Transcending Grief

Hmmmmm, ok, I admit this: I'm forcing grief. I'm having issues waiting for myself to "break" and feel what I know is LOCKED deep inside. I'm having all the signs - skin rash, stomach pain (acid), headache, etc. This is one of the reasons I'm at Lake Superior right now. Alone time to try and force myself to release some of this pressure.

The pressure really has some other consequences for my health - I saw the surgeon yesterday and my blood pressure was something like 146/91! This is the 4th time that I've had much higher pressure than my normal 120/80. Of course, there are many other factors that make it worse but I know the stress has pushed it past normal. My headaches have gotten a lot worse and are occurring frequently in the early evening. More later on blood pressure after I do a little research.

ANYway...There is a book I'm reading to help work on grief since losing my Mom (and Dad (2004) and Cat (2007)) and it did seem to release some of the pressure today. It is Sylvia Browne's A Journal of Love and Healing: Transcending Grief.

I used to be an avid fan of Sylvia Browne's but the last few years I felt like she lost some of her spark and maybe "psychic"/empathic/whatever abilities. Now when I see her on Montel William's show she just seems cranky and bossy with little insight. Maybe in person she's different, I don't know.

But this book that she wrote with her Daughter-in-law, Nancy Dufresne, seems to be very simple and thoughtful. Here is my favorite quote from Ms. Browne on losing a parent:

"...the realization that no matter what age we were, both of us were orphans. No one would remember what we remembered. The elders that stood as protective shields, as references to our past, and reflections of who we were and are and where we came from, are gone.

We had become the elders. This isn't by any means related to age, only the positioning of the chess pieces in this game called Life. We had been checkmated, and we had no choice but to submit and ride that dark horse down into the depths of our own tears, memories and longings."

This describes my current experiences perfectly. Alone is the word. No matter that I have all the support I could get from friends and my husband's family, I feel deeply alone.

Grief

I'm not sure that I want to even write this post. But if I don't do something I'll explode from grief.

After a nearly 3 year battle my Mom died from cancer on April 28, 2008. I miss her.

She was in the hospice program (at home in her apartment) for 8+ months. They said she would probably not last six months. She was very strong and extremely stubborn. One day she said "I guess I'm trying too hard to hold on". I assured her that that was not the case - she was just making the most of the time she had left.

The funeral was nice, so many friends and family came to say goodbye. A very real testament to how much she was loved. And how much I am loved. The only problem is that the service seemed so hollow to me. The minister did a fine job with what we gave him. But it didn't really speak of her strength, courage, morals, faith, love.

My Mom loved me. We were lucky. We had 9 months of "I love you" and we said it often. For the final 5 weeks that she was in a hospice facility, and before she became unresponsive, I would start my visit the same way each time. I would remove my glasses so that I could look deeper into her eyes. Sitting on the side of her hospital bed, I would lean over to hug her and kiss her. She always waited to kiss me back once I was done. We would look into each others' eyes and talk briefly about how she was feeling, how my day had gone so far and was I getting too far behind on my work. Each time was poignant and bittersweet as I saw her change daily while the brain metastases spread.

One day as we finished the ritual I honestly told her how I liked to come and see her at the end of the day. Mom said, simply, "well, it's good to be seen". She probably didn't know that I was lapping up each moment I could before she wouldn't be there any longer. I was holding on for her dear life.

Eventually, after about four weeks, Mom stopped eating or responding. She had been working hard somewhere else, talking without sound and moving her hands. If I know my Mom she was bantering with my Dad or cleaning some imaginary house. Just when the nurses thought she'd pass, she would wake up and have a great day. But now she was silent and it became less of a visit and more of a vigil.

More to be said but it will wait until another day as I process this immense loss.