From Me to Me: A "Gift" I Keep on Giving

Dr. Timothy Pychyl, whose credentials are much more impressive, and whose blog Don't Delay, for Psychology Today, is much headier than mine, recently wrote a post entitled "Is Your Future Self Getting a Bad Deal?"  In it, he considers questions raised by Christine Tappolet in her chapter "Procrastination and Personal Identity," in the edited collection of essays The Thief of Time:  Philosophical Essays on Procrastination.

Tappolet uses the example of leaving the dishes for our future selves to wash, and argues that to do so consistently is to demonstrate a lack of concern for that heir to the crusted, stuck-to-the-countertop messes. [1]

Pychyl counters, in part, that we may reasonably expect that our future selves will have a greater capacity to manage the task than our exhausted present selves.  He likens this kind of procrastination to being willing to accept help from another when we are overwhelmed.  And he suggests that one way to alter this habit, if it is proving excessively burdensome for future self, is to develop and act on empathy for that future self, much as we might for another person.  I recognized myself in his observation that many of us will burden ourselves (present and future) in ways we wouldn't think of doing to someone else.

In her pre-vacation post this week, Gretchen Rubin (For anyone still living under a media blackout, she is the author of The Happiness Project, and the blog that gave birth to the book.) mentioned writer Anne Lamott's practice of referring to herself in the third person as a means of self-protection.  She cited this example:  “I’m sorry, Anne Lamott can’t accept that invitation to speak; she’s finishing a book so needs to keep her schedule clear.”

In a similar vein, I'm thinking it may help me to negotiate my procrastination tendencies to, well, actually negotiate with my future self.  Bringing the transaction into consciousness would force me to consider the impact of the implicit shifting of tasks from Today Me to Tomorrow Me, to weigh the relative capacities of each of these entities, and to exercise compassion toward both.  It would also promote a better accounting, and a fairer overall distribution of work to each party.  

There is, of course, the issue of progressive selves, and of determining whether my Tuesday Self or my February of 2011 Self should be recruited to deal with the chore I postpone today.  The calculus might become prohibitively complicated.  It might also cause a fracturing of self, ala Sybil.  

But it is an idea I intend to explore further, waking as I do this morning to some hangover items on my rolling to-do list, passed on to me without consultation by the selves of yesteryear.  (In my mind's eye--or the eye of the mind "I" occupy today--I have a vision of a bucket brigade, stretching into infinity, passing the bucket/buck from hand to hand, but never addressing the fire. . . .)

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[1] I should note here that when I leave the dishes for another day, I sometimes delude myself as to the likelihood that another family member’s future self might step up to do them.  It happens with just enough frequency that blind hope enters into my calculations, to an extent dependant on my mood on any given day.  So I am reimagining Tappolet’s dishes as a work task that only I can do—but one that, like the dishes, becomes more irksome and requires more labor the longer it is left.

Procrastinating 101: Getting Even by Putting it Off

Since it has come to me that one of the ways I avoid finishing things is by flitting from one task to another, from one book to another, I have committed for the time being to making my way through one procrastination resource in this weekly Tuesday post.  The current volume in which I am immersed is  The Now Habit:  A Strategic Program for Overcoming Procrastination and Enjoying Guilt-Free Play, by Neil Fiore, Ph.D.


This morning, I am considering what Dr. Fiore has to say about procrastination as a way of coping with resentment.  In his chapter on "Why We Procrastinate," Fiore spends several pages on the role of resentment.  And I see that he is once again talking about me.  And, coincidentally about my children, and former students, and others for whom I have been, at times, an authority figure.  


Fiore describes a common situation in which we perceive a task as something we "have to" do,  rather than something we have chosen to do.  (Don't get me wrong.  I acknowledge that I am guilty of putting that other stuff off, too, but for different reasons.  One dysfunctional behavior at a time, here, however.)  We may be angry about our disenfranchisement in the assignment of the task, and/or about other aspects of our relationship with the individual or institution that has the power to compel us to do things.  Procrastination is one way we can express that anger in a relatively covert way.  Kind of like a partial strike, or a "slowdown," but without union support.   


