Tag Archives: grief

May 12, 2016 · 8:08 pm

Grief by the numbers

 

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Maxime Perron Caissy/Freeimages

A fellow blogger who recently lost her father posed an interesting question on her blog, which went along the lines of what happens after that first year of loss?

As a society, we tend to mark major life events by months, then years. So what does happen on that first month after the first year marking the death of a loved one? While it’s common for people to mark the six month anniversary of something, the 13th month is not so common.

Soon, I will know, as the one year anniversary of my mother’s death quickly approaches May 21.

I don’t think my grief will suddenly lessen when June 21 rolls around, but perhaps a loosening in the monthly ritual is a part of the healing process. There was at least one month in this first year where I actually didn’t mark the day itself; I thought about it before and after but not on the actual day. At first I felt bad, but then I realized that it was probably a positive sign.

My father’s death was a completely different process. First, there was a greater sense of relief in that death finally freed my father from Alzheimer’s cruel gasp. At 79, Dad had lived a pretty long life and as an almost lifelong smoker, if dementia hadn’t taken him, emphysema (which he had) or lung cancer probably would have. With my mom, even though she was only 2 years younger, I felt like with proper, prompt treatment, she may have had some good years left.

Another difference in the grief process was that my grieving for my dad was cut short due to my mom’s illness. She became ill just six months after my father died. I had to switch gears, letting Dad rest in peace while I poured all of my energy into keeping Mom alive and nursing her back to health. By the time she recovered, Dad had been gone for a year or so and time had began to heal the loss.

In a way though, taking care of Mom helped me feel less guilty about not being there for dad as a caregiver. So while I’m not saying that Mom’s cancer diagnosis was a good thing, there was at least one positive outcome.

After surviving Mother’s Day (which I marked by participating in a charity walk and visiting cats at a shelter) I have now survived every holiday for the first time “motherless.” For those of you have been through the grieving process, I’m sure you can understand my feeling of relief.

 

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May 1, 2016 · 4:12 pm

May is for Mother

mom-joy-nov2014

This is the first Mother’s Day I will experience motherless. At this time last year, Mom was quickly approaching death. In fact, I got her flowers early because I was afraid she might not live until Mother’s Day.

Knowing that would be the last Mother’s Day she would be alive was difficult. How do you express a lifetime of gratitude into a single day?

 

But experiencing Mother’s Day without a living mother is equally as difficult.

It is almost impossible to avoid the holiday. Mother’s Day ads are online, in stores, on TV … reminders to honor your mother are everywhere. I received an email reminder from the florist, to remind me I bought Mom flowers last year, and did I want to order again this year?  I’m sure the business thought this was a good selling tool, but it was just a gut-wrenching reminder of the sadness I felt when placing that order. (On the flip side, Mom loved the flowers.)

I just got back from a visit to what was my parents’ condo. Each trip I am trying to make a few changes, to slowly transition it from a place of sadness and illness, which it became over the last several years of my parents’ life, to a peaceful mountain respite that my parents enjoyed for many years.

My mother’s perfume still lingers in the bedroom. Of course I reflected on the events of last year while I was there, but I busied myself by putting together new furniture and rearranging things to make it my own. It’s what my parents would want, and I left the condo feeling fairly good about the progress.

And now, a week of nonstop Mother’s Day advertisements to navigate. I know at least a few fellow bloggers who have lost their mothers in recent years, so I know you understand how it feels. Certainly just because our mothers are no longer living doesn’t mean we cannot honor their life on Mother’s Day, and that’s what I intend upon doing.

How will you mark Mother’s Day?

 

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March 13, 2016 · 12:20 pm

Finding grace amidst grief

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It was part of my job to follow Nancy Reagan’s funeral on Friday. But it was also a lesson on grace, grief and choosing love at the right moment.

The fact that daughter Patti Davis and Nancy Reagan had a difficult relationship is well known. It has been written about and documented in numerous books and interviews by Davis and Reagan as well as political pundits and gossip columnists.

Imagine the pressure you would feel when asked to speak at the funeral of a relative who you had a love/hate relationship with, a funeral that was being broadcast to millions of people across the nation.

Oh sure, Patti Davis has led a life of privilege, but money and power doesn’t guarantee happiness.

Davis recounted a humorous prank that Nancy played on Ronald, a moment she relived with her mother in the days before her death. After telling the story, Davis said at the time she didn’t realize that would be the last time she would hear her mother laugh.

