Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Grief and Mourning, A Blog Series

Hello, everyone. It has already been three weeks since Mum's passing, and still it all feels a bit surreal. One thing that continually surprises me is the frequent questions I have about whether or not I am "normal". Am I doing it right? Should I be reacting like this, in this way, at this time? I have to admit, the questions irritate me, mostly because they are all in relation to what other people will think of the way I am grieving the loss of my mom. And I hate, hate, hate feeling controlled by what other people think.

For me, grieving as a natural, individual process. I know that there are countless self-help books available, the "How to grieve successful in 3 easy steps" kind of books, but somehow, they feel efforts like to harness a tornado. We have a tendency to want to rein in and control experiences, feelings and thoughts that frighten us and cause us pain. Of course, this makes sense. If we could stop our loved ones from dying, we would. But we can't. It happens. Do we then settle for the next best thing? If we can't control the experiences, do we work on controlling our reactions to the experiences? Do we then extend those expectations to others when they have cause to mourn? And if we do, is that truly the healthiest way to deal with things?

One of my Cegep classes is called Strategies for Successful College Studies. Our teacher has given us a final assignment that involves using some gift or ability that we have to improve the life of at least one person. Initially my plan to was to do a blog series on the topic of suicide prevention. A dear friend of my husband's had tragically committed suicide in September, and I wanted to create an place, within the walls of this blog, where others could share their experiences and thoughts about suicide. I may still do this at some point.

Then Mum got sick. And passed away. My strong desire to create something that might possible help those who have been touched by suicide is still alive. The thing is, at this point in my life, I don't have the emotional strength to go there. At least not until I go somewhere else first. And that somewhere else is the valley of the shadow of death. I want to do my assignment on grief and mourning.

In the coming days, I will write about the shape that this assignment will take, what I am hoping for and what I need from you. Yes, you. Because this is not just my thing. Even today, I have a beautiful young friend who is mourning the loss of her father, who passed away seven years ago. I will be asking for your help. Your voice. Your thoughts.

The plan for the coming blog series on grief and mourning is a bit foggy right now, but that's okay. The idea is to begin talking about it. To get used to talking about it. To learn to listen, really listen, to others who are talking about it.

My next post will talk in more detail about what I need from you. In the meantime, please be thinking and praying about what you might be able to share with us. Be assured, this blog is a safe place, and I plan to keep it that way. Anything you share can easily be anonymous if you like.

Until next time, much love to you all.


Debra Brault said...

Grief of my mother's death was in stages. God communicated in so many ways during that time. My mother was an extraordinary person, who touched so many people's lives. To me she had become my best friend, my confidant, and so many other wonderful things. One friend called her " a noble woman of God" and she was. She left me with wonderful tools that I have required and needed so often on my journey in this life. Strength, compassion, faith, are some of these tools.
There are times when tears still sting my eyes because, I wish she was still with me. I know I have been so blessed to have had a mother that I could look up to and whom I have so many wonderful memories.
Your so right Kelly, You grieve exactly the way you need to and know that our heavenly Father will supply you with all that you need!

Kelly said...

Thank you so much for sharing with us, Debra. It means a lot to me.

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