During this miserable time when I’m totally distracted with the deaths in my family and smoking like London during the blitz, I’ve been asked to not post until I’m back at work and again actively seeking a smoke-free Susan.

I’ve been trying to think through Meg’s death–what signs I saw and what signs I missed.

The Lowdown

• A lot of stress, but this was the norm for Meg.
• Major, major conflict with her business partner–which I inherited. (Boy, would I love to say more…but this is not the right forum.)
• Depression. Meg had been facing depression since our clean-livin’, 37-year-old brother, John, was diagnosed with esophageal cancer in 2001. John and our mother both died in 2003 and I know Meg never recovered from those losses. I have nagged and nagged and pleaded for Meg to get professional help. A little over a year ago, she was on antidepressants, but a neurologist who was treating her severe familial tremor took her off them!! This past winter, she was again on an antidepressant, but didn’t find it effective. Her primary care doctor wouldn’t prescribe an alternative without her seeing a psychologist. Meg absolutely refused to see a psychologist. Like a rock. My begging and reasoning was like talking to a teenager in love who wants to go out on a weeknight.  I did not realize how deep and how dangerous her depression had become. Please, please! Depression is a life-threatening disease that has a physiological basis. It’s not a weakness. If you or someone you care about has depression–GET THEM HELP!
• Meg was drinking too much. We saw this when she accompanied us to Europe last fall. I had several conversations about it with her–and I didn’t beat around the bush about the issue. I didn’t know that there’s a strong correlation between substance abuse and suicide until it was too late.
• You know, Meg has always been a blast to travel with. However, she wasn’t last fall. I feel bad because after the first of the year we told her that Jeff and I wanted to go alone to France this fall. After all, she disliked France and Jeff and I needed alone time, given the boomerang child at home. We didn’t tell her that it had been less than pleasant traveling with her on our last trip. I just don’t know how big a deal this was to her. This nags at me.
• The poor kid was lonely. I didn’t know how lonely until I talked with people here in Florida the past weeks.
• As I’ve commented in this blog, Meg started smoking again about a year and a half ago, having quit successfully more than 15 years ago. Was this a sign that she’d given up on herself, her future. The psychology of smoking is strange stuff.

I have no answers yet. I just want my sister back.

 

The deaths of my father and sister have sent me into a tailspin and I’m taking some time off work and the demands of Madison to try and get my head on straight and find a way to cope with these losses.

I’m staying at Meg’s lovely house. Her pool and courtyard have wonderful tropical plantings–six palms, caladiums, bougainvillea and more. I sit at the table there and smoke. I also swim, weed and trim plants–everything here grows like they’re on steroids. Gardening is a passion of mine and a good stress reliever.

I feel closer to Meg here. She was so proud of her home and it’s going to be put on the market at some point, so I’m getting it ship-shape. It feels like I’m doing something for her. “Eddie the Hammer” is going to be doing the big work. Eddie did work for Meg and Dad. He’s a character and is feeling the losses too.

I’m doing absolutely nothing on Dad’s estate. I can’t seem to tackle them simultaneously.

This Blog

It was always my intention that the blog be more than just about kicking the tobacco habit. Little did I know that it also would encompass: depression, illness, loss, grief, love for family and friends… But these things are part of living–whether you smoke or not. And they certainly pose additional challenges to people trying to quit.

 

I’m back in Madison and at work today–at least in body. My brain remains in a daze. (Some people might say that’s a fairly normal state for me.)

I’ll admit that it’s hard to focus on work tasks and easy to hunker down in my cubicle, avoiding people who don’t know what to say about my double hit. I tell people that I wouldn’t know what to say, either, if the situation was reversed.

Collecting

The next time I go back to my sister’s house, I’ll need to donate the beer can collection that belonged to my brother, John, to the green crusher truck.

John started collecting beer cans when he was 11 or 12. He’d stack them in his bedroom making a pyramid that crashed frequently. He also collected matchbooks, some of which were pretty cool. Funny—John didn’t smoke and rarely downed a beer.

When John died, Meg just had to have that collection. The cans were in her garage for a couple of years before my son put shelves up to properly display the collection. He was so proud of himself because one morning when he was jogging he’d found discarded shelving and brackets set out for garbage pickup.

All but one of my kids are rabid trash pickers. Jeff, too. During the weeks when the UW students move out of their apartments, certain members of my family spend hours cruising the streets looking for treasures. Jeff used to sneak stuff into the garage where I wouldn’t see it right away.

Don’t Throw Those Packs Out

There are collectors of cigarette packs eager for your handouts. In fact, there are cigarette packet collectors’ clubs in the UK and Argentina. Several collectors have web sites devoted to their hobby, including this site by Marcal Carboneri.

There’s also an artist called Jas who collects cigarette packs to make elaborate found-material structures. I’ll bet his wife doesn’t appreciate all the time he spends on this. Actually, I’ll bet he doesn’t have a wife.