Somi's Stories

The joys, the woes, the highs, the lows.

I find that the extremes of life have not really stretched beyond what has been before. Rather, I tend to move to those extremes more readily without the ability to look back at its counter-side. One moment I’m completely joking and laughing, and the very next, I sink deep into sadness. It takes about one to five minutes for the emotion pendulum to make its full swing.

It is the inbetween that I long for, the balance that allows me to both understand the extremes without necessarily having to go there myself. It is those extremes that allow me to gather the information I need to make my everyday decisions – what to wear, what to eat, how to drive, and so on. And it is those extremes that I see but do not touch that allow me to find ways to interact with those whom I encounter.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid to visit the extremes. But in my present state, I am just afraid of going there and losing myself so much, that I have little ability to return to the centre. The moment something gets a little stressful, I am overwhelmed with anxiety and pain, and the fear of failing or disappointing someone takes over completely.

The cure? It’s simple. And it’s not new. Practice, practice, practice. I will not learn while standing away from the problem. Rather, each encounter with my inability to cope with emotions is a moment to choose courage and decide that I will not allow myself to simple fall into despair. It is counter to my natural inclination, and that is entirely what I need to do.

This is my prayer, that self-control would find its way into my moments of loss and bewilderment. There is nothing too big that cannot be conquered by love… even this. And there are many who do love me. I know this well.

My first day back at work today was not the roaring success that I thought it would be.

I’ve always had stage fright… all my life. It’s that sick sense inside your stomach in anticipation of having to perform while others watched. And no matter how much support of love they give, it’s the primary attention that I dread, the sense that I will feel exposed and unable to recover if I make a mistake while everyone is watching. My own insecurities.

That same fright has been with me since I woke up on Monday morning. I didn’t know why I was suddenly so anxious. Then when I connected it with the fact that I would walk back into the office after being away for so long, in the full view of the many staff who know only a general reason why I was away, I felt sick to the stomach.

Then I thought to myself, “This is just stage fright. The same thing you’ve experienced thousands of times as you prepare to play the piano or give a sermon.” And like those many times, I only needed about 30 seconds, and then the fright was over. I would settle in and do what I came to do. And so I expected the same thing today.

That was not to be. It took me 3 hours to get ready my regular 30-minute morning routine. I took some time on the way to buy flowers, having agreed to myself that I would always have fresh flowers at my desk. I got some lunch. Then I came to the parking lot of the university, parked my car, and took about 5 minutes to take a deep breath and prepare for the entrance. The walk to my office seemed longer than usual, and my pace slowed as I approached the opening of office area.

There they were, the staff. Familiar faces, and a glance of surprise and understanding, just as I had expected. I held myself up and greeted everyone intentionally. I stepped into my office, and stumbled to find the light switch. I had totally forgotten where it was. Jennifer came into the office, and somehow, her care always cuts me to the core, and my first tears came.

My meeting with the dean to get oriented the current status of the Faculty started also with sobs, and he quickly realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to get through his entire agenda. We stopped, probably only halfway through, since my poor head couldn’t absorb that much information. And I realized just how far back I had fallen from being able to multi-task and juggle all my balls in the air like I used to do. Gawd, I miss that girl.

I left the two back-to-back meetings in a bit of a daze, sat in the office, and tried to be productive. My heart was pounding a million miles a minute, and I started to well up again. It was not what I had expected. I have always been able to at least put my emotional baggage aside and attend to the work at hand. But not today.

I can’t figure out if it’s too early to return, or if this is just a rite of passage I have to get through in order to restore my life at work. I will try to be courageous every day and take it a moment at a time. Jesus, give me strength. I miss the idea of “Dad” so much, it hurts when I am with people. But I will find a way through it, because I know I can.

It’s never fun to be sick. As a kid, it’s a very helpless feeling. I laid in my bed, I guess I was around 12 years old, sick with a fever. It’s that restless feeling where you feel like your head weighs about 100 pounds, and your body is shivering and sweating at the same time. You want to sleep, but your body will not settle. And so you just want to cry in despair.

