Grief Dares Us to Love Once More

"Grief dares us to love once more." ~ Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow.

THIS.  This sort of screamed at me out of this book.  This is what grief does.  It challenges (dares) us to go on, to continue to love while knowing so deeply the pain of loss.  We can choose to stop loving, or we can accept grief's dare.  

But there are days when you are in the throes of grief when loving feels terrifying.  When you are walking a constant tightrope of continuing to live and love and walking through the hot coals of grief.  Sometimes one foot is on both sides.  A soul split.  A heart both filled with love and breaking from loss.  It is an almost constant dichotomy.  

This one sentence screamed to me because this is my daily challenge right now.  It is why my anxiety is at the highest it's been in at least a decade.  It's why my heart skips beats now and then.  It's why sleep is elusive. It's why a bad cold in my kid can ramp me up to extreme levels of concern.  Because I know how fragile life is.  I know how one day can change everything.

And grief dares me to keep going.  To keep believing in the miracle of every day.  To keep loving through grief.  

And some days (and lots of nights), it's terrifyingly hard not to let grief win.  To not let the pain win and take over.  But grief and I have been here before.  I have a love/hate relationship with it.  

And I know that this is the deepest of grief journeys.  Choosing, every day, to love again.  

Setbacks are Part of the Journey

So, I'm just going to say it.  I am not in a great place right now.  I am so, so tired.  I feel like a mom with a newborn.  I haven't had a full night's sleep in over two weeks.  And I've had a few nights of getting less than 2 hours total.  It's a great reminder for me as I'm working with new parents.  Sleep deprivation can make you crazy.  

Sleep deprivation takes down your defenses and allows your head to tell you stories.  Old stories.  Stories that are no longer true.  But without your normal defenses, it's hard to remember that you've moved beyond those stories.  

I'm raw.  I'm at the point where even when I am lying in bed exhausted, instead of sleeping, my brain just spins stories.  Scary, dark stories.  And all my tools, all my knowledge, all my understanding struggle to fight through those stories.  

I have two sick kids.  One who I took to the ER at 3am the day after Christmas.  The Emergency Room!  The last time I took a kid to the ER was when my oldest was 20 months old and he had pneumonia.  That was 15 1/2 years ago.  But there I was, the day after Christmas, at the same emergency room where I took my dad 3 months ago.  And I was there because I had a kid who was struggling to breathe.  All the while, I'm sick too. Not cool, universe.  Not cool at all.  

But then I thought we were on an upswing and I was looking forward to returning to work for a couple of days this week.  Until 2am this morning when the cycle of not breathing started all over again.  Christopher actually asked me to sleep on the downstairs couch to be near him.  That's the first time I've had a kid "need" me in a long time.  But it was also pretty scary.

And so I spent a couple of hours contacting every single client scheduled this week and clearing my calendar.  And that is super hard for me.  I have a very strong work ethic.  I have a strong responsibility to my clients.  But I have an even stronger responsibility to my family.  Especially my children.  And I would tell every single one of my clients to choose their family first.  Once again, I have to walk my talk.  There was, of course, no question that this was the right choice.  But sometimes the right choices are still hard ones.

So, today I'm home.  Tired.  So.Very.Tired.  Our naturopath is out of the office until tomorrow, but thankfully, the local naturopathic clinic in town got Christopher in late this afternoon.  We are pretty sure we know what's going on.  We just don't know how to stop it.  Hopefully we'll get some answers on that today.  I don't know how much longer I can do this.  I don't know how much longer my body goes before shutting down.  I don't know how I will get well until my kids are well.  

And I'm so frustrated.  I was finally finding myself again.  I had established a good meditation and workout practice.  I was finding my strength and endurance again.  And now I feel broken again.  My body is beat.  I don't have the energy to do anything.  The only time I've been out of the house and have seen other people since I left work last week was our trip to the ER.  My house is a disaster area of leftover Christmas and boxes of cold treatments and kleenex.  It's wearing on me, but there's no energy to do anything about it.  

Not to even mention the grief that I haven't had time to feel this holiday season. Or the fact that my dad's birthday is coming up in 4 days.  

This is hard.  The world I'm living in right now is exhausting and isolating and really, really hard.  

But setbacks are part of the process.  This means there is something good on the horizon.  I just wish I knew when.  It feels like it has just been one hit after another since October 3rd when my dad was admitted to the hospital.  I want to smile.  I want to laugh.  I want have fun again.  Of course, I know I will.  I just wish I knew when.  

And I know I'm not alone.  Many are suffering this year.  Many are suffering right now.  And we'll all get through it.  It's just hard right now.  So, if you're reading this and things are hard for you too, please know you're not alone.  And that out of these hard times come better days.  And all we can do is continue take things one step at a time.  

Do You Ever Wonder....

Do you ever wonder about the people who have come through your life, how you met them, and how important they were...or are...to parts of your life that you could never have imagined? 

No?

Just me?  ;)

I hope some of you do this too.

I've been thinking about it a lot lately.  

I was thinking about this before a package showed up on my doorstep yesterday from my very first doula client from 15 years ago.  A care package to let me know she was thinking about me in my grief.  

15 years ago, I had a 2 year old son.  My youngest son didn't even exist on this earth yet.  So much life has happened in 15 years.  And yet, had I not had my first son, taken the childbirth class I took, hired the doula I hired who empowered me to see something in me I couldn't see...had none of that happened, I would never have taken a doula training, I would never have met this couple, I would never have shared three births with them, they would never have helped me refinance a house and purchase two others, and that package would never have showed up on my door with the most lovely card that said the exact words I needed to hear in that moment.

And if I had never hired that doula, and become empowered, and done that doula training and had I never gone to that birth, I may never have fallen in love with the birth world the way I did.  I likely would have never trained as a childbirth educator and gone on to teach childbirth classes at a hospital where I met my husband who was my rock during both my parents' deaths.  I'm not sure how I would have handled either of those deaths without him. Not to mention, I love him and can't imagine my life without him.  Period.

And had I not become a doula, I would have not met one of my friends...and likely may not have maintained such a close friendship with another friend....because we were all doulas together.  Those two friends spent the night with me in my dad's apartment the night before he died.  Those are true friends.  And the other people who offered to spend the night with me were also people I met through serendipitous ways.  I was surrounded by love and support throughout my dad's dying process by so many people that I met through so many different ways.  