That really struck a personal chord with me, because I also think back to the last time my mother laughed and made me laugh. I can remember the moment in great detail. It was the day we started her morphine, finally, after battling the doctor and home hospice for more pain relief. A few doses in, Mom woke up for a nap and wanted to get up. I helped her out of bed and asked her how she was feeling, looking for any signs of the common side effects, such as nausea or dizziness.

Mom grabbed the puke bucket that I had placed on the bed in preparation for any such issues, and placed it on her head (yes, it was empty.) She then danced a little jig.

It was the only time that entire last month of my mother’s life that I genuinely laughed.

An hour or two later, Mom was vomiting into the bucket.

But back to Davis. She didn’t ignore the difficult relationship she had with her mother, saying that there were never any shades of grey in their relationship, but instead bright colors and passionate emotions. She took responsibility for her actions while not exonerating her mother, as death does not wipe clean a person’s past transgressions.

On Friday though, Davis chose love, and she did so with grace and humor.

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February 21, 2016 · 3:26 pm

Dreaming of the dead

Today marks nine months since my mom died. It’s hard to believe that I’m already coming up on the one-year anniversary.

Certainly, life marches forward and I have been propelled forward with it, but I still think of my mother daily, and often, it is about those last tough years when she battled illness, and not of the better times.

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Skyro/Freeimages

I’m writing essays about the caregiving experience so it doesn’t surprise me that these thoughts are in my head. This week, I had a vivid dream about Mom, in which she was very much alive. I first saw her in a bathtub, and it was a bit scary for a moment, a la that scene from The Shining. But the dream didn’t take a nightmarish turn after that. Mom just kept popping up, alive and well, and I was puzzled and felt the need to keep her hidden.

I read a bit about what a tub can symbolize in a dream, and a lot of it made sense. One site said that it can symbolize emotional instability, vulnerability and the ups and downs of life. A bath can also symbolize a cleansing, both literally and figuratively.

Another major takeaway from the bathtub symbol in dreams is that it means one needs to let go of a burden they have been carrying. It can mean the need to shake off troubles and relax.

Hmm, okay subconscious mind, I get the hint! I’m going on a week’s vacation soon.

I’d be curious to know about any significant dreams you’ve had while grieving, or any dreams you’ve had about dead relatives. I find dream analysis fascinating.

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November 21, 2015 · 5:28 pm

A fragile healing over the grief

Today marks six months since my mother died. In many ways, it seems impossible that so much time has passed. A half a year! I think of her multiple times daily, and honestly, most of my thoughts are fixated on those last months. I wish her end had been less painful, though I know dwelling on it will not change anything.

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But certainly there are some things moving along in the right direction. The house is refinanced, and I hope to have credit card debt cleared in less than a year. My job is going well, and I’m thankful for the good benefits it provides.

I’m writing not quite as much I think I should, but I am writing. I won a writing award. I was interviewed for a documentary.

To use a not-so-lovely analogy, my grief feels like a bad wound that is slowly healing. If I leave it alone, and don’t pick at it too much, it will eventually heal and a scar may be the only reminder. But it won’t burn or hurt permanently, if I tend to it well. If I let time take its course, and focus on other things, the healing process will work.

I just need to trust in that process.

I need to resist the temptation to open that wound.

My mom would wish me peace over pain. I need to honor her wishes.

 

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May 31, 2015 · 1:47 pm

Grief, relief and regret

As anyone knows who has lost a loved one, your grief doesn’t always progress through the designated stages like it’s described in books. Many of these self-help manuals make it clear that there is no one correct path, but it’s still something you have to experience for yourself to understand.

To all of you who left lovely comments, thank you so much. It does help to know you are not alone.

The first few days after my mother’s death were fueled by an adrenaline rush, to power through and focus on completing the necessary tasks. My goal was to get home as soon as possible.

Mom was a jokester, and would want to be remembered with smiles and laughter, not tears.

Mom was a jokester, and would want to be remembered with smiles and laughter, not tears.

I returned home and took a few days off from work to get settled in and recharge my batteries. I spent a lot of time receiving “purr therapy” from the cats. I went on walks. I got a massage.

Then I returned to work and the fast pace of my daily duties left me little time for reflection.

So here I am, 10 days after my mom’s death, and more than grief or sadness, I’ve experienced moments of relief and regret.

There is a sense of relief at how quiet my phone is now. Over the last year or so, I had talked to Mom daily on the phone, and over the last few months, she was calling me multiple times per day sometimes, usually to remark about her pain or lack of effective medication. I began to dread seeing her face when it would pop up on my phone, signaling a call from her.

