AND THE WINNER IS....

In Hollywood, competition is not only a given, it's a journalistic directive. Actors, writers, networks and movie studios are objectified in headlines like race horses, to be met with newfound glory or retired to greener pastures. As industry participants, we are almost immune to the constant polarizing, box office tallying and awards countdowning that go hand in hand with artistic commerce. Our GPS system is set for rivalry and reward.

Last year, I was at a couples' joint birthday party. I had been through an extensive rough patch (see my first blog), and my mom had recently been admitted to the hospital. Friend number one started to vent about being out of work for a whole month, and the struggles he was facing, with some understandable drama and fanfare.

I started to fight back, “I've been out of work for awhile, AND my mom's in the hospital”. Friend number one's husband interrupted us, and proclaimed, “It's not a competition.”

As I left the party that night, I tried to process why I felt so invalidated by someone else's newfound hardship.

My mom was soonafter released from the hospital. When her kidneys showed signs of weakness again, she was readmitted. A few days later, my mother, Miriam Ullmann, passed away unexpectedly.

On my birthday.

The last six months of my life have been entirely consumed with all matters concerning my mother's passing. As the only child and sole relative living a few states away from my mother, moving through the loss - logistically and emotionally - has been the most excruciating and devastating experience imaginable. Seriously, it's like a Lars Von Trier movie.

It IS a competition, and I win.

Sometimes, when you are losing, you feel that all you have is your pain. And without it, you might not have anything to hold on to, so NO ONE had better take it away.

Once, when I was at a swank London hotel bar, I asked a well dressed gent what he did for a living. “I'm a banker,” he replied, friendly and neutrally. “Do you like it?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Oh God no! I despise it!” he said emphatically, as I almost spit out my champagne. “But I've got a family to support.”

The Brits really understand self deprecation, and that bragging rights go hand in hand with hardship. Remember the brilliant brownie scene in Notting Hill? At a dinner party, a group of people compete and one up their failures and tragedies to see who most deserves the brownie. Even the movie star gets in on the action, revealing some distinctly un-American vulnerability.

Ricky Gervais analyzed the differences between American and British humor in a piece for TIME Magazine where he states “Brits are more comfortable with life's losers”. So maybe a winner is not a winner in every country.

My first trip back home, I met the social worker at the nursing facility in order to collect my mother's possessions. While I do not yet have words for this social worker, an angel really, who shared some intimiate final details about my mother, I can share a simple quote on her informational card that she gives to every patient: “It's not what you accomplish in life that matters. It's what you overcome.”

And it's true, that is the biggest yet often overlooked cause for celebration, because it is not always obvious, tangible or dare I say, sexy.

I found myself relating to some classic tv and film characters during my mourning process. Having re-watched NAPOLEON DYNAMITE one night, I caught myself yelling “GOSH!” as I dragged yet another massive load of my mother's clothing to the consignment store. When the process of grieving felt insurmountable, I remembered those early BREAKING BAD episodes where Hank struggles in physical therapy (poor Hank!), his physical pain entirely palpable. And then of course, I remembered KILL BILL's The Bride, who after busting out of a buried coffin, comically stumbles across the street to a diner, caked in dirt, and calmly asks the waiter for a glass of water. Sometimes we want to be caked in dirt, just for people to notice our suffering, too.

In Hollywood, it is so much easier to take credit for an accomplishment than some intangible personal and spiritual triumph. But ironically, the artistic depictions of these journeys are the very things that captivate, and then lead to awards.

I will not spout a cliché, and tell you how much this time has turned me into the person I have always longed to be. But occasionally I hear my mother's voice saying “I can't believe it” with pride and levity. And I am learning to make that, along with my own reflections, my reward. But it ain't easy, because the struggle doesn't come with a gold statue, certificate, or committee-voted affirmation. But it does come with an often more elusive and hard-earned value: clarity.

I am attending a wonderful grief support group, where we find solace and understanding in each others' experience. One group member is mourning the loss of her mother, a physician from India, who was killed while on vacation in South America.

And do you know what my first thought was, after physically reeling with empathy and sorrow?

It IS a competition, and she wins.