Had I not had the doula I had who empowered me in birth, I may not have felt as empowered as a mother to make the choices I made.  I may not have reached out to strangers on the internet on mom boards looking for support.  I am still friends with several of those women.  And I have never met them face to face.  But I would 100% call them friends.  We've all been through a lot together and have been a support to one another.  All our kids are nearly grown now and we're still friends.  I have learned so much from all of them.

I'm not really a believer in coincidences.  I believe things happen as they are supposed to.  But it's truly fascinating to sit and think about how one decision spawns others.  And in making decisions, people come in to one's life, exactly when they are needed.

The day I signed up for a childbirth class in Seattle ultimately resulted in a package showing up on my door yesterday.  Had I chosen another class...EVERYTHING in my life could have been different.  Of course, if my dad had chosen to take a transfer to Georgia when I was in 7th grade, my life would have been completely different.  Every day, we all make decisions, never knowing, or often never even considering, whose life may be affected and what might come from those decisions years and years later.

Life is FASCINATING.  And grief makes you think. And ponder life.  And loss.  And friendship.  And love.  And death.  

And in that...there is beauty in this whole grief thing.

Thank Goodness for New Days

My last post was a rough one.  It was real.  But it was rough.  And I promised to be transparent so it's important to share the rough stuff.  But it's just as important to share the good days...or weeks.  And this has been one.  

After what was definitely a rough weekend, it's nice to be able to say that the rough weekend was followed by a good week.  I mean, like any week, it had its ups and downs, but here I am on Friday and I'm feeling good.  Better than I have felt in some time.

And here's what I attribute that to...

1) Time.

It has been 41 days since my dad died.  That's not a lot.  And I still have a LOT of work to do.  I've got this whole year of firsts to get through.  Really, the grief work is just beginning.  BUT...time DOES help.  I still have a moment every night where I remind myself to pick up the phone and call dad and then am immediately reminded that he's gone.  Every night.  That stinks.  But it also reminds me of how close we were.  And that gives me some peace.  I quite vividly now can see him well up with tears when he would tell people how grateful he was for me.  He said, quite often, "she is a wonderful daughter".  When dad first died, I was carrying a lot of guilt...I wondered if I could have done more.  Could I have stopped this from happening?  Truly...a whole stinking lot of guilt.  It's still there.  It's going to take time to work through it.  But 41 days later, I can more clearly see how close we were and that he knew I was there for him.  Until the very end.  

2) Being honest with my feelings and feeling everything that needs to be felt, no matter how much I may not want to feel the hard stuff.

I have felt ALL the feelings.  Whenever they come.  I feel them.  Whether I like it or not.  I'm not holding anything in.  I really feel this is a huge step in the grieving process.  And may be the hardest step.  We avoid pain in American culture.  Sometimes at all costs.  And I believe, wholeheartedly, that that's what holds us back.  That's what makes grief seep into our bones and store itself there...sometimes for ever.  And it comes out in other ways.  In illness.  In physical pain.  I refuse to let that happen.  I'm feeling it NOW.  I'm letting the grief fall in tear after tear after tear.  I will always miss my dad.  But I will not let grief store itself inside of me.  I will feel it.  Today, tomorrow, 5 years from now, 10 years from now...whenever it shows up.  I will meet it head on and I will feel what needs to be felt.  

3) Validation

This week, I had coffee with a very good friend.  My only close friend (who is not family) who has lost both her parents.  Sitting with her and chatting about the experience was so beneficial for me.  The validation of the complexity of this loss was immeasurable for me.  One day, I hope I can give the same validation to someone else.  

4) Meditation

On my week of bereavement leave, my goal was to meditate every day and get my regular meditation practice going again.  I cannot explain enough how important this has been for me.  I have kept it up and meditate almost daily (didn't over the holiday weekend).  It has been so healing and has given me so much more clarity than I had without it.  Through meditation I have been able to find a way to start moving forward instead of being stuck in my grief.  It has been huge for me.

5) Working Out

In conjunction with the meditation, the working out has helped me start connecting with my physical body again.  And how strong it is.  It hasn't given up on me.  Even when I gave up on it.  It feels good to be reconnected and through meditation and working out, I've found new goals for myself that give me something to focus on outside of grief.  This is also a big step.

A few weeks ago (heck, just last Sunday), I felt so stuck in my grief.  It felt like quicksand that I couldn't claw my way out of.  I know it's very likely I will be there again.  There's still lots of work to do.  But I also know that the steps I have taken to take care of myself will help me remember that there is always another day, another hour, another moment.  I will not be stuck forever.  Sometimes it's important to stop and sit with grief.  And other times, it's important to take a step forward.  

On Sunday I said I was not taking any steps.  I was not going to face the hot coals for a while.  This week I feel like I walked over several of them.  

Today I am decorating the house for the holidays.  I don't expect that to be tear-free.  But I expect that I can put on some holiday music and enjoy the experience, for the most part.  That is BIG.  

So, here's to new days, self care, and to taking a few steps forward.  :)

Sometimes Reality is Ugly

So here's the thing.  I promised I'd be real here.  I promised I'd be transparent and show what grief can look like.  Or at least what mine does.  And I've done that to a pretty good extent.

You may have noticed, I haven't been great with all my Giving Thanks posts at the end of November.  Honestly, I sort of gave up.  It became too much.  Because right now, all I'm really thankful for is for my family and my friends who are keeping me afloat to the best of their ability and/or are simply putting up with me these days.  I don't have a lot more.  

It's Sunday again.  I'm not a fan.  I tend to be up all night.  I don't want to remind myself of that, but I also don't want to ignore it.  Nights are hard.  Sunday nights are especially hard.  I don't really know why it's so much harder except that I have to be up super early on Monday mornings and so I know it's just that much more tired that I'm going to be.  But work is still my refuge so it's not that I don't want to be there.  

Really...being home kind of tears me up.  There aren't enough distractions.  And I need distractions.  I just do right now.  

Last Wednesday, I prepped for Thanksgiving all day.  Good distraction.

Thursday was Thanksgiving.  Not easy, but still distracted.

