The Exquisite Grief

IT hits you sometimes, and the strangest things will bring it on. And then all of the sudden, you are right there, a vessel of grief, as if time has completely stopped and you are right there again. That is what happened to me the other morning, as I poured coffee into my mother’s favorite coffee cup, like I had done hundreds of times before. Coffee was our tradition. Every time I visited, when I was ready to go, I would load up my car, then always come back inside for one last cup of coffee before left.

During that last of coffee, we would talk about all kinds of things – hopes, dreams, plans, thoughts, the drive, remembering to call when I got home. There was lots of laughter and advice, and just good old fashioned conversations.

And when I poured that cup of coffee the other morning, I was suddenly acutely aware of how much I missed those coffee conversations with my Mother, and how much I missed her, even after almost 5 years. And I cried, right there over and into her coffee cup.

And the moment was exquisite in its grief, because you can only miss that which you loved.

The Hole Life

These days life is good and complete and wonderful.  This summer is one of re establishing myself, love, passion, fun, and just life in general. And I am thankful for each and every second.  I am ever aware of how delicate this life is, how love connects us all and how the dark and light dance together every day.

This summer is a combination of every thing good.  Lazy days and sleeping late and resting, followed by concerts and explorations.  Going skydiving, taking trips, drinking wine, working out, rehydrating, and building the life I always wanted.  But it is all about balance. Only when we are balanced can we truly enjoy all that life has to offer. And I am thriving.

My mother taught me that life carves out deep spaces within us every time we are hurt.  These deep spaces make us into the amazingly deep works of art that our souls are meant to be.  In that sense we are always evolving. But great depth comes at a great price, so you do have to go through a lot of life to get there.

Because even as wonderful as life is now, the truth is I still have moments of overwhelming grief.  I will hear something or see something that brings it all back. And there I am, tears streaming down my face. Because I miss my parents and my siblings. I miss having a family.  I miss someone caring where I am at midnight, and someone to tell when I have landed safely from a plane. I miss Christmas shopping, and wrapping presents.  I miss the innocence of not knowing grief and death. I miss calling my parents and sharing exciting news. I miss coffee and talks and listening to the crickets or watching storms with them.  I miss the smell of my mother’s Banana nut bread, and I miss my father’s voice. I miss the million little things you do when you have a family that loves you.

And not having a family leaves a huge hole.  Psychology says that you must look within to fill that hole, that you cannot fill it with anything external.  And I agree.  Except with grief, the hole remains, because the loss of your family leaves a huge empty place that can never truly be filled because they can never be replaced.  But this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

What I have found is that if you accept the fact that the hole is there, then you can move past it.  And you can build a beautiful, wonderful life around it.  Because the hole, and missing all of those things, does not mean that you cannot have a complete life. It just means that you recognize and acknowledge that life has changed. It is called acceptance.

I think trouble starts when we try to fill this hole with all that is external instead of accepting it’s existence.  Then it becomes a blackhole, sucking every bit of life out of you and everyone around you.  It is then that people become bitter; angry that they cannot fill the hole no matter what they try.  So stop trying to fill it.  Accept and build around it instead.  I cannot change that I do not have a family, but I can change how how I deal with it.

For me, not only am I building around it, but I am going to make this hole the place from where love comes.  Love comes from God and flows through us. But what if that hole, that big, beautiful hole, that goes down so deep that it makes even the human soul seem shallow, where I miss my loved ones so much, becomes where God’s love flows through me and touches others in my life? What if I turn that hole into that gate, so to speak?  Then it is not just a giant hole, instead it becomes something beautiful and amazing.

And that is the great thing about life – it is your story, and you can change your story at any time. You can write that story if you want. And I am. So it will be the Great Hole of Love (no, scratch that, way too many jokes there). OK, maybe it will just be a new way of life. Because life is what we make it. So make it good.

Honor Thy Mother

Everyone loves anniversaries it seems.  And indeed, we as humans seem to keep track f how long since this event, or that.  We celebrate, reflect, drink or just quietly remember.  And we have anniversaries for everything – how long married or divorced, how long sober, how long dating, how long since we have seen someone…we celebrate anniversaries for just about everything.  Even death. Many honor their loved ones who have passed on that anniversary.  I have a shot of Makers Mark every year to mark the passing of a good friend. We honor them in a thousand ways.

In July it will be two years since Mom passed. And I was wondering how I will honor her this year.  Last year I was sad and cried a lot, drank wine and had a good dinner. But this year I will honor her by…going skydiving.

My mother was very daring and adventurous.  She was the first of her family to leave her tiny town in Tennessee.  She was in the Air Force and had special training, which was rare for a woman in the late 1950s, early 1960s.  She carried a huge .45 on her hip during some of her assignments.  Then she worked in the Pentagon, as a cryptanalyst/cryptographer, which again was very rare for a woman in that time.  She had the most secret clearances, because of the sensitive and classified information she handled.  She had to have roommates that would report her if she talked in her sleep.  And she talked about how she had to go through so many personality tests by the government so that they could find out how much torture she could endure before giving up national secrets.

She had certain medical procedures that are common now, but very experimental during that time. She traveled by herself, flew over the Bermuda Triangle, lived in Washington DC and was engaged seven time (yes, 7) before she married my father.