Fiore points out that, when we use procrastination in this way, we are thinking like victims, and acting out of powerlessness.  And he advises us to "get over it," and to realize that procrastination is likely to increase our difficulties, and to diminish what power we have.  He suggests that we rephrase our self-admonishments, and having made the choice to keep our job, stay in a relationship, avoid lawsuits and incarceration, and stay solvent, that we accept and state that we choose to do what is therefore necessary.  


Today, since I choose to stay out of collections, I will make the time to pay the medical bills that will suck up a substantial portion of my husband's early pension distribution.  The resentment I feel about this will not lead me into further counterproductive stalling.  And I will experience my power to make the most reasonable choice under circumstances I do not control, and can't expect to.  And save my rebellion for something that's worth it.

Happy Tax Day, Procrastinators of the World!

What's wrong with this picture?  I'm not in it!  Thanks to my Turbo-Taxing second husband, I no longer join the throng of cars snaking past the post office at midnight on April 15th.  Of course, this image is from the Boston Globe's tax day gallery, and it's unlikely I ever would have driven across the country to file my taxes in Boston.  But still, these last-minute desperadoes are my fiscal brothers and sisters.


Don't get me wrong.  I'm no TEA party sympathizer.  I'm relatively okay with paying my taxes.  I'd be a lot happier if my money weren't being spent to maim and kill other citizens of the world.  I would gladly ante up at a higher rate to support more pro-social programs.  And I'd feel better about the whole thing if the IRS didn't expect me to put in all the work up front to figure out how much I owe.  It feels like being visited by a burglar who expects me to show him where all the good stuff is, to pack it neatly and load it into his truck, and give him gas money to drive it away.


And then there's the deadline, the bane of procrastinators everywhere.  The imperviousness with which they blithely delay, knowing there's plenty of time.  Continuing to find better things to do.  Then that cold gripping sensation on or about April 13th, when they finally realize how little time they have left, how much there is still to do.  The desperate searching for misplaced forms, "documentation," fugitive receipts and renegade numbers.  The calls to the IRS "tax help" line, crucial minutes ticking by on hold.  The dash to completion.  The breathless race to the post office.  The long line of revelers, some tired and relieved, some high on the thrill of having made it.  I was one of them.  But no more.  


According to Joseph Cox from Liberty Tax (the folks who brought us the green clad Statues of Liberty waving tirelessly to us wretched refuse from teeming street corners), more people are taking matters into their own hands in this recession year, unable to afford professional tax preparation.  And many of them will not file, either because they just can't get it done, or because they decide not to file because they owe money they can't pay.  Of course, they are leaving themselves open to deeper gouging down the road, what with penalties and all.


Apparently, even Canadians, so much better than we on so many levels, also procrastinate when it comes to paying taxes.  Their deadline is different--April 30--and they write their checks to the "Receiver General."  But H&R Block Canada Inc., in an attempt to admonish Canadians to do their duty--oh, and yes, to drum up business--identifies these "Top Five Reasons for Procrastinating on Your Taxes:"

- You know you owe: 

Just because you will be writing a cheque to the Receiver General on April 30th does not mean you should wait to prepare your return. Getting the documents together and your T1 Form completed early means no pressure when it comes to the deadline. You can even file your return early and then send payment later.

- Outstanding debt means no refund: 

If you fall behind on your student loan payments or child support payments, the debt can be registered with theCanada Revenue Agency. It means that any tax refund or benefits like the GST/HST payment are designated to pay off the loan. Just because you don't get the money doesn't mean you shouldn't file. You have to pay off your student debt eventually.

- Dog ate my slips: 

You moved two times during 2009 so your T4s slips and other information receipts have gone astray or you haven't found them in your new place. Or your employer did not send a T4. You can track down replacement slips or get duplicates from other sources. Under Canada's self assessment system, you are required to provide an accurate estimate of the income you earned in 2009. You need to find your paperwork.

