My Essay on Ravishly: “How Watching Dawson’s Creek Brought Me Closer To My Dad”

Dawson's CreekWould you believe that I actually forgot to share one of my published essays, friends?!? Well, I did — that’s certainly a first! But maybe it’s fate because my father’s birthday is tomorrow and this essay for Ravishly is all about one of my favorite traditions with him: Watching Dawson’s Creek together!!

Everyone remembers the sudsy teen soap from the ’90s, right? Oh, it was just great, don’t you think?? The adventures of Dawson and his friends was one of the hallmarks of my teen years and it’s also one of my hallmark memories…with my father! I sometimes think he actually liked the show more than I did. We’d watch it every week together and debate the finer points of the plot. Looking back now, I truly treasure those moments we shared together, just sitting in our small living room in each other’s company.

Here’s an excerpt of the essay, which gave me a HUGE dose of ’90s nostalgia as I was writing it…

It wasn’t until just a few years ago, shortly after his death, that everything began to make sense: Dawson’s Creek might not have been his favorite show, but the time we got to spend together for a solid 60 minutes? That was really what he was after. Sure, we’d have fun debates about whether Dawson or Pacey is our favorite (admittedly, I’ve waffled over the years, but always seem to come back to Dawson), but the older I get, the more I realize just how quickly time goes by. Life is hectic and messy. So many things are out of our control. My father knew this, so when he saw an opportunity to sprinkle some moments of happiness into the messiness, he grabbed onto that.

I never want his death to overshadow how he lived and all the things he taught me. We might not have talked much during those episodes of Dawson’s Creek (confession: I spent much of the hour swooning over Dawson), but we were together. For a whole hour, there was this unspoken bond between us.

Dawson's CreekYou can read the full essay here and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to email me anytime at mellow1422@aol.com and let’s chat! And of course, feel free to share my essay on Facebook, Twitter or even your local refrigerator. If you share on Twitter, be sure to tag me @melissablake so we can connect! I can’t wait to hear from you! Love you all… xoxo

What Buffy Taught Me About Death and Grief

BuffySo, friends!! I had such a wonderfully eye-opening experience recently! A few weeks ago, one of my writer friends emailed me. She was working on a piece about the intersection of fandom and mental health, and she was wondering if I’d like to answer a few questions. Ahh, what an interesting topic, right?? I wasn’t sure I’d even have anything worthwhile to add to the conversation. And then, I thought of one superhero named Buffy Summers…and, well, then my mind started turning and turning with thoughts on grief, death and why it’s those very experiences that make us human and give us our humanity in the first place…

One of my all-time favorite shows is Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I’ve re-watched the series several times over the years and each time, I’m struck by the powerful message it sends: That girls can be powerful and strong and in charge. It also showed that you could go through traumas and struggles and still come out on the other side — that these struggles didn’t have to completely destroy you. At the same time, the show was able to present Buffy realistically. Although she lived among the supernatural, she was human. Yes, she had her flaws and she made mistakes, but I think that’s what made her so relatable. She goofed up countless time and wasn’t perfect, yet at the same time, every teenager still wanted to be her.

After my father died, the episode where Buffy’s mother died took on new meaning for me. I never really understood the nuances of the episode, how it perfectly captured those early days of grief, and watching it again in this new light was incredibly moving. It definitely helped me process some of my own grief as I identified with these characters. They’d been up against the worst and evilest of demons and could usually defeat them. But here they were now, faced with something so real, so human, and they knew that they couldn’t fight their way out of it. They had to feel the pain, the loss, the sadness. This was like nothing they’d ever experienced before and it wasn’t something they could train or prepare for. All the slayer training in the world can’t prepare you for real life.

BuffyI’ve gained confidence from watching Buffy’s journey and how she handled herself even in the face of unspeakable tragedy. There’s a certain strength in being vulnerable, in being your authentic self and never apologizing for it. Also, I’ve learned that having the love of family and friends means everything. And, of course, I’m still learning not to close myself off to people. I need to let them in. It may take time, but I think I’ll get there one day.

What has your favorite show meant to you, friends?? What unexpected lessons has it taught you?? How did it change your life?? xoxo

My Essay on CNN Opinion: “When Father’s Day Is Both Bitter and Sweet”

Father's DayJust in time for Father’s Day yesterday, I wrote about the bittersweet nature of holidays after the death of a parent and the 15th anniversary of my father’s suicide for CNN Opinion. I weaved in quite a bit into this one essay, like how we keep our loved ones with us, and hope I did the topic justice.

I’d been thinking about how hard holidays like Father’s Day can be, especially when they fall during milestone anniversary years like this year’s 15th anniversary for me. The days are both happy and sad, and maybe those two emotions can exist harmoniously. For so long, I thought I could only feel one or the other, and it’s been liberating to realize that I don’t have to “choose.”

Here’s an excerpt of the piece, in which I also looked at all the ways we incorporate loved ones we’ve lost into the big and small milestones of life (including a reference to the Royal Wedding last month!)…

Every year, I see Father’s Day cards in the store or see young kids holding their father’s hand and it hits me: My father is missing.

For years, I worried that I’d forget my father. After all, the gap between the years he was alive and the years he’s been dead was widening every day. I desperately wanted to feel like a part of him was still here, that he didn’t just vanish into the ether. As the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years, I noticed an interesting dichotomy: I was holding on to the past tighter while the memory of him seemed to be drifting further away. I’d reach for him, but he was always just out of my grasp. I was so afraid that he would simply be forgotten as time went on and our lives began to fill up with things other than grief.