And she gave it all up to be with my father, who was the love of her life. She was an amazing mother and wife.  She took care of not only her children, but 65 foster children as well, not afraid to go toe to toe with judges if she was fighting for what she felt was the best for the child. She was loyal, and stubborn, and determined, and kind and cull of Grace. And now she is free.

So, to honor her free, generous and adventurous spirit, I will go skydiving. She wasn’t afraid of anything and no one intimidated her. I think it is the perfect day not only to honor her, but to take the opportunity to do something new and scary. To broaden my own horizons and celebrate the amazing woman she was, and who she taught me to be. And I cannot wait…

The Phases of Christmas

There are different phases of grief, it is a process. And this year, this Christmas is a big milestone as far as that process goes.  The first holidays without loved ones are especially hard.  This entry is very raw and very vulnerable.  Honestly it makes me a bit uncomfortable, but if you are going to be honest and pour your heart out, then do it with purpose.  I am not the first to be here and I will not be the last.This is the end of this year, the end of all the loss and the end of the sadness. So, here it is, for anyone who might be going through the same:

Phase 1
I woke up for the first time in my life to an empty, quiet house on Christmas morning. I’m still not sure how to feel about that. I walked around and my Christmas lights were beautiful, the Christmas tree was beautiful, but it was so quiet. There was no one in the kitchen making breakfast for hungry eyes. There was no one inspecting the gifts under the tree. There was no Christmas music playing, or the sound of quiet conversation and laughter as people who got up early tried to be quiet and considerate of people who were still sleeping.

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How lucky I was and have been, to have had so many wonderful Christmases filled with family. And how many people wake up on Christmas morning alone, like me that morning?

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All the sudden I felt so much love for my mother. Every year from the time she had her first child at 27, until the Christmas right before she passed away when she was 74, she made an amazing home where everyone wanted to come and have Christmas morning. I thought of all the years that I woke up, ready to have breakfast and rip open presents. I thought of when I was a child and my sister and I had the tradition of getting up at 5am to play Monopoly until 6, and then would sneak out to see what was in our stockings, and then gently, carefully put everything back in our stockings. We would go back to play Monopoly again until 7am (when Mom and Dad said we could wake them up).

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And I remember even after I’d grown up and moved away, making sure that I was home for Christmas, driving sometimes on Christmas Eve then wrapping all the gifts when I got in. Most of the time Mom’s gifts had already been wrapped as she would have bought them months earlier. When I was young and broke, I could afford the gifts but not always the wrapping paper and accessories. So I would wait until I got home to raid Mom’s impressive wrapping paper, ribbon and bow collection.

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And wrapping was an art in our family. It wasn’t just wrapping a simple gift, no, it was trying to be mischievous and fool the receiver. A small box would be wrapped and then placed in a larger box and wrapped and placed in another larger box and wrapped again. There would be candy and buttons and things that make noise that would be placed in a box that held a book, so that when the gift with shaken, they would never know that it was just a book.

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For many years I was The unofficial photographer of Christmas morning. When everyone got up and started to unwrap the gifts. it was I who would capture it all. All the wonder, and happiness, and family togetherness, and laughter, and surprise, and delight, and love of Christmas morning.

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I wonder if my wonderful, sweet, brave mother ever spent a Christmas morning alone? If she had ever woken up on Christmas morning to an empty house? She came from a large family and so did Dad, so did she ever have that experience? She was married at 26, had children by 27. And did Dad ever wake up and spend a Christmas Eve or Christmas Day alone? It’s amazing how many questions you think of to ask your parents after they’re gone. Ask them now. I am acutely aware that they are gone. And I miss them so very much.

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I’m blessed to have friends who have become my family with whom to spend Christmas dinner. And even more who have extended wonderful invitations. Life is a balance of appreciating what is gone and accepting and being thankful for what is now.

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Phase 2

As I’m getting ready and going around the house, the memory of Last Christmas Creeps in. I was so sad and depressed… it was awful. I showered my Dad with as many gifts as I could possibly afford, getting him everything from new shoes to funny things for his cell phone, to clothes, to socks to everything I could possibly think of. I was trying desperately to make up for the fact that he was so miserable without Mom. I thought that maybe if I gave him enough gifts that he liked, I could make him smile an forget that he was miserable, if only for a second.

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I buzzed around smiling and being Jolly, but I think he knew. And I remember my ex, who was so completely disinterested, but who tried to pretend anyway. Looking back he was always on his cell phone, now I know it was talking with strippers and prostitutes even then. I lavished him with gifts too, trying to bury the guilt of having involved him in my ordeal of Mom dying and then having to live with my terminally ill father.

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I bought him a huge Craftsman tool box among other expensive things. Looking back I was trying to fill the terrible hold that grief had left inside of me by trying to make those in my life happy.  And trying to make up for the fact that life had imploded with death and being a full time caregiver. I thought that if I could give enough gifts, make enough people smile, try to make enough people happy, then maybe I could forget my grief for just a little while too. It didn’t work.

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And last year, after a delicious Christmas dinner, it was time to take Dad back to the rehab center. I picked him up that morning and had to have him back before midnight that night. It was miserable too because he wanted more than anything to just be home. It was heartbreaking to leave him there Christmas night. And even more heartbreaking to go back exhausted to the empty, loveless house that I called home.