Friday was dad's cemetery service.  Crap.  Hello grief...right in my face.  I'd been doing such a good job distracting myself from you.  Olly and I went bowling afterwards.  It's what we did after my mom's funeral, so I figured, "Why not?".  This was different.  I couldn't find the laughter.  At one point, grief came and slapped me around a bit and I found myself with a bowling ball in my hand, starting to hyperventilate while tears began pouring down my face.  Grief has no mercy.

Saturday, Olly and I took a brief jaunt 45 minutes from home to the place we were married.  I was looking for a getaway.  A place to breathe.  Let's admit it, I was running.  Of course, I know that I can't run from grief.  It just packs itself up in the luggage and comes along, invited or not.  Asshole.

It was a rough night.  I tried hard to enjoy myself.  But it just wasn't there.  I was insincere.  And I could tell that people could see it.  I spent a lot of money to run away.  Dumb.  I could have just sat on my own deck and cried.  I could have laid awake in my own bed.  Maybe next year, at some point, I can get away and breathe.  But it doesn't matter where I go right now.  The grief is coming with me, clogging up my lungs, dumping water from my eyes at the drop of a hat.

So, here's the thing.  It is REALLY hard right now.  The grief feels SO heavy.  On my shoulders, in my lungs, in my heart.  I can't remember things.  Christmas feels SO overwhelming.  I haven't even begun to consider gifts.  And decorating the house sounds like complete hell.  

I hate it here.  Hows that for transparency?  I HATE this place.  H.A.T.E. it.  I want OUT.  I don't want to be here.

But I know I have no choice.  I know I have to walk through this, not around it.  But I don't want to.  At all.  It feels too hard.  It feels like too much.  

How I long for the distraction of work.  Where I know what I'm doing.  In my office that provides me peace.  That peace that is so elusive anywhere else.  

But then I have to walk out my door again.  And grief is just waiting outside to walk me to my car and ride with me wherever I go.  

I KNOW that the work I am doing is important and beneficial to me and to future clients who will walk their own similar paths.  I understand every ounce of that rationally.  I also know this WILL get easier.  

Rational thought is not my problem right now.  I understand the process of grief.  Rationally.

But, my heart wants answers.  It wants to know how much longer.  It wants to know when our smile will be sincere again.  It wants to know when we'll have fun again.  It wants to know when this will be OVER.  

And then my asshole brain reminds me it will never be over.  

I KNOW.  But I don't want to hear that.  I don't want to feel this way anymore.  It's hard.  How many more tears can I cry?  (Clearly...lots and lots...).  My eyes hurt.  They sting all the time.  

I just hurt.  Weighted down by so much grief.  It feels hard to walk sometimes.  My heart palpitates loudly so I can't ignore it.  Often.  I find it hard to breathe.  A lot.  I keep looking for answers when I know there aren't any.  

And then I beat myself up, because I am a GRIEF COUNSELOR.  I know all this stuff.  Shouldn't I be able to do it better than anyone?  You know, like I was so good at birthing a baby as a doula...because I knew so much (that's sarcasm for the record...I totally tried to think my way through labor...what a surprise).  

I can't explain to people what this is like.  There is no explanation for living in the world without your parents.  You can't understand it until you are there.  Just like so much in life.  We all have our journeys.  We all have life experiences that can't be explained to people who haven't experienced it.  And we're often all so judgmental of other people in life.  But we don't know their story.  

This is mine.  And it sucks right now.  It just does.   I know I'm learning and growing and I won't be the same person on the other side and blah, blah, blah.  I get it.  I just don't care.  I don't want to do learn or grow or change.  

And, yet, that's life.  Every day, I wake up and attempt to step over another hot coal.  Right now, I don't want to take one single step.  And I have to remind myself that that's okay.  I can just stay right here.  But at some point, I have to move forward again.  That's how I get through this.

But for the sake of transparency, I'm just telling you... I'm not taking steps right now.  It's too much.  It's too hard.  And I don't want to do it.  If I could make December go away, I would.  

So, I'd like to give you a pre-emptive apology if you see me and I'm cranky and insincere.  But I'm not going to apologize.  This is grief.  And sometimes it's ugly.  And I'm not sorry for my ugliness.  

All I can do is ask for a little grace.  It's what I'm trying to give myself (although I'm really really bad at giving myself that same grace I could easily give to someone else).  If you see me...ask me how I'm doing and be prepared for tears.  And know that I'm not asking you to fix anything.  It's just where I'm at right now.  Go ahead and give me that hug.  I'll take it.  Yep...that's some serious growth there my friends.  Totally cool with hugs these days.  

Keep me in your thoughts.  Hold some space for me. 

And for all those you know who are grieving.  

Because, if you haven't already, one day you'll be here too (or you'll be here again).  And the best possible thing we can do for each other as humans is simply be there for one another when life gets ugly.

And the best thing we can do for ourselves is remember that it won't always be ugly in our life.  But that we must make it through the ugly to get to the non-ugly parts.  On our own time.  At our own pace.  For as long as it takes.

Thanksgiving

I hope you're all surrounded by loved ones today.  If you're missing a loved one, my heart is with you.  Holidays are hard when people are missing.  Especially the first time (but I think they're always hard...this is my 7th Thanksgiving without mom and I still miss her).  

This is the first Thanksgiving that I can remember that I haven't made a pecan pie.  It was always my dad's favorite, but it's not really any of my family's favorite, so this year it's just pumpkin and apple.  That pecan pie is noticeably absent.

Last Thanksgiving, dad looked at me, in the middle of dinner at The Lobster Shop, and said, "I want Michael to write my eulogy so I can hear it."  It's a moment burned into my brain.  Maybe, somewhere, he knew something none of us knew.

Eleven months later, my dad heard that eulogy.  That is also a moment burned in my brain.

Eight weeks ago, I was starting to plan for this Thanksgiving and had started looking for restaurants.  I had found that eating out on holidays with dad was a treat for both of us and I was actually looking forward to it just a little (not bad for someone who isn't particularly fond of holidays).  Just two weeks later, dad was in the hospital.  Twenty-one days after that, he was gone.

This is not how I pictured this Thanksgiving two months ago.  But it is what I have been given.

These firsts are hard.  But they have to happen.  And I will survive this one and all the rest.  But there is no way to get around the fact that they are hard.

