Things have been very tense between my daughter and myself for over a year. For the first time in over 50 years, I have not laid eyes on her in fourteen months. I have had little choice but to just leave her alone and let her deal with whatever issues that she has on her own. I apparently was only making things worse.
Today in confiding to a friend my deep pain over the deterioration of my family and the losses that continue to pile higher I sat trying to explain to her how this could even happen between two people that used to be so close and instead of whining and relating my hurt over all of it I found myself explaining it "from my daughter's point of view". A view I had been too hurt and too devastated to see. What I realized was that while I was drowning in the overwhelming sorrow of losing my child, grandchild and daughter in law she too had a huge parade of losses.
My friend asked about her friends and her support system outside of her immediately family.
"She pretty much has none." I answered. "She doesn't make friends easily and her one and only real friend since she married let her down over and over, used her and then totally abandoned her after the loss of Brian."
Then she asked if she and my other son were close.
"No." I answered. "They never have been. She was always very close to Brian --but of course she lost him."
"So she has had no friends?" my friend asked.
"Well, yes, she and Kara were very close --but she lost Kara too."
"But you guys were close at one time?"
"Yes, until I moved."
And that's when it hit me. She had lost almost everyone outside her immediate family that she cared about and then I left her too.
I felt awful.
I have prayed to be able to see her side of this, for me to have God's heart for understanding her and to be able to put myself and my hurt aside and walk in her shoes and feel what she feels. Today I did just that. And my heart broke for her.
It's not like I intended to be selfish and just abandon her or my son and not acknowledge their pain I have just been so all consumed with just trying to survive this until I couldn't see past my own pain I guess. I of course knew we all had loss. My son has had much the same. He lost his half-brother because he abandoned him much like my daughter's friend did - after Brian died. He has also lost a good friend to death that he has known for many years. He too was close only to Brian and he lost him. They were both always close to my brother and they now have no relationship with him either. All of our lives have been impacted in ways we never could have imagined. All of us lost our entire support systems outside of our spouses. On top of the catastrophic loss we suffered on August 23rd 2014 we have all also lost friends, co-workers, relatives --and sadly, each other.
I know nothing can bring back Brian and his family but I do pray that God will see fit to restore the relationship I once had with my other two children. It is heartbreak on top of devastating heartbreak and I just don't know how much more loss I can survive and stay sane.
Thursday, September 26, 2019
Monday, September 16, 2019
The Fifth Anniversary...
Has come and gone and I'm glad August is in the rear view mirror. I spent a solid month dreading it because milestones are always hard. Problem is it isn't just the "day" of the anniversary it is more like the entire month. I start getting weepy and depressed as July marches toward the end of summer. And I stay that way until after Labor Day. But as I've mentioned August is a month full of significant days so I guess that's reasonable.
This was a milestone I was dreading mostly because it "has" been five years and I am still where I am at FIVE DANG YEARS later! That alone is depressing. And in some ways --not all ways but some, I'm worse than I was say three years out. That I don't understand. But I'm going to use this five year mark as a goal. The end of this "continuing to get worse" phase. I am going to get better. I am.
Still waiting for that "Beauty From Ashes" to show up. I do get a little discouraged when I read about all that others have gleaned from the journey through loss and grief --even catastrophic loss. And when I see the beauty from ashes in other people's stories or when I see that God has restored things to others in the wake of their loss because I know that is not possible in my case. I am not, at 66 years old going to get another son. I will never have another opportunity to be that close to another baby in my life. My daughter in law is not miraculously going to be replaced by a better, newer model. So what exactly could "restoration" even look like for me?
I want to be positive. I really do. I want to believe things will get better but I can't see beauty from ashes and I can't see anything being "restored" in my life. Five solid years out I watch and wait expectantly and still the losses continue to pile up.
I'm trying to stay busy. I am trying to make new friends and create a solid social life albeit the landscape has changed drastically. Seems now I gravitate to those that have had and therefore understand --catastrophic loss. I am still reading non-stop; still searching for that one story that has the positive, happy ending that can give me the secret formula to overcoming this pain and heartache and the magic potion that will help me learn to not just live through this but enjoy living again in spite of this and tell me what steps to take in order to mitigate the steady stream of collateral losses.
