Desperately to talk to someone.
And yet again I find myself with no one to talk to about all these emotions that keep pounding at me. So again, I turn here.
My friend's son's situation has brought so many of the emotions that I've thought were long past - front and center. I cannot be with him more than a few minutes before I start to fall apart. I cry at the drop of a hat and feel so very unstable again.
Cancer has been the one thing that I have told myself could have been worse than what we had. And now faced with watching cancer slowly, horrifically take a life I'm seeing firsthand the horrific side of watching your child suffer, be in pain, face the fear of dying and having that horror drag out - facing the loss over and over as you have the emotional highs and lows of terminal illness. Grieving that loss many times over and still I know that that does not make the final grieving after death one ounce easier. I'm not crazy enough to believe that for one minute.
But being the hopeless analytical that I am I've turned every side of this scenario over and over comparing it to what we had to deal with and I now also see that she may look at what she has and be glad she did not face what we did...
She has something we did not have. She has time. Precious, valuable, priceless time.
She can make up for all of the little things that she feels she did wrong by caring for his every need now. She has time --to adjust to the possibility of the loss and make sure to say all of the things that keep me up nights. She has time --to hug him and kiss him and cherish every nuance of his face. She has time --to listen to him, memorize his voice and hang on every word because she has the luxury of "knowing" everyday could be her last time. She has time to watch while he sleeps and study his face so that she never forgets. She has time --to bond with him like she hasn't had the chance to do in years while he was grown and living in another state. She has time --to mother him once again and love him and make sure he knows how much.
Her family also has this time. Her oldest son can be there for his brother; talk to him, physically do things for him to make him comfortable. He can read to him, feed him, listen to him. And in doing so he can salve any guilt feelings that he may have had from years of being estranged and later instead of drowning in guilt and shame like my oldest son, going over and over every harsh word that passed between them and turning bitter and biting at everyone he comes in contact with, her son will rest in knowing that he was there for him when he needed him. And I pray that that keeps her son from running off the rails in his grief later.
His "people" have come out of the woodwork to be there for him and for her. People that his chosen lifestyle has kept at bay for years. He has that comfort. They have that time. He can die knowing everyone he ever cared about has been there for him. If he ever questioned their love - he doesn't have to question it now. He can rest knowing "He was loved." He will not die alone.
And her friends and family, all the way to her husband's ex-wife have rallied to her side to help her deal with this sorrow and bear this sad horrific responsibility. I am so glad that she has this. This is going to be the hardest thing she has ever had to face and I love her and I am so thankful she will have the comfort and support that she needs and is not having to bear it alone.
I know how much it hurts when you do not.
My conclusion? There is no good way to do this. There is no one way better than another to lose a child. There are only bad ways.
I pray for her --peace that passes all understanding and for God's strength when hers in depleted. I pray for everyone that can to come along side her for comfort and support. I pray that our friendship survives this. It was a miracle we survived one loss but it's a double hit so I have cause for concern. I pray that I can be there for him without falling apart and I pray I can be there for her from here on out.
Saturday, October 26, 2019
Monday, October 21, 2019
Here Comes Another Wave...
Just like Brian said in the email I kept getting over and over five years after it was sent...five years after he died...
My best friend forever since we were five years old got a call from her youngest son last Thursday. He was in the E.R. with severe back pain. He thought he'd slipped a disk. After his blood work an MRI and CT Scan his slipped disk turned out to be stage 4 metastatic cancer. Lungs, pancreas and liver involved. I have known him all of his life --I have known of him before he had life. I was there when he was born. He's 49 years old. The same age my oldest son turned today. They played together as children.
The doctors have said it is likely he will never leave the hospital.
Needless to say they are all in shock. He is in denial and shock. I am devastated for them. All of them. I have cried until I was sick. Terribly sad for him and the life that he had planned that will now be left unfinished. Devastated for my friend because I know what she does not know. I know what is coming for her for many, many months and even years to come.
I know the sadness, the regrets, the guilt, the sleepless, endless nights; I know how this will change every part of her life and even her personality. How it will change and even possibly destroy what's left of her small and dwindling family. I know the many facets of hurt that will hit her one right after the other. How strangers and even people she loves will say the wrong things and hurt her and how friends that she thought would be there for her --will turn away and even family that can't handle the "grief-sodden" person that she will become and will grow weary of the sadness and try to hurry her past it and if she doesn't comply --eventually drop off the radar.
