Tag Archives: grief

How It Is

Posted on by
Reply

It rained overnight and is raining still. The garden is drinking it all up. It pays to have patience and faith that our world will survive. I also must have patience and faith that I, too, will survive. Tomorrow will be 8 months that my mother have left us. We are grateful we’ve had her for so long, but it’s never enough. Though I knew her time was near, I didn’t know how to prepare. And how does one do that anyways until it happened?

So I’m piddling along as best as I can. Some days I do/try better/harder than others. Some days I like to completely chill and do nothing. I haven’t been good at that for a very long time. There’s part of me that always want to ‘fix’ and make it better. That’s not bad, I suppose, because it means I’m always hopeful, always seeking. I’m not good at moping though I often feel mopeful. I should really learn not to brood/think so much.

It is both true and false that it gets better with time. But really. When someone as significant as your mother disappears from your life, how do you navigate that? I am a bit lost in this first year of strangeness. Some days are good. Some days are not at all. And that’s how it is with me. Regardless of how the days are, I’ve been alright and functional. For someone who gets lost all the time, I’ve been able to drive myself and my father to and from coffee every day. Most of the time it’s just down the street to the mall.

Making Shine

Posted on by
Reply

A windy Saturday morning. The sun is trying its best to shine through the grey sky. It’s a cool 12℃, feeling like 6℃ the weather app say. It is cool and the air is smoky. Rain in the forecast but no sign of it yet. It is hard to feel cheery and hopeful but it does no good to be morose. So I’m trying hard not to be. I made a walk to the greenhouse. It’s a cozy 22℃ with the door closed and just a side vent opened for ventilation. The snowpeas are still in their prime with new growth. I’ve harvested a lot of peas already. Hoping for more. The cucumbers are coming along. They have blooms but will be awhile before we will get something to eat. 2/4 bitter melons are ok. The other 2 are struggling along, being attacked by aphids. I have sprouted a few more seeds for insurance. There’s still time.

Life still goes on regardless of whatever hardship we are going through. The sun still rises in the east and sets in the west. It’s what we call a day. It is up to each individual to choose how they will navigate the time between the two. Many days I feel hopeless and gloomy. Many days I want to vegetate and not do a thing. I know, and we all know, that no action means no change. Wishing and a-hoping are not actions. They’re just words from a song. So I try to shine the best and any way I can.

It’s getting out of bed every morning, getting dressed, brushing my teeth and showing up at the breakfast table, doing the dishes, sweeping the floor, putting away things.

It is Sunday afternoon. I haven’t been good at putting things away lately. My snow boots are still hanging out on the deck. The deck is still littered with all my pottting soil and containers. There’s no place to sit. I’ve been meaning to tidy up and put things away. I haven’t put anything away and meaning to doesn’t do the job. I just have to do it. That’s all. It is quite simple and yet not. I will tend to the boots and make a start on the containers once I’m done here.

We had a bit of rain last night. It took away the smoke and the sun came out this morning. It’s still a bit windy but it was a good day for us to pour libations for our mother and grandparents at the cemetery this morning. It was a bit strange not to have our mother to guide us in the ritual. We did the best we could. We lit incense sticks, bowed and pour libations for our grandfather, grandmother and mother. Then we burn paper money to ensure their well being and prosperity. Then we departed to the Mandarin Restaurant for dim sim.

A Good Thursday Afterall

Posted on by
1

Today is one of those many cups of everything day. I’m wanting to drown all my feelings. I can’t and I don’t. Instead I sit with them all. I draw my #95 teacup for my #100dayproject and my day 5 of Daisy Yellow Index Card a Day Challenge. Today’s prompt for the #dyicad is hydrangea. I like prompts. They are my guiding lights not only for my art work but also living in this year of being lost in the strange wilderness of grief and loss. It’s a mouthful of a long sentence but you know what I mean.

I’m also standing with all my feelings. I like washing dishes by hand. I’m soothing my nerves as I clean each piece in the warm sudsy water. I’m washing away my cares and woes. The chaos goes down the drain with the dirty water. Peace fills its place. I’m soothed and smoothed.

I go out to the garden even though I don’t feel like it. The lettuce and spinach are in need of harvesting. It would be a shame to let them get too old to eat. I snip and pull and stuff them into bags. They will keep in the fridge or our walk in cooler. There’s enough to share with friends and family. Sharing is good and takes me out of focusing on myself.

It’s been a good day in the end. I got out of the house and out of myself. My sister and I took our father out for coffee in Circle Centre Mall. After, we cruised the Dollarama Store and found some neat stuff for the garden. I bought a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as a reward for a day well done. We stopped at the library on the way home to pick up some Chinese books for my father. I think we all went home soothed and smoothed. I hope so anyways.

Tsunamis and Tidal Waves

Posted on by
13

I am enjoying a bit of good energy and vibes this morning. It’s such a relief after yesterday. I have been warned about days where grief can hit you like tsunami or tidal wave. I am not even sure if it is grief. It came out of nowhere yesterday morning. I was hit with such a bad feeling. It was hard to swallow, think, to move. I wondered how I could carry on, breathe, cook, clean, write my post. I worried about my father’s health. He is after all, 93, the same age as my mother. I don’t want to be responsible for for his health/life. It doesn’t seem fair and I am a little ticked off at my mother for leaving us – and without a manual to guide us.

It’s a bit strange but most times I don’t feel her death. She’s just not here. And with her gone, I feel the many losses of our family. There’s no one to call me by my Chinese name except my father. I just realized that yesterday. It makes me feel somewhat heart broken. And there will be no one to ask or talk to about our home village and all things regarding our heritage and ancestors. My father still has a remarkable memory about all that though he has not been back since he left as a young man. I was drowning with all these thoughts and guilt on things I didn’t do.

All things do pass. I was able to get beyond my emotions and put one foot in front of the other. There’s life to be lived and things we have to do. No matter how we feel, we have to get up, dress up and show up somehow. Some days are better than others. Today is a better day. I thought out what I want/have to do and the best of how and when to do them. Progress is slow and minuscule. I see results and I am happy with them. I’ve been to the gym this morning, planted all the cauliflower and harvested lettuce from the greenhouse for lunch. I am a happy and relaxed camper.

Make Someone Happy

Posted on by
8

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

Posted on by
12

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

Posted on by
2

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)

Posted on by
2

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

Posted on by
2

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

Posted on by
4

Photo by Binti Malu on Pexels.com

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.