Tag Archives: grief

Make Someone Happy

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April 12th, not yet halfway mark for the Ultimate Blog Challenge. It is almost 6 months since my mother’s passed. I’ve muddled through it the days, weeks and months. Life does not stop. The world keeps spinning and us with it. My father has done well with little melt downs here and there. The other day I had to remind him that mom is in a better place. She is not suffering any more. He said, but I am.

What can I say to that except that he is not the only one and that he has to find his own way to feel happiness. He, then, said there are no more happy days. I do see his point but being the person that I am, I preached a little. I do believe that no matter how dark we feel, each day we wake up is a gift. I told him that I do not know how to make him happy. I don’t need to tell him that we support him. My sister and I see him every day and takes him to his doctor appointments and outings. My brother takes him for his lab works, lunches and supper with his family every week. He does all the snow shovelling, yard and garden work. He does his grocery shopping and fixes whatever needs fixing in the house.

I reminded my father that he is doing remarkably well at 93. He has all his wits. He is still looking after and cooking for himself. He doesn’t pee or poop his pants. He can still walk, can get in and out of the tub by himself. I pointed out that he can and has changed for the better. He is talking to us now. I reminded him that it has not been easy for us when he has not talked much with us in the past. I told him I appreciate hearing his stories and family history that I’ve never heard before.

I must give my father credit for bouncing back quickly and sadness passed another time.

Choosing Joy

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Things don’t flow easily for me and joy doesn’t come naturally. And so I have to make choices and work at making them come true. I have never sung in the shower. It’s hard to bounce out of bed in the morning. I felt stuck to the mattress. I didn’t want to stay there all day so I had to choose to unstick and hoist myself out. I didn’t really want to go to the gym either. But I knew it was good for what’s ailing me. I chose not to dwell on my ‘feelings’ and went.

In the past, I have allowed my emotions to rule the roost. Now having lived through many ups, downs and sideways, I have more experience and better control. I am in the driver’s seat and can decide whither I shall go – most of the time. I don’t want to keep falling into Portia Nelson’s hole in the street. I walk down another street called joy.

“I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.”

Sunrise, Sunset

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Life surely is hard. I wonder how any of us can survive it, but we do. There is no choice. I had given myself permission to check out for awhile. There was no other choice. Now it is time to check back in. I am starting my days with my qigong practice of 18 movements. It begins with a sunrise and ends with a sunset. The in-between movements can be done in any order. I like to keep the same order as it is easier to remember.

It’s only five and a half weeks since my mother’s passing. She left on a warm October day. Her flowerbeds were still blooming with marigolds, petunias and snapdragons. She saw the sunrise and the sunset. She left in the evening, well before midnight. She was always thoughtful in that way, not wanting to cause us too much trouble.

I have not had much time to process her leaving. There was so much to do. There was my father’s grief and health to tend to. Then there was mine. You can’t get out of Dodge very fast or easily, especially when you are not Wyatt Earp with a speedy horse. So we’ve limped along slowly but surely. I think we are out of the danger zone into recovery now. One slow day at a time.

Saturday Chatter (#NaBloPoMo)

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Tomorrow will be 3 weeks since my mother left this earth. I’m not sure it feels real yet. When I wake in the morning, I feel a vacuum in my heart. It leaves me breathless, grasping at straws. How does one fill the space? How is one suppose to proceed? Not having a handbook to go by, I have to find my own way.

I proceed as usual, according to my motto by Regina Brett – No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up. It’s a good way to start the day. Since I am not one for punishment, I’m working on ways to comfort and ease myself through this period of mourning. I find it restful to sit with my cuppa in silence and the morning darkness. Then I went through the 18 movements of a qigong practice I had started years ago. They’ve been neglected for a long while. They came back after a couple of days. Pain and suffering called them back.

Sometimes it is hard to go out in the world. I am unsure and jittery just stepping out of the house. I do it anyways. It is hard backing the car out of the garage. It is hard to drive it anywhere. My nerves are raw. I talk them down. My senses are altered. I take it slower. But it is good for me to venture forth this morning, to meet my dear friends for breakfast. They are the glue that holds me together.

My guy is the other glue. We went to see an art exhibit in the afternoon. It would be hard for me to navigate a crowd on my own. The art collection was by my art instructor. Her work is beautiful. She’s so talented and such a good teacher. She’s also very warm, kind and generous. The show was at the art store where we feel a small part of its community. It was all good for my soul.

We Are All the Same

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Photo by Leeloo The First on Pexels.com

It is hard to know what to do with myself in the darkness of a November morning. I am at my keyboard tapping out my thoughts for the National Blog Posting Month. I don’t have it in me to write a novel in a month. I’ve tried and failed each time. A few mutterings will suffice. It will help me to breathe in and out. Difficult times and feelings are not strangers to me.