Today, I'm thankful for a quiet Thanksgiving with my four boys.  I'm thankful Olly and I have all our boys this year and none of them are missing at the table.  I'm thankful for the food on our table and the roof over our head.  It's our first Thanksgiving in our new home that we worked SO hard for this summer.  I'm thankful for all the opportunities that my parents gave me which helped allow me to have this life.  They are gone, but I live on.  My brother lives on.  Our children live on.  And in each of us, a part of my parents live on.

It's still shocking to try and reconcile that both my parents are gone.  This morning I stood in the cold sun on my beloved deck.  I looked up at those big protective trees.  I listened to the birds chirp.  I fed my friendly chipmunk (his name is Frederick by the way.  Yep...he's officially part of the family.  ;) ).  And the tears welled up.  A lifetime of memories ran through my head.  But I also feel, very clearly, that my parents are together today.  And I feel their protection too.  This will all settle in time.  But today it's still raw.  And that's okay.  

Tomorrow, we place dad's ashes with mom's.  The name plate on their niche will soon read both names.  It's such vivid proof that I'm an orphan.  But the world will keep rotating on its axis.  Even though nothing will ever be the same for me.  But that's the way life works.  

I will survive this "first" just like all the rest.  More hot coals behind me.  I'll get through all the ones still in front of me down the road.  Just one at a time.

I hope you all have a wonderful day surrounded by love.  And that you have an abundance of things to be thankful for in your life.  :)

This is How I Grieve - Day 5

Okay, so it's only 10:15am and I don't really have a full day to share.  But my boys and I are heading out in a few hours for a couple of days of video game competition.  At my memorial service some day, I hope they talk about how many of these I went to.  ;)

But here's the thing...I think I was getting a little cocky about this whole grief thing.  I was feeling pretty good.  And it gave me such hope.  Of course, I knew what happened last night would happen again, I guess I just thought I had a little more time.  And...that...my friends, is grief.

Darkness and I got into it again last night.  Sleep was elusive.  I absolutely could NOT sleep.  I got up for a while, went back to bed for a while, got up again.  Ugh.  Knowing I had a full day ahead today wasn't helping.  

I cried so much that I dehydrated myself and then my mouth was super dry so I had to down a ton of water, which, of course, meant I was going to take several trips to the bathroom.

I was mad.

I was frustrated.

And I was tired of hurting like this.

But here's the reality.  It will be four weeks tomorrow.  Four little weeks.  I had my dad in my life for 46 years, 5 months, and 24 days.  I've been without him for four weeks.  I'm just starting this grief journey.  Just at the very beginning of it.  I'm just a couple weeks into the shock wearing off.  Yes, the last two days gave me hope.  I'll hold on to that.  But this is the journey of grief.  It is not easy.

I miss my dad.  

Let me be clear...I am thankful that he is out of that body that was holding him back all these years.  But I miss him.

I am uncomfortably grateful that I don't have to worry about him anymore, don't have to inventory his room to make sure he's stocked up on everything, don't have to grab his laundry, don't have to have my phone nearby 24/7 in case someone calls to tell me he fell.  I don't miss any of that.  But I miss my dad.  

And I miss what could have been.  And what once was. 

I feel like my parents should have had so many more good years.  I am angry that other people still have their parents well into their own 50s and 60s and enjoy time with them.  Maybe it's more jealous...but it feels like angry too.

And I miss the innocence of my younger years.  I miss my dad's laugh.  I miss when the world seemed small and safe.  I miss when I felt under the protective wing of my dad.  

I don't know why my parents had to die just before Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I don't know why I have to do these holidays so soon into new grief.  But it's what I've got.  And I hate the holiday commercials.  I hate the TV shows where families gather.  Of course, realistically, I know that holidays are filled with stress and arguments in many families.  And this Thanksgiving will be quiet for us and that feels lovely.  But I still miss what I will never have again.  

I'm not looking forward to Christmas decorating because the pile of decorations that I put up at dad's house are just sitting in a box waiting for me to unearth them and cause emotion.  I've been decorating dad's place since mom died.  It was one extra thing to do each year around a holiday I don't enjoy much anyway.  But it will be a task clearly missing this year.  

And then there's his birthday.  New Years Eve is my favorite holiday.  Mainly because it just feels like a new beginning and there are no requirements of gifts or even food really.  Just a bottle of champagne and you're good to go.  :)  But this will be the very first New Years Eve where I can fully sleep in the next day.  I can just relax on New Years Day with nothing else do to.  Because my dad's birthday was New Years Day.  And this year, there will be no celebrating.  Last year, I remember so vividly walking in the hall with him on his birthday and asking him if he knew hold old he was.  He said 88 and I laughed and told him he had aged himself 10 years.  And then I said, "you might just make it to 88 though!" And he smiled.  Little did I know that he wouldn't see even one more birthday.

So, obviously, there's a lot of stuff still swirling around.  And my sleepless night made it clear that, although I took a couple steps forward, it was time to take a few steps back.  And that's part of the process.  I know this.  But I don't have to like it.

This week was good.  I am beyond glad that I took this time off.  I feel ready to return to work.  I feel a little lighter and much more clear-headed.  And I did five days worth of meditation, five days worth of moving my body and getting these muscles working again, and did semi-well on food and water.  I'm actually better at that when I'm working anyway.  Those were my goals.  And I feel good about having completed them.  I feel confident I'll keep it up too.  Because I know how much better I feel.  

And that's the balance there.  Continued self-care.  And continued grieving.  They can be done together.  And that's what I hope to maintain as I keep moving forward.

This is How I Grieve - Day 4

Thankfully, yesterday's perspective has stuck with me.  I woke up early this morning to go to the grocery store and stock back up on all the food I tossed yesterday.  Christopher and I finally got to cook today which we had been planning since Monday.  Cooking with him relaxes me and makes me smile so I'm super appreciative of that time together. 

So let me espouse a bit about the beauty that is self-care.  Four days ago, I was constantly tired.  Just thinking about working out exhausted me.  And this from someone who used to love working out.  So, I know what it can do for you, but I had lost perspective.  And honestly, that started with our move this summer.  I was doing great until June and then the stress started getting to me.  Once we finally moved in August, I was wiped out.  Then I had a lot of weekends of work, Jonathan's birthday in September, dad started declining and then was in the hospital on October 3rd and...well...we all know how things went from there.  

