Category Archives: Grief and Loss

End or Beginning? (2018 Recap)

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Shit!! I made it through another year!! Barely, on fumes, with my low fuel warning light flashing on my figurative dashboard. But, I’m here at the end of another romp through the Gregorian 12-step.

I’m edging closer to pulling up alongside yet another sad anniversary of losing my only son, maybe the best person I’ve ever known or ever will know. I don’t expect to meet anyone like him again and that’s something impossible to ignore.

Riding shotgun on a two-member team that’s managed to make it through the worst of stretches a life can parcel out, I’ve also weathered abandonment, lies, and the usual failings that humans are genetically predisposed to deliver. Fuck it, though! There’s something celebratory in all this darkness and mourning. At least approaching it in the spirit of the age-old wisdom that co-worker Wilma Delay dispensed back in my Westville Correctional Center days: she told me, “Baumer, sometimes you gotta’ laugh to keep from crying.” I sometimes wonder what became of ole’ Wilma. She always made more work for me with her predisposition to never moving off her sit-stool and more-often-than-not assigning herself the task of setting up the evening’s prisoner’s meds, which meant she had to do little else. Her co-workers picked up the slack. But I believe her heart was in the right place.

I remain flummoxed by the speed that grief allows a grieving person to spiral downward. One minute, you are coping with the shitty stick you’ve been handed and the next, you are contemplating a painless way to end it all. I’m not messing with you. It’s that fucked-up at times. I don’t anticipate it will ever get too much better than that in all honesty.

But again, here we are—another new year goading us into resolutions and pronouncements, sent out into the great unknown. What’s one to do, save for going along, with some remote hope of getting along.

Wrapping up 2018, here are the things and people that helped bring the year to a tolerable close:

  • Books and writers
  • Music
  • A new understanding of family
  • A few true/blue friends
  • Better physical health and the return of some measure of fitness
  • A sense that despite all of the brokenness and tears, Mark’s parents are doing the best we can be doing in terms of honoring his memory.

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Three Minus One for Christmas (Mourning) Mix

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It’s hard to celebrate and feel joy when you’ve lost someone. Because of that, Christmas is an especially hard season for us.

Compounding the sadness of grief and loss for those mourning a loved one’s death during this time of the year is that there is a veneer of cheer and happiness all around. I’m not sure if this a cultural manifestation unique to American holidays seasons like this one, or something else. I’ll let you do the intellectual heft on that. All I know personally is that it’s sometimes too much. This Christmas is a bit better than last year, which was nearly unbearable. Friends and family have made overtures and we’ve been able to be part of this year’s holiday in a way that would have been impossible in 2017.

Back in the 1990s, when I was doing my radio shows on WBOR, 91.1 FM, Brunswick, Maine (a station ID, btw, for the FCC), I loved putting together playlists. Figuring out how to “stack” music and create a mood for three hours (or during those holiday break “marathons” that I’d sign-up for, sometimes lasting six hours or longer) was something I worked hard at. I also loved making mix tapes back then, also. It’s not that long ago, but to explain mix tapes and queuing records to youngsters fixated on the latest passive video game experience is an exercise in futility. I know, I’ve tried.

Fortunately for people like me, who still love radio where disc jockeys get to program their own music, there are still places to find throwbacks to an all-but-disappeared era of over-the-air music. I’ve been grooving on Christmas music that isn’t the usual over-played crap that all the commercial stations have been playing since Thanksgiving. My favorite stop for the past week has been a longtime favorite of mine, WFMU. Whether it’s been rocked-up versions of old holiday standards, or some really weird holiday-themed music (like Culturecide), or big band versions of all the old-time “hits” from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s (think Spike Jones and the Maguire Sisters), good ‘ole ‘FMU has supplied variety and a diverse selection.

Parading santas to lighten the mood. (courtesy of Zzzzzzero Hour with Bill Mac on WFMU/Dec. 24, 2018)

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Birthday Blog-Mark 35

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December 19 will forever be Mark’s birthday for me (and his mom). It’s a day that will always be sad now that he’s gone. It once foreshadowed Christmas for his parents. He was the best Christmas gift two young parents could have received far from their families, in Indiana, during that bitterly cold month in 1983.

I posted last year on December 19 and thought I would again this year. This one from when Mark was 31 may be my favorite birthday post. I recall a saying that Mary’s late mom used to share: “Remember the happy times.” I’m holding on to those, today.

Mark was a vegan superhero. (protesting in front of Textron’s headquarters, Providence, RI, in 2016)

December and January have become bookends to a dark period for Mary and me. It’s that “season of anniversaries” that I mention to people I know and who knew Mark. That “sad season” actually commences just prior to Thanksgiving and then, it runs through the anniversary of his death on January 21. I’m not sure that February will ever be a joyous month, either. That is how passing through the landscape of grief, loss, and mourning goes.

