You might have to catch me, even if I don't ask you to.

I know the main steps of the grieving process. I've heard about them from medical professionals, concerned loved ones, and from my sociology degree. I can rationally and intelligently define the different stages, but I've never lived them as wholly as I am these days.

I try to make the best of even my worst days, but sometimes it’s just too much work and I realize very quickly that I just can’t do it. Unfortunately that often leads to feelings of great guilt and confusion.

I talked to a dear friend today who has a very close family member whose child died years ago. This child had many physical exceptionalities and was very developmentally delayed. Many parents, or people who plan to have children, wish and hope that some day their children are not born with such disadvantages; not only for the child, but for themselves and the life they imagined themselves to have.

Some people are given a situation that to others would seem impossible. Some people face it with grace, dignity, and perseverance. These people often do not see their own goodness and selflessness. If I could give them one thing, it would be to help them see themselves the way others do. This woman is one of these people.

She is a mother of all mothers. She not only works her heart out at her career, but also makes every point of providing wonderful opportunities for her 2 remaining children. To meet her, you’d think she’s grateful and content, and that she gets great joy out of her selflessness. Anyone who meets her wants to be her friend. When you’re around her, your heart can’t help but be happy.

But, hers isn’t. And, I didn’t know that until today. She is desperately sad and despondent. The only reason I know this is that my dear friend opened up to me, after I pried. She is concerned, as she loves this woman beyond imaginable means – and rightfully so. This woman has been a rock, and a responsible example throughout the years. She is such a wonderful mother that she ‘mothers’ people who aren’t even her own! (We all know someone like this)

To hear that she is sad and down trodden makes me feel concerned, but I also feel sympathetic. Here is a woman who dedicated her every waking moment to the needs of her first child. She knew that he couldn’t exist naturally without her constant care and attention, and she never resented it, or hired help. She gave her whole self to his needs, and ended up getting great joy out of this. Some people would be frustrated, she found purpose. This can be strangely fulfilling. So, when other world powers take away that situation that was all consuming, how do we move forward in a new direction, suddenly being forced to give our attention elsewhere? Heck, how do we suddenly turn our love and attention to ourselves, when it’s been so long since we ever thought to love ourselves first (maybe we never knew how to do this in the first place).

I relate, only because my Mom was very alone in her raising of me. She was consumed by her work and being a mother, which isolated her on many levels, and made her very dependant on me. I became the punching bag, that ultimately became the soft place to land. I was a sounding board and was treated as an ‘adult other’, but was also treated as an immature child for much of my time with her. What contradictions to balance! Many people told me to walk away. Many said I didn’t need to ‘take it’. All I thought was that she needed me, and that was enough reason to stay. And, I’ve written about this before; she needed me, but I wanted her (love and approval that is). So, I dedicated my life to making her proud. I aimed for straight As, and just about always got them. I loved her when she deserved it least, and came back even when I swore I wouldn’t because that last time she hurt me she went a little bit too far.

When you commit your life to one thing, and one thing only, and then that thing is taken away – you are left spinning like a broken record top. When we’ve been careening in circles for so long, how do we suddenly walk forward, in a straight line, without feeling dizzy? Too often we fall over, like a small child who spins on a hot summer day. The difference is, the child spun for the pure joy of landing clumsily in the green grass. If only our falling was so joyous.

If I didn’t have my man to love, who loves me back even when I don’t deserve it, I don’t know how far I might dizzily stumble. I am SO lucky to have him. He doesn’t tell me to walk a straight line. He doesn’t tell me to stop until I’m ready to move forward steadily. Instead he stumbles along beside me, ready to catch me if I trip on my own feet. And even more so, ready to fall with me if I don’t catch my balance in time. He doesn’t laugh, or chastise – he just says, “you’re not alone, I’m right here” – sometimes without words.

Pots often call kettles black. Easier said than done, right? How do we so clearly see other people’s realities, and what they should do to find contentment, but we can never take our own advice?

I wish this wonderful lady nothing but peace. I want her to recognize that she served her purpose, for the time she was needed, and she did a damn good job. I want that realization to cause her heart to overflow with pride and confidence, so that she can move forward similarly in raising her other beautiful children, and by continuing to help my dear friend that relies on her love so.

In connection, I have been struggling with my Mom being gone more lately than ever. It’s a lot of life anxieties combining, but, the shock has also worn off. Suddenly I’ve realized that my Mom isn’t just ‘on vacation’. Scary. When she first passed away I took the time to neatly fold all of her clothes in her drawers. Now I look in those drawers, even at the neat rows of her underwear and think, “Shit, she’s never going to wear these again”. That doesn’t make it easier to throw them out!

