I have read that the stages of grief can be experienced in any order and may be experienced any number of times. While that can be daunting to think about, it can also bring comfort. At least you're not crazy. There have been many times where I have felt acceptance, only to experience intense anger or depression again afterwards. It's nice to know that this is normal.
One of the books that was recommended to me a long time ago was by a woman who had lost her son (he was mid-20s) very abruptly. It was tragic and shocking. A few weeks after the services and things had "calmed down" (as much as they can), I was speaking with her and she mentioned that there was an "Elf Help" book which really helped her and brought her comfort. This book is titled Grief Therapy and is written by Karen Katafiasz and illustrated by R.W. Alley. It's pocket size, and it is easy to read over and over again. Each page has both an illustration and a tip for dealing with grief. It's easy to flip through and find the tip that speaks to you for that day. I have found this book comforting as well. For example, Tip #24 states, "In some ways, you never 'get over' a significant loss. It inevitably changes you. You can choose whether that change is for the better." (Katafiasz, 2004). The book lets you know that you don't have to apologize for the way you feel; allow yourself to experience the pain and believe you are ok. But it also gently nudges you so that you remember that grief, like I stated in my previous post, can sometimes be a choice, and you have to decide whether the person you lost would want you to be sad or to use the loss as a momentum to propel you into a better life where you make a positive difference. I'm not preaching, people; I'm trying to convince myself of this more than anything.
A few months after losing my mother, I found out that my beloved dog had cancer. After a surgery and upsetting news, I was forced to deal with the news that my dog, my other best friend besides my mother, only had a few months left to live. A few days after that news, I had to put him down because his tumor burst and there was risk of infection as well as pain involved. My poor baby. I felt grief that day. And maybe I grieved in the months leading up to his death, knowing that it was inevitable. But I haven't felt grief since. I've felt guilt about not feeling anything. I've felt guilt that I couldn't have taken care of him longer. I feel bad. But I also wonder if perhaps I'm still in denial about this, and that one of these days it is going to hit me hard and take me down.
I have a lot of questions. Why do bad things happen to good people? And why do bad things happen in many clusters? It seems like when you're down, life keeps on kicking you. That's how I felt after my mother died and then my dog was diagnosed with sarcoma, the same cancer that took my mother's life. Just keep on kicking me, life. However, as much pain as I sometimes feel, or guilt, or heaviness, I still believe there is a rainbow at the end of the storm. I must have hope. You must have hope. Better things are to come. Your loss is not going to go away, but there are positive things to come from it. Have hope.
I started this blog because maybe, just maybe, it will make someone else feel better. Maybe it will make someone else feel a little less crazy. Maybe there is someone like me who isn't dealing with their grief and isn't allowing themselves to feel. But also, I started this blog for myself. I need to hold myself accountable for my feelings and not bury them deep down inside. I need to experience grief outside of denial. I'm going to explore my grief and share my journey.
Sometimes people ask me how I am and I say "Good." Sometimes people ask me how things are going and most of the time I say "They're going." I say these things with a smile because I feel like if I give them a real and honest answer I might freak them out or make them feel bad for asking in the first place. We all know that the "How are you?" question is really just being polite, right? Aren't you supposed to answer with "Great!"? In the book Experiencing Grief by H. Norman Wright, he states:
We are not immune to pain, but we resist its intrusion. There are several ways we do this. Some fight the pain through denial. We say "No, it isn't true", or attempt to live our lives as though nothing has happened. When you hear about the death, your first response is often "No, that's not true. Tell me it isn't so! No", or "You're mistaken." You're trying to absorb the news, and it takes time to filter through the shock. This is normal. You're trying to make sense of the nonsensical. But some continue this process and that's what we call sensible. When asked how they are doing, their response is always, "I'm doing just fine", instead of saying "I am really hurting today." Denial can lead to even greater losses. The author of A Grace Disguised said of those who are unwilling to face their pain that "ultimately it diminishes the capacity of their souls to grow bigger in response to pain." (p. 9)
Wow. I think it's time for a little more honesty, and less of the social niceties. Let's be honest with our pain. We don't have to wallow in it, but we can try to deal with it honestly instead of burying it deep inside. Embrace the pain, and maybe acceptance will come a little easier. With honesty, perhaps that cycle of grief might not have to be experienced over and over again numerous times. After all, if we stay in denial, according to H. Norman Wright, we could potentially experience greater losses. If I continue to bury my pain and stay polite and smiley on the outside, aren't I also losing a piece of myself? Interesting thoughts...
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Beautiful Sorrow.
Grief.
