What Happens When You Have Already Died a Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts?

What Happens When You Have Already Died a

Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts?

by LaShon N. Sawyer, MSSA, PhD, LISW-S

There is a tongue-in-cheek phrase suggesting that one can die from 1000 paper cuts. It implies that one small superficial cut will not likely kill you, but if you endure one thousand of these same small cuts, then this stressful situation feels like a slow death is looming.

What do you do when the paper cuts keep coming before you can begin to apply the salve to the most recent paper cut? How do you cope with the pain of 1000 paper cuts simultaneously? Can you continue on when it feels like death by paper cuts changes from a metaphor to a reality?

This was my reality starting in 2004. In June of that year, I received news that would give me feelings of exhilaration and devastation within less than a 30-day period. During the first week of the month, my family and I received the sad news that my father’s second battle with cancer was declared terminal. The cancer had spread from his lungs to his brain. The chemo, radiation, and clinical trials were not working as we had hoped. As a certified-grade-A daddy’s girl, this was a huge blow for me to hear this news. My father was my original superhero, my first love, and the essence of all things a father should be.

My 30th birthday was only days away, when I found out that my life with my father was coming to an end. By all outward appearances, society had deemed me an adult based on my age, career success and responsibilities, but I felt like a mere child when I heard this news. I don’t think there is ever an age that is “appropriate” to lose a parent, but I didn’t feel I was adult enough to bare this news. This paper cut was definitely going to leave a mark that I questioned if this wound would ever heal.

As I readied myself to enjoy these last days

with my father, God blessed me with the news that I was pregnant. Finding out that I was pregnant for the first time, came with so many emotions. As my heart was growing to love the life forming inside me, I wondered, “am I ready to be responsible for another human being”? The roller coaster of emotions about my pregnancy coupled with thoughts of my father, created a sea of emotions with many peaks and valleys. This experience was only magnified by the fact that I was engaged and already planning an early spring 2005, wedding before any of this news in June came to be. “Do I keep the wedding date, knowing my father may not be able to walk me down the aisle?” “How do I manage my life now having a due date and a wedding in the same month?” I pondered, do I figuratively and maybe literally, roll myself down the aisle with a baby belly in tow? (If there is such a thing as a baby following directions and staying in the oven until after the wedding?!) After talking with my fiancé, we decided to move the wedding date up to October. At the time, I thought this was changing our plans; a year in the making by a few months. This would hopefully allow my father to participate in some manner and keep us a good distance ahead of my pregnancy due date.

As they say, “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” My dad became weaker. My engagement became stressful and filled with many arguments. I decided to call off the wedding. At the time, making this decision seemed so difficult. Time would reveal that it was indeed the right decision. But, at that moment, it was yet another paper cut.

The stress of trying to be a support to my parents (in different ways), my unborn child, work responsibilities, and probably ten other random responsibilities I was trying to juggle was beyond stressful. I was trying to be all things to everyone and I was being neglectful of myself. Neglecting my own self-care was another paper cut. My father exceeded the doctor’s estimation of his remaining days. Although every additional day was a blessing, I could see the strain it was having on my mother. To wake up every day after the doctor’s best guess about my dad’s final breath, became a double edge sword. On one hand, she would rejoice in knowing she had more time with him, but each day was delaying the inevitable. My older sister and I decided to give her a ‘night out’ to relieve some stress. My sister sat with our father, while I took Mom to a movie and dinner. She had a wonderful time. I would have never known that the following morning our lives would change forever.

On the morning of November 13, 2004, I phoned my mom as I did every morning to check in and to see what was needed for the day. It was around 9 am. Strangely, my mother was still in the bed. To know my mother was to know that she was an early riser. For her to be still in the bed at 9 am meant that the Earth was definitely off its axis. She said she couldn’t move well and could not get out of bed. I told her that I would come over. When I came into the house, I checked on my father. He had made it through the night, but his breathing was labored. I called my sister because I could feel that he time with us was limited. While I waited for my sister to arrive, I sat on my mom’s bed. Although she never said it, I think she knew my dad was leaving us soon. I think these are the things that science can’t explain when a couple had been together for 33 years at that time. I heard my sister come through the front door. I stayed with Mom for a few minutes to give my sister time with Dad. She had the same ritual to check on Dad when we arrived. I walked to go meet her. I will never forget the look in her eyes. Without saying a word, I knew she was the last person to spend time with my father before he transitioned.