You can read the full piece here and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to email me anytime at mellow1422@aol.com and let’s chat! And of course, feel free to share my essay on Facebook, Twitter or even your local refrigerator. If you share on Twitter, be sure to tag me @melissablake so we can connect! I can’t wait to hear from you! Love you all… xoxo

Why We Must Keep Talking About Suicide

SuicideAs we all know, the topics of suicide and mental health have dominated the news for the last week. Following the deaths of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, we’ve all tried to make sense of what happened, and experts have all weighed in on things like depression and how to best help someone who is struggling.

What happens when some time passes and people start to “move on”? A few days go by, then a few weeks and then a few months. Before we know it, years have passed and, well, other things have filled the news and other headlines have captured our attention.

But what about the people who live those suicide headlines every day — the ones who don’t have the luxury of moving on to the next news cycle? How can we not forget them?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot this week. Yesterday, I shared my Harper’s Bazaar essay, but even now, I’m struggling to find the right words to say. I’m one of those people who know all too well that the pain that suicide leaves doesn’t just automatically go away once the news cycle refreshes itself. Losing my father to suicide is something I live with every single day, and I doubt its something I’ll ever “get over,” whatever that even means. Granted, I’ve worked hard to integrate my grief into my life so it doesn’t dominate my every waking thought, but there’s no denying that this hole left in my heart will be there forever. And maybe that’s OK?

Something else that is also OK? Keeping the conversation going surrounding suicide and mental health. In fact, I’d say that it’s more than OK — it’s necessary. Right now and especially going forward. We need to keep talking about the most basic signs and symptoms and about ways to get help (especially if you can’t afford it) and how to talk to someone in crisis and common myths and misconceptions and how we can become an advocate and how rates are rising and, in particular, how rates are rising faster for women than for men. Also, we can’t forget to keep talking about the very way we talk about it all, especially for journalists and why it’s so important to learn about responsible reporting.

In short: TALK, TALK, TALK, TALK.

Luckily, I have so many writer friends who have been publishing wonderful pieces on suicide and mental health this week. I was going to include these in tomorrow’s Link List, but this is such an important conversation we’re having, so I thought it deserved its own post. Here are four must-read essays that are making a difference…

“When my mother died, I felt isolated; I couldn’t remember knowing anyone personally who had lost a loved one to suicide. Since then, I’ve learned that several friends had faced such loss, but their families had wanted them to keep the circumstances silent; since then, a few of my closest friends have lost loved ones to suicide. It’s a common form of grief, just not a commonly talked about one. It helps to know we are not alone. It helps to talk about suicide loss, to give this often-stigmatized grief air and light so we can process, heal, and let go of lingering ghosts of shame.” —Gayle Brandeis (“How We Talk About Kate Spade Could Help Others Survive“)

“I won’t share the details of either death but a quick perusal of the news reveals every suicide coverage mistake: details about how they died, quotes from Spade’s suicide note, stories that examine their deaths but fail to provide information about suicide prevention resources to save others’ lives. We know suicide contagion is real. We know how to write responsibly about suicide, but we aren’t doing it. And every time I read one of these articles, I wonder who else is reading it and hope to god they aren’t on the brink. I hope that learning we’ve lost yet another life to suicide won’t leave them feeling as hopeless as I feel.” —Jody Allard (“Suicide Contagion Is Real So Why Aren’t We Writing About It Ethically?“)

“Depression lies. It tricks you into believing that your death wouldn’t devastate your loved ones but liberate them. It doesn’t feel like you’re abandoning them; it feels like you’re freeing them from the burden that is you and your illness. You feel like you are doing the world a service by leaving it. Suicide becomes a misguided act of selflessness, the furthest possible motivation from selfishness. Kate Spade was wealthy, famous and successful. She had anything and everything she could ever want. Except mental health. Her brain wasn’t functioning correctly.” —Jen Simon (“To a Deeply Depressed Mother, Suicide Isn’t Selfish…“)

“If I were speaking to someone else who felt this way, I would say, “It’s OK. You can be 100% grateful for your life and still feel depressed. Depression is not a choice. Depression is a chronic mental illness, and it doesn’t make you bad or broken or selfish.” And still, I struggle to believe that for myself. But I am working on it.” —Erin Khar (“I Have Compassion for Everyone Struggling With Depression — Except Me“)

SuicideThe moral of this post? Never, ever be afraid to talk, friends! I see you. I hear you. I love you. And, most importantly, I’m here for you. Always. xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]

My Father’s Suicide: On Finite Family Photos

Family PhotosI struggled a bit in coming up with a title for this post, but I think I captured my feelings perfectly. Last Saturday was the 15th anniversary of my father’s death, and it completely hit me: The family photos of the four of us are finite.

Every year, I never know what to say and on Saturday morning, I found myself going through an old family photo album. The photos were mostly from the ’80s, naturally, since that seemed to be our heyday. There were snaps of us at parties, at the playground and, of course, a shot or two of me hamming it up for the camera — and one where I’m reading TV Guide.

And while there were some great shots of us from the ’90s, those are pretty few and far between. It’s almost as if our lives just stopped; granted, I know that’s not true in the literal sense, but the life I knew as the four of us, as us as a family unit, is no more. That part of our lives is over, and I’m reminded of that in so many ways sometimes.

Take our hallway, for example. It’s lined with family photos. We’ve added recent photos of my mom, sister and me throughout the years. But my father’s work picture from the mid-’90s has remained. There are no new updated photos of him. There will never be any new photos of him. He’ll be 51 years old forever.

Family Photos Family PhotosIt’s hard thinking that his life was finite — no more birthdays or holidays or even more photos of his smiling face. Where would he be in 2018…? What would he be doing? Would he be addicted to his iPhone too? So. Many. Questions.

These questions, of course, will never be answered. But I am eternally grateful for the photos we do have. Those are things I’ll treasure forever. These photos truly capture his spirit: A kind, gentle man who loved his family more than anything.

I love you always, Dad.. xoxo