It’s incredible how we cling to the simple things. So, think of how consuming the big ones are!

Tonight I took an online quiz about depression. Turns out I rank as pretty darn depressed. Whoa. But, I read further (as this hasn’t been a common thing for me for the majority of my life so far) and it openly stated that this kind of depression can’t be applied to people who are grieving a significant loss. Phew!

So, I re-acquainted myself with the stages of grief, and was reminded that this is not a linear process that has a light at the end of the tunnel. This is a cyclical and repeating process that keeps recurring throughout our lives. Of course it would be easier to just be done with it, but if we could do that, we would.

What I found, which gave me some much needed peace is as follows:

The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief

By Julie Axelrod

The stages of mourning are universal and are experienced by people from all walks of life. Mourning occurs in response to an individual’s own terminal illness or to the death of a valued being, human or animal. There are five stages of normal grief. They were first proposed by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.”

In our bereavement, we spend different lengths of time working through each step and express each stage more or less intensely. The five stages do not necessarily occur in order. We often move between stages before achieving a more peaceful acceptance of death. Many of us are not afforded the luxury of time required to achieve this final stage of grief. The death of your loved one might inspire you to evaluate your own feelings of mortality. Throughout each stage, a common thread of hope emerges. As long as there is life, there is hope. As long as there is hope, there is life.

Many people do not experience the stages in the order listed below, which is okay. The key to understanding the stages is not to feel like you must go through every one of them, in precise order. Instead, it’s more helpful to look at them as guides in the grieving process — it helps you understand and put into context where you are.

1. Denial and Isolation
The first reaction to learning of terminal illness or death of a cherished loved one is to deny the reality of the situation. It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that carries us through the first wave of pain.

2. Anger
As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry.

The doctor who diagnosed the illness and was unable to cure the disease might become a convenient target. Health professionals deal with death and dying every day. That does not make them immune to the suffering of their patients or to those who grieve for them.

Do not hesitate to ask your doctor to give you extra time or to explain just once more the details of your loved one’s illness. Arrange a special appointment or ask that he telephone you at the end of his day. Ask for clear answers to your questions regarding medical diagnosis and treatment. Understand the options available to you. Take your time.

3. Bargaining
The normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control–

·         If only we had sought medical attention sooner…

·         If only we got a second opinion from another doctor…

·         If only we had tried to be a better person toward them…

Secretly, we may make a deal with God or our higher power in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. This is a weaker line of defense to protect us from the painful reality.

4. Depression
Two types of depression are associated with mourning. The first one is a reaction to practical implications relating to the loss. Sadness and regret predominate this type of depression. We worry about the costs and burial. We worry that, in our grief, we have spent less time with others that depend on us. This phase may be eased by simple clarification and reassurance. We may need a bit of helpful cooperation and a few kind words. The second type of depression is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separate and to bid our loved one farewell. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.

5. Acceptance
Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression.

Loved ones that are terminally ill or aging appear to go through a final period of withdrawal. This is by no means a suggestion that they are aware of their own impending death or such, only that physical decline may be sufficient to produce a similar response. Their behaviour implies that it is natural to reach a stage at which social interaction is limited. The dignity and grace shown by our dying loved ones may well be their last gift to us.

Coping with loss is a ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience — nobody can help you go through it more easily or understand all the emotions that you’re going through. But others can be there for you and help comfort you through this process. The best thing you can do is to allow yourself to feel the grief as it comes over you. Resisting it only will prolong the natural process of healing.

Amen.

So, I’m not spinning anymore, but I am stumbling. And, as long as I’m not alone in that (although I wish I was sometimes, so that no one else in the world would be feeling this way) I’ll be ok.

Yes, sometimes I feel depressed. But, one thing I have that I’m grateful for is a willingness to push forward anyway. I don’t close the blinds and climb back into bed, and I don’t put my head in the sand. I cry when I need to, I fall when I need to, and I talk openly about my stumbling so that the people around me aren’t shocked when I grab onto them as gravity wins the arm wrestle.

If you’ve caught me in the past 10 months, and especially if you’ve let me pull you down with me, thank you.

And, thanks in advance, because it will likely happen again.

Shine On

My 2 favourite forms of therapy for coping with my grieving: writing, and music.

Every now and then I hear a song that speaks to me, as if my mom were singing it to me herself. I first heard Leela Gilday while at an outdoor concert with my Mom (Mariposa Folk Festival). I didn't appreciate this particular song back then, as much as I do now.

Enjoy!