I know how she will call into question every belief she ever had about goodness and fairness in the world and even at times, doubt God's goodness and possibly grow weak in her faith.
I dread to the point of panic her having to face the decisions that she will eventually be faced with. Decisions I was not faced with like making the choice for life support or not, hospice or home care, continued feeding or withholding nourishment and God-forbid, removal of life support. Then there are the decisions I did have to make: Burial or cremation; scattering ashes or keeping them in an urn, vaults, caskets, memorial stones, memorial service or funeral, what to say, who to call on, music, preacher, graveside service. These are all horrible, horrible decisions that a parent should NEVER have to make for their child.
I want to protect her from having to watch her child suffer to the point that "death", the most feared word a mother can imagine --will be the lesser of the two evils. And cringe because I know I cannot.
I fear myself - saying the wrong thing and causing the pain so many have unknowingly caused me. I pray I never do that.
I fear losing her after 61 years as friends as close as sisters. Sounds ridiculous --but I know it can happen because I lost the closest friend I'd ever had after a 38-year friendship. I've lost my other two children because of it so yes, it can happen, and I know that.
I wish I could shield her from all that is ahead, but I cannot; no more than anyone could shield me from it. I hope, I PRAY that I can be there for her. Be there as someone that truly understands what she is going through. I pray that I have learned something from all of this in order to be there for my friend like so many were for me when I went through it. I pray that after the dozens of books I've read on the subject that I can say the right things and that I can minister to her in the way she needs.
We both see now why I was strategically placed "here" 17 miles from her instead of the 80 we had been. We were never looking here. We had no intentions of moving here. We only looked at this one house and it was certainly not the house of our dreams and yet, here we are.
It was not for the reasons that I assumed - so that my son would come. He doesn't. It was not because it was an ideal location. It certainly wasn't to help my daughter and I bond. And we could never figure out - Why God would have chosen to put us here of all places.
I guess now I know. God help me to carry forward the comfort that I have been given.
My best friend forever since we were five years old got a call from her youngest son last Thursday. He was in the E.R. with severe back pain. He thought he'd slipped a disk. After his blood work an MRI and CT Scan his slipped disk turned out to be stage 4 metastatic cancer. Lungs, pancreas and liver involved. I have known him all of his life --I have known of him before he had life. I was there when he was born. He's 49 years old. The same age my oldest son turned today. They played together as children.
The doctors have said it is likely he will never leave the hospital.
Needless to say they are all in shock. He is in denial and shock. I am devastated for them. All of them. I have cried until I was sick. Terribly sad for him and the life that he had planned that will now be left unfinished. Devastated for my friend because I know what she does not know. I know what is coming for her for many, many months and even years to come.
I know the sadness, the regrets, the guilt, the sleepless, endless nights; I know how this will change every part of her life and even her personality. How it will change and even possibly destroy what's left of her small and dwindling family. I know the many facets of hurt that will hit her one right after the other. How strangers and even people she loves will say the wrong things and hurt her and how friends that she thought would be there for her --will turn away and even family that can't handle the "grief-sodden" person that she will become and will grow weary of the sadness and try to hurry her past it and if she doesn't comply --eventually drop off the radar.
I know how she will call into question every belief she ever had about goodness and fairness in the world and even at times, doubt God's goodness and possibly grow weak in her faith.
I dread to the point of panic her having to face the decisions that she will eventually be faced with. Decisions I was not faced with like making the choice for life support or not, hospice or home care, continued feeding or withholding nourishment and God-forbid, removal of life support. Then there are the decisions I did have to make: Burial or cremation; scattering ashes or keeping them in an urn, vaults, caskets, memorial stones, memorial service or funeral, what to say, who to call on, music, preacher, graveside service. These are all horrible, horrible decisions that a parent should NEVER have to make for their child.
I want to protect her from having to watch her child suffer to the point that "death", the most feared word a mother can imagine --will be the lesser of the two evils. And cringe because I know I cannot.
I fear myself - saying the wrong thing and causing the pain so many have unknowingly caused me. I pray I never do that.
