About Me

I have something to say... But a blog let's me spew until I figure out what it is.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The Overnight

For three days leading up to The Overnight walk in New York City I had stomach pains. Virtually everything I ate seemed to be making it worse.

The air was cool and humidity free, but the sun had dipped somewhere behind a grey sky sometime between my travels from Astoria, Queens and the corner of 10th and 53rd where dad was waiting to pick me up. We would drive into Brooklyn together.

We headed downtown making light, somewhat strained conversation. I say "strained" only because I was having a hard time concentrating on anything. As we approached the financial district, we were in awe over the progress of the Freedom Tower and the revitalization that has taken place in downtown NYC since 9/11. The artistic stone dividers, the slews of people milling about with their family and friends - the bikers, dogs, skateboarders. We had never seen this area of downtown so active and full of life.

Dad shared some storied about NYC and Brooklyn - something I always loved. It has a charm all its own, but I feel like dad is woven into the fabric of New York and Brooklyn so for some reason, I love to hear him talk about it.

At some point between the Freedom Tower and Camden Park West, under the grey veil that had settled over Brooklyn, it finally occurred to me what I was doing and I couldn't help but be distracted.

The park and surrounding side streets were a flutter of activity with people where powder blue Overnight shirts. The park was bustling with people - the crowd growing as we approached 7pm. I stopped at the Honor Beads table - taking an orange set of beads to indicate that I lost a sibling - and then headed to a small patch of park to sit with dad and wait. We had ice cream from a nearby truck, we decorated my shirt and waited.

When the event finally began, it was hard to hear the person on stage singing, but they eventually adjusted the levels and you could more easily hear the speaker behind the podium (especially when they spoke up). I think dad could hear most of it, but I was straining so I presume he was having a hard time.

Someone walked us through warm-ups - not enough.

Someone spoke about their battle with despression and suicidal ideation. The crowd cheered her for her bravery and the accomplishment of her coming to the walk in honor of her father and of herself. I started crying and didn't know why.

A woman spoke of the 7 people in her family who had committed suicide. I cried with my mouth open slightly and still didn't know why.

The CEO stated that AFSP is working toward lobbying antibullying laws and the 2,000 person crowd cheered.

The Keynote Speaker introduced people who were there for different reasons: Jane walks for her son. Fred walks for his brother. Amy walks for herself. etc. There was a family of 6 next to me - Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle, Aunt/Friend, and two young girls - one about 12 and the other about 17. The 17 year olds shirt read: "I walk for my mother" and as the keynot speaker shared the stories of the Jane, Fred, Amy, etc., the 12 year old began to sob, uncontrollably, rocked by her uncle who was also walking in The Overnight.

I at the crowd of people who were in front of me - their backs all to me - and began realizing that the great majority of those who were being walked for were men. Out of every 10 shirts that I saw for men, 1 was for a woman.

I realized that the honor beads we all wore informed each of us, from a distance, of the loss that we felt. You could pick out who they lost by the beads around their neck and so while you were surrounded with people who KNEW what you were going through, you could also understand the RELATIONSHIP that they had with the lost loved one. There was so much peace that came from this, for some reason.

The opening ceremonies came to a close and they signaled our start. Tearfully, dad and I said our goodbyes and dad started back to his car.

I stood there. Frozen and unable to move. Crying.

When I finally managed to take some steps (I didn't want to wind up at the back of the pack), I cried harder.

Here I am - the girl who never does anything by herself - walking an 18 mile trek through New York City in honor of her brother who took his own life.

And then the ton of bricks hit me hard. George is dead. He is not here. And that girls mother isn't here anymore. And all of these people represent HUNDREDS of lives lost to suicide. We are a walking protest. George is really dead. George took his own life. Why? Why couldn't he know how much I loved him? How much mom and dad loved him? How much the people who knew him loved him? Why am I in this fucking park in the middle of New York? What am I DOING!?

It was sadness mixed with grief, pain, anger, love, admiration, awe, happiness, and pride all wrapped up into a few minutes and I cried almost with wreckless abandon. Hell, I didn't know anyone there and I was all alone - so maybe some things are blessings in disguise.

As the cattle made their way accross the first street, I jutted ahead and got ahead of the crowds.

Miles 1-4 were simple. I had a great pace, the sun was up, the views were wonderful. Miles 5-6 were a little harder. I was lonely, getting a blister on the sole of my left foot and my hamstrings were starting to tighten up despite multiple stops to stretch them out. I stopped, stretched and changed my socks but the tightness wasn't letting up. At mile 8, tired of having only time to think on my hands, I decided "to hell with it", pulled out my iPod, turned it up and proceeded to sing - loudly - up the West Side Highway. Halfway through the Chorus Line soundtrack, I was approaching mile 10 and was feeling intense pain in my hamstrings and the sole of my left foot.

It was all downhill from there. The seed of doubt blossomed quickly and before I knew it, I was making the decision to stop walking. Failure swept over me - more tears - and this sense that I let everyone down - and most especially Big Guy (though there was a part of me that laughed at that fear because a) I knew that BG would have INSISTED that I not make a big deal out of this and honestly would have probably asked me not to do the walk at all and b) because he would have thought that I achieved way more than I should have as an undertrained overweight chic with a desk job.)

"Jenn! You raised so much money! That's an accomplishment!"
"Jenn, you raised awareness. Because of you and others a statement was made about the impact of suicide"
"Jenn, it's a priviledge to walk - you paid for the privledge to walk"
"Jenn - we didn't expect you to make it past mile 6!"

Yes, I know. But you just can't possibly know the sadness that comes over you when you feel like you couldn't do anything to save this person's life and you don't even have the physical fortitude to REPRESENT THEM in their death. You can't help but say to yourself "I can't even do THAT. This kid felt incredible pain and agony and you can't even finish WALKING". I know it's defeatist behavior and very negative, but it's what I was feeling at the time.

Depressed, sad, embarrassed and feeling defeated, I left the trail and found a cab to take me to Penn Station so I could get back to New Jersey.

When I woke up, I still couldn't "live with myself" for quitting, so when Josh's aunt and uncle invited me to go the boardwalk in Ocean Grove, I actually agreed to walk some more. Together we walked about four miles. And, when I returned to Tampa yesterday - I walked another 2.

So, maybe I couldn't do 18 in one shot - but Goddamnit, I am going to finish just one thing in my life. I have two more miles and hope to complete them by Friday. I could easily complete them by bike, but feel like I am cheating and really ought to finish them on foot.

At the end of it all, I feel in this very strange place - that I have accepted that my brother is no longer with us, but never mourned. I cry randomly.

Sometimes I feel like my parents are looking to me to "feel something", but I feel ashamed of being emotional sometimes - and other times I feel like I just DON'T want to talk about it. I am not repressing at all, I just don't want to talk about it.

And somehow, while working on this blog - I got to that same place. I don't want to talk about it anymore... so...

Jenn

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