[click on this link, and then click on 'Shine On']

http://www.uphere.ca/node/159

The ‘R’ Word

I have this friend who adamantly claimed once that he didn’t have any regrets in life. Granted, that was a few years ago, I somehow believe that he still feels the same way. And, knowing him as well as I do, I think a little bit of ‘regret’ would humble him, and maybe help him treat people better. Look at me imposing my opinion!

To each their own.

I remember how I felt upon hearing him claim this. I felt immediately guilty - I even felt ‘less than’. Because, you see, I have regrets; a lot of them. Back when he and I had our initial conversation I guess I wasn’t strong enough to see the big picture. I actually imagined he was a better person than me, on the sheer fact that he was claiming he hadn’t ever made any errors in his life. I saw me as weak and him as strong. I saw myself as a ‘mistake maker’, and he was ‘wise’. I wondered – can I start fresh from here on out – and not have any more regrets starting today? But then, that afternoon, I found another choice to make, that I would later - you guessed it… regret.

Please don’t think that I wallow or drown in the big bad ‘r’ word. It’s not consuming my being and acting as quicksand attaching itself to the ankles of my sense of self. I see regret as kind of a beautiful life lesson, now at this stage of my life. Yes it sometimes causes my throat to tighten – because of sickness or sadness, depending. But, I genuinely feel that every ounce of regret that I have been panged with has woken a different part of me that needed its eyes opened.

Closely linked with regret, I am willing to argue that disappointment is one of the heaviest emotions one can carry. Whether you are disappointed in someone you believed you could count on, or trusted. Or, someone you love and admire is disappointed in you, it carries an equally thick and heavy burden. The hopeful light at the end of the tunnel of disappointment is that we can learn very valuable lessons from it, if willing. If we are blind to the lesson in our feelings of disappointment (in others, or ourselves), then we careen forward in our lives – not being fully aware of how our actions affect others, and vice versa.

My regrets span from very simple every day happenings; to hair cuts, large purchases, past clothing choices, weekend plans, and some of the men I chose to give my heart to.

For example, the other day I was merrily eating blueberries while driving, and a few were too mushy to be enjoyably consumed. I had a paper bag in my car that I had put a few other ‘green bin’ items in that I planned to dispose of when I got home (did you know that throwing mushy blueberries onto the road can attract wildlife, which are then at risk of being killed in a hit and run? Gum even has this affect. Please be mindful!) Before going home I stopped to check my mail at our local general store, and decided to check my lotto ticket while I was at it. It was a dud, so I ripped it up into tiny pieces and put it in my pocket. When I got back to my car I threw its remains into the paper bag, fully aware that I would have to separate the pieces from the green bin ‘stuff’ and put it in the recycling bin once home. But, I thought that better than leaving it in my pocket to be pulled out and scattered at a later date – knowing I would forget it was there.

The only problem? Where the paper bag was placed in my front seat, my purse strap was wrapped around it. So, unbeknownst to me, when I grabbed my purse first, it spun that paper bag around real quick and scattered its contents throughout the front of my car. Oh joy! This is where I had a laugh, and thought ‘just my luck’. Trust me - it gets better! I didn’t realize, but some of the contents fell into a big reusable shopping bag that had pharmacy purchases in it, that was sitting on my car’s floor. When I went to unload its contents in the bathroom, I just dumped everything inside it on the off-white bath mat we have. Well, if you haven’t already guessed, by the time things were nicely put away, I had a few big and beautiful purple splotches on my nice clean bath mat. Woops! If I had only grabbed the paper bag first!

Still, the blueberry stains have come out, and I can now laugh about this now – lesson learned.

Some regrets are bigger. Some leave very important things in your life empty. For example: your gas tank (has never happened to me – but close!), your wallet, your bed, or most importantly - your heart. If we aren’t careful with the hearts of those we come in contact with, karma has a funny way of kicking our hearts in the ass in return.

I think we can be defined by the company we keep. And, I can very proudly say that I have some of the best friends a gal can wish for, from so many neat little pockets in my life. I am willing to give myself some credit for that, because it doesn’t just happen because I’m lucky (I’ve had my share of some bad luck too), but good relationships take work. And, regret is often part of that. There are times that I regret not calling, or not paying a compliment that teetered on the tip of my tongue. There are times that I regret not stopping in, or making an extra trip ‘just because’. There are things I regret doing, in place of other options that would have made my heart happier in the long run (selfish – admittedly). There are people I regret giving so much of my love and energy to, because they didn’t appreciate it the way someone else would have.