This human experience is not easy. Life is not for the faint of heart. It gives and then it takes away. I wonder how I can survive the loss without my mother. She was always there in her house down the block. We’ve always had her love as she had ours. She was presence. I have to remember that this journey is not unique to just me. We all travel the same road. We all are given this gift of life and suffer the grief of loss. We are all the same though we may experience it in different ways.

My house is not as clean and orderly as my mother’s. I’ve never had her knack. It is full of clutter and dust. I guess I’m drowning in my disorder physically and psychologically. I’m keeping my head just above the water. This writing helps sort and organize the mess in my head. I’ve rescued my pot of broth from the deck. It’s heating up on the stove to make something for lunch. After lunch my father, my brother and I will go to the bank to sign papers. Life goes on, one step at a time.

Navigating the Early Days

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Early November mornings can get me down. It is so dark at 7 am. The sun did not rise till 8:07 Saskatoon time. I’m basking in its glow in the warmth of my sunroom. I’m sitting in front of my keyboard with my second cup of tea. My mother is watching over my right shoulder. Tonight will be 2 weeks since she’s left her earthly body. I’m sure she was greeted by Sheba at the gate, tail wagging and looking for her treat.

I do not yet know how to feel or how to start each day. I feel she’s still in her house with dad. I still see her face in my head. I still want to say “I’m going to mom’s”. I feel the loss of her upon waking in the dark of autumn mornings. I feel ok at night going to bed, knowing I don’t have to worry about her at night. Most nights I can sleep without a sleeping pill though I wake between 3 and 4 am. Now I can make myself stay in bed till 6. It’s better to stay and perhaps to fall back asleep again.

I am fortunate that I have the tools of words. I have always found relief in spilling onto the page. I haven’t found my way back to meditating yet but yesterday I did some qigong movements. Having neglected them so long, I couldn’t remembered them all. Fumbling and flailing works. I was moving. They will come back in time as surely as grief will recede. I ran into 2 of my mother’s friends the other day. We hugged and got misty eyed together. Both are widows of many years. One shared that it took her 3 years after losing her husband to feel ok again.

Though I am no stranger death and grief, it is my first at such a personal level. I’ve lost grandparents and other relatives and friends. I felt the sadness and loss. But it wasn’t the same. I have gotten off relatively easy. With my mother, I was still tied as if by the umbilical cord. I felt what she felt. At different times, like when I am at the kitchen sink, I’ve felt as if I was her. Have you ever had that phenomenon?

Enough words already for today. I have to move on with the day. Shake myself loose with some qigong and try to clear my growing clutter. Later, my sister and I are taking our father out for dim sum. He’s doing ok. We are taking good care of him.

Living & Aging Fiercely

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Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels.com

Day 30 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Having lost my mother 10 days ago has changed the lens through which I view life and the world. Our world feels more broken to me. It’s hard to be optimistic. It’s hard to put on a smile. When I read things about the US election and Donald Trump, I feel like vomiting. And I don’t read alot of that. Still, it adds to my grief.

I don’t want to stay there. I don’t want to feel so dark and hopeless about our world and life. It’s a good reason to write about living and aging and fiercely. I always want to be Wonder Woman but I don’t have much wonder in me now. I’m a bit wobbly on my feet, fuzzy in the head and fear in my heart. I’m no spring chicken any more. Can I survive and thrive through all this? I’m not tough as nails but I probably have a little rust in me.

Oh poor me! I have to get over myself. Many have been in my shoes and many more will follow. We all travel same hard roads and cry the same woes. It does give me comfort knowing that. I will get some sleep now. Tomorrow I will work on being fierce.

MAY MOMENTS – FEELING GOOD INSIDE OUT

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A cloudy windy day after a short burst of morning sunshine. I am happy to be out and about in the greenhouse and garden early this morning. Moving my body and getting things done is good therapy for a restless body and mind. I think I fell into a deep dark well of despair and helplessness the other day. Life is full of surprises. So many quirks, obstacles and unplanned detours. I thought I had a good grasp of the threads of life. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. They crumble into many pieces. I grieve for all past losses and the ones yet to come.

The grief I felt was so deep and emcompassing because in those moments I saw the truth of what is really important in our lives. I grieve because I saw the mistakes I/all of us have made and still making. I wonder why we couldn’t have/still can’t do better. Why are we so damn human? The knowing is such a deep pain with nowhere to go. I felt breathless with it. I could feel myself curling into fetal position in my mind’s eye. I did not want to be so physically and mentally locked in by my thoughts and emotions. So I started moving, just moving, doing my mobility routine and stretches.

You wouldn’t think that it would be much help. It wasn’t at first except to relieve some of the muscle tension caused by holding myself in so tight. Movement begats movement and I went on to bigger ones. It’s surprising how much I got done once I started moving. Yesterday I gathered some of my old shoes that was hanging around a long time but not worn. They’re in a garbage bag along with some other similiar items. I’m weeding my physical space, pulling out the obnoxious and clearing space so I can breathe. Feeling good from the inside out. What is outside is also on the inside.

