Tag Archives: death

Living with grief

I’ve been contemplating grief, both mine and others lately. This was even before the tragic events at the Boston Marathon. I’ve watched documentaries covering the topics of the dying and the grieving process for those left behind. I watched “Griefwalker” featuring Stephen Jenkinson, a fascinating man who has dedicated part of his life to helping spiritually care for the dying. He makes some interesting points about how much humans fear death, even now with technological advances that removes much of the pain and suffering. We have convinced ourselves we fear the suffering, but it is really the unknown that death offers that strikes fear in our heart.

Image credit: OrphanWisdom.com

Image credit: OrphanWisdom.com

With Alzheimer’s and dementia patients, it’s so hard to know how much they still understand as they move towards their own dying process. I know my father was very afraid of dying, and especially of the thought of being placed in a coffin and buried. At least we were able to take that worry from him by having him cremated. But there is no way of knowing if those who are mentally compromised grasp the notion of death even in the moment it occurs. Perhaps it doesn’t matter at all to the dying, perhaps they are already on a different plane. Perhaps it is only those that are left behind who must grapple with the dying process.

I often think back to the morning my father died in the shower of the skilled nursing facility. Was there any recognition on his part that he was departing this life? Or was he trapped within the murky world of dementia until his last breath?

In ways I think we try too hard to make sense of the very natural processes of living and dying. We complicate matters by trying to rationalize every aspect of our world instead of allowing ourselves to feel both the pain and joy of living.

This quote from Stephen Jenksion is very simple yet profound: “Grief: It’s how you love all of those things in life that end.”

Indeed.

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Mom’s new dream of Dad

Mom is having her second major surgery of the year tomorrow. Of course, she’s having a great deal of anxiety about it. Major surgery carries plenty of risk factors that can lead to death, and as you get older and have other complications (like Mom’s blood clots) that potential brush with death seems even more real.

This morning, Mom wanted me to wake her up so we could go for some pre-surgery blood tests. I stopped in the bathroom first, letting her get a few more minutes of sleep. Suddenly, through the door, I heard a plaintive plea:

“Pat! Pat! Pat!”

Pat was my Dad’s name.

I rushed out of the bathroom and Mom realized that she was having a dream and it was actually her daughter in front of her. She said she was having a dream about Dad, and had mistakenly called out his name instead of mine.

Perhaps Dad is sending supportive and loving energy from wherever he is now. I know he wouldn’t want Mom to suffer, and would do whatever was in his power to make her better.

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First snow brings sad memories

Last night, the first snow fell at Mom’s house. I’m staying with her until she has her colostomy reversal surgery this Friday. In 10 days, it will be the first anniversary of my father’s death.

snow-edit

The snow is beautiful, but also is a silent and stark reminder of the sad events that have plagued my family over this past year. I wrote about this more on Cowbird.

Over time, I’m sure I will be able to enjoy the beauty and pleasure snow can offer, but right now, it’s just a reminder of difficult times.

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Pretending to be normal

As I mentioned in my post on Christmas cards, no one wants to be Debbie Downer during the holiday season. I’m now facing back-to-back depressing holiday seasons. It is an added strain to smile and say “happy holidays” to well-meaning strangers right now.

I think Dad was always a bit melancholy because his mother passed away pretty close to the holidays and that loss haunted him for the rest of his life.

So I cannot just pretend that the sad events of the past year didn’t happen, but it does make you rethink your priorities during this season. It should be less about gifts and more about spending quality time with those you love.

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An anniversary not to be

This week my parents would have celebrated their 41st anniversary. Last year, Dad was in the hospital, barely hanging on to life, a hulking ventilator lurking in the corner of the room, breathing for him. The fact that it was their 40th anniversary was the only reason why I had wanted him to hang on for dear life. I knew it was important for Mom to mark that day with Dad still alive. The hospital staff had called us a few days before, asking for permission to “pull the plug.”

Dad was under conscious sedation, so I certainly don’t think he had any idea we were celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. The hospital staff brought Mom a slice of cake from the cafeteria to mark the special day. Mom read aloud the message in the anniversary card she had bought for Dad. It had a picture of a wine bottle on it. The card’s message read:

“Being in love with you has a wonderful way of making a world that makes sense.”

Mom added: “Pat, today is our 40th anniversary. You have been a wonderful husband and companion to me and I treasure you.”

Mom had the card cremated with Dad, as her final message to her mate of 40 years.

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The grief process

The home health care agency asked Mom this week if she wanted to join a widow’s group. Mom balked at the idea: “A bunch of women sitting around and telling sad stories. I think that would make me feel worse.”

Yet Mom will tell a stranger at the drop of the hat about Dad’s passing, how he had dementia, how she took care of him at home for three years, etc. The group might have done her good, at least she would have a captive audience to talk to. But I know better than to push her.