There is something about grief that makes you want to run away, to isolate yourself, to take an exotic vacation and escape it. Yet at the same time, there is something about grief that makes you want to stay in it forever, to wrap yourself up in it and constantly be in it. It's an interesting, perplexing, sometimes frustrating conundrum. It's messy. And it's also beautiful. Grief is so many things.
Grief is like a snowflake; there are no two people who grieve in the same way. It's unique grasp on your heart, your mind, your body clutches at each person's psyche differently, and maybe that is what makes grief so isolating and so damn lonely sometimes.
The one thing I've learned thus far on my new journey is that everyone means well. When they ask "How are you?" (no matter how annoying that might be) it is coming from a place of love. Even though at times I don't want to think about my grief or even try to explain how I am, (because I'm honestly not sure) I always try to remember to appreciate those who are asking. At least they are asking. I hope they keep asking. It lets me know they care. About me. About my mom.
Sometimes I feel a little crazy. I lost my mom 8 months ago (has it been that long already?) Honestly, a lot of times I feel nothing. My mom was my rock, my best friend, my go-to person. Yes, we clashed once in a while, but that's part of being a family. Ultimately, my mother was amazing, and her life was an inspiration to a lot of people. So, why are there so many times when I feel numb? Why are there so many times where I am squeaking out one or two tears and comforting everyone else? Why can't I FEEL? I try to convince myself that grief can be a choice. And, grief, like anything else, can be a choice sometimes. In fact, maybe most of the time. If I think long and hard about anything sad, I will bring myself down into a depression, and probably cry for a long time. When I think long and hard about how my mother passed away, or what she went through, I do get sad. I feel this awful ache, which someone described to me as "a heavy soul." I could cry for hours at a time, if I chose to sit and look at her pictures, and wrap myself up in my grief. And sometimes, as torturous as being sad is, it is satisfying because in a way I am honoring her memory. I am remembering. But sometimes, grief is not a choice, and it hits you head on like a shit ton of bricks. I have had a couple of those moments (and I'm sure I will have more). Most of the time I'm either exhausted or just plain old frustrated and at my breaking point. When I was finishing up an intense capstone course for my master's degree (about a month and a half after my mother's death), the student I was working with gave me an extra dose of shenanigans and totally flipped on me in front of my professor. I was already exhausted, having worked a full day and driven an hour just to see him, and he pushed every last one of my buttons until I cracked. I was both embarrassed, ashamed, and really legitimately angry and upset with both him and my professor. I kept my cool, but in his anger, he screamed at me and smacked my cup of coffee off the table. My. Coffee. The only thing I had going for me on that seriously frustrating day. We both cooled off, worked on it, and finished our session. But after he left, I sobbed. I sobbed major crocodile tears with my head on the desk and snot dripping from my nose. I am so not one of those girls who looks pretty when she cries. I was inconsolable. It was embarrassing how much I sobbed. I went in the bathroom and smacked my face and told myself to snap out of it. I splashed water on my face; I talked myself out of it; only to continue to sob a few seconds after. I sobbed so much my professor had to come find me in the bathroom and I had to tell her that I couldn't get myself together and I needed to go home. And then I sobbed for an hour's commute home. Was my sobbing really about my student's shenanigans? Of course not. It was the icing on the freaking cake of a stress, grief-filled life. It was about my mom. I needed my mom. I went to the mall and I bought two Alex & Ani bracelets; one was a heart that spoke to me and one was the Stand up to Cancer symbol. It made me feel close to my mother. It was an impulse, shopping-therapy way to deal with my intense feelings of grief, but it helped. And every time I wear the bracelets, I think of her.
Anyway, one of the ways that I need to honor my mother is by finding my happy again. And there is so much happy to be found. I know that to be true. And, I don't pretend to be a therapist or a grief therapy expert, but I can share my journey and maybe make someone else feel a touch less crazy. Because there are days when I do feel completely nuts. Not every day, but some days.
Some of the best advice I have heard is to be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself. Be gentle. Grief changes your world. It puts new shades over your eyes and you see the world differently. Everything has changed. Nothing is ever going to be the same. What happened to you is not ok, but you will get through it. There is hope.
I have also heard that things "don't get better, they get different." While sometimes I am very optimistic about things getting better, I also sometimes enjoy wallowing in the grief, because I want to feel it. I want to remember her beautiful face, her beautiful spirit, her beautiful soul. I don't want to sob 24/7, but I want to feel. People expect you to get over it and move on, but you can't. And the most helpful people, the most comforting people, are the people who come up to you and say, "I have lost my mom/dad. I know how much it sucks." And they give you a big hug.
The hugs. I miss my mom's hugs. Sometimes thinking and being in my grief helps. In its screwed up way, grief also brings me comfort. Twisted, but true.