But the kid that’s sick dreads the other loathsome necessity… taking medicine. And for me, it was the fight of the dreaded pill-swallow. I don’t know why such a tiny pill wouldn’t go down my pre-teenaged throat. It’s as if the moment the pill went in my mouth, my throat would close up shop. Twice I tried, but I just couldn’t get it down.

Then Dad decided he would take a different approach. He took the half piece of aspirin, ground it into a spoon, added a little sugar, and then fed it to me with a glass of water. Sure, even this inventor-father thought he may have stumbled on yet another discovery for patenting. And I, with much relief at the prospect of not having to play war with a pill, took it willingly.

For the first 10 seconds, all seemed well. Dad was satisfied, and I laid down to wait for the medicine to take effect. And then something started in my stomach. It was as if someone started to blow a balloon down there… the gas widening every so quickly until it stretched no further. And then out it came back through the same orifice it went into.

My Dad, in desperation held out his cupped hands to save the carpet, and save himself from a lot of explaining to do to Mom. One saved. The next one came, and I tried. But my tiny little hands wouldn’t be big enough, and so I ran as fast as I could to the bathroom next door. I never saw my Dad as I looked down in the toilet, but I could feel the guilt from there. His ingenuity did not pay off, and his daughter was paying dearly for it.

But one thing for sure. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, I laid in bed, and fell quickly asleep. And the rest I needed finally came. Poor Dad. Good try. A lesson learned for both of us. Now I’ll always know… take the pill whole!

I have found that many things ended when my Dad passed away. It was not just the end of Mark Chuhon’s life on earth, but the end of my earthly relationship with him as father, the end of a life-long trial of the ins and outs of Dad and the family, the end of my tennis lessons, Canucks game traditions, cooking the food he likes, finishing his crossword puzzles. In a nutshell, his death marked the end of the creation of any new experiences that I would have shared with him in the realms of life I had relationship with him.

The end came abruptly, far before his final breath. The moment I heard he had “C” I did not really understand in my head what that meant. But I noticed small changes in my behavior. I wouldn’t put the tennis racket away, but I would refuse to touch it. I watched Canucks games, but only bits and pieces — a whole different Somi that anyone knows being the big Canucks fan that I am. When something needed fixing that I usually ask Dad for, it stayed unfixed. It was almost as if I needed to create new remembrances of Dad, even if they were sad ones. To ignore it and move on as before without him was a painful thought indeed.

These are the endings. They are merciless not something I would have chosen for myself. Like a clock ticking away, these kinds of endings will take place without any ability of mine to stop it. They are done TO me.

But finding closure is a sweet mercy I am finding in this swarm of change. And in this enterprise, time is my friend. I have been bred to always fill my time with production and progression. I look to goals and I achieve them (or at times, even compete for them). But closure doesn’t necessarily come this way. It takes time for myself to adjust. And while I realize that I need to stay intentional, I don’t need to “make it happen.” I just need to allow it to happen.

Two weeks ago, my dirty laundry was the same laundry that was there when my Dad passed away. Therein were the clothes that I wore when I spent my last moments with him, the clothes that I wore to the many, many funerals. But about two weeks ago, my mind clicked, and I knew I had to get the laundry done. And when it was done, and I pulled out the articles of clothing that I loathed to touch, I sobbed, and then I folded the clothes and put it away. And that was that.

My whole life these days is about small closures that the “endings” have forced me to address. One by one, pieces of my life are finding a new path.

Time to get them back. List of stuff that give me joy and peace:

1. Find a real piano and play it.
2. Re-read a favorite book.
3. Write a song.
4. Devotions in Starbucks on Kingsway.
5. Be an archer.
6. Have fresh flowers at your desk, always.
7. Try a new recipe.
8. Wandering aimlessly.
9. Buy tennis shoes and play tennis.