Mom was about the only person to call me on the phone. (I prefer written communication whenever possible.) My battery has dipped low a couple of times, but I wasn’t frantic about making sure I was available by phone because at this moment, for the first time in several years, I am not managing the care of an ailing parent. There is relief in not feeling like I’m on call 24/7.

The regrets pop up in scenes played out from the last month, when I was taking care of Mom. I think what I can take away from these flashbacks is to not get so lost in the necessary caregiving tasks that you forget the simple things, like trying to make it possible for a loved one to enjoy a moment basking in the sunlight, or having a spoon of ice cream. There may be risks involved in trying to make a dying person happy, but looking back, they are risks I wish I had taken.

What lessons have you learned from grieving for a loved one?

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December 10, 2014 · 7:40 am

Time makes some wounds less painful

Here is a realist take on grief. Time does help. Time is like a new layer of skin that develops over a gaping wound. It takes awhile before the wound is covered, and even then, that new protective layer is quite fragile. But if tended to properly, that new layer of skin will completely cover the wound and most people will never know you had an injury. Even if no physical signs remain, you will remember the wound.

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That’s how I feel this year, as I approach the third year anniversary of my father’s death. As I’ve mentioned, I’m back working in the same building as I was on the day he died. All of the same Christmas decorations are back up. I’ve been struck with bouts of wistfulness and flashbacks to that day when I got the call that my father had died. But the black cloud isn’t quite as dark as it was the last couple of years. Of course, nowadays concern for Mom takes up a lot of my thinking time. But still, I know part of this is the natural grieving process.

There is no timetable. For some people, it may take a year, for others several years, and frankly, some people may never escape those black clouds. None of us should be judged by how we grieve. Of course, if we think loved ones are in danger of hurting themselves or others because of the weight of their grief, then action should be taken to intervene and get them help. But the grieving process is very personal. While it may help to read books to know the stages of grief, etc., it truly is one of those things you don’t fully understand until you experience it.

How have you handled your grief over the loss of a loved one? Has the passage of time helped?

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April 17, 2013 · 12:22 pm

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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January 3, 2013 · 7:17 pm

Grief doesn’t necessarily get easier

When you lose a family member, well-meaning people usually say that things will get easier as time goes on.

But I don’t think that’s entirely true for everyone. Certainly, time marches on. But how one reacts to a death of a loved one, how they process their grief, well, that’s really a very individual process. I’m sure there are plenty of statistics and surveys out there that say generally speaking, people’s grief lessens after x amount of time. I think most of us know that when it gets personal, stats go out the window.

Mom and Dad in Ruidoso.

Mom and Dad in Ruidoso.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad lately, and that is understandable. The one year anniversary of his death was December 20th. Then it was the holidays. Certainly I have not been sitting curled up in a ball crying my eyes out with grief, but the pain still ripples through my heart. The guilt over what I would have, should have done differently still is something I’m working through.

Mom also remains grief-stricken, so I have to deal with that as well. On New Year’s Eve, she found a copy of the message she wrote in the 40th anniversary card she gave to Dad, the one she had cremated with him. While everyone else was ringing in the new year, Mom was grieving.

Tonight, she broke down again, letting me know she tells Dad every day that she loves him. Her message is always the same. She misses Dad dearly, but the way he was before Alzheimer’s. She could not wish him back the way he became with dementia.

I agree.

So for some people, grieving the loss of a loved one does become easier. For others, it may change shape and form, but it is still a pain buried deep within the heart.

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February 20, 2012 · 10:34 am

Two months since my father died

It seems so much has happened in the two months since my father passed away. Grief still saturates my atmosphere and I think of my father several times a day. Most of the time, I still picture him at the end of his life, which is painful. However, it is a relief to not be waiting for “that call” anymore. I realize that for almost the entire year of 2011 I lived in a state of anxiety, fearing my father’s death long before it actually happened.

In the past two months, good things have started to happen. I started this blog project, which is being well-received by the community and has been great therapy for me. I also am now a storyteller on Cowbird, where I will be writing visual-focused stories about my dad and other areas of my life. I know Dad would be proud, as he always encouraged my interest in writing. I think in a different life Dad would have been a writer as well, penning books about down-on-their-luck boxers with Irish names, and maybe a novel or two about the IRA, which he claimed to be a member of at one time.

My mom is still struggling to find her way alone in this world. She still talks to my dad every day, telling him that she misses him and loves him.

There are still regrets about the last few years that I am working my way through, but I know I cannot change the past, I can only take what I’ve learned and apply it to the present and future. A loss of a loved one changes you forever, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

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