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And that is why I even if I have sad moments now this Christmas, even when I shed tears and miss my parents so very much, I’m incredibly thankful that no Christmas will be as horrible as last year – hands down the worst holidays of my life. It is why I face this Christmas with an open heart and understand that there will be some heartbreak and that’s okay. Because last Christmas was the most heartbreaking Christmas of all, and I’m glad for all the opportunities for joy this year has given me. And I’m thankful for what the next year seems to hold. There’s been a lot of lost this year, but I’m still here. I still have the ability to love and to trust and to believe in people. And that in itself is a huge gift wrapped in a big bow.

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Phase 3

I realized that I had the hang of this. That I could do this. The Yule Log was playing with a pretty fire and Christmas music. The cats were running around with new toys. I heard from many family members and friends exchanging Christmas and holiday wishes. I was feeling lots of love. It still felt really weird and surreal as I looked at pictures of Mom and Dad and thought of Christmas in my childhood.

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Phase 4

Christmas dinner with at a friend’s house. There was rushing around to get everything  done and on the table at the same time.  There were people who loved me and who wanted me there.  And that felt really good.  It hurts to have my parents gone.  But I have found my roots, my family of choice.

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There is validation and vindication at the same time. It feels good to be back, to have made it through this huge emotional time.  It feels good to have it done, because I feared the unknown of the holidays.  I have lost both parents, three siblings, one boyfriend and all of his family in the past 18 months. And now I have gone through the first Christmas without any of them. And I made it. If I made it through the past 18 months, I can make it through anything.

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There is nothing more to dread. No more dates of the unknown, no more huge emotional triggers or timeframes.  New Years will be pretty easy – a celebration of saying goodbye to the bad, and saying hello to the wonderful happiness that is coming. I shed the skin of what has been and step into what will be.

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Then the next moment is the first anniversary for Dad.  But since I have been through it with mom, I know what to expect.  That anniversary won’t be easy, but ti also won’t be the unknown.  I know what I am facing, head on. And I have the love of my friends and that love will build this life strong and good and lasting.

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Phase 5

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I did it. I made it through Christmas without you.

There were some tough and lonely moments, but I am blessed to have amazing friends that got me through. There was also joy and celebration. You guys raised me strong and loved me enough for a lifetime, but it doesn’t make making a life without you any easier. But I will be OK.  I love you Mom and Dad. For so many wonderful things, for so many reasons and for so many wonderful holiday traditions and memories. Most of all, I love you for being the most amazing parents in the whole world. Merry Christmas. Love and miss you always.

The Joy of Grief

We all have times in our lives that are tranistional. The thing about transitions is that they are often uncomfortable, and lonely, and weird.  No one promised that life would always be easy or happy.

This Christmas is such a transition for me. Because I am not sure where life is heading yet, but I have an idea.  This is the holiday that I will experience the joy and heartache of grief. The last several holidays were spent taking care of Mom and Dad, and making sure they had everything they needed for the best holidays they could have. I have always been taking care of someone at Christmas. Or had a huge family celebration to get ready for and attend. But this year, I am not. And from now on the holidays are whatever I want them to be, with whomever I choose.

This year there will be no big fan fare, no big dinners or baking desserts. There will be no big traditions on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. It makes sense that this would be the quiet year, the introspective holiday, the Christmas of quiet. It’s almost like having to clean your palate after one course of a nice dinner, and before the next.

At first I was terrified of this first Christmas and holiday season alone.  But now I have settled into the acceptance of it.  You cannot outrun grief, or what it brings with it.  So I will face it head on, I will embrace it, invite it in for dinner and drinks and we will have a long conversation. It will be hard this Christmas, and that is OK.  It is the exquisite pain from having loved and been loved. It means that I had my parents for 43 years. Celebrate the love that leads to the grief.

It is a bittersweet right of passage, your first holidays without both of your parents.  You are supposed to miss them, and it is not supposed to be easy.  We were not promised a life that was always easy or happy.  Life happens, and we must experience it all, the good, the bad, the sad and the happy.

And so many people want to skip this part of it, because it’s not pleasant. But it’s just part of the whole process. And if we accept the fact that new, good and wonderful things are coming, that it doesn’t get easier from here, then we must also take time for the transition of grief. It’s the other side of the same coin called life.

It seems to me that this season is the space in between the heartbeats, In Between The Raindrops, in between breaths. It is normal to miss your loved ones who are no longer here at Christmas, it is normal to experience that grief. There is a natural order in nature and this is one of them. I will never have another Christmas like this one (thank God), because after this year, life is going to explode with joy. This holiday season makes the end of an era, and emotionally the end of the grieving period. I live my life for me now.

Many memories this Christmas, as I observe this beautiful holiday.  There will be much love, and friends and faith and prayers.  I will go to Midnight Mass.  I will curl up in a wonderful warm blanket and sleep cozy underneath.  There will be joy as well, as I experience and plan for new love. I will laugh and enjoy times with friends and feel the love they send me.

So let this holiday season wash over me, all of it, all the emotion, all the stillness, sadness, and grief. Because it makes way for all of the joy and happiness and goodness.  I love life, and that means experiencing heartbreak too. You cannot get around it. So experience all of it, and live life out loud to the fullest.  That is more than just the good and wonderful, because life is multilayered and multi faceted.