I'm trying to do things - things I used to enjoy - looking for a spark that might ignite even a small flame of interest in something again. I'm making the effort - which is a step forward I know since it was a long time before I cared to even try.
It was a huge step for me to attempt yet again to see a counselor. Since that first year when I called about twenty with not so much as a single response and the one I did manage to wrangle up could not handle this and decided to just help me deal with the scheduling issues surrounding my sister's care and how to work in "grieving from the tragic loss of three members of my family" between a three hour commute in heavy Atlanta traffic daily to go for 6 to 12 hours a day 5 -days a week in the bone marrow clinic, juggling visits to an endocrinologist, gastroenterologist, pulmonologist in between along with regular trips to the hospital radiology department, dermatologist and respiratory therapist offices for testing or treatments, keeping up with a conglomeration of 28 medications, making sure the house was as germ-free and bacteria-free as possible, planning and preparing meals according to specific guidelines and doing laundry for four people on top of a full time job that I was then having to do at night after everything else was taken care of. Granted I needed help for that. But sadly got no help for the elephant or rather Mastadon in the room.
I think I've had maybe as much as five sessions with her and I got a letter about two weeks ago saying she was resigning. Resigning.
Was it something that I said?
This was a milestone I was dreading mostly because it "has" been five years and I am still where I am at FIVE DANG YEARS later! That alone is depressing. And in some ways --not all ways but some, I'm worse than I was say three years out. That I don't understand. But I'm going to use this five year mark as a goal. The end of this "continuing to get worse" phase. I am going to get better. I am.
Still waiting for that "Beauty From Ashes" to show up. I do get a little discouraged when I read about all that others have gleaned from the journey through loss and grief --even catastrophic loss. And when I see the beauty from ashes in other people's stories or when I see that God has restored things to others in the wake of their loss because I know that is not possible in my case. I am not, at 66 years old going to get another son. I will never have another opportunity to be that close to another baby in my life. My daughter in law is not miraculously going to be replaced by a better, newer model. So what exactly could "restoration" even look like for me?
I want to be positive. I really do. I want to believe things will get better but I can't see beauty from ashes and I can't see anything being "restored" in my life. Five solid years out I watch and wait expectantly and still the losses continue to pile up.
I'm trying to stay busy. I am trying to make new friends and create a solid social life albeit the landscape has changed drastically. Seems now I gravitate to those that have had and therefore understand --catastrophic loss. I am still reading non-stop; still searching for that one story that has the positive, happy ending that can give me the secret formula to overcoming this pain and heartache and the magic potion that will help me learn to not just live through this but enjoy living again in spite of this and tell me what steps to take in order to mitigate the steady stream of collateral losses.
I'm trying to do things - things I used to enjoy - looking for a spark that might ignite even a small flame of interest in something again. I'm making the effort - which is a step forward I know since it was a long time before I cared to even try.
It was a huge step for me to attempt yet again to see a counselor. Since that first year when I called about twenty with not so much as a single response and the one I did manage to wrangle up could not handle this and decided to just help me deal with the scheduling issues surrounding my sister's care and how to work in "grieving from the tragic loss of three members of my family" between a three hour commute in heavy Atlanta traffic daily to go for 6 to 12 hours a day 5 -days a week in the bone marrow clinic, juggling visits to an endocrinologist, gastroenterologist, pulmonologist in between along with regular trips to the hospital radiology department, dermatologist and respiratory therapist offices for testing or treatments, keeping up with a conglomeration of 28 medications, making sure the house was as germ-free and bacteria-free as possible, planning and preparing meals according to specific guidelines and doing laundry for four people on top of a full time job that I was then having to do at night after everything else was taken care of. Granted I needed help for that. But sadly got no help for the elephant or rather Mastadon in the room.
I think I've had maybe as much as five sessions with her and I got a letter about two weeks ago saying she was resigning. Resigning.
Was it something that I said?