I fear losing her after 61 years as friends as close as sisters. Sounds ridiculous --but I know it can happen because I lost the closest friend I'd ever had after a 38-year friendship. I've lost my other two children because of it so yes, it can happen, and I know that.
I wish I could shield her from all that is ahead, but I cannot; no more than anyone could shield me from it. I hope, I PRAY that I can be there for her. Be there as someone that truly understands what she is going through. I pray that I have learned something from all of this in order to be there for my friend like so many were for me when I went through it. I pray that after the dozens of books I've read on the subject that I can say the right things and that I can minister to her in the way she needs.
We both see now why I was strategically placed "here" 17 miles from her instead of the 80 we had been. We were never looking here. We had no intentions of moving here. We only looked at this one house and it was certainly not the house of our dreams and yet, here we are.
It was not for the reasons that I assumed - so that my son would come. He doesn't. It was not because it was an ideal location. It certainly wasn't to help my daughter and I bond. And we could never figure out - Why God would have chosen to put us here of all places.
I guess now I know. God help me to carry forward the comfort that I have been given.
Thursday, September 26, 2019
Empathy
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 22, 2019
This Says it All...
I was sent this yesterday by my dear friend; another mother that lost her child. The one other person that had the same tragic loss that I have. She lost her precious child and her "only" grandchild.
Today is her birthday. I know better than to say the trite "Happy Birthday" for I'm sure there will never be another truly happy birthday for her because tomorrow is the day she lost her child and grandchild. Like me, today, five years ago was the last time she would ever hear her daughter's voice. As she so aptly put it when she sent this: "This says it all. And we are not crazy!" So I am posting it here for her and all the mother's that sadly may need to hear this.
*********************************************************************************
I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother. My child died, and this is my reluctant path. It is not a path of my choice, but it is a path I must walk mindfully and with intention. It is a journey through the darkest night of my soul and it will take time to wind through the places that scare me.
Every cell in my body aches and longs to be with my beloved child. On days when grief is loud, I may be impatient, distracted, frustrated, and unfocused. I may get angry more easily, or I may seem hopeless. I will shed many, many, many tears. I won’t smile as often as my old self. Smiling hurts now. Most everything hurts some days, even breathing.
But please, just sit beside me.
Say nothing.
Do not offer a cure.
Or a pill, or a word, or a potion.
Witness my suffering and don't turn away from me.
Please be gentle with me.
And I will try to be gentle with me too.
I will not ever "get over" my child's death so please don’t urge me down that path.
Even on days when grief is quiescent, when it isn't standing loudly in the foreground, even on days when I am even able to smile again, the pain is just beneath the surface.
There are days when I still feel paralyzed. My chest feels the sinking weight of my child's absence and, sometimes, I feel as if I will explode from the grief.
Losing my child affects me in so many ways: as a woman, a mother, a human being. It affects every aspect of me: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There are days when I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
Grief is as personal to me as my fingerprint. Don't tell me how I should or shouldn’t be grieving or that I should or shouldn’t “feel better by now.” Don't tell me what's right or wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time. If I am to survive this, I must do what is best for me.
My understanding of life will change and a different meaning of life will slowly evolve. What I knew to be true or absolute or real or fair about the world has been challenged so I'm finding my way, moment-to-moment in this new place. Things that once seemed important to me are barely thoughts any longer. I notice life's suffering more- hungry children, the homeless and the destitute, a mother’s harsh voice toward her young child- or an elderly person struggling with the door. There are so many things about the world which I now struggle to understand: Why do children die? There are some questions, I've learned, which are simply unanswerable.
So please don’t tell me that “ God has a plan ” for me. This, my friend, is between me and my God. Those platitudes slip far too easily from the mouths of those who tuck their own child into a safe, warm bed at night: Can you begin to imagine your own child, flesh of your flesh, lying lifeless in a casket, when “goodbye” means you’ll never see them on this Earth again? Grieving mothers- and fathers- and grandparents- and siblings won’t wake up one day with everything ’okay’ and life back to normal. I have a new normal now.