I will honor my wonderful parents by letting myself feel the grief that comes with this first holiday without them and I will write about it. If you are honest in what you write, you must be willing to spill your guts with purpose. Not only to be cathartic for yourself, but for others who might be going through the same.

Grief is a not a place to live for a long time, it is a place to visit.  But to get through those visits, you must be willing to joyfully feel all the heartache of it, of this part of life. Cry when you need to cry, scream, be mad, be sad, be whatever you need to be…and then you will have that part of it out of you system. And when you go back into the world you will be lighter, happier, better for the experience.

A Walk with Mom: Day 5

Saturday July 2, 2016

The second full day of taking are of Mom.  I was getting tired as I hadn’t slept much, but Mom had been sleeping 20-22 hours a day.  she was only up a few times to drink her protein drinks.

I continued to wake her up for meals and checking her vitals. I would check on her every hour during the night to make sure she was breathing.  I noticed a pattern – deep sighs in her breathing, sometimes shallow and quick, sometimes far apart. I understood what that meant, along with vitals that continued to measure up and down. Her blood pressure and heart rate where the most volatile.  Wide swings that scared me, but just within the safe range, except for that last reading that I took.

I researched and read everything I could find on severe malnutrition, the effects on the body, and anything that might help me figure out what to do.

In between taking care of Dad and checking in on Mom, I cleaned the house. I did the dishes, mopped the floor, vacuumed, dusted, fed the cat, did laundry, folded clothes.  Anything to keep busy and also help them.. Mom had been so sick that not much housework could be done.  And Dad, tried to do what he could but was never great at house cleaning.

 

A Walk with Mom: Day 4

Friday July 1, 2016

This was the first full day of taking care of Mom at home.  She slept all day, would wake up only for about 30 minutes at a time, drink her liquid protein that I was desperately trying to get into her body, and go right back to sleep.  She was so weak that she needed help to sit up.  She was sleeping too much, I thought, and not getting stronger, but seemed instead to be getting weaker.  But I would wait to see how she was doing the next day before making judgement.

That day I talked to Dad about her regular doctor and was shocked to hear that he had said that there was nothing wrong with Mom other than her artery being blocked.  “She just needed to eat more,” Dad said they were told. When I said that I was going into town, they made me promise that I would not say anything to their doctor.  I promised but had my fingers crossed.  There was too much anger at that man to keep that promise that day.

As I rode the 30 minutes into town, I could feel my blood boiling at the same time my heart was breaking. I arrived at his office and requested to see him.  In about 20 minutes the receptionist led me to his office. His desk was covered with files and no computers in were in the office at all.  They had not upgraded to that level of technology yet. Everything was still kept up and written by hand. A country doctor like that might sound charming, but it’s downright scary when it’s your parent they are taking care of.

I sat down and asked him point blank:

Please tell me, how a woman in this day and age, who lives in this country and who has a regular doctor is allowed to get down to 75lbs without her doctor noticing that there is something wrong?  Please explain that to me because it sounds an awful like medical negligence.

This man was well into his upper 50’s, maybe early 60’s and I do not usually speak that way to my elders.  But the anger swelled inside me to the point where I needed an answer.  He needed to know that there were people who loved this woman who do not find it acceptable that she was allowed you get to this point.  Aren’t medical doctors supposed to help people stay healthy?  Aren’t they supposed to find out what was wrong with the patient, not just ignore the symptoms?

As expected, he was a bit defensive.  He told me that he was a great doctor, had been practicing for over 35 years, and cared for his patients. He also told me that my mother’s weight issue and malnutrition was due to the fact that her cancer was back and she was drinking wine instead of eating.

I informed him that he had done every test on her and nothing showed that the cancer was back, and she drank because of her excruciating back pain that he refused to fix. I didn’t say anything else after that, even though he responded, because it was clear that he had done the best he could and that arguing any further would do nothing constructive.  I made that observation after he admitted he did not know how to Google her symptoms because he did not have a computer.

I stopped by the drug store on my way back to get a more high protein items.  A voice inside my head told me not to buy a lot because she would not be around to eat them.  The thought ran through my head lightning fast and I immediately chastised myself as I choked down tears.

I spent the rest of the day taking care of Mom, taking her vitals, making her drinks of protein, and cooking for Dad. And praying.

I remember calling my then boyfriend and crying to him…I don’t think I can do this, I don’t think I am ready for this, I can’t do this alone.  How do I do this?  I am so scared I am terrified, I am exhausted. I don’t know what I am doing, I am not a doctor. What if I do something wrong?  What if I miss something?  What if I do too much or too little?  This is so extreme, it is literally life or death, how do I do this? He would listen and calmly reassure me.  He would tell me that I was strong and could do whatever needed to be done.

His voice brought me so much comfort.  I was madly in love with him and loved him even more for being so supportive.  I could call or text him anytime, he would be there. And it was OK that I was completely freaking out.  He was here for me. He would be my rock.

I also called the man that I had lived with in New York. He had been in the family for over 20 years, so he needed to know the situation.  It had been 11 years since our relationship ended, and we had a loose friendship.  We also always understood how much each loved the other’s family.  He loved Mom very much and would want to know that she was this sick.