But now as the calendar inches closer and closer to the first anniversary of Dad’s death, I’m fascinated by the various ways we grieve as humans. Honestly, considering what I’ve been dealing with this year, I don’t even feel I’ve had time to properly grieve Dad. For me, it’s a much more internal process, and my outward grieving is done through this blog.

If Dad had outlived Mom, I think he would have been a lost soul. I think I would have arranged to have him fly home to Ireland, to live with his remaining family there. I don’t think he would have been able to “fly solo” as Mom has done.

Grief is never easy, but we all have our own ways of processing our feelings about the loss of a loved one.

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Reminders of Dad as the season changes

Last week, I was at Mom’s and there was a cold snap. I did not pack a jacket from home, so I started going through Dad’s jackets to see if one was suitable. Dad’s security guard jacket still hangs in the closet, like he would put it on for a round of sentry duty at any moment. His trucking company jackets were also in there. They must be at least 30 years old. They are a bright orange, so I declined to wear one of those, as I didn’t want to look like a hazard cone.

Dad at a friend’s house, circa 1975, wearing the famous purple shirt.

It’s funny how reminders of Dad continue to flow into my mind with the change of seasons. There’s a great singer named Martha Wainwright who just released an album called Come Home to Mama that explores the emotions she went through after her mother, the wonderful Canadian folk singer Kate McGarrigle died. The whole album is wonderful, but “All Your Clothes,” a song inspired by her going through her mother’s closet after her death is particularly moving. Sure, memories are more important than tangible goods, but there is also often a deep connection between tangible goods and family memories.

What I didn’t find was Dad’s groovy purple shirt that he wore in so many of our family photos when I was a baby. That would be a keeper!

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Holidays without Dad

This is the time of year where families start planning their holiday agendas. Who will go to who’s house on Thanksgiving and Christmas. For me, this time of year only makes me think about how the beginning of the worst period of my life began Thanksgiving week.

Of course, though I’m the ultimate pessimist, even I did not predict that Mom would end up with colon cancer six months after Dad passed. Or that I would have to say farewell to two beloved pets in that time span as well.

So of course I’m thankful that Mom is still around and actually doing quite well. But since Mom and her health has consumed my life since July, I don’t feel that I actually was able to fully process my Dad’s death. Certainly, it’s been a lot for any only child to take, with one parent passing, and one parent narrowly escaping death.

Mom and I have agreed that we will have a non-traditional Thanksgiving. Mom will probably have pasta, and I will have pizza. I remember last year, Dad was already in the hospital for Thanksgiving. I cooked a small traditional meal for myself, worried that at any moment, I could receive that call that he was passing. That first scare came the very next day, on Black Friday, when I was at work trying to help holiday shoppers find the best deals.

For some reason, or perhaps just by chance, Dad kept hanging in there until five days before Christmas. Ironically, Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, and one of the last times Dad was reasonably healthy.

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Each moment matters

I’ve had back-to-back tragic news to absorb over the past week. A daughter of a former co-worker was killed in a terrible car accident. She was only 28 years old. She was able to cling to life for almost a week before passing, so at least her family and friends had the opportunity to say goodbye, even as their hearts were breaking.

Then I learned that a local writer who taught a memoir writing class that I took last year passed away suddenly. She was only 50, and was such a vibrant, bright, witty person. She had suffered from seizures since being in a bicycle accident while in college. It is believed she had a seizure in her sleep.

Photo taken after the completion of the memoir writing class with author Julie L. Cannon. She is in the center with dark hair; I’m second from the right.

I only spent a few Saturday afternoons with this charming woman, along with a group of equally interesting writers. At the time, I was just beginning to try to write about Dad, and his experiences with Alzheimer’s. This blog was started with some of the building blocks I learned in her writing class. We had to submit a brief piece or two for critique and I remember being secretly proud as the teacher mentioned how moved she was by my work (she didn’t realize I was in the room at the time). She let us peruse her giant file of notes that she kept as she wrote her novels. It was a fascinating look inside the mind of a writer at work.

So two sudden deaths, lovely people with so much to offer to the world who found their lives cut tragically short. Beyond the despair, there’s a hard but valuable lesson to be learned. Life is by the moment. Not all of those moments will be wonderful or memorable, but some of us will have less time on this planet to make our mark than others. So we must use our precious time wisely.

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Dad’s presence stronger at home now

Mom was telling me today how she feels Dad’s presence more at home now than before. It’s almost been a year since Dad died, and another year before that when he still lived at home.

Perhaps because Mom has had her own brush with death this summer she is more open and vulnerable to these feelings. I can’t say that I’ve felt Dad’s presence at my parents’ home, though Dad’s ashes sit on the dresser of my room. I’ve certainly thought about him daily, and little things around the house remind me of him and of better times spent there.

Mom said she feels Dad’s presence the most at night. To this day, she only sleeps on “her” side of their bed, leaving Dad’s side untouched.

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