- Don't owe money: 

Your tax refund is money you have already paid in taxes so not filing means you are letting the government keep your money interest free. If you want your money to work for you, it should be invested where it earns some interest at least at a better rate than the CRA offers...which is zero.

- Weather is too nice: 

For many parts of the country, it has been a beautiful spring but the deadline for filing remains April 30. Though taxes and rainy days seem to go well together, you still have to file when the weather is nice.

Kind of lecture-y for my taste.  But solid advice, I suppose.  

I feel a little guilty as I contemplate my fellow North American procrastinators struggling with this onerous annual task.  I have had this cup taken from me.  There but for the grace of the partner I appreciate especially on this day. . .

I plan to celebrate my good fortune today at Starbuck's Make a Difference event.  Bring in your reusable mug and get free coffee!  I'm going to treat my husband.  And without spending a penny of his hard-earned tax return. 

Putting Off Fun

It has dawned on me lately that one of the most important things I have gotten in the habit of postponing is fun.  And how smart is that?

I have spent some difficult years raising challenging children, trying to function in a “blended” family that feels a lot like living in a Cuisinart, and coping with a credibility-defying series of crises at work and at home.  I have dealt with it by channeling my Super-self, and by hunkering down as if I were under siege. 

My fun diet over this period was like the emergency subsistence food allowance set up by the U.S. Department of Agriculture to determine food stamps allotments and poverty levels.  Meant to keep one alive, in the short run—not to nurture health or supply the energy long-run for enduring, let alone improving, one’s circumstances.

My husband has been complaining about this deprivation for years.  And I have been complaining that he isn’t helping me fill the sandbags!

But I am beginning to see that my soul, and my marriage, have been starved by my stoicism.  I am running out of steam, and nerve, and humor to continue slogging through the bogs of everyday troubles. 

What kind of nut puts off having fun?  Where did I learn that taking my eyes off the prize for an evening, or a weekend, was something I couldn’t afford to do, was too risky to consider?  What kind of example is this for my children?  And what feats might I have managed with a tad more smiling, and some spirit-feeding enjoyment under my Wonder Woman belt?

Tonight I am going to a Broadway show, albeit in New Orleans.  And to dinner.  I plan to drink, moderately, and to be merry.  And I plan to get used to this kind of  happening.    

Procrastinating 101: Now for Some Good News

Poking around in the procrastination "literature" available on the web, I stumbled upon the intriguing term "positive procrastination."  Maybe it's in my stars--I'm a Libra--but I've always tended to be a balancer, one to advocate looking at things from an opposing perspective.  And not surprisingly, I am especially prone to such examination when the mainstream view is damning of me and my behaviors.  So I'm drawn to the notion that my years of procrastinating have not all been negative.


The most frequently cited work in this vein is a 2005 academic article by Angela Hsin Chun Chu and Jin Nam Choi.  Chu and Choi identified two types of procrastinators (again with the numbers, and the types!)--passive (in layman's terms, "bad"), and active ("good"). The way I read their findings and analysis, I have been both.


The passive procrastinator is the one we all know, and some of us love, from the many texts and columns and talk shows who would repair this individual.  Said passive procrastinator, in Chu and Choi's summary of the literature, is "lazy or self-indulgent" and "unable to self-regulate."  Procrastination of this type "has been considered a self-handicapping behavior that leads to wasted time, poor performance, and increased stress."


Chu and Choi's more nuanced inquiry seems to have grown from two main sources.  First is the work of Dianne Tice and Roy Baumeister, whose longitudinal study of procrastination, published in 1997, identified "costs and benefits of dawdling."  Tice and Baumeister's research concluded that "[p]rocrastinators may find that they feel better and are healthier when the deadline is far off and they postpone the task."  This benefit was short-term, however, and the usual chickens of stress and poor performance eventually came home to roost, in their study.  Chu and Choi also point to the argument of procrastination guru William Knaus.  Knaus hints at the possible functionality of some procrastination, pointing to time spent gathering information and preparing as being, in some cases, well spent.  He advances the position of many procrastinators, often deemed rationalization, that they "work better under pressure."  