As soon as he answered the phone and asked how I was, I broke down and started crying.  I could barely speak.  This was the first time that I had told anyone how bad it was. I knew I would have to call my sister, and I figured this would be good practice.  Yet I could not speak.  I could not get any words out.  I would open my mouth and try, but all that would come out were sobs and squeaks.

I finally was able to get myself together and I unloaded on him, all of it. How Mom and been wasting away for years, how I tried to warn her and everyone what Anorexia does to the body, how it slowly kills you if you do not get any help, how Mom did have a problem.  How that was why she had sores in her mouth, why her hair had gotten so thin, why her voice was so horse, why she had lesions on her cornea (lack of Vitamin A), how that is why she was so weak and had no stamina anymore, how that is what was happening to her memory and motor function.  How that is why her skin was so dry and flaky and why there were sores coming up on her face sometimes.  No one would listen, they all thought I was being dramatic, but here it was staring me in the face and  I had no idea what to do.

I was talking fast and had started sobbing again, and had to repeat several things over because he could not understand.  He talked to me for a long time.  He had known me for 30 years, and when he said if anyone could handle this it was me, I felt like he meant it, even tough I myself did not believe him.  I was falling apart. I was terrified. I did feel better when we got off the phone, thanks to his reassurances.  Someone who knows you for that long knows the things to say because they know you. They know who you are deep down.

My sister called the house a short time later, and I told her what was going on. She seemed calm and rational, and didn’t really think that it was all that urgent.  After all, Mom had been sick for years.  She would come down in the next few weeks to check on her and help out.  I tried to tell her there may not be that much time left.

Some neighbors stopped by that day as well. They were very concerned about Mom as she tried to speak to them but could not hold much of a conversation.  She tried to say that she was fine, but they could tell better.  They didn’t stay long, just long enough to say hello and make sure that everything was OK.  I walked them out and I could see the knowing in their eyes.  I told them that Mom was not doing well, and that I did not think much time was left, but to please, please pray for a recovery.  They told me had they had been concerned about Mom’s health for about 2 years and had been watching over them as much as they could.  I remember thinking that I wish I had known.

 

 

 

A Walk with Mom: Day 3

Thursday June 30th, 2016

This was the day that Mom was released from the hospital.  They checked on her early in the morning as the doctor made his rounds.  He said they would release her that afternoon.  I was praying that they would continue to keep her so that maybe she would have a chance to get better.

I talked with the doctor and asked about Mom’s nutritional status.  I asked them to explain to Mom what would happen if she continued to not eat. They said she would not heal, her health would continue to go down hill and she would die.  I was adamant about her listening it the doctor, because I still thought that it was her choice to refuse to eat, that it was her fault.  I found out later that it was not.  I asked them to prescribe an appetite stimulant to help her get back into the habit if eating.  And they did.

I listened closely and took notes for her aftercare.  What to expect, what to have her do, what to watch out for and when to call a doctor.  And off we went to go home.  I remember them telling her that she would have to consume large amounts of protein in order to heal and survive because she was so malnourished. She would need protein shakes every few hours. And a product called Rejuven that is for recovery in tough nutritional medical situations.

I remember getting her settled in at home. She was so tired that she just wanted to sleep on the couch and recover. While she was asleep I went to get her prescriptions filled, and went to several drug stores to gather Rejuven, and all the protein shakes, powders and bars that I could find, which was not easy.  First they lived in an extremely small town.  Second Mom hated anything sweet.  So it could not be chocolate, could not be peanut butter, could not be vanilla, strawberry or any other pleasant tasting thing.  And it could not be too thick or grainy (all her requirements for her to consume the products).

Do you know how hard it is to find flavorless, high protein products?  Everything that had adequate protein, calories and nutrients had some kind of sweet flavor.  So I tried to get what seemed would be the lessor of all evils.

I brought all of it home and as instructed I fed her every few hours when she would wake up, or when i could wake her up.  And she truly tried the best she could.  She understood that she had to do this in order to live, so she choked down the disgusting drinks I made for her, already high in protein, made higher still by the extra powders and potions added to them.  Sometimes it was Enliven with extra protein powder.  Sometimes it was Rejuven with extra supplements.  She would drink them, smoke a cigarette and go back to sleep.

I would keep track of her vitals and take her temperature, blood pressure, pulse and check her MAP.  They were all over the place, up and down.  I started researching what that meant, then I started researching what happens and what to expect when death is near so I knew the signs. They would not come that day.

I told her I loved her every time she was awake, and I would try to talk about good things and wonderful memories.  I tried to get her to talk, but most of the time she was just too tired.

I would take care of Dad too, making sure he ate and had what he needed.  I would make the coffee, sit outside with him on the porch.  Fix dinner for him.  I would hug him and try to tell him it was going to be OK, even though I wasn’t sure of that either.  But I didn’t have the heart…I wasn’t brave enough to say that of which I was afraid.  It was as if I said it out loud, it would become real.  But somehow if I could convince Dad, or at least make him feel better, I could do the same for myself.