I mean, I was ‘best friends’ with the man I am now married to for 2 years before I let him kiss me! I often think, “I wonder what we missed?” But then the regret subsides and I realize that we have many kisses to come, and that there was learning going on in those 2 years that I will never be able to define. When I finally did let him in, the earth shook, and I knew I’d never kiss another boy again – gladly. It may not have been as magnificent if I’d just let it happen as ‘something to do’, and I will forever be grateful for the patience he gave because he felt that I was worth the wait. I doubt I would have ever had that stamina.

How does this connect to my relationship with my Mom? Should I even go there?

I regret being embarrassed when she did the eccentric and unique things she used to do (in public, mostly), that I didn’t think were ‘cool’. I would be 13 forever and in her creative company if I could go back in time and press pause. It’s only now that she’s gone that I truly value her unique approach to life, and her ability to not care what people thought (or she did an awfully good job of pretending!).

I regret arguing with her about going out on a Friday night, or using the car in a horrendous snow storm. Now I know that a) she was lonely, and just really loved my company, and b) that she was genuinely worried about my safety, and wanted to protect me by being proactive.

I regret some of the guys I dated, or ‘chased’ without success (thank goodness). Cancer was what got her in the end, but I’m surprised I didn’t give her a heart attack! Thankfully I have married the only one she ever truly loved. And, did she ever! She even told me once (and I believed her) “If you break his heart, I’ll kill you”.

I regret not helping out more around the house. Now that it has been left to me, and I see what she did for 24 years all by herself (physically and financially) I wonder how she managed. I sometimes find myself cleaning or organizing into the wee hours of the night, ending up in tears. I always end up saying things like, “I don’t know how you did this”, and “I’m just not good at this the way you were”. I did my best to do the little things, but there were so many things that I could have done to make things that much easier for her, but didn’t.

I also regret not showing her enough appreciation when I could have. I’ve said it before; we don’t know what we have until we don’t have it anymore. Talk about regret! The good thing is, and I know she is happy that I learned this – even if it is a bit too late, now I get a lot of joy out of showing people (and life in general) more appreciation. And, I always make a point of being specific about it. What good is appreciation if it isn’t directed. Productivity is rarely born out of aimlessness!

I regret not helping her to do a huge purge in our house/basement while we could (for 2 reasons). Do you want the selfish one or the unselfish one first? For one, I hate that it’s all up to me now, because it takes a lot of time – but even more mental and emotional strength – to do it. But, mostly because I know she felt a lot of guilt at the end of her life knowing the ‘mess’ she was leaving. She even told me it would be ok to fill the basement with cement and forget about it. But – I hope she can see now that a messy basement is a tiny hiccup when you leave someone a beautiful property and house to call home.

I regret saving all of the nasty emails she ever sent when she was mad at me. Scratch that – I regret telling her that I did. She even, admittedly, tried to break into my email account to delete them once, as she didn’t want me to have those to remember her by (this happened when she was much healthier and able, of course). Sly woman she was! I may never read them again, but, she sent me lovely ones that I will forever keep and read repeatedly. Good or bad, she was the best writer I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.

I regret not being more helpful when it came to the big jobs around the house she had hoped to accomplish in the last years of her life. New decks? A French door in her bedroom? A repaired chimney? The fence being taken out? We did it all – last summer – after she was gone. I guess her wishes became my crusade, and I felt like I was honouring her by doing it. Her death lit a fire under me, and we have accomplished a great deal. The regret part comes into play when I know she didn’t get to step back, sigh, and enjoy it. I hope she is, from wherever she is.

I regret letting my school work and then teaching take priority over my quality time spent with her. Somehow, as a teacher, she had a magical way of making it look easy. She was somehow able to balance an incredibly successful teaching career, with a beautiful home, and raised me (I’d like to say well) in the meantime. I don’t juggle ‘life’ as well as she did, and find I have to do one thing at a time, and it takes me longer. I have gained a great deal of perspective about what my career means to me because of her passing. And, luckily not too late. I left a full time teaching position to return to supply work when I knew her health was starting to fail. We were able to spend 5 months of more ‘quality’ time together because of it. That, my friends, I do not regret at all.

I regret not being able to see the ‘big picture’ of my Mom when she was still here. I always saw her as her smaller parts, and never looked at her upbringing, and how that made her who she was. I didn’t realize how hard her job was, or owning a home was, until I did both myself. I didn’t realize how crucial it was to have a friend that you can rely on and love to be your partner in life, until I found one. She didn’t have that, for far too long. If I could have seen all of this, I would have had a much fuller and warmer understanding of her emotions and why our relationship the way it was. I guess if I had known how limited my time with her was going to be, it would have certainly altered my determination when we disagreed.