There is something about grief that makes you want to run away, to isolate yourself, to take an exotic vacation and escape it. Yet at the same time, there is something about grief that makes you want to stay in it forever, to wrap yourself up in it and constantly be in it. It's an interesting, perplexing, sometimes frustrating conundrum. It's messy. And it's also beautiful. Grief is so many things.
Grief is like a snowflake; there are no two people who grieve in the same way. It's unique grasp on your heart, your mind, your body clutches at each person's psyche differently, and maybe that is what makes grief so isolating and so damn lonely sometimes.
The one thing I've learned thus far on my new journey is that everyone means well. When they ask "How are you?" (no matter how annoying that might be) it is coming from a place of love. Even though at times I don't want to think about my grief or even try to explain how I am, (because I'm honestly not sure) I always try to remember to appreciate those who are asking. At least they are asking. I hope they keep asking. It lets me know they care. About me. About my mom.
Sometimes I feel a little crazy. I lost my mom 8 months ago (has it been that long already?) Honestly, a lot of times I feel nothing. My mom was my rock, my best friend, my go-to person. Yes, we clashed once in a while, but that's part of being a family. Ultimately, my mother was amazing, and her life was an inspiration to a lot of people. So, why are there so many times when I feel numb? Why are there so many times where I am squeaking out one or two tears and comforting everyone else? Why can't I FEEL? I try to convince myself that grief can be a choice. And, grief, like anything else, can be a choice sometimes. In fact, maybe most of the time. If I think long and hard about anything sad, I will bring myself down into a depression, and probably cry for a long time. When I think long and hard about how my mother passed away, or what she went through, I do get sad. I feel this awful ache, which someone described to me as "a heavy soul." I could cry for hours at a time, if I chose to sit and look at her pictures, and wrap myself up in my grief. And sometimes, as torturous as being sad is, it is satisfying because in a way I am honoring her memory. I am remembering. But sometimes, grief is not a choice, and it hits you head on like a shit ton of bricks. I have had a couple of those moments (and I'm sure I will have more). Most of the time I'm either exhausted or just plain old frustrated and at my breaking point. When I was finishing up an intense capstone course for my master's degree (about a month and a half after my mother's death), the student I was working with gave me an extra dose of shenanigans and totally flipped on me in front of my professor. I was already exhausted, having worked a full day and driven an hour just to see him, and he pushed every last one of my buttons until I cracked. I was both embarrassed, ashamed, and really legitimately angry and upset with both him and my professor. I kept my cool, but in his anger, he screamed at me and smacked my cup of coffee off the table. My. Coffee. The only thing I had going for me on that seriously frustrating day. We both cooled off, worked on it, and finished our session. But after he left, I sobbed. I sobbed major crocodile tears with my head on the desk and snot dripping from my nose. I am so not one of those girls who looks pretty when she cries. I was inconsolable. It was embarrassing how much I sobbed. I went in the bathroom and smacked my face and told myself to snap out of it. I splashed water on my face; I talked myself out of it; only to continue to sob a few seconds after. I sobbed so much my professor had to come find me in the bathroom and I had to tell her that I couldn't get myself together and I needed to go home. And then I sobbed for an hour's commute home. Was my sobbing really about my student's shenanigans? Of course not. It was the icing on the freaking cake of a stress, grief-filled life. It was about my mom. I needed my mom. I went to the mall and I bought two Alex & Ani bracelets; one was a heart that spoke to me and one was the Stand up to Cancer symbol. It made me feel close to my mother. It was an impulse, shopping-therapy way to deal with my intense feelings of grief, but it helped. And every time I wear the bracelets, I think of her.
Anyway, one of the ways that I need to honor my mother is by finding my happy again. And there is so much happy to be found. I know that to be true. And, I don't pretend to be a therapist or a grief therapy expert, but I can share my journey and maybe make someone else feel a touch less crazy. Because there are days when I do feel completely nuts. Not every day, but some days.
Some of the best advice I have heard is to be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself. Be gentle. Grief changes your world. It puts new shades over your eyes and you see the world differently. Everything has changed. Nothing is ever going to be the same. What happened to you is not ok, but you will get through it. There is hope.
I have also heard that things "don't get better, they get different." While sometimes I am very optimistic about things getting better, I also sometimes enjoy wallowing in the grief, because I want to feel it. I want to remember her beautiful face, her beautiful spirit, her beautiful soul. I don't want to sob 24/7, but I want to feel. People expect you to get over it and move on, but you can't. And the most helpful people, the most comforting people, are the people who come up to you and say, "I have lost my mom/dad. I know how much it sucks." And they give you a big hug.
The hugs. I miss my mom's hugs. Sometimes thinking and being in my grief helps. In its screwed up way, grief also brings me comfort. Twisted, but true.
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