My sister and I cried together, then realized we had to tell Mom. I honestly believed she knew our father; her husband had passed before we told her. But nonetheless, we had

to tell her. From that moment on, my mother never walked without assistance from others. As other family members began to arrive, we assisted my mother to my father’s side for her final goodbyes. The loss in her eyes ran so deep. I hurt to see her hurting so deeply. Yet another paper cut wound for me to nurse.

My father passed away that morning and that evening my mother was going to the emergency room. The doctors could not find anything scientifically wrong with her. The doctors sent her home to rest. She laid in the bed, worn and brokenhearted. Soon thereafter, we called the ambulance because her condition did not improve. Shortly after arriving at the hospital, my mother called out my dad’s name before becoming unconscious. She remained in a coma for 13 days before passing. Although my parents are listed as passing 13 days apart, it felt as if I lost them on the same day. The doctors suggested that she passed due to a broken heart. A double paper cut ran deep through my soul.

I was blessed to grow up in a home with both of my parents and have them around for a decent part of my adult life, but in November of 2004, I felt like an orphan. To go from having unconditional love from two parents to become a parentless child was a type of loneliness I had never experienced. To begin the month of November never having the experience of planning a funeral for a loved one to planning two services two weeks apart was a heavy load. A ridiculously heavy load. The paper cuts kept coming. I think I loss count at this point.

Death can bring people together and love and support can begin to be the salve needed to heal wounds. Thankfully, this was what my sister and I used to press forward. However, death also brings about family strife and tension. Carrying out my parents’ wishes to handle and close out my parents’ wishes and affairs, is not a job I would wish on even the worst human. Handling the affairs of not one, but two people and the family dynamics that comes with the process can break even the strongest person. The emotional wear, the time sacrifice, the courts, the paperwork, the opinions of family and spectators dealt a load of paper cuts that may eventually heal, but the scars will always remain. I was so emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted, I didn’t leave the house for days. In particular, I recall a day that a loving sorority

Although my parents are listed as sister came to check on passing 13 days apart, it felt as if I me. She asked when lost them on the same day. The doctors was the last time I had suggested that she passed due to a eaten. I couldn’t recall. broken heart. A double paper cut ran She asked when was the deep through my soul. last time I had taken a shower. I couldn’t recall this either. She sprang into action. She ran a bath for me and prepared a meal. As a grown woman, it felt embarrassing to have another grown up telling me to eat and bath. Both other aspects of this experience was the medicine I needed to realize I could not disconnect from the world. My days between November and January were a blur of grieving, court papers, canceling wedding-related reservations, and a stressful work environment. I had used so many days off with the unexpected deaths of my parents, that I was using up many days that I had saved for my upcoming maternity leave. It was when the HR representative asked when I planned to go out for maternity leave in January that I remembered I was pregnant. Yes, I knew I was

physically pregnant, but I really loss track of planning for a new life to come in this world because I was handling so many other things. Where would the baby sleep? What would the baby wear? I had far more questions than answers.

Due to all the stress that I was under, my OBGYN was concerned that I was losing weight instead of gaining during the pregnancy. My blood pressure was rising. Also, my ultrasounds continued to report that the baby was smaller than other babies at this point in the pregnancy. I’m sure every parent prays and hopes for a healthy birth. In my case, I couldn’t imagine how I could cope if I didn’t have a healthy pregnancy. I was so emotionally fragile at this point that I couldn’t handle sad commercials, let alone any more difficult news. More stress meant more paper cuts.

My sister and I went to the mall one day in February with the sole mission to walk this baby into this world. I believe we saw every square inch of that mall that day. After all of that walking, not even a firm kick from the baby. I was convinced that I was destine to be pregnant forever at this point. I hadn’t seen my feet in months, my belly was my own portable tabletop, and if my pants didn’t have elastic or a drawstring, I wasn’t wearing it.