I regret my frustration, as I listened to her long voicemails that I would get at the end of my work day. I often thought, “wait to tell me in person! I always call you as soon as I’m out of work! Listening to you on my answering machine is just a waste of our time”. Now I wish I had saved every single one, so I could sit and listen to her rambles and tangents whenever I got the urge. I also regret how I felt while sitting in my car in the driveway, when I got home from work and she was still talking away. Sometimes my drive was 45 minutes, but I’d sit in my car for another 15 thinking, “there’s so much inside that apartment that I should be doing instead of sitting out here”. Oh what I would trade to have one more sunny afternoon in my car, listening to my Mom’s beautiful voice talk about nothing, and everything, without pause.

I also regret all of the time we spent disagreeing, arguing, or not talking because of really simple and trivial issues. If I had only known how little time we had on this earth together, I wouldn’t have wasted those precious moments (even if at times that would have been very hard to do).

I’m sure I could go on and on, but the biggy is the one that came in the end. I regret that I believed my Mom was invincible. If you knew her, you know that not much slowed her down – let alone stopped her. I genuinely thought that the cancer would be just another blip on her radar, that she would stomp it down and out, and move on with a new lease on, and appreciation for, life. Even when it came back, and they said it was terminal, I thought my time was limitless. I thought that if I believed strongly enough (even when she couldn’t) that her cancer couldn’t bring her down. Because of this, I didn’t research enough. I should have read more books, and helped her completely change her diet. I should have found more holistic approaches to building her immunity. I’ve since read so much about people who stop cancer in its tracks (it may not be gone, but frozen in time). I would have coached her and persisted so that she could feel as confident and sure as I did. I would have asked for second opinions, demanded better treatment, and stopped at nothing to make sure we tried everything in order to have no – you guessed it – regrets about our approach to her illness. I wouldn’t have missed a chemo treatment, or the days that followed where she was sick and scared. For years my mom had independently and staunchly fought and won against all the other injuries and unwell times in her life – how could this time be different?

I maybe wouldn’t have gone to Ireland, last May, when her health took its ultimate dive for the worst. I thought I had covered my bases by reaching out to neighbours and friends to check in on her while I was away (they did – and I love them for it). You see, she had a bit of a stomach problem in the 2 weeks leading up to our departure, which had been planned since January. We thought she had a flu bug that she was having trouble shaking, due to her limited immune system from the chemo. Turns out she had brain cancer, and bad. While I was away, and she was at the house alone, she very quickly lost complete control of her self. She was very unwell, and injured because of it. I came home to a Mom in the hospital, who was never going to come home, and a house that the police and ambulance drivers treated as a ‘crime scene’. If I had only stayed in Ontario!

But then, a wonderful friend of mine who has a funny way of making me see the bright side of things said, “If you had known how sick your Mom was, you never would have gone to Ireland”. She was right. She also pointed out that I had a purpose in Ireland, too. I had gone to see the beauty the country has to offer, but mostly to meet my husband’s extended family – namely his Nana. When I met her, she was 90 years old. Her age was slowing her down, but she was still living independently. And, if the purpose provided itself, she could stay up until the wee hours singing old Irish tunes and drinking Jameson straight, on ice, while being nothing but a proper lady. In November, Nana passed away. And, if I had known how sick my Mom was back in May, I never would have gone, and I never would have met her. This friend of mine made me see it this way. She also said, “try and wish as hard as you could, you couldn’t make your Mom well”. So true. And, on our last night in Ireland, Nana turned to my then boyfriend (her grandson) and said quite loudly, “So when are you getting’ married?” [insert thick Irish accent here]

At least now I know we have her blessing!

If we genuinely think that we are perfect and incapable of any kind of error that might be regrettable, then we may just be leaving a trail of destruction in our wake. If we let ourselves regret a little bit, but we learn from it, the empty space where the regret was born will quickly fill up with the good we can do in place of the thing that started that very cycle.

So, you see, regret doesn’t have to be a dirty word, as long as we learn from them and try not to make the same mistakes again. And, as long as we have one person in our lives that is going to love us no matter what, then we can continue in the process of learning from regret our whole lives. If that person (who loves you no matter what) is your Mom – thank her for that, would ya?

And, since you can see that there are a lot of regrets that I have with respect to my relationship with my Mom, and I can’t make changes here and now about that to better my relationship with her, maybe you can learn from mine. That, my friends, would make my regrets feel all the more worthwhile.

But, even with a long list of regrets, I don’t regret the way I loved my Mom no matter what. In the end, I know she knew I did, and she deserved every bit of it.