Our friends Chu and Choi thus posited their two types of procrastinators.  Active procrastinators differ from their passive cousins in cognitive, affective and behavioral characteristics.  In plain English, these "good" procrastinators decide to put something off, they can live with time pressure, and they complete work by the deadline.  Chu and Choi conclude that 

although active procrastinators procrastinate to the same degree as passive procrastinators, they are more similar to nonprocrastinators than to passive procrastinators in terms of purposive use of time, control of time, self-efficacy belief, coping styles, and outcomes . . .

So what does this mean for us procrastinators, good and bad?  What I'm taking from it is that procrastination can be a tool, to be used selectively.  But it can't be our only approach, or the default position.  "If all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail."  Today, I'm going to decide what to put off, deal with the pressure, and complete what I can. 

Music to Procrastinate By: A Soundtrack for Postponement

In recognition of the many creative ways some of us find to put things off, and the cool things we find to do while avoiding distasteful tasks, I present the following list of tunes about procrastination.  This is merely a sampling of songs I found which give testament to songwriters' familiarity with the subject.  Some celebrate procrastination, with or without tongue in cheek.  Some rue time-wasting, and others are accepting of the alternating rhythms of productivity and idleness.  

Ten Songs About Procrastinating

1. Catching Up On Doing Nothing by Reagan Boggs
2. Flowers on the Wall by The Statler Brothers
3. Solitaire by Suzanne Vega
4. Procrastination by Amy Winehouse
5. Putting it Off and Putting it Off by The Lucksmiths
6. Procrastination Rag by Nancy White
7. Procrastinator by Jon Turk
8. Procrastinatin' by Taryn Reneau
9. Do it All Later by Kris Campbell
10. Deadlines Looming by Amanda Monaco

I'm keeping this short today, since working through the superbug I contracted from a two-year-old is not working.  I'm putting myself to bed.  I plan to catch up on doing nothing,  count some flowers, put it off and put it off.  Do it all later.

Procrastinating 101: Greek to Me

According to Canadian procrastination expert Piers Steel of the University of Calgary, the formula presented here, which he calls the Temporal Motivational Theory, can be used to explain why we procrastinate.  (And what are all these procrastination experts doing in Canada, anyway?)  

In Professor Steel's equation, Utility (a task's "desirability")  is a function of E ("the expectancy a person has of succeeding with a given task") multiplied by V ("the value of completing the task"), divided by Γ (the Greek letter capital gamma--"the person's sensitivity to delay"), and D, which represents the task's delay, or how much time will pass before the task's payoff.

Utility = E x V / ΓD

I don't know about you, but the density of this formulation, multiplied by the density of my currently caffeine-deprived brain, makes me want to procrastinate.  But in the interests of science, I am going to attempt to apply Professor Steel's theory to a situation in which I typically find myself procrastinating, to see if I can understand what he is saying.

To begin with, I can see that the formula attempts to express relationships among a set of variables, none of which can be quantified.  Thus it can, at best, only predict procrastination in relative terms.  We won't be able to say that one particular set of circumstances will result in 10 procrastination units (hours or days of delay?), but only that, for example, a relatively greater degree of sensitivity to delay, all else being equal, will decrease a task's utility.  Procrastination is apparently to be seen as inversely related to the utility of the task.  For non math majors, this means that the greater the task's utility (desirability), the less likely we are to put it off.

One task that I have had trouble with in the past is paying monthly bills.  Right away, Steel's formula sheds some light on why this might be the case.  If E is my expectancy of succeeding with the task, then I have frequently been plagued by low E values, resulting from insufficient funds--which makes bill-paying less desirable, which makes me want to delay. This is so, despite a fairly high V (value of completing the task) which represents the importance of keeping the lights on and the water running and my mortgage unforeclosed. 

Γ, too, (my sensitivity to delay, or what has been called inability to delay gratification) has been a problem, but not so much as D.  I typically have difficulty finding my check register, and remembering the passwords that permit online viewing of my "paperless" bills and where I've stashed the avalanche of health bills and "explanations" of benefits which will guide me through the labyrinth of amounts really owed.  