But this week, I was determined to practice some very simple self-care.  Meditate, move my body, eat right, drink water.  That's what I felt like I needed.  I haven't eaten as well as I would have liked (the power outage didn't help), I've drank more water than I have been (but still need to drink more), but I have moved my body and have meditated every day.  And I feel better than I have in months.  

Am I still grieving?  Of course!  Do I still get sad and cry?  Absolutely!  Do I know that there will be times when I completely crumble again?  Yep!  But the simple act of some self-care has changed things for me in such a big way.  I had to force myself to start.  Monday was hard.  Tuesday was harder.  Yesterday I told myself that I didn't need to work out when we were sitting in the cold, but I did it anyway.  Today was absolutely a given.  Ideally, tomorrow will be the same.  

Did the power outage help?  If you read yesterday's post, you'll be able to see that it did.  But I also had to let it.  I had to allow myself to shift.  Having a little push from my son was extremely helpful.  :)  

I will take steps backwards again.  It's part of the process.  But this week has helped me take several steps forward from a place where I thought I was stuck.  This week has given me exactly what I wanted.  THIS is what bereavement leave is for.  This is why people deserve a minimum of a week off!  Whenever they decide to take it.  Not just in the days following a death when everything is muddied and confusing and super, super hard and there's so much to DO...but later, if they want.  To be able to reflect and think a little more clearly.  My dad has been gone for almost 4 weeks now.  It really still seems like just yesterday.  But when I look back at these past four weeks, I can see the holding pattern I was in for the first three....and then how much I've been able to move forward this past week.  I feel ready to return to work next week.  I feel more clear and lighter than I did when this week began.  I didn't know what to expect this week, but I didn't really expect to feel this much lighter.  

I still miss my dad.  So much.  I still remind myself to call him each night.  And it still stings when I'm quickly reminded that I can't call him anymore.  I am definitely adjusting to not having parents.  It is a huge adjustment and it's going to take a long time.  But in the past two days, I've felt a shift that allows me to know that I WILL get through this.  That hard things are part of life and that I have survived every hard thing up to now.  I will survive this too.  

I will continue to feel what I need to feel when I need to feel it.  

It is okay to be sad, to be mad, to feel pain and to cry.

It is also okay to smile, to laugh, and to keep taking steps forward.  

And I will re-read this post on the days when I forget all of the above.  Because those days will happen too.

I took this week, quite honestly, to practice what I preach.  I tell my clients to grieve, to take time for self-care.  So, I had to do it myself.  And it has been so worth it.  Clearly, I wasn't making this stuff up.  It's amazing what a little self-care can do.

I'm starting to feel like myself again.  Like the person I remember.  Except different, because how couldn't I be?  But different in the way that I have grown and will continue to grow.  So much about my life is different.  I lost a part of myself and who I was when my dad died.  I was his caregiver.  Part of every single day was wrapped up in things I needed to do for him or get for him or a worry about what was going on with him or phone calls to make, etc.  That is all gone.  It's left this weird gap for me and I'm having to redefine myself.  Redefinition is hard.  But also can be incredibly rewarding.  

So, I keep doing the hard stuff.  Each and every day.  And I find, and experience, the joy when it comes.   

Self-Care.  Please do it.  It is worth it!  :)

This is How I Grieve - Day 3

I feel like everything is so different since my post yesterday.  That's what a power outage can do for you.  

Just as I was finishing up yesterday's post, our power went out during a pretty large windstorm.  It came back on today, 25 1/2 hours later.  

I'll be honest, I wasn't happy.

I've been through a lot lately.  I planned this week off for self-care.  A power outage wasn't part of those plans.  Tossing pretty much every ounce of food in both our refrigerators did not seem like self-care.  After saying how much dark and I are not friends right now, I was faced with intense dark last night.  

This morning I woke at 3am.  And it was cold in my house.  And dark. And I was cranky. Olly left for work shortly after 4am and I just laid in bed looking at the dark and listening to the silence until I finally fell asleep again.  I woke up around 7am and it was light outside.  I was so grateful for daylight.  

But it was still cold.  And I was still cranky.  This was NOT how this week was supposed to go.

Once the boys were up, Christopher and I went to Starbucks.  I was so glad that so many places were open today.  That gave me hope that the power was slowly coming back on in town.

Starbucks provided me caffeine and the boys some hot chocolate and all of us some warm food.  That was a blessing.

While we were out, I was verbalizing some of my annoyance without realizing it.  I was definitely cranky and concerned we were going to be without power for days.  My ever-positive Christopher said to me, "You've got to think more positively mom".  And he stopped me in my tracks.  He was right!!  I've said it before and I'll say it again, these kids are here to teach me way more than I could ever teach them.  

And in that moment, I changed my attitude.  I still wasn't thrilled about this power outage, but it wasn't the end of the world.

I cleaned out both refrigerators and decided it was time that we did that in the garage fridge anyway.  And yes, it's going to put a dent in our budget to restock, but we are able to restock.  And that is a blessing.

Last night, Olly, Christopher and I played some board games.  This morning, Christopher and I played a couple more rounds of Yahtzee.  We haven't done that in forever.  That was a blessing of this power outage.

Because the power was out, I wasn't able to get on my laptop and do paperwork or easily reply to emails.  I wasn't able to run the dishwasher or washer and dryer.  My world kind of stopped.  

Hmmmmmm..... wasn't that what I was looking for this week?

Quiet.  No responsibilities.  Time with my boys.  

This power outage was giving that all to me.  

And my attitude just kept shifting.

I wasn't going to let this outage stop me from self-care.  

I meditated.

I did my grief yoga.  And while my legs were up on the wall in Viparita Karani, it all hit me.  Out loud, I said, "I get it!"  And I did.  I understood that this power outage was a gift.  Of time.  Of silence.  Of reflection.  Of appreciation for all the amazing things I have.  As I completed corpse pose for the third time this week, my smile was genuine.  It felt real for the first time.  And I could feel it in my heart.  I smiled.  And it was okay.  "I" was okay.  

I felt what was clearly "peace" for the first time since the day I took my dad to the hospital...October 3rd.  I know I hadn't felt it since then.  It was like my old friend had returned to let me know it was okay to find this place again.  It was okay to step forward.  

