On Grief and Mourning

Well, I have to admit, I am not doing well. Yeah, I don't know what "doing well" would be at this point, but whatever it is, I'm pretty sure I'm not doing it.

I am overwhelmed. And exhausted. And in too much pain to even try to distract myself from it. I just want to sit and cry. And then lie down and cry.

There are a lot of things going on in my life, and I am glad for it all. I love the people in my life who live with me and need me. I love being in school, learning and being challenged. I am enjoying writing the papers and doing the work, although I have to admit sometimes the pressure of getting them done makes me want to crawl under my bed, as I recently expressed in a note to my history teacher, pleading for an extension on a paper due date. I know that if it wasn't for my people and school, I probably would be spending my life in bed. So it's all good.

But I'm not. I feel a constant sense of pressure in my chest. Sometimes my heart begins to race for no reason, often at night. I have times where no matter how hard I try, I cannot concentrate on what I am doing. I can't handle anyone else's anger. I am anxious all the time. It's a nameless anxiety, just a feeling really, but it is wildly uncomfortable.

I feel really, really alone, too. The one person who should be at my side has called me twice since my Mum died to "confront me about my issues" and tell me what a screw-up I am. One phone call was just days after Mum's death. So I know that I am better off dealing with this alone. But that just makes me feel sadder.

I think the hardest part of this is that even just saying all of this, I feel like I am whining. Knowing what I know about mourning, knowing that I would be honored to be available to listen to someone else's pain, knowing even that this is what this project is all about, and if I don't do this honestly and bravely, I shouldn't be doing it at all, still I feel like I shouldn't be doing it.

I'm doing it anyway because I am going by what I know, not only by what I feel.

On Friday I am going to see my cardiologist. We made the appointment in August. He wanted to see, once the stress of starting school passed, if the angina would settle down. Now September feels like ages ago. In any case, the appointment is coming at a good time.

I miss my mom. I don't know what Christmas will be like without her. A huge part of the Christmas traditions that I have upheld in my home, with my family, come from her. No matter how rough things were financially, she always managed somehow to keep Christmas. I have ornaments from my childhood trees that she gave me when I left home.

The cool thing about living my life following God is that I don't need to know how I am going to make it through something. I just need to keep moving forward. God will lead me through.

Blog series - Grief & Mourning

And it begins.

There are a few things that I am hoping will happen with this series. I hope that others will share their experiences with grief and mourning, either in comments on this blog or as guest bloggers. I do not want my voice to be the only one ringing in this space. I have already asked one person to do a guest post. Be warned, you may be next. Don't want to suffer the anxieties of waiting to be asked? I'm accepting offers.

Out of respect for the subject and how vulnerable we are when we are mourning, I am changing my comment setting for the blog so that comments will have to be approved by me before they are posted. I know how fragile I feel about all this, and I want to create an environment of safety and respect for everyone. I can't control how others react to what we write, and I'm pretty sure I am over-reacting on this point, but I still think it's a good idea. Censorship? Maybe. Just think of me as the benevolent dictator of my own little blog-world. And pray the power doesn't go to my head. :)

So, what am I hoping to hear from you? Your experiences, good and bad. What kinds of things did people say or do that helped you to cope? What kind of things did people say or do that made you want to crumple into a wailing ball? When did you feel most sorrowful? How long did it take before you started to feel better? What were some of the other emotions that you may have felt, other than sadness? For example, guilt, anger, fear, frustration, relief, shock. You could share stories and memories of your loved ones, or tell us about possessions that you have that remind you of the person that you lost. How has going through a time of grief changed you? How are you still the same? Is there anything you would like to say to your loved one that you didn't get a chance to?

Please understand, this blog series is about support, healing, and encouraging one another in one of the most difficult circumstances that we as human beings will ever go through. My ultimate hope is that by sharing our experiences and feelings and by being heard and supported, we would find this path of mourning a little less bumpy, and a little easier to travel.

For the next three weeks, I will be posting four to six posts a week. Some will be from me. Others will hopefully be from you. If you have any questions, private comments or suggestions, please email me at markelacie@gmail.com.

Before I sign off...today I was in the IGA and I saw that they were selling those Christmas book packs of LifeSaver candies, the ones that hit the shelves every year at this time. My Mum used to get those for us and put them into our stockings. I barely made it out of the store before I started crying. It made me miss my mother so much, I could barely stand it. It also made me realize that this Christmas is going to be harder than I thought it would be. I cried all the way home.

And it begins.

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.

The Paths of Sorrow

There is a fatigue that exists beyond the physical, when the mind and heart begin to realize that the pain will not be going away with any speed, that things will not be better tomorrow, or the next day, and maybe not even the day after that.

We begin to settle onto the path that is mourning and we walk more slowly because we now understand that there is no rushing off of this road. We may not be walking alone, but we begin to see that in some deep way, even with God, our families and communities beside us, we are utterly alone with our pain.

We keep walking, because we must, because as far away as it seems, there is a place on this path where the pain melts into compassion, where emptiness invites unity, where tears becomes less for our pain and more for the pain of others.

Those who submit to the path of sorrow and enter freely into the deep places of pain become people who are acquainted with the deep. It is in the deep that God's face is most clearly seen, in the deep where joy resides, in the deep where life is found.

My Mother, Myself, Part 2

In my last post, My Mother, Myself , I wrote about sharing my birthday with my mom, who was in the hospital with cancer. Mum passed away 10 days later. It was quiet and peaceful, a slowing down and stopping. She had been in the hospital for a month.