And I prayed.  And I cried.  And I prayed more. I prayed for Mom, I prayed for mercy. I prayed for wisdom, strength and courage.  I was lost and had no idea what I was doing, or if I was doing it right.  I had no idea if I was making good decisions, so I just prayed.

When it Gets Real

Waking up this morning was a check in reality. Today is the day I leave for my Dad’s memorial service.  All of the planning is real now.  The fact that he is not here is real now, as I prepare to say goodbye with all of our family and friends.

If you are objective, a service is really for the people who are left, not for the person who is gone.  The person is gone, but the service helps us say goodbye, to honor that person one final time, in the best way we know how.  We gather, we pray, we tell stories, laugh a little, cry a little…

That is the end. Except it’s not really.  There is still grief to be dealt with, going through things, deciding what to keep and what to donate.  There is a big lonely house.  There is figuring out the new normal in my life, without my parents and without the man I thought I would be with.  What does that life look like?  I don’t know yet.

What I do know is that this morning, things got really…real.  This is really it, we are really saying goodbye. He really isn’t coming back.

And I wonder what next Christmas will be like? I wonder what the rest of the year will hold?

And that is the thing about life; love and loss don’t actually kill you.  And sometimes all you can do in bow your head, pray, have faith and just hold on.

 

Six Months

Six months.  That is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, yet a is a lifetime of heartache, tears, reflection, struggle, confusion, anger, loss, grief…I felt each heartbeat of you not being with me in the lifetime of six months.  I still cannot fathom that much time without you.

But there has also been joy. First little glimpses, then moments, a little longer sometimes, and maybe even a day here and there.

And now I can finally say I think I am getting the hang of this life without you. And that makes me sad in a way.  Because I never want to be used to life without you, my mother, my best friend.  But I have to. It has been six months and I have to get it together.

I feel you though, everywhere. And that helps.  But I still miss you more than I thought possible.  On those days when I don’t feel you close, I just whisper to you that I need a sign…and then there it is.  And I feel your arms around me.

I love and miss you exponentially. I think you would be proud of me, of the past 6 months, even though it has been hard.  You raised me strong and to survive no matter what.  And that means without you.  More than anything, I know that is what you want.

I know you have things to do where you are.  You always stayed busy, helping others, so why would you stop now?  Somewhere along the way, I am sure you have found a need to give of yourself and help another.  We will be Ok here.  Do what you need to do. Just visit and show me you are still around. And know that there is so much love here for you, always.

I carry your heart with me.  I carry it in my heart.

Finally

We did it. We survived our first Christmas without you. It was hard. Then it was OK. And there were moments of true joy. And then moments where my heart felt it would burst. Through it all you were in our hearts, and I think whispering around us, in the warm breeze, in the sounds of the birds and in the spirit of Christmas. I could feel you close, even if not able to touch you. We will be OK. You made sure we were strong. We will continue to move forward every day and make you proud by finding beauty in this world and many reasons to smile. Love and miss you always Mom. – Me

We all have hard times that we have to get through.  And some are harder than others. This was a tough one.  This was a big one.  What do you do when these times come about?  I don’t know.  My guess, or at least what seems to work for me, is just putting my head down and get through it.  I am not sure that there is a formula for getting through the hard parts.  I know that is not the popular thing to say, as many writers have made millions writing thousands of books on how to get through it.  The secret – It’s just time.  You put one foot in front of the other and take many, many baby steps.  And after time, a lot of time, you look back and see how many miles further you have traveled.

I received many messages of love and support about how hard this first Christmas without Mom would be,  And it was; there were moments that were brutal. I have always said that my life is like a sitcom, but this Christmas was more like a dramedy…Dad took a bad fall and had to be in a rehab facility building up his strength during Christmas.  But we were allowed to sign him bust him out for Christmas.  Never did I think I would be spring my Dad out of rehab for Christmas, but I live for adventure. And I have never seen anyone so excited to be home.

Christmas Eve, after everyone went to bed, I sat on the couch sobbing while looking at the beautiful Christmas tree, wishing, hoping, aching, for my Mother.  I cried for everything I have lost and would never have again.  I mourned the things that we would never do together, my mother and me.  The gifts not bought, cards not given, and adventures not to be had. And I fell asleep for a bit, there on the couch, by the tree with so many of her ornaments.  And I thought I felt her arms around me, heard her voice whisper on my ear. And I woke up feeling very loved.

And there were moments when Joy came in, like the sun breaking through the clouds.  Christmas morning came and there were gifts and smiles and so much love.  Seeing Dad excited, looking at all wrapping and bows and ribbons.  Unwrapping everything with childlike enthusiasm.  And my wonderful man, our second Christmas together, much different than we thought it would be. Watching them both get gifts that they loved. And there were Christmas carols, and the Christmas movies, and Christmas stockings, and then…Christmas dinner.

And I swear I could hear her laughing and see her smiling.  She loved Christmas. And at that moment I knew.  We were going to be OK.  We had finally turned a corner in this thing called grief.  We got thought it, we survived. We laughed and cried and remembered.  And at the end of the day, we were all OK.  And that’s the thing about love and grief.  Even when you feel like it is going to kill you, it really doesn’t.

Today it has been six months since Mom went into the hospital for her procedure.  I met her at the hospital to stay with her so she wouldn’t be alone.  The time spent with her then in priceless.  And we just had Christmas.  And finally, FINALLY, the sadness is not overwhelming. And I think she would be proud.