And I'm sobbing as I write this.  Because those feelings are so real.  Today I feel okay. I still hurt.  In ways I cannot explain.  As I read my adult orphan books, I just nod and nod my way through them.  It feels good to have that kinship of others who simply understand that this is a transition that is rarely spoken of, but one that many of us experience in life if we out live our parents.  Not many of my friends have lost both their parents.  In fact, I can only think of one.  But boy, does she understand in a way I could not understand for her when she lost her mother (her last parent) not that long ago.  I remember watching her grieve and seeing her pain and feeling for her (since I had lost my mom too), but I could not ever understand what she was going through having lost her last parent and becoming an adult orphan.  I do now.  And when she hugged me at my dad's memorial service, it was a hug of knowing.  A sort of 'welcome to the club' hug.  I wish we weren't in this club together, but I'm glad I have her.  I have family who understand too.  I know this.  And I'm grateful for them too.  But the people that understand are a small group of people in my life.  Even my wonderful, amazing, understanding husband has no frame of reference for this.  He is grieving too.  But there is simply no way to explain to him how I feel.  He holds me when I break.  He stands in the rain with me as I collapse on my deck.  He is there for me in every way he can be.  But there is just no way for him to understand fully.  And I get that.  And I don't expect him to.  Because I didn't understand it either until it happened to me.

But today, for the very first time, I felt 'okay'.  People keep asking me how I'm doing (thank you by the way... please don't stop asking.  :) ) and I say "I'm hanging in there" because that's all I really could say.  Tomorrow, I may not feel as okay...but today, I feel okay.  I feel as though I have finally found that little, tiny, minuscule light shining at the end of this very long, dark, tunnel.  But that means I've made some steps.  I can see the light shining at the end.  Even if it's just a pinprick of light right now.  It is there.  I know it's there.  There are lots of corners to traverse before I see more of that light.  But all I need to know is that it is there.  And I'll see it shining fully one of these days.  I don't know when.  I just know I will.  

And THAT is huge.  

And THAT is what this power outage gave me.  

Perspective.

Peace.

Understanding.

I finished my work-out.  I'm calling that now because it's feeling more and more like a work-out.  And it feels good.

I didn't do great with food or water today but that's because there simply wasn't much in the way of food.  I've drank more water than I was drinking before the week started though so that's still progress.  

I still took good self-care.  The power outage didn't stop that.

In fact, it gave me even more opportunity to do so.  

And when the power came back on in the middle of my arm weight routine, I thanked the universe for the light and the heat.  And for the gifts that came during that outage.  I will not forget them.

This is How I Grieve - Day 2

I was always scared of the dark as a kid.  If I'm being honest, I'm still not fond of it now. I don't like not being able to see in the dark.  I don't like driving in the dark.  I don't really even like being out in the dark.  This is part of the reason I'm not a fan of late Fall and Winter when the light of day is so limited.  And it's not enjoyable to be newly in grief during this time either.  

Dark and I are most definitely not friends right now.  I am at a point of exhaustion for which there are no words.  And yet, dark falls and the stories fill my head.  The memories play on a loop.  The regrets, the questions, the confusion.  Then the tears and the pain.  Good god, the pain.  I have said this several times to various people, but I have never felt anything like this.  I have found myself more times than I can count simply being unable to remain standing.  My legs won't hold me up.  And when I say that it sounds SO dramatic.  Like what you see on TV.  But when it's happening, I don't really have any other choice.  I can't stand.

There is a part of me that thinks I'm overreacting.  That I just need to quit focusing on all of this.  That I need to be more positive.  And then I remember...that's the societal expectation.  That's what I grew up with just like most of us.  But what I truly believe is that I MUST feel all this now.  This is how I grieve.  This is how I keep the grief from lodging inside of me only to come out years from now.  Or not come out at all and turn into some disease or disorder.

And so I'll keep doing what I'm doing. I did get in my meditation and a similar "get my body moving" routine as yesterday.  And have been drinking more water.  So that's all good.  Of course, because the universe is challenging me, our power went out 3 hours ago so all our food is nearly shot. And tonight will be an even longer and darker night than the past few nights. But the wind has stopped howling and there was blue sky as the sun was setting.  Tomorrow is a new day.  

This Is How I Grieve

Today is day one of my week of self-imposed bereavement leave.  I thought I would blog each day so as to show what a bereavement leave might look like.  It is such a foreign concept here in the United States.  There are religious traditions that some people follow when it comes to a time of mourning, but as a society, we don't truly have a belief system in place that makes it clear that we all deserve time to process when we lose someone in our life.

Many people get two or three days bereavement leave from work.  My sense is that many people take this shortly after a death to handle all the necessary tasks involved after one's death, not to actually spend any time processing the huge event that has just occurred in their life.  And then it's back to work we all go.

Now, an argument could be made that my bereavement leave would look much different if I had taken it the week after my dad died.  And I would agree.  However, I knew enough to know that I could get through those first two to three weeks and could do that more easily with the distraction of work.  I will admit that the first week was overwhelming as I went back to work but it wasn't the work that was overwhelming.  It was the multitude of phone calls I was making all all the e-mails I was sending in order to handle all those post-death tasks.  Honestly, I'm still making phone calls and sending e-mails three weeks later, but they have slowed down considerably.

In my case, I love my job.  And I have a job where I have to remain focused and that focus is on others.  And I'm good at that.  I never felt conflicted or distracted in the past three weeks at work.  Quite the opposite, as I knew would be true, my work gave me a much needed ability to focus my attention somewhere else than on myself.  I think we're all pretty good at that.  However, in my case, I knew I was going to be taking time off.  I wasn't just trying to distract myself permanently.  Having previously dealt with the loss of my mom, I understood that when it got the hardest for me was immediately after her service.  That day after felt like I should have been feeling better.  Everyone else's life was going on and mine felt more upside down and different than ever.  I prepared for that this time.  That's why I planned this week the way I did.  I wanted the week off after my dad's service.  And so, here I am.

I gave myself three goals for this week. 

1) Meditate every day.  I have not had time for meditation since dad fell ill.  And I can feel the difference in me without it.  

2) Move my body.  I'm not calling it a work out.  Just some simple, easy movement every day that pushes me body just a bit out of its comfort zone and allows some of this grief to become more fluid instead of feeling stuck and stagnant inside my muscles and bones.

3) Drink lots of water and eat well.  I'll be honest, I've been surviving on coffee, wine and comfort food.  That does not make for a healthy body.  And I need to practice self-care and keep myself as healthy as possible in order to move forward in this journey.