As time passes, I may gain gifts, and treasures, and insights but anything gained was too high a cost when compared to what was lost. Perhaps, one day, when I am very, very old, I will say that time has truly helped to heal my broken heart. But always remember that not a second of any minute of any hour of any day passes when I am not aware of the presence of my child's absence, no matter how many years lurk over my shoulder, don’t forget that I have another one, another child, whose absence, like the sky, is spread over everything as C.S. Lewis said.
My child may have died; but my love - and my motherhood - never will.
By: Dr. Joanne Cacciatore
*********************************************************************************
I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother. My child died, and this is my reluctant path. It is not a path of my choice, but it is a path I must walk mindfully and with intention. It is a journey through the darkest night of my soul and it will take time to wind through the places that scare me.
Every cell in my body aches and longs to be with my beloved child. On days when grief is loud, I may be impatient, distracted, frustrated, and unfocused. I may get angry more easily, or I may seem hopeless. I will shed many, many, many tears. I won’t smile as often as my old self. Smiling hurts now. Most everything hurts some days, even breathing.
But please, just sit beside me.
Say nothing.
Do not offer a cure.
Or a pill, or a word, or a potion.
Witness my suffering and don't turn away from me.
Please be gentle with me.
And I will try to be gentle with me too.
I will not ever "get over" my child's death so please don’t urge me down that path.
Even on days when grief is quiescent, when it isn't standing loudly in the foreground, even on days when I am even able to smile again, the pain is just beneath the surface.
There are days when I still feel paralyzed. My chest feels the sinking weight of my child's absence and, sometimes, I feel as if I will explode from the grief.
Losing my child affects me in so many ways: as a woman, a mother, a human being. It affects every aspect of me: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There are days when I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
Grief is as personal to me as my fingerprint. Don't tell me how I should or shouldn’t be grieving or that I should or shouldn’t “feel better by now.” Don't tell me what's right or wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time. If I am to survive this, I must do what is best for me.
My understanding of life will change and a different meaning of life will slowly evolve. What I knew to be true or absolute or real or fair about the world has been challenged so I'm finding my way, moment-to-moment in this new place. Things that once seemed important to me are barely thoughts any longer. I notice life's suffering more- hungry children, the homeless and the destitute, a mother’s harsh voice toward her young child- or an elderly person struggling with the door. There are so many things about the world which I now struggle to understand: Why do children die? There are some questions, I've learned, which are simply unanswerable.
So please don’t tell me that “ God has a plan ” for me. This, my friend, is between me and my God. Those platitudes slip far too easily from the mouths of those who tuck their own child into a safe, warm bed at night: Can you begin to imagine your own child, flesh of your flesh, lying lifeless in a casket, when “goodbye” means you’ll never see them on this Earth again? Grieving mothers- and fathers- and grandparents- and siblings won’t wake up one day with everything ’okay’ and life back to normal. I have a new normal now.
As time passes, I may gain gifts, and treasures, and insights but anything gained was too high a cost when compared to what was lost. Perhaps, one day, when I am very, very old, I will say that time has truly helped to heal my broken heart. But always remember that not a second of any minute of any hour of any day passes when I am not aware of the presence of my child's absence, no matter how many years lurk over my shoulder, don’t forget that I have another one, another child, whose absence, like the sky, is spread over everything as C.S. Lewis said.
My child may have died; but my love - and my motherhood - never will.
By: Dr. Joanne Cacciatore
Thursday, August 8, 2019
The Emotions of Grief
Last week my counselor suggested that I write a post on the emotions of grief that she believes I do not acknowledge. I kind of thought I acknowledged all of them and feel like I am more than fully aware of all of the emotions of it. I may not talk about some as much as others but believe me I am well aware of them. The ones she thinks I should acknowledge and "feel" are:
Sadness and Fear
I have blatantly acknowledged that I've experienced:
I am sure I have made myself clear on sadness as well albeit not to the true magnitude that I feel - because you can't really convey that easily and I won't let myself wallow in that mud for fear it will turn out to be "quicksand" and I will not be able to pull myself back out of it. So out of self-preservation I allow myself to experience the overwhelming sadness of this only in short bursts. Then I find a distraction and turn away from it.
So we'll go with fear. I do admit I have not thought much about fear in a while but it is absolutely a crippling and very real part of this.