I’m feeling better today despite the wind and clouds. But I have to wonder whether the weather change had precipitated and increased my moodiness. I have always felt I’m super sensitive to the weather. But then I also wonder if I’m using it as an excuse for my shortcomings. I should have more faith and trust in myself. I do have that sensitivity. It is not a bad thing. I suffer some but I also gain some insight from these occasions. What I’ve learned this time is that ruminating thoughts are the worse thing. Being able to stop them is the best. The best tool for that is movement.

PATIENCE AND STICK-WITH-IT-NESS

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So here is the thing. Life is full of distractions. My attention span is getting shorter and shorter. I often don’t follow up on my plans and practices. It’s part of my humanness. But here I am, showing up again. This must be part of the practice. I’ve given up on perfection. It’s hard to maintain. It is not possible. There is a flaw in me, everybody and everything else. It is part of the universal struggle. Life and nature happens. That is the law. There is no blame.

I am struggling these August days. Mornings are darker and cooler. I miss the light and warmth of those summer days when the sun rises by 5:00 am. Then, my sunroom was bathed in bright light and warmth. I was infused with its warmth and brightness. My unease is a response, a signal that autumn is on the heels of summer. No need to worry or panic. It is my nature’s response to the shortening of the days and lengthening of the nights. I’ve been this way forever and a day.

It is time for me to accept and come to terms with this part of me. I have. I’m doing so much better after having Sheba in my life. Her physical leaving was difficult but it is nature’s cycle of life and death. Nothing can change that. And so I grieve and miss her. Some days more than others. Then the grief changes. It grows softer and I’m left with those tender precious memory of her spirit and our time together. I sift through the lessons learned and strength gained.

I raised her from scratch at 2 months old – with just one book from the library and a largest dog crate from PetSmart. Boy, it was a tough go for quite awhile. I expected a puppy to have breakfast and walk together with. I did have that but it took years instead of days. There were so many days that I would moan and groan. There were many days that I almost gave up. Her beauty and brain were her saving grace.

She was so pretty. She would shake a paw and then the other paw. She could crawl and roll over in no time. But she did jumped alot and was scared of everything. I knew nothing of dogs. I knew nothing of  a Border Collie Lab mix. Sheba was that EverReady Bunny. We did alot of walking. We went to off leash parks. We got into trouble here and there. I lost 20 pounds with all that exercise.  In the end, she and I were a perfect pair, soul mates. She taught me the rewards of patience and stick-with-it-ness.

I’ve come full circle. I am dogless, Sheba-less. I’m not quite the same though. I am stronger and more accepting of how things are. I am more accepting of how I am. I cannot force myself or others to be other than what we are. But I can change the way I think and see. I can choose to see my glass half full instead of half empty. I can accept my vulnerabilities and work with them instead of fighting against my natural tendencies. It’s sticking with me now. I now longer run away from my shadow self.

 

 

SHEBA IS OK. I AM OK

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I’ve been having more frequent moments of missing Sheba the last couple of days. It has been acute today. I haven’t gotten around to storing her bowls yet, but I did bag up her Kong bed yesterday. It did make me feel better in moments. Other times it gave me such an acute longing and missing her. Fourteen years is hard to erase and process.

Though both we and Sheba knew that our time together was coming to end it is still very difficult. Towards the last couple of months of her life, Sheba stopped sleeping in the bedroom with us. She retreated to the livingroom or the sunroom. Perhaps she was preparing us. So my tears come. My tears flow this morning as I biked down the alleys we used to walk. I see that the squash grower has planted potatoes this year instead. Memories, images and tears come as I pedal.

I tell myself I have to do something else beside cry. So I practice riding with just one hand on the handlebar, then the other. I’m not good enough yet to use one hand on and to signal with the other. I can manage a quick scratch of my nose. I practice looking behind me for traffic. I want to get enough confidence to ride down busier streets. I still have goals. I’m still interested in improving my skills of living.

I took a little break from my sadness. I worked in the front yard. I put myself in every corner, reclaiming every inch of it. I am not letting the neighbour bully and throw her weight on my property. I wonder what kind of person would plant little trees on a neighbour’s property, right along my raised garden bed. I wonder what kind of person would have the Weedman spray pesticide right along that bed of vegetables. I’m wondering but not expecting any answers. Living next to this person has deepened my sadness in these times.

Now it is almost 8 o’clock in the evening. I love sitting out here and watch the sun playing shadows on the garage wall. In other times, Sheba would be laying here beside my feet. She is ok. I don’t have to worry about her now. I’m ok. We’ve had our time together. I am no longer angry with the neighbour. However, I am a little afraid of her venom and malice. I do not care about the row of little evergreens beside the raised bed. They have nowhere to grow but over her driveway. .