So, how did day one go?

The day started out rough.  In part because last night ended roughly.  I am definitely struggling with sleep and dreams that wake me up often.  I couldn't sleep last night so I sat u p and finished "The Orphaned Adult" that I've been reading.  Fabulous book by the way!  I didn't get to bed until midnight and then when Olly left for work shortly after 4am, I couldn't get back to sleep.  I laid in bed until close to 7am when I must have crashed, but found myself waking up every 20 minutes or so until 9am.  I woke with aching muscles and a pounding headache.  I immediately wondered if I was going to be able to even remotely meet the goals I had planned for myself.  

I got out of bed, started a pot of coffee and then did a 10 minute meditation.  Oh...it felt like coming home.  I have missed meditation.  I then did five grief yoga poses.  The last pose, the corpse pose, was to be ended with a smile.  I forced that smile out of me and found it came with tears and that it was much harder than expected.  That was just a reminder of the work I'm doing here.  I can get up each day and do what needs to be done, but that pain is in there.  

Side note...I didn't mention the memorial service...I was dreading it.  When I got there I found myself shaking and wanting to run.  But it honestly turned out quite beautifully and was a lovely tribute to my dad.  And getting through the service was a big step in moving forward.  I did wake up yesterday feeling like someone had beat me up though.  So, it clearly took a lot out of me.

But back to today.  After the yoga, I handled some paperwork that needed to get done (a day still doesn't go by without some sort of task I need to do in relation to dad's death), fed the kids, made bread (just simple bread...no big deal...a little mixing, a lot of rising), and then Christopher and I sat down and planned out the Thanksgiving menu which he and I are going to cook.  That was fun.  And for not really looking forward to Thanksgiving, knowing that Christopher will be cooking with me makes it sound much more appealing and I'm even looking forward to it a bit.

And then I did it.  I got my body moving.  It took every ounce of willpower I had, but I did it.  I wanted to see how long of a plank I could hold and, although it was WAY harder than in the past, I was still able to hold a 2 minute plank.  I then did all three warrior poses and held them each for a minute on both sides.  Warrior pose 1, 2 & 3 have always made me feel strong and I needed the reminder that I am still strong.  I was pretty impressed I could still balance on one foot.  :)  Then I did a quick ride on my stationary bike just to get my heart pumping.  A mile and a half is still a mile of a half.  :)  I then did my standard arm workout (I probably won't be able to move my arms tomorrow, but it was worth it).  And then I brought out my trusty hula hoop and did 15 minutes of hula hooping.  And it all felt SO good.  I haven't felt that good in a long, long time.  My mood changed completely.

Then I got a few things done around the house including a good, full vacuuming that was desperately needed.  I'm pretty sure with all the pine needles I vacuumed up, I could have put together a small Christmas tree.  But I'm not complaining...because those pine needles mean I have trees. :)

Then...at 4:15pm...I finally took a shower.  That's how I know I know it was an  unusual day as I'm generally a shower first thing in the morning kind of girl.

It's 5:30pm now as I write this and I can say that today was good.  Admittedly, I could have done a little better job with food as it's still just easiest to go with the quick comfort food.  But... I have been drinking LOTS of water and that's a big step.  I'll try again tomorrow on the food.

For a day that began pretty rough, and for wondering if I was going to be able to push through, it has turned out pretty good.  Of course, I just had my nightly, "Oh, I should call dad" moment when I'm reminded I never get to do that again.  Last night it occurred to me that I still had voicemails from him and I went and listened to them.  He is somewhat confused on them, but it's his voice.  Not the one I grew up with, but the one I knew over the past few years.  It's odd to have technology that allows us to hear the voices of those we have lost.  And it's a blessing too.  I also had a moment of realization that I will never again hear the ring tone I assigned to my dad.  And for some reason, that was my breaking point yesterday.  It was a "dad" ring tone that sang "Your dad is calling you..." and although I'll never hear it again in reality, it has decided to play on a loop in my head.  ~ Sigh ~

This is grief.  This is how I grieve.  It is not how everyone needs to grieve.  But we all do need to grieve.  Our way.  I am glad I took this week off.  I believe it is exactly what I need.  Tonight I will spend time with Olly and hopefully laugh a little.  Tomorrow we're expecting a big storm and I'm hopeful that our power will remain on, but I also know that I have no control over that and we'll get through whatever comes our way.

Because if I have learned anything from death and grief, it is that I will ALWAYS get through whatever is thrown my way.  I may not like it.  I might even despair.  I might worry.  I might be afraid.  But I KNOW that I will make it through.  If you had asked me 10 years ago how I was going to deal with my parents' death, I would have run from you, not wanting to talk about it.  Not having the faintest idea how I would ever handle when those times came.

But here I am... 6 years after my mom's death and 3 weeks after my dad's death.  And I'm still moving forward.  I hurt right now.  I hurt a lot.  But I can still find joy in my day.  And today I took a lot of good self-care.  And that will help me in this process.

My parents wouldn't want me to be sad.  This I know.  Of course, they would understand.  I know my mom really struggled with her dad's death (she lost her mom first too).  I wish she was here to talk to me about what she went through.  But what I know is that she survived and I will too.  For that simple understanding, I am grateful.

On the Eve of My Dad's Memorial Service

This is what it looks like on the eve of my dad's memorial service.  

How it feels is indescribable.  

It's hard to get a deep breath.

My throat is scratchy.

My heart is periodically beating out of my chest.

It will be three weeks tomorrow, but I'm not ready for this.

But, then again, I probably never will be.

I know that after tomorrow, everything changes.  Again.

And lives go on.  But things get harder on my end.  

I understand all this.

But I don't like it.

And I wish it wasn't happening.

But it is and I can't stop it.

And so I'll get through tomorrow.  

And the day after that.  

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And so on...

Just one day, one hour, one moment, one breath...at a time.

If you're coming to the memorial tomorrow, I'll look forward to seeing you!

If you're not, please send some good thoughts my way.  11am-1pm PST...and maybe all the hours around that too.  

I can use all I can get. 

Bereavement Leave

* Pretty hair color finally done (Thanks Jade​!).

* Saw last client after a packed week of appointments. 

* Put my bereavement leave message on my voicemail and as responses in my e-mail accounts. I'm not pretending this leave is something it isn't...I'm calling it what it is.