Now compare the Utility of paying bills which my income doesn't cover to, say, checking the email inbox I just checked 10 minutes ago.  High E, medium V, low D.  If my Γ is assumed to be a constant across tasks, then the Utility of checking my email, despite the lower importance of this accomplishment, is probably much higher.  

If we assume that these variables are mostly subject to manipulation, then presumably that is what Professor Steel would have us do.  We can increase E by working on self-confidence, and lowering standards.  We can decrease D by having materials at hand, establishing routines, etc.  I'm not sure what to do about Γ.  

Professor Steel, a self-admitted procrastinator--thus his interest in the subject--describes the 10-15% of us who habitually procrastinate as "impulsive." He says that this characteristic may be genetic.  We will, however, have to wait a bit longer to learn more, since the publication of his opus on the subject, The Procrastination Equation: Using Motivational Science to Maximize Your Health, Wealth, and Happiness, has apparently been delayed. 

You Might be a Procrastinator if…

The list below may be a bit too wordy for a t-shirt, but is intended to provide the kind of small chuckle that could just keep us sane--more or less.

You Might be a Procrastinator if…

1. Your mirror is littered with urgent to-do (but still undone) post-its from more than 5 years ago.
2. You still have maternity clothes in your closet, and your youngest is a teenager.
3. Your bills are in arrears, despite (sort of) having the money to pay them.
4. The person you were going to send a sympathy card to “right away” is now dead her/himself.
5. Library overdue fines are a standard part of your budget.
6. A household improvement you began 10 years ago remains unfinished.
7. You put off buying tickets for a planned trip and now have to fly standby.
8. You routinely mail presents six or more months after the event.
9. Your mending pile is full of items that no longer fit anyone in your house.
10. You are blogging about procrastination.
11. Six or seven stalled-out major work projects lie in wait on your desk.
12. You just can't make yourself "act now," even though "operators are standing by."
13. Way too many of your ships have sailed without you.

Not the definitive list but hey, it’s Friday, and I’ve worked hard all week.  I’m going off to play.  Just have to get dressed (it’s only 11:00), make my way around the piles of bills, unmailed sympathy cards, and deserted ship docks, and find the door.

And Now, For Something Completely Different...

After two days of death and (not) mourning (all that well), a change of pace seems in order. Therefore, I present the following for the amusement of my husband, my sister, my one blog-visiting son and my daughter, my twelve selectively clued-in Facebook friends, and whoever has wandered here from New Jersey, Michigan, Alabama, and parts unknown. It is purloined from Basic Jokes:  Clean Jokes for a Dirty World.


The Procrastinators' Creed

1. I believe that if anything is worth doing, it would have been done already.
2. I shall never move quickly, except to avoid more work or find excuses.
3. I will never rush into a job without a lifetime of consideration.
4. I shall meet all of my deadlines directly in proportion to the amount of bodily injury I could expect to receive from missing them.
5. I firmly believe that tomorrow holds the possibility for new technologies, astounding discoveries, and a reprieve from my obligations.
6. I truly believe that all deadlines are unreasonable regardless of the amount of time given.
7. I shall never forget that the probability of a miracle, though infinitesmally small, is not exactly zero.
8. If at first I don't succeed, there is always next year.
9. I shall always decide not to decide, unless of course I decide to change my mind.
10. I shall always begin, start, initiate, take the first step, and/or write the first word, when I get around to it.
11. I obey the law of inverse excuses which demands that the greater the task to be done, the more insignificant the work that must be done prior to beginning the greater task.
12. I know that the work cycle is not plan-start-finish, but is wait-plan-plan.
13. I will never put off until tomorrow, what I can forget about forever.
14. I will become a member of the ancient Order of Two-Headed Turtles (the Procrastinator's Society) if they ever get it organized.