Mary’s family has been great. Thanksgiving this year was okay. Spending time in Maine’s western mountains helped. Then, the first weekend in December, we returned to the place where we’ve spent a weekend in early December for years (we couldn’t do it, last year) taking part in the Tarazewich Christmas gathering. I believe this tradition dates back to 2007. Along a lake in tiny village named Woodstock is a “camp” filled with countless memories of Mark. That’s where we first met (and fell in love with) his girlfriend at the time, Gabi. That was the year she’d graduated from Wheaton (Mark was a 2006 graduate). We actually met her for the first time when she stepped out of the car in front of Mary’s sister and brother-in-law’s house. I’m sure it was a bit overwhelming, but she handled it with aplomb.

Memories of Mark are fraught with triggers. I never know what might unleash another torrent of sadness and grief raining down on my head and heart.

An Easter to remember. (Providence, RI, 2009)

We raised our son to be tough and independent in spirit and he cultivated a uniquely optimistic outlook about life and even adversity. I know he didn’t get that from me: probably from Mary.

He took childhood lessons to heart and revamped the curriculum with his own values, mixed with love and compassion, filtered through a poet’s sensibility, with the zaniness of a performance artist. I miss learning new things because of him. He taught me that you’re never too old of a dog to learn new tricks. With Mark, he was always learning. He loved sharing whatever was new with those circulating in his orbit, dispensed with his characteristic gentleness and yes, that wacky humor that at times would make his grumpy dad even grumpier. I’d gladly have him come up behind me and pat me on the head tomorrow, and I wouldn’t complain at all.

Mary and I launched the Mark Baumer Sustainability Fund to honor our wonderful son, the love of our lives. It’s now a 501(c)3 foundation that will live on to honor Mark, and help cultivate traits that were part of his philosophy of life—especially love, kindness, and taking a direct and personal responsibility in building a more gentle and humane world—one that honors and respects all people.

If you knew Mark and want to honor him on his birthday, then think about making a contribution to the Mark Baumer Sustainability Fund.

These are the things we’re about:

A mission-driven nonprofit.

Emotional Music

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I can be going through my day, oblivious to this season’s constant reminders of the second anniversary signposts Mary and I’ll be moving past in December and January. Then, a song comes on the radio, or in the sequencing of CD/album, or a Spotify playlist, and I’ll be wrecked. What is it about certain songs that hit me with the emotional equivalent of a ton of bricks?

Not only does certain music and more specifically, songs, affect me, but hearing people talk about their own loss also triggers emotions. Like several nights last week, driving home from tutoring, and hearing Mark Curdo winding down another day of Markathon on WCYY.

Yo La Tengo plays some amplified Hanukkah tunes. (Brooklyn Vegan photo)

As he closed out each day of fundraising, the later hour meant that the busyness of responding to phone calls and other communication had lessened. The solitude of the hour allowed Curdo to open up and speak about his own experiences with grief, or share his heart about the center’s work and mission to help those moving through the grief journey. One night, it was Curdo talking about Brendon Whitney, the talented Portland rapper (who rapped as Alias) and producer who died unexpectedly last April. Curdo was forthcoming about how his close friend’s death devastated him. Another night and the tears were flowing as I headed south on Route 1, headed for home. Continue reading →

Writing Newsletters

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Thanksgiving’s gift of an extended respite was a welcome one. No tutoring, insurance, and only one chance to sub at a nearby high school.

I read, tag-teamed in the kitchen with my better half on some amazing plant-based meals rooted in simplicity: I had my evenings free, which has been rare since September. Thursday, we drove into Maine’s snowy western mountain region for time with Mary’s family.

Western Mountain splendor.

Grief is “a process.” The idea of grief proceeding neatly through “five stages” has been imposed upon those grieving, thanks to Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. Fifty years ago, she described a progression of emotional states experienced by terminally ill patients after receiving their diagnosis. Because of her “theory,” those who mourn are often inflicted by well-meaning people with the belief that we should be “getting over” our sadness and loss. If it were only as simplistic as passing through five stages.

I’m not going to debate the veracity of Kubler-Ross’s framework. Others have already done that. But Mary and I know better than most that grief doesn’t proceed in an orderly fashion, even if some wish it would. Grieving people will always mourn the loss of someone special and loved, like we loved Mark. Continue reading →

Better Days

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During the summer of 2017, and even at times, this past summer, recovery from grief and loss seemed improbable. Losing a son like Mark assured me my spot in line, stuck in a position and place I never asked to be in.

Life is now pockmarked by sad anniversaries. These will be forever oriented around an event that turned lives upside-down: the last time we saw Mark; the start of his final walk; his birthday, Christmas, his death…and on and on the calendar turns.

When I returned from my Father’s Day road trip in late June, and with July’s swelter, once more I was moored in sadness and hopelessness. The odds that things might dramatically improve were not any that a successful gambler would take.

We’re fortunate to have an exceptional grief counselor. At an appointment prior to summer, in May, she reframed how I was feeling as “moving through grief.” Her suggestion and semantic reorientation from “moving beyond grief” worked for me.