So what could you have to fear in this? I can tell you first of all that it is NOT fear of you yourself dying. But it is just about everything else.
But when you have been rudely awakened from your magical thinking that things as horrific as this --cannot really happen to you which opens you up to any and all possibilities. Nothing is off limits. The worst of the worst has already happened and so you feel very vulnerable and believe me that scares the living shit out of you.
And you have lost all belief that you and your family are being watched over and taken care of - and that too, makes you extremely fearful. If you've lived your entire life believing that a good and merciful God watches over you and your family and that prayers for your children's safety really matter - a tragedy on this scale - can rock your world in ways I cannot begin to describe. So you have a spiritual fear that if "that" wasn't true - what else that you have always believed is not true? It's kind of like waking up on Christmas morning when you are a child and finding out your parents are Santa Claus. Suddenly you find that something you had believed all your life is not true. All of the magic in life suddenly fades and you feel sad and insecure and betrayed. All of the colors of your world turn to gray as you realize that you've been duped your entire life and worse still by the people you love and trust the most in this world. Your first thoughts are "What else have they lied to me about? Am I even theirs? Do they really love me? Will they someday just go to work and never come back home? Is anything good --real?" Of course unlike Santa I still know there is a God and this is no comparison as far as the magnitude but the feelings of confusion, disillusionment and insecurity are pretty much the same.
Then there is the mind-numbing "terror" of losing someone else you love. So much so until it keeps you up at night and makes a raving lunatic out of you and some part of every single day - miserable.
For instance your son or daughter in law are suddenly plagued with some weird health symptoms - and you automatically jump to worst case scenario and are wringing your hands and pacing the floor; calling until you drive them both nuts. Asking questions, looking up symptoms on the internet, searching your past history for anything that sounds like what they are experiencing. hounding them to go see a doctor, and calling for test results and consulting your friend that is a nurse living in a total but as yet unreasonable panic.
Or perhaps your daughter and son in law stop to help a stranded motorist in a parking lot late at night after leaving a restaurant and you find yourself in a panic-stricken screaming fit because now they won't answer their phones. When they finally do you are screaming at them to stop taking risks with their lives;.angry and yelling about your son in law putting their lives in danger. The same son in law that you dearly love and have always admired for his selfless, kind and compassionate ways.
Or maybe your sister doesn't answer her phone when you call because she's in the shower - and your mind goes instantly to "laying in the floor unconscious alone and in a diabetic coma."
Or your husband breaks out in a rash or has another bout of skin cancer suddenly you are hysterical imagining the worst and obsessing about the stitches, infections, possible incompetence, not getting all of the cancer cells or the lab reading the biopsy wrong and on and on.
Or irrational fears of dates on a calendar. Like August 23 and 24th. I superstitiously will not "do" anything or go anywhere out of the ordinary on those dates. I don't even like to see then written down. I've NEVER been superstitious. What's up with that?
I even fear my 18-year old dog dying. (Really?) It's not because I think she should live forever and not because I can't face the fact that dogs have shorter life spans than people. I've lost many pets over my lifetime but it is because she was Brian's dog. He rescued her from the pound and raised her from a pup. And ten years ago he gave her to me when he and Kara married and moved to where they had no fence. She was the last thing that I have that he gave to me to take care of and love. It will be yet another loss related to his family.
How do these fears affect the quality of my life? I can't sleep. I stress eat. I cannot focus on anything except trying to think of ways to keep all the balls in the air and keep everyone safe - which of course is totally out of my control and that morphs right into "Helpless" which is yet another reason for more fear. Fear of the realization that I am totally powerless to stop anything further from devastating what's left of my life and family.
And maybe she's right. I haven't really fully acknowledged all of the faces of fear that I live with everyday that contribute to the misery that comes with this grief and actually, I haven't scratched the surface still because it seems to change everyday.
Sadness and Fear
I have blatantly acknowledged that I've experienced:
- Anger
- Confusion
- Depression
- Betrayal
- Guilt
- Shame
- Helplessness
- Isolation
- Loneliness
- Apathy
- Numbness
- Disbelief
- Thankfulness
- Shock
- Uselessness
- Weakness
- Uncertainty
I am sure I have made myself clear on sadness as well albeit not to the true magnitude that I feel - because you can't really convey that easily and I won't let myself wallow in that mud for fear it will turn out to be "quicksand" and I will not be able to pull myself back out of it. So out of self-preservation I allow myself to experience the overwhelming sadness of this only in short bursts. Then I find a distraction and turn away from it.