I have not personally upheld all of these principles, though I have seen most of them in action. Number 11--raising to the level of law the frittering that expands in proportion to the significance of the task we are putting off--is particularly useful. It apparently inspired my ex-husband, who finished his dissertation, to do so only after spending the better part of a month training a squirrel prodigy to approach our front steps and lie spread-eagle on the sidewalk in response to his command. 

Number 8, the "always next year" dodge, has been my personal mantra for as long as I can remember. Number 6, which proclaims the unreasonableness of all deadlines, claims the allegiance of generations of my family, thus being something of a legacy. (We don't even acknowledge the incontrovertibility of Christmas, often mailing gifts months later.) Number 14, however, with the two-headed turtle, I'm not sure I really get. I could try to figure it out, but Number 13 seems to advise otherwise. And besides, adhering to Number 4, I'm not greatly concerned about injuring myself should I fail to decode it. 

I am, of course, supposed to be in the process of putting all this procrastinating, and the religion it celebrates, behind me. It remains to be seen whether I will be able to free myself from this cult, or if kidnapping followed by intensive reprogramming will be necessary.

Grief Postponed: Part II

In yesterday’s post, I wrote of not having “properly” cried since my Dad’s death in the summer of 2007.  Why did that post belong in this blog?  Why does this one?

The way I see it, coming to terms with my grieving process is one of the main things I wish, and perhaps need, to put to bed.  Not the grieving itself--which I accept will take the time it takes, and which I expect, to paraphrase a Patti Smith interview I heard this week, to survive as a wound that I will have with me always--but the way I have been doing, or not doing it.  I want to understand why my experience of this loss has, thus far, been so very different from what I imagined.   And what, if anything, I should do about it.

I loved my father.  There was never a moment in the more than half a century we had together when I doubted that.  Through anger, through irritation, across distances geographical and emotional, I never questioned the importance to me of this quiet, funny, smart, loving and too often tortured man.  So where are my tears now that he is gone from my life?

I have been reading about grief lately, bibliotherapy being my first recourse, as always.  My dabbling in the literature, mostly online, has yielded two general categories of assessment of grief without tears.  By far the most common view is exemplified by the National Cancer Institute’s treatment of the subject—and they should know from grief, right?   According to this paradigm, such reactions, or nonreactions, are a form of “complicated,” and in the terms of some, “pathological” grief.  It can be seen as

Inhibited or absent grief:  A pattern in which persons show little evidence of the expected separation distress, seeking, yearning, or other characteristics of normal [sic] grief

or, depending on where I go from here, as

Delayed grief:  A pattern in which symptoms of distress, seeking, yearning, etc., occur at a much later time than is typical.

But why delay grief?  The Rowan Tree Foundation site, dedicated to helping families heal after the loss of a child, describes a scenario where this response, perhaps a defense mechanism of sorts, might occur:

[I]f a busy mother with young children loses her husband unexpectedly, she may become so entrenched in keeping up with the normal day-to-day activities of running her household that she never gives any time to her own mourning. Alternatively, the loss might be so overwhelming that her ability to cope is diminished at the time. Both of these scenarios can lead to delayed grief.

The same site, relying on Dr. Therese Rando's How To Go On Living When Someone You Love Dies, tells us that 

there could be an inability to let go of the relationship by avoiding what the reality of the loss entails, or a refusal to express the feelings that the loss brings to the surface.

In my own case, my father’s death was followed, within a week, by a trip with my mother to a still-Katrina-challenged ER to rule out a heart attack; within two weeks, by yet another ER trip with my asthmatic teenager; within three weeks by a return to Louisiana to move my mother to a different, more appropriate assisted living facility; within a month, by my daughter’s emergency induction of labor, eventual c-section and the arrival of my two-months premature first grandchild; within two months, by my mother’s heart attack and procedure-induced stroke; and within five months, by the serious life-threatening illness of my other teenager.  At the time, I believed I could not “afford” to grieve.

But at what cost, if any, did I hold off falling apart?