* Pajamas are on. They may not come off except for the memorial service on Saturday.

* Received VM that my dad's body has been reduced to a pile of ashes.  I'm not pulling any punches my friends...that's how it feels when you get that call.  I know the true spirit of my dad, and who he was to me, was no longer in that shell, and that really, that shell was severely holding him back for the past several years.  Nonetheless...that doesn't mean there isn't any emotion to go along with that call.

* Glass of wine is poured.

* Rain is coming down hard outside.  It feels like the perfect bereavement weather.  Just please keep the power on Mother Nature! 

It's time for this bereavement leave to begin.  No work.  No appointments.  Just time with all my boys.  And time with myself to feel whatever needs to be felt and to take GOOD self-care.  A week won't be enough.  But it is far more than most people take.  I am practicing what I preach.  I'm going to cry.  I'm going to grieve.  I'm going to laugh and smile too.  I'm going to remember good times and be sad over what has been lost.  This is step One.  To feel all this.   And then I keep moving forward.  One Step, One Hot Coal, at a time.

Attention Grabbers

Tonight I was pulled over for the first time in my life.  When the lights went on behind me, it took me a moment to realize what was happening.

It was raining pretty hard and I don't enjoy the freeway in the rain and the dark so I was making my way home through Gig Harbor.  And I was in tears.  I had a great day at work but alone in my car, the feelings came flooding in and the tears were flowing. 

When the officer came to my window, I couldn't stop sobbing.  I muttered some things about never being pulled over before and my dad being dead and some other random stuff.  I'm pretty sure he thought I was having a breakdown.  He took my license and registration and went back to his car for maybe three minutes, came back, told me to pay attention and take care of myself and I was on my way.  

And I just kept sobbing.  But also realized that maybe I hadn't been paying attention and this was a good wake up call.

I drove in silence in my car for a bit and then turned on the radio and flipped to a local talk radio station.  Except it wasn't talk.  It was Roger Whittaker.   ROGER WHITTAKER.  And one of my dad's favorite songs.  I thought it was a music bridge between segments but the entire song played.  When was the last time you heard Roger Whittaker on the radio?  Heck, how many of you even know who Roger Whittaker is and could instantly recognize one of his songs?  

We played a lot of Roger Whittaker at my dad's bedside when he was dying.  It took me back to my childhood... Over and over.  But it made no logical sense why that song was playing on that station tonight.  None.  

Unless it was my dad trying to get my attention.  Could my dad have been the one that got me pulled over to give me the wake up call because he knew I wasn't paying attention?  Did he arrange for the song to let me know he was there?

I don't know.

I don't know anything right now.

But I know that tonight was odd.

And it got my attention. 

And maybe that was the point.

The Stories Told in the Dark

I promised transparency.  

Last night was a rough one.

In the dark and quiet of the night, my brain likes to tell stories.  They are simply that.  Stories.  A lot of "What Ifs".  What Ifs are just a game.  I know all this, but last night they were LOUD.  

I tried and tried and tried to sleep, but stories were louder, not allowing me to rest.  Thus...today I'm tired.

It is quite clear to me that my body and my soul need some care.  I work three very full days this week and then have a couple days off before dad's memorial service.  I'm begging my body to hold out just SIX more days.  Then I'm off for a week.  And my goals for that week are simply self-care.  The three things I want to accomplish each day are some meditation, good nutrition going into my body and movement.  I'm not saying "work out" but just some simple movement to start releasing some of what I feel is being stored in my body.  A little simple yoga and getting my hula hoop back on sounds like good places to start.  :)  It's time to take some care of myself.  I can tell if I don't do that soon, my body is going to force me to stop.  And I don't want to get there. 

But it's just one day at a time.  I worked this morning, came home this afternoon and made an hour and a half worth of phone calls. I'm tired of telling people my dad died. I'm actually stumbling over the words.  That tells me the shock is wearing off.  That is to be expected.  And another good sign that next week is important for me.

But until then...as always...one day, one night, one step at a time...

Refusing to Hide the Pain

It will be two weeks tomorrow.  I've been powering through.  I had a busy week at work and have another busy week ahead.  Work is clearly a good distraction as I have been doing pretty well this week.

And then yesterday hit.  And so did the flood of emotions.  I tossed and turned all night last night, waking up several times from death related dreams.  For a body that has wanted to badly to sleep, this morning it was wide awake at 4:00am.

I can't digest food.  I don't have the energy to work out.  I feel like my body is betraying me.  When in reality it is holding my grief for me.  And grief is heavy. And my body is working so hard to carry this.  I feel it in every bone. 

There is a large part of me that wants to put on a smile and tell everyone that I'm doing well.  That's my go-to.  That's how most of us do grief really.  But that doesn't serve me, or anyone else, well.  I promised that I'd be transparent throughout this process and that promise repeats itself in my head when I want to pretend all is well.  

That doesn't mean I'm not well.  It just means that some days (hours...moments) are harder than others.  And I won't hide this pain.  I know people don't like to see it, but if we all continue to hide the pain and the experience that is grief, we just continue to force it into the shadows and then none of us are allowed an authentic experience.  And when one doesn't understand the work (and beauty) that is grief, it makes the experience all that more difficult.

Many of my clients look at me, and question out loud if it's okay to talk about their stuff when I'm in the midst of my own.  And my answer is a resounding YES!  Because, the reality is, I often have my own stuff.  They just don't know about it most the time.  We all have "stuff" in this journey of life.  But because I've chosen to be so vocal about this process, right now people are seeing and hearing about this particular "stuff" in various ways.  That doesn't change my ability to do my job.  Because I love my job.  And honestly, because I'm speaking, because I'm feeling all of this, I can work when I need to work and I can fall apart when I need to fall apart.  That's healthy.  It's when we try to hold it all in that grief will sneak up and grab our attention at inopportune times.  

I know that I can fall apart when I need to.  I don't like it.  I would like to believe that it won't happen.  After a few good days, I can convince myself that I've made my way through the worst of it.  And then the emotions come flooding in again.  And I just have to feel them.  That is all I have to do when they come.  I don't have to understand them or analyze them and I certainly don't have to stop them.  I just have to feel them.  

And then take another step forward.  Walking over one metaphorical hot coal at a time.