During these days, I was not sleeping well. Between the stress of recent events and being unsuccessful of trying to sleep on a beach ball, I would sit up and talk to my baby until I feel asleep. I promise you, at the precise moment that I finally fell into a deep sleep for the first time in months, I had a contraction that went from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. This continued throughout the night and the next morning. Just by chance, I had a OBGYN doctor’s appointment that next morning. My doctor took one look at me and said “I’ll meet you at the hospital. It’s time.” Eighteen hours later, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Phoenix. If you recall, my doctor stated that the ultrasounds indicated that my son was underweight for his size at that point in the pregnancy. Well, God always has the last word. Phoenix came out a healthy massive 10-pound baby. When I reflect about the amount of stress, sadness and frustration that was running through my veins during this pregnancy, but I gave birth to a healthy baby. I knew that my Heavenly Father had bigger plans for me than the turmoil was experiencing. Seeing my son for the first time was the salve I needed to begin to heal some of the paper cuts.

The day I returned to work after my maternity leave was the same day I was laid off. I walked in the building to return to my office and found a sticky note telling me to report to HR. I thought that I needed to fill out paperwork to return to work. That was not the case. The job said they had to lay off people and I was selected. No, I wasn’t the most recent hire. No, I wasn’t the one with the least amount of experience. No, I wasn’t the one with the fewest credentials. In my mind, any one of the factors may have justified the decision to me, but I couldn’t find a rational in my understanding. Beyond the explanation of downsizing that was given to me, it didn’t feel fair. As I sat listening to an HR representative talk to me, everything she said sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher from the Peanuts cartoon. I didn’t process a word she said. I felt alone. Unjustly laid off. And, an inadequate mother for not having a job to provide for my child. I was beyond emotionally drained. When times are difficult, people often say “God doesn’t give you more than you can bear.” This day, being blindsided by a layoff on the first day I return from maternity leave was a load that I was questioning if my back, my spirit and my overall wellness could endure. The marks of previous paper cuts and the yet to heal paper cuts were beyond my realm of understanding

how one person could endure this much pain and disappointment in less than a year.

When my son was four years old, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. The debilitating joint pain came on quickly in less than 24 hours. I went to bed walking, the next morning, I was could not move out of bed without assistance. I wholehearted believe that in addition to having a genetic family trait for arthritis, the intensity of the pain was heavily influenced by years of not managing my stress effectively. My body had taken on that it could. I wasn’t taking things off of my plate, so my body shut me down to get my attention.

I believed I probably wouldn’t even have thought to write my truth if only one of these negative experiences had happened in the same time frame. I probably would have mustered up the fortitude to press on. One or two paper cuts here or there is another day in my life as a woman of color. As Langston Hughes says in his poem Mother to Son, “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.”

I have lived a life of hearing others tell me, “LaShon, you are so strong!” As Black woman, I wore these compliments in the highest regard. Being seen as someone that takes on life challenges with grace and appearing unbothered by the challenges of life, work, family and generalized social injustice seemed to invoke superhuman superpowers in me to be ready to fight the next fight. But what happens when superheroes cape becomes so tattered and torn due to repeated battles? What happens when the superhero has no more strength to be a Strong Black Woman? What becomes of the single mother that thinks that being selfless for her child is the only way to be a good parent. If I was ever considered a superhero, I would say that the paper cuts of life quickly became my kryptonite. I wasn’t making space for myself to restore my energy, my mental health, my physical health, and my spiritual health to brave the next life event. I kept wearing my Strong Black Woman badge of honor and putting on a good face for the world, while I was weary on the inside. I thought that being strong was what would get me through. There are some elements of this statement that are indeed true, perseverance can be a noble characteristic, but without restoration of the parts of my emotional and physical self, I was not being strong at all. There is a false myth associated with being a strong woman that suggest that admitting weakness or vulnerability were are not being strong. I am here as a living testimony that being vulnerable is indeed being brave. It wasn’t until I admitted to myself that I could not continue to carry heavy emotions and stress any longer, that the paper cuts began to heal.

This healing process took years to shed the strain of heavy emotions and negative experiences. Moving through these experiences for me was part of me managing stress. Through prayer, self-reflection, therapy, supportive friends, supportive family, and just taking time to heal and restore my wellness, I have begun to reap the benefits of making myself a priority.

Being strong was only possible when I recognized my limits. I learned that part of being strong is knowing when it is ok to admit moments of weakness. I learned to pay attention to those small paper cuts. They are small, but can be mighty. They need time and attention to heal. I would not wish my journey on anyone, but I thankful I have come out the other side to share my struggles and my victories with the next person. I continue to strive onward and upward.

LaShon N. Sawyer, MSSA, PhD, LISW-S is the Executive Director of Adult & Online Programs at Hiram College in Ohio.

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