Some hold that inhibited grief puts the mourner at risk.  For example, this assertion from Comfort-for-Bereavement.com that

Because of this [inhibition] the bereaved person’s grief tends to manifest itself in the physical body instead.  They become sick in some form or another. It can begin to exhibit itself in the form of migraines, stomach problems and other physical symptoms.

Or this dark warning, from the Rowan Tree Foundation, under another common umbrella term, "unresolved grief:"

Delayed grief can lead to serious physical and mental health concerns.

(Can't you just hear the bum-ba-bum-bump beneath those words?) 


I should admit that I haven’t been feeling so hot, emotionally or physically, the last few months.  Ever since my last trip to New Orleans, almost exactly two years after burying my father there.  I search for other explanations, but am open to the thought that my atypical grieving may be related.

But if it is, then what?

[W]hat does [inhibited grief] mean for the bereaved person? Did they just get lucky in that their grief is not disrupting their daily life? Have they found a way [to] control grief so they can just continue on with their normal activities without the hassle of doing their grief work? Of course, the answer to these questions is a firm, "No." [Rowan Tree Foundation]

We must do the grief work; we must walk the path in order to fully heal.  [Comfort-for-Bereavement.com]

So I have, perhaps, miles to go.  But I said earlier that I had found two orientations in my reading.  The alternative view is provided on the National Cancer Institute site, where they quote from an article by G. A. Bonanno, entitled “Loss, trauma, and human resilience:  have we underestimated the human capacity to thrive after extremely aversive events?” published in American Psychologist 59 (1): 20-8, 2004:

Empirical reviews have not found evidence of inhibited, absent, or delayed grief and instead emphasize the possibility that these patterns are better explained as forms of human resilience and strength.  Evidence supports the existence of a minimal grief reaction—a pattern in which persons experience no, or only a few, signs of overt distress or disruption in functioning. This minimal reaction is thought to occur in 15% to 50% of persons during the first year or two after a loss.

So maybe I could still be off the hook?  And just the amazingly strong person I apparently wanted to be?  

Hmmmm…..  Maybe not.  I am, after all, writing these posts.  And I did have a great deal of difficulty getting to it, especially this morning, after feeling kind of sad and edgy most of yesterday.  I considered, actually, changing the subject.  And I do feel a kind of pressure behind my eyes, as if something there is backed up.

Grief Postponed: Part I

I remember the morning, two and a half years ago, when it became clear that my father’s death was imminent. 

I had been making regular trips over the nearly twenty months since flying with my parents back to their home in the New Orleans area after their Katrina-sponsored sojourn with me.  My husband joked that I was commuting to New Orleans.  My father’s failing health, strained local resources in the aftermath of the storm, and the difficulty of ensuring adequate care for the less-than-independently-wealthy moved me to spend nearly a week of every month helping to care for Dad.  This was to have been another such visit.  But the night I arrived, a Wednesday, I saw immediately the deterioration in his condition in the weeks I had been away.  

I think he had been waiting for me, his eldest. It had become difficult for him to talk, but he stroked my arm for a long time and repeated how good it was to see me, and that he loved me.  He seemed to be saying hello and goodbye at the same time. 

Two days later he had stopped eating.  And then I knew. 

On Saturday morning, I sat on the sunwashed patio at the center of the assisted living facility where my parents had been for less than three months, and called my husband.  I cried as I told him what was going on.  We made tentative plans for travel for him and our kids.  When we hung up, I dried my eyes and went back inside, and upstairs to my parents’ “apartment,” through the halls of elders clinging slenderly to life.  And back to work, for the duration, spelled by my sister, my frail mother, the facility staff’s brief ministrations, and the daily visits of the hospice nurses.  I called the church my parents had been attending and asked for a priest.  I promised my father he would not be alone. 

By Monday, my father had been mostly unconscious for the better (worst) part of two days, surfacing intermittently as more family members arrived from distant states and from cancelled vacations.  The hospice sent grief counselors to prepare us.  Ancient family dynamics erupted, and were covered over.  Late Monday night, after more subdued family wrangling, and in the interests of peace, I went to my sister’s to sleep, leaving other family members with Dad.  My phone rang at around 6 a.m. to bring me the news of my father’s death.  To this day, I don’t know, probably can’t know, if my promise was kept.