Mum died on Monday, October 17th, we held a memorial get-together for her on Friday, October 21st, at the senior's home where she had volunteered for the last 18 years of her life, my sisters and I and our families got together on Saturday, October 22nd to sprinkle Mum's ashes in Longue Sault, at a pretty spot on the bank of the St. Lawrence river, and then I went home.

I confess to having spent a few days trying not to think about Mum. Sunday was a hard day, and somewhere inside of me I decided that come Monday, I was going to be the Kelly that goes to school, that makes food for her family and cleans and needs to study for a history test this week. Not, the Kelly who's mum just died. Just for a few days. Still, I bought frames for Mum's pictures and put them up in prominent places where I tried, mostly unsuccessfully, not to look too hard at them. And I talked about Mum incessantly because as much as my brain may want to shut itself off, my tongue seems to be attached to my heart.

The problem is, this is uncharted territory. It's uncharted, not just because I have never had to deal with a loss this significant before, but also because each one of us is a unique being, with our own thoughts and feelings, our individual inner workings. When my sisters and I talk about what we are going through, we do share some similar experiences, but at the same our relationships with Mum were different and so our experiences in dealing with her death will be different.

So, how am I doing? I don't know. I think about Mum a lot. Every night I wrap myself up in a quilt that Mum gave me, and fall asleep holding on to a piece of black corral hanging on a chain around my neck. I feel anxious frequently, because I sense that my ability to deal with conflict is greatly (and hopefully temporarily) diminished. I am tired. A lot. It's the kind of tired that sleep doesn't relieve. I cry at unexpected and odd times, like in the post office or in history class. I find myself feeling irritated easily, which is probably connected to the fatigue and the anxiety. I have a hard time concentrating. Last week's history notes are a jumble of half finished sentences that I would start but not remember how to finish. And I want to take care of people. It seems that mourning my Mum has kicked my maternal instincts into over-drive.

On Saturday night, I found myself laughing hysterically at the antics of a comedian on the television. Then I was sobbing like a heart-broken child.

I guess that's how I am doing.

I want to take this time time express my deepest gratitude for all the kind words and thoughts that have been sent my way, and also for the prayers from my brothers and sisters in the faith. I pray that some day, you will know how much of a blessing and gift you truly are. I am a grateful woman. Thank you.

My Mother, Myself

Years ago someone gave me a book called, My Mother, Myself. As the title suggests, the book focused on the relationship between mothers and daughters, and how our mothers influence the women we grow up to be. I started reading it, but I don't think I finished it. Thanks to a faith in God, I had already gotten to the point in my life when I was uncomfortable assigning blame for my weaknesses and oddities on my Mom. I knew that both my parents were human beings, and as such, prone to frailties that had helped make me the person I was, weirdnesses and all. I had come to understand that no matter what ball my parents had tossed to me in the parental game of life, I was the one who had chosen to take the ball and run with it, and therefore I was ultimately responsible for the things I carried with me from childhood.

I've been thinking about the title of that book today, though, because today is my 45th birthday. I have been feeling melancholy all day, and on the way home from the grocery store this afternoon, I realized why. Today is not just the anniversary of the day I was born. It is also the anniversary of the day my mom gave birth to me. This realization was poignant for me. My mom is in the Ottawa Cancer Research Centre, after having received a diagnosis of stage-4 lung cancer, which has spread throughout her body. The body that carried me for nine months, that sheltered and protected me and then worked so hard to introduce me to the world, is suffering, breaking down, expiring. The woman that nurtured and cared for me is now being nurtured and cared for as she faces what is most likely the end of her life.

Most of my birthdays are about becoming a year older, eating cake, good wishes on Facebook, being with friends and family. This year it is about preparing to say good-bye to the woman who made sure I would see this day.

As a mother, on my daughter's birthday, I always go back in time to the day that she was born. I remember that day with joy. Grace's birth day is a celebration for me as well as for her. She celebrates being born, and I celebrate giving birth to her. Yet I have never seen my birthday as a day that might include thoughts of my mother. This is new to me. This is also wonderful. And sad.

Forty-five years ago today, I opened my eyes and looked into my mother's eyes for the first time. In the near future, it is entirely possible that I will look into my mother's eyes for the last time on this earth. The years in between have been full of many things; hard things, sweet things, the things that make life, life. They have been full of love, which I was only able to fully appreciate when I stopped demanding that my mother's love be presented to me in a manner of my approval, and started accepting her as a woman who loved me the way she loved me and I could receive it or reject it but I had no right to judge that it was not there, that it was not real.

On our birthdays, we say thank you a lot. For gifts, for good wishes, for another year. Today I am grateful for the woman who shared this day with me, 45 years ago. I thank God for her, and ask Him to make me a blessing to her. I pray that the God who loves her with a passion that she cannot even imagine will draw her to Him, and carry her through these days. Of course I pray that these would not be her last days, but should they be, I pray that they will not be an end, but be a beginning - of eternity, of life, of hope, of dancing and singing and joy and laughter and boundless love.

Today is a day that she and I share. Happy Birth Day, Mum. I love you.

Because it's true...

I was asked today, for the umpteenth time, this question. Now it is time for an answer.

The question? Why would a woman assert out loud that only a pathetic, small, weak little man would hit a disabled woman, even though she had been threatened with physical violence if she said it?

Because it is true.

Refusing to speak the truth, even in the face of threats of physical violence, may guard the body, but it kills the soul. Speak the truth. The body heals quicker than the soul.