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Small Snippets
I dreamed about the baby last night--something I always wish I could do. Then when I do I'm sad and weepy for days afterwards. But I also remember how sweet and precious it was to get to be with him for even that little while. And still it's worth it to me.
It wasn't much of a dream really only spanned probably less than two minutes time but enough to bring to life those overwhelming feelings of deep, deep love like I felt in the dream I had before he was even conceived. He was younger in the dream maybe 18 months old and was standing in a baby bed. Music was playing and he was "singing" along loudly. No words. But like he really used to do - just baby jibber-jabber but in perfect tune and with the correct inflections. He was amazing in that. He loved sounds, voice pitches, conversation inflections and music of all types and though he didn't hardly even talk at almost three he was never shy and always very vocal.
In the dream he was singing along with the music and then he quit and I was trying to encourage him to keep singing because it was so sweet and I was pantomiming the words to to him to try and get him to start singing again and he watched me a minute and instead of singing with the music like he had been doing he laughed and started pantomiming back at me. It was so funny and so just exactly like something he would do. And that was all that I remember of the dream. I've been so afraid of forgetting --not him, but the little details of who he was. It felt good to know that I had not forgotten his essence, his quirky little personality traits that were so uniquely him. And good to realize that my heart remembered that deep, deep love I felt for him. It was so good to see him and be with him even for that little while and feel that love even if I will pay for it for days with the overwhelming sadness that will provoke.
It has made today very hard but still it was such a gift. I don't dream of any of them often - not often enough but even less of him and I hate that but I guess in God's infinite wisdom, He knows it would keep me deep in the darkness, living in the past with less motivation to move forward.
I only had him for two years and eight months. It is so hard to believe that a child could carve such a deep rut in my heart after such a short time so that even after five years I look at his pictures and still cry. I find it hard to believe that after only Two and a half years with him that the thoughts of him still dominate so much of my every day or that the pain of losing him could still be this raw.
Fifty eight years I had lived without ever knowing him and I've now been without him five more; twice as long as I had him. Two and a half years short years is such a small percentage of 66 years and logically I don't even see how 2 and 1/2 years could impact my life in such a way.
I love and miss you my little man. Always. Always.
It wasn't much of a dream really only spanned probably less than two minutes time but enough to bring to life those overwhelming feelings of deep, deep love like I felt in the dream I had before he was even conceived. He was younger in the dream maybe 18 months old and was standing in a baby bed. Music was playing and he was "singing" along loudly. No words. But like he really used to do - just baby jibber-jabber but in perfect tune and with the correct inflections. He was amazing in that. He loved sounds, voice pitches, conversation inflections and music of all types and though he didn't hardly even talk at almost three he was never shy and always very vocal.
In the dream he was singing along with the music and then he quit and I was trying to encourage him to keep singing because it was so sweet and I was pantomiming the words to to him to try and get him to start singing again and he watched me a minute and instead of singing with the music like he had been doing he laughed and started pantomiming back at me. It was so funny and so just exactly like something he would do. And that was all that I remember of the dream. I've been so afraid of forgetting --not him, but the little details of who he was. It felt good to know that I had not forgotten his essence, his quirky little personality traits that were so uniquely him. And good to realize that my heart remembered that deep, deep love I felt for him. It was so good to see him and be with him even for that little while and feel that love even if I will pay for it for days with the overwhelming sadness that will provoke.
It has made today very hard but still it was such a gift. I don't dream of any of them often - not often enough but even less of him and I hate that but I guess in God's infinite wisdom, He knows it would keep me deep in the darkness, living in the past with less motivation to move forward.
I only had him for two years and eight months. It is so hard to believe that a child could carve such a deep rut in my heart after such a short time so that even after five years I look at his pictures and still cry. I find it hard to believe that after only Two and a half years with him that the thoughts of him still dominate so much of my every day or that the pain of losing him could still be this raw.
Fifty eight years I had lived without ever knowing him and I've now been without him five more; twice as long as I had him. Two and a half years short years is such a small percentage of 66 years and logically I don't even see how 2 and 1/2 years could impact my life in such a way.
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