I’m not dismissing that my physical malady and SI joint issue contributed to the darkness I experienced most days. Sitting at home with nothing to do and with no prospects of anyone intervening dropped a veil of interminability over July.

My walking partner and friend, Paul, was also experiencing back issues. Both of us had dusted-off our tennis games during the summer and fall of 2017. This tennis season, neither of us was capable of swinging a racket, or chasing balls on the baseline—we were simply struggling to remain upright.

August forced me to dig into my Medicare certification requirements. I wasn’t eager for this three to four-week period of completing modules in order to pass the federally-mandated certification exam that allows agents little wiggle room. You basically have to know your stuff if you want to sell this type of health insurance. On top of these strict federal mandates, each plan imposes additional requirements before being deemed “ready to sell.” The good news for me this year is that I’m contracted with three plans, instead of last year’s solitary option.

Tutoring at the private school nearby may have saved me in 2017. No matter how dark and difficult things felt, I knew I had to gather my wits about me late every afternoon in preparation for the student I was assigned to work with.

Driving onto the stately grounds of the school replete with a 19th century mansion always managed to enhance my mood and remind me that it was time for me to “perform” for two hours. And that’s what I did beginning in September through early December when the students left for Christmas break.

Teaching and tutoring are noble endeavors.

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Anita Hill 2.0

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Today is the “big day” on Capitol Hill. Brent Kavanaugh will have to answer to and about the allegations made against him. Several women have alleged that he at best, acted in an aggressive and sexualized manner towards them. At worst, he was/is a sexual predator.

Mark Peterson photo/Courtesy of The New Yorker

Since Mark was killed, I boomerang between days and weeks where life seems like it’s returned to “normal.” I go off and do one of my various freelance activities, or I’m working on one of the one or two articles I turn and get paid for by the auto trade magazine I’ve written for since the summer of 2015. The activity allows me to push aside the pain that comes with losing someone central to my life.

Inevitably, something becomes a trigger, and I can go from “nearly normal,” to freefalling into an angry funk. When this occurs, it’s hard to want to care about anything for a day, or longer. I’m angry at the woman who hit and killed my son. I’m angry at people who seem to be so self-centered and oblivious about others and their pain. I’m sick of thinking about how I’m going to scrounge up some additional income, and a host of other emotions related to grief and loss. This week, it was something that someone who I thought had my back, said. This person once again indicated what an absolute shit they are and have been since Mark’s death upended my life and Mary’s. But it’s always about them and always has been. I must remind myself of that and breathe. Continue reading →

Gifted

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Back in 1996, Nada Surf had a major hit with their song, “Popular.” It was a take down of the fickle elements of high school popularity.

The band easily could have become just one more one-hit-wonder littering the pop-rock landscape. Their record label wanted another “Popular” and their follow-up didn’t have one. Then, like happens often, the A&R asshole at the label began imposing his total creative cluelessness on the true creatives who made up the band. This process never results in anything positive, and yet labels have been doing this kind of thing, forever. Elektra dropped the band mid-tour, while they were in Europe. So much for “developing talent,” A&R schmuck!

To Nada Surf’s credit, they persevered. This meant touring whenever they could to rebuild U.S. interest in their band, while taking on day jobs to pay the bills. Then, Let Go, their third record, and the true follow-up that they wanted to make to their debut record found a home on tiny Barsuk Records out of Seattle, Washington. The band got solid reviews and here we are, 15+ years later and Nada Surf are still going strong. Continue reading →

Failures of Kindness

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I’m reading a book of short stories by George Saunders. The librarian that checked it out for me waxed effusive about Saunders. His stories are good, although they fall short of another book of short stories I just finished by Ottessa Moshfegh.

I picked up Moshfegh’s book because I got a Google alert and discovered something she shared about Mark in an interview for Vulture, including one of his 50-books-in-a-year as one of 10 works she’d take with her to a desert island. I’d never read anything by her. She was in his MFA cohort at Brown:

We lost this brave genius last year, and the books he gifted us while he lived are so wonderfully strange and honest and beautiful, I can’t believe he even existed. He was more than a poet or performance artist — Baumer’s life itself was a work of art. He was truly radical, and the most openhearted, unjaded human I’ve ever met.

That was kind of her. Continue reading →

Dad Goes For a Drive

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I spent most of Sunday driving across the Allegheny Mountains, passing through rural villages and hollers. At times the sheer natural magnitude left me breathless. Mountains symbolize something bigger than ourselves. When I’m in their shadow, I’m left humbled. It helps me to realize how insignificant I am.

Along backcountry highways, I knew that here, many supported Donald Trump. It was also impossible not to notice numerous gun shops and signs trumpeting patriotism. Being on the road is a reminder that we are living in a collection of states where people hold contrary views, with little to bridge the divide. I’m not sure I see that story ending well.

This sign should read, “Trump Country.”

Passing through the land of guns, God, and glory.

Late in the afternoon, I found PA-641. This is the road where Mark began walking after crossing the river from Harrisburg. He stopped at The Healthy Grocer. Continue reading →