The days following Dad’s death were filled with the commonly surreal events—sitting with his body as we waited for the ambulance the law required to transport him to the hospital where he could be “pronounced;” watching as he was zipped into a body bag; “shopping” with my youngest brother in a casket showroom; greeting relatives; hosting a wake; ordering the necessary death certificates that would allow my mother to continue to receive income. 

I cried, really, only one other time.  My daughter, who couldn’t travel because of a difficult pregnancy, had put together a slide show of pictures on my husband’s laptop.  He had set it up at the back of the church where Dad’s funeral was held.  When I walked over to look at it, just before the service began, I heard the strains of “Danny Boy” which my husband had added to the images.  I was transported to the morning that Dad had sung it for a small family breakfast gathering following his younger brother’s death.  And I began to cry.  A cousin I see only at funerals came up behind me and said “Let it out.  It’s time.”  But it wasn’t.  I stopped crying.  And haven’t cried since.

Stuff I've Been Putting Off

I hesitate to begin this post.  Kind of a “don’t go there” thing.  In our household, there is a legend of the time my husband and I made the to do list to end all lists.  I was eight months pregnant and on bed rest with pregnancy-induced hypertension.  I was already living with a teenager and a two-year-old, not to mention a young, battle-scarred Labrador I’d snatched from the clutches of the humane society.  My dissertation was on hold.  My husband had just finished his.  Unhappy stepchildren circled the scene.  Stress was the air I breathed.

For some crazy reason, we thought it would be a good idea to put down in writing all the things we needed to take care of.  The list began innocuously enough, with some item of the magnitude of “Clean the kitchen.”  And then it grew.  And grew.  Like a tumor.  Like the enchanted tree-character in my children’s old favorite My Neighbor Totoro, but not in a good way.  It grew into a menacing thing.  It became satanic in proportion and tone. 

Within three days of making The List, I had flunked my weekly medical monitoring and been hospitalized.  Induction of labor followed an attempt to stabilize my soaring blood pressure.  My last baby arrived, two-and-a-half weeks early and small enough for doll clothes.  Chaos took root.  My new family was off and running, sans training or proper shoes.

Obviously, fate was not largely altered by these events.  I was clearly going to give birth to this child sooner or later.  I already had medical issues.  And the somewhat atypical  number and character of stressors swirling around us were surely having their own effects.  But I have always harbored the belief that it was The List that brought the drama.  It took me awhile after that difficult summer to screw up the courage to make even the more pedestrian daily to do lists with which I had littered most of my adult life before. 

As I write this, I’m not pregnant, and can’t be, and finally don’t have even the ghost of a wish to be.  So I can’t precipitate an obstetrical emergency.  But some little voice within me hisses a warning as I contemplate an itemizing of some things I need to get to. 

In the face of this fear, and in the spirit of this blog and the changes it stems from, I have identified  a number of postponed tasks and issues which I (dare I say it?) l-l-l-list here.  I am thinking of this more in the way of an assessment than as a charge.  The list is in no particular order, and makes no promises.  I just need to look at it, to see where I am.   A benchmark of sorts.  In propitiation of the list-gods, I have limited myself to fifteen items—the first that come to mind.

Some Stuff I’ve Been Putting Off

1. Painting the treehouse
2. Grieving my dad's death 
3. Finishing the refinishing of my kitchen cabinets
4. Staining the fence we built before Katrina
5. Casting off the scarf I knitted my son for Christmas
6. Digitizing my poetry
7. Working on the novel I started three years ago
8. Cleaning the basement
9. Making room for our cars in the garage
10. Dealing with my blood pressure phobia
11. Recovering the lawn
12. Laying my dissertation to rest somehow
13. Calling my brother
14. Getting a life
15. Painting the bathroom I primed nine years ago (after removing the mildew that has set in since)

Now all that remains is to sit and wait for the drama.  And maybe start therapy for an apparent paint brush phobia.