in silk and folded away, stored in the bottom drawer of our being. It creates space for sharing, loving and healing. It has housed many ailing hearts. It has brought them calm and comfort. It makes them feel at home. It lets them breathe. Feel. Acknowledge.

On the other side of the room sits a big table made of a dark wood called iroko. It has five colourful chairs hap-hazardly scattered around it. Now I can hear the purring of the fridge and the whirring of the dish-washer. On the table is perched a laptop, open and charging. A pale yellow bent orchid and a few upright pink gerberas look at me from the far corner. A few unlit white candles, big and small make it look like a well-sculpted garden. A half empty, half full, refillable glass of water waits on a plain cork coaster. Unopened letters, a to-do list with a few items ticked off, three coloured felt tip pens, a cordless phone off the hook… each one a piece of evidence of pottering. Me in my kitchen. Again!

Day 739

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What do the following TV serials have in common?

I love Lucy.
Sesame Street.
Seinfeld
Different Strokes
Mad about you
Friends
Will and Grace
Sex and the City

All very popular. All featuring happy, funny, quirky characters. All based in New York City.
It seems NYC is not such a happy place after all.

– At least one in five adult New Yorkers is likely to experience a mental health disorder in any given year.
– 8% of NYC public high school students report attempting suicide.
– Consequences of substance misuse are among the leading causes of premature death in every neighbourhood in New York City
– Each year, 1,800 deaths and upwards of 70,000 emergency room visits among adults aged 18 to 64 can be attributed to alcohol use.
– 73,000 New York City public high school students report feeling sad or hopeless each month
– Approximately 8% of adult New Yorkers experience symptoms of depression each year
– Major depressive disorder is the single greatest source of disability in NYC
– At any given time over half a million adult New Yorkers are estimated to have depression, yet less than 40% report receiving care for it.
– There are $14 billion in estimated annual productivity losses in New York City tied to depression and substance misuse.
– Unintentional drug overdose deaths outnumber both homicide and motor vehicle fatalities.
– The stigma of mental illness has been found to have serious negative effects on hope and an individual’s sense of self-esteem. Stigma also increases the severity of psychiatric symptoms and decreases treatment adherence.

The First lady of NYC, Ms Chirlane McCray recognised this as matter of public health in crisis and launched a bold initiative last year in order to tackle it. It cost nearly a billion dollars. It is called Thrive NYC (http://www1.nyc.gov/assets/home/downloads/pdf/press-releases/2015/thriveNYC_white_paper.pdf). It relies heavily on peer counsellors, who are not mental health professionals but are already entrenched in underserved communities. One of its main objectives is to address the stigma associated with mental illness. The plan is aggressively ambitious, attempting to make life easier for New Yorkers in every community and of every age.

I hear the Mayoral office in London is making plans of a similar nature. Can’t wait to hear more. It’s about time!

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