I looked at pictures of my mother from several years ago when she was still happy and healthy.  She was so beautiful. Always smiling with that mischievous look in her eye.  I had forgotten what that smile looked like, she had been tired for so long by the time she passed.  I choose to remember her that way – beautiful, happy, smiling, free.

And finally I can smile.

Season of Thoughts

To Wear it well

We must let go of the life that we planned so as to accept the life that is waiting for us. – Joseph Campbell

This is the time of year of festivities. Parties, gifts and resolutions.  And it is usually about this time of year that in addition to enjoying all that this happy season will bring, I start thinking about what I want to accomplish next year.

Most of the time, the things on my list are the usual:  Travel more, spend less, smile more, loose that 10 lbs that has been on my hips for the last 5 years. For this next year though it is quite different.  My goal for next year is quite simple: To wear it well.

I want simple things to not take so much energy.  Things like putting on my pants, going through daily routines…breathing.  To put it quite simply – grief is bitch.  Grief is like that bad roommate you can’t get rid of.

But the fact is that Grief will be with me for quite a while. So I must learn to wear it well.

What exactly does that mean?  It means that You hold your head high, smile anyway and get on with it.  It doesn’t mean you still don’t feel it in every part of every bone, you just don’t let it wear you, you wear it. Right now, I feel like Grief is cutting off circulation, because it is a very ill-fitting outfit that is tight in all the wrong places and loose in all the wrong spots.

From all the research I have done, grief never really leaves you. So I have to learn to wear it well. And defiantly better than I have.

Ultimately, I would like to make this grief a place from where love can grow and prosper.  I would like to make it a beautiful garden of compassion and goodness. I want to do more than wear it well; if it has to be with me for my life, then I want it to make me a better person. I just don’t know how to get there yet.

Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom. – Rumi

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The Smell of It

As a parent, it’s my responsibility to equip my child to do this – to grieve when grief is necessary and to realize that life is still profoundly beautiful and worth living despite the fact that we inevitably lose one another and that life ends, and we don’t know what happens after death. –  Sam Harris

It is funny the things that you miss.  And as cliché as it sounds, the laundry smelled so good when Mom did it. I never thought I would miss that smell so much. I cherish anything I find of her original laundry.   And I finally found out her secret.  I found her stash of fabric softener and smell good stuff.  The one problem?

I cannot find it in any stores here in the Atlanta area.  Seriously…in a city of millions…I can’t locate any of it.  Dad and I are both searching for it.  Where did she get this stuff?  Did she ship it in from another country?  Or planet?  Because this stuff smells like Love.

It is somewhere, and somehow I will find it and get as many bottles of it as possible.  Love in a bottle cannot be overrated, neither can the magical smell of laundry.

Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other. – Abraham Lincoln

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Hard Candy Christmas

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. – Anne Roiphe

Tis the season for all the holiday festivities. It is also a very bad time for those who are grieving the loss of a loved one.  And while the grief cannot be fixed or erased, we can, if we choose, still find the beauty in every day.  We can, if we choose, appreciate the happiness and joy around us, and maybe even have some of it seep in.

And so it goes this holiday season.  The Christmas tree is going up this weekend.  A big real tree.  I’ve never had a real Christmas tree but have been told that they smell wonderful.  And there will be Christmas music and carols.  And lots of Christmas lights.  We are going to see a large light display, complete with hot chocolate and roasting marshmallows by a fire afterward. The house will have a lot of Christmas decorations, some old that have been passed down to me, and some new.

This Christmas will be hard, and that cannot be changed.  It cannot be fixed.  But. But, we do not have to drown in it either.  We can still smile through tears, celebrate through grief and see joy in the world. A broken heart still beats. The world still turns and life goes on.

So, bring on the eggnog, Christmas carols and fires.  Let’s light the house up with Christmas displays.  Let the stockings be hung, the dancing Santa’s dance and the angels sing.  No doubt my mother is one of those angels now.  May we hear her voice this Christmas, and all others to come.

I think faith is incredibly important because you will become overwhelmed with what’s happening and you will have waves of grief, but when you turn to your faith, I believe God will give you waves of grace to get through it. – Joel Osteen

 

The Wonder They Hold

Sometimes we find ourselves in interesting places while trying to get back into the rhythm of life. This is where I find myself.  Three months after Mom’s passing, which still seems so surreal, we are all starting to get into the rhythm of forward movement.

In many ways is it the land of Almost (Which I wrote about here). I say almost, because I am not there yet.  But it feels like the brim of many things.  I am almost back into life, almost feeling like myself, almost back  into the swing of things.  We are almost unpacked, almost settled, and I almost know what I am doing. At work I am almost done with a few projects, my clothes almost match, and I almost feel like I look like I have it almost together.

It is peculiar, this place.  No longer there, but not quite at the other. It is better, as I come out of the darkness. I almost have a routine, and it feels good.  Get up, make coffee for Dad, discuss what is going on for the day.  At lunch it is either running a quick errand, eating at my desk or running home for lunch. After work is maybe going to the store for ingredients, then cooking, a little clean up and spending time with talking with my boyfriend about the day.  Still have to finish unpacking and figure out things like when to work out or watch TV.