So we'll go with fear. I do admit I have not thought much about fear in a while but it is absolutely a crippling and very real part of this.
So what could you have to fear in this? I can tell you first of all that it is NOT fear of you yourself dying. But it is just about everything else.
But when you have been rudely awakened from your magical thinking that things as horrific as this --cannot really happen to you which opens you up to any and all possibilities. Nothing is off limits. The worst of the worst has already happened and so you feel very vulnerable and believe me that scares the living shit out of you.
And you have lost all belief that you and your family are being watched over and taken care of - and that too, makes you extremely fearful. If you've lived your entire life believing that a good and merciful God watches over you and your family and that prayers for your children's safety really matter - a tragedy on this scale - can rock your world in ways I cannot begin to describe. So you have a spiritual fear that if "that" wasn't true - what else that you have always believed is not true? It's kind of like waking up on Christmas morning when you are a child and finding out your parents are Santa Claus. Suddenly you find that something you had believed all your life is not true. All of the magic in life suddenly fades and you feel sad and insecure and betrayed. All of the colors of your world turn to gray as you realize that you've been duped your entire life and worse still by the people you love and trust the most in this world. Your first thoughts are "What else have they lied to me about? Am I even theirs? Do they really love me? Will they someday just go to work and never come back home? Is anything good --real?" Of course unlike Santa I still know there is a God and this is no comparison as far as the magnitude but the feelings of confusion, disillusionment and insecurity are pretty much the same.
Then there is the mind-numbing "terror" of losing someone else you love. So much so until it keeps you up at night and makes a raving lunatic out of you and some part of every single day - miserable.
For instance your son or daughter in law are suddenly plagued with some weird health symptoms - and you automatically jump to worst case scenario and are wringing your hands and pacing the floor; calling until you drive them both nuts. Asking questions, looking up symptoms on the internet, searching your past history for anything that sounds like what they are experiencing. hounding them to go see a doctor, and calling for test results and consulting your friend that is a nurse living in a total but as yet unreasonable panic.
Or perhaps your daughter and son in law stop to help a stranded motorist in a parking lot late at night after leaving a restaurant and you find yourself in a panic-stricken screaming fit because now they won't answer their phones. When they finally do you are screaming at them to stop taking risks with their lives;.angry and yelling about your son in law putting their lives in danger. The same son in law that you dearly love and have always admired for his selfless, kind and compassionate ways.
Or maybe your sister doesn't answer her phone when you call because she's in the shower - and your mind goes instantly to "laying in the floor unconscious alone and in a diabetic coma."
Or your husband breaks out in a rash or has another bout of skin cancer suddenly you are hysterical imagining the worst and obsessing about the stitches, infections, possible incompetence, not getting all of the cancer cells or the lab reading the biopsy wrong and on and on.
Or irrational fears of dates on a calendar. Like August 23 and 24th. I superstitiously will not "do" anything or go anywhere out of the ordinary on those dates. I don't even like to see then written down. I've NEVER been superstitious. What's up with that?
I even fear my 18-year old dog dying. (Really?) It's not because I think she should live forever and not because I can't face the fact that dogs have shorter life spans than people. I've lost many pets over my lifetime but it is because she was Brian's dog. He rescued her from the pound and raised her from a pup. And ten years ago he gave her to me when he and Kara married and moved to where they had no fence. She was the last thing that I have that he gave to me to take care of and love. It will be yet another loss related to his family.
How do these fears affect the quality of my life? I can't sleep. I stress eat. I cannot focus on anything except trying to think of ways to keep all the balls in the air and keep everyone safe - which of course is totally out of my control and that morphs right into "Helpless" which is yet another reason for more fear. Fear of the realization that I am totally powerless to stop anything further from devastating what's left of my life and family.
And maybe she's right. I haven't really fully acknowledged all of the faces of fear that I live with everyday that contribute to the misery that comes with this grief and actually, I haven't scratched the surface still because it seems to change everyday.
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