A return to the routine after months of holding on, letting go and breathing out. The bittersweet relief of normal.  I look pictures of my mother, noticing her features as I inspect my own in the mirror.  There are enough similarities that I know I can do this. And I sleep warmly under a blanket which she picked.  She and God equipped me with all that is needed, and she loved me enough for a lifetime. Soon it will no longer be Almost…soon it will be a rhythm of life and love and hope and all the wonder that they hold.

Life in Imperfections

I am learning that within our own imperfections we find the greatest truths, unconditional love, appreciation and a mirror of who we really hope to be on the inside on the good and Bad days. – Jennifer Jo Clark Singleton

We all have those times in life were we just have to do it. There is a reason why that slogan is such a hit.  It is especially appropriate after a tragedy or major setback in life.  When we feel hopeless, defeated, hurt, scared, sad, depressed, discourage, unsure…we just have to get up and do it.

I remember a lesson I learned from my mother.  She had a very bad back and suffered terrible chronic pain.  She was extremely strong willed though and worked through it.  The pain would put most people in bed…and I remember asking her why she didn’t just take a break or lie down?  With a smile and that common sense way of thinking for which she was famous, she told me that her back was going to hurt whether she got up or not, so she might as get up, and get busy. Wow. Now that she is no longer with us, I want to carry her on lessons of strength and endurance in the face of hard time.

The fact is that we will probably still feel scared, discouraged, sad, or whatever, but we just have to do it anyway.  At some point you have to decide to reach deep down, where the soul meets the mind, down where each heartbeat mingles with our breath, and pull ourselves up.  It’s going to hurt anyway, so we might as well just do it.

And so it goes.  There is much to do at this moment.  So much change, heartache, work, love, fear, truth, honor, sadness, and life.  Adjusting to having an aging parent in the house, making sure he has everything he needs and wants, packing and organizing two moves, working a full time job, trying to cook, clean and do everyday things, keeping up with friends and family… I have no idea how I am going to do it, but I just have to, because failure is not an option.

But I know I can do it, because my mother could do anything, and I am my mother’s daughter.  The pity party is over – and that is another thing she taught me.  Have a pity party, but just make sure it doesn’t last too long.  Because life and it’s demands do not stop just because you are having a bad day, or week, or month or even year.  So you better figure it out.

I can hear her voice, gently whispering to me, as I get up in the morning.  She knows I can do it.  I will not be perfect at this.  I will stumble, fall and even fail sometimes, no matter how hard I try.  And in my imperfections, I have found this truth.  In her imperfections I have found that unconditional love and faith.  I have found that mirror of who I am now and who I want to be on the good and bad days. And I am blessed to have a wonderful people around me who will stand by firm.  They are my roots.

We can also choose in what spirit in which we move forward.  We can choose to rise above the drama and pain, or let it drag us down.  We can choose to do things with a loving and cheerful heart, or we can be bitter and angry. I choose the former in both sets.  Dolly Parton Sings in her hit Hard Candy Christmas “I’m barely getting through tomorrow/But still I won’t let/Sorrow get me way down/Me, I’ll be just fine and dandy.” And I will be just fine.

I think that starts with acceptance. It is going to be hard. It is going to test my limits and strength.  But’s it’s going to hurt anyway so I might as well get up and get busy.  Things are going to be unbalanced right now, so I will just grab what time for myself that I can, and just get through the rest. Maybe the key is finding the unbalance you can live with temporarily. And the bad times are always temporary; it won’t be like this six months from now, a year from now, ten years from now.

You can pack and cry at the same time; you can move mountains while still wounded. You just have to do it. And so I will. How…I am not sure.  I guess we will figure that out along the way. And in my imperfections I will find life.

Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together. – Elizabeth Taylor

My Mother’s Passing

She was magic.  She taught us how to catch butterflies, make home made bread, make a bed with hospital corners, tie my shoes, sing silly songs, how to read, she is the reason I am a writer…she is the reason why I am who I am, because I am my mother’s daughter. And now I must learn how to live without her.  This wonderful, magical, strong, independent, feisty, loving loyal woman.

On July 13th, my beautiful mother, passed away.  My father and I were holding her hands. She did not suffer. She very peacefully and gently slipped from our hands into the big hands of God.  While it was the most painful moment of my life, it was also the most beautiful.  It was my honor and privileged to be there for her, in her moment in that her journey.  She was surrounded by love, and I believe she chose that moment herself.

You drew a circle that shut me out, but love and I had the wits to win, we drew a circle that took you in.

Even though we were very close, even though I was there for her during the last 3 weeks, even though we talked almost every day, what I would not give for just one more hug, just one more chance to tell her I love her, just one more chance to hear her voice.  Hug your loved ones close, tell them you love them every chance you get, make sure they know.

Even though it is the way of nature – that children say goodbye to their parents, it is a very painful time.  I loved my mother very much and I will miss her every day of my life.

And there really is no way to describe such a wonderful woman, who was so full of live, so magic, so wise, and so loved.  She was a wonderful wife for 49 years, and an amazing mother. She raised 2 children, 3 grandchildren, and 63 foster children.

So many memories, so such laughter so much love.  And above everything that is her legacy: Love

Genny Burch. She LOVED.