Grief & Mourning

The stages of grief are defined as:

Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
Anger (why is this happening to me?)
Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
Depression (I don't care anymore)
Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)

Until this week I thought they were linear. I thought you moved through each one and then...pop!...you were done grieving.

What I now know is that you can enter one stage and go back to another and back and forth and back and forth, really within minutes of time.

I truly thought I was ready for this. I thought I had completely passed through the Denial phase. I was wrong.

I told my SIL that I currently feel like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in front of God. "I want her back!!!! Give me her back!!!!" Stomping and kicking my feet the whole time. Because I want her back. That's what I want. Unrealistic or not. That's what I want.

And the anger...well, that has been there all along, but it's pretty large at some moments. I have screamed and yelled at God. I have simply just screamed and yelled. Usually alone in my car. But I'm mad. I am really, really, damn mad. This is wrong. This is not fair. Not my mom. She didn't deserve this. My dad shouldn't be so sad. He shouldn't be so lonely. They are good people. Why? Why? I want some answer that just doesn't exist and it makes me so mad.

Perhaps I've done my bargaining. I did so much over the last 6 months and none of it worked. I feel like there's nothing left to bargain for anymore.

The depression is certainly there. Always. Underlying everything. Underlying the denial. Underlying the anger. The world doesn't seem to be a happy place to me anymore. The depression is constant. The world isn't okay when your mom is no longer in it.

I have to believe the acceptance will come. But I think it's far away.

I have so much work to do. Work I didn't understand until the moment my mom died. I guess that's normal.

But I have to say there are a couple of things that have struck me these past couple of days. I just need to say this and hope no one takes offense...but I no longer want to hear that my mom is in a better place. That doesn't help. I know it's what we say. I've said it plenty to other people in their times of grief I am sure. But it doesn't help me. I know my mom is better off. I watched her die. I watched her wither away to just a shell of her former self. I know she is better off. But that, in NO way, makes me feel better. Maybe my faith isn't strong enough. Maybe it's just all selfish. But I want her HERE! I know it was just a body. I know her soul is somewhere else probably looking down on me. Probably looking out for me. But I want her HERE. I want to feel her hug. I want to talk to her. I want my mom, dammit and I am NEVER going to have that again, so yes, I know she is better off. But I also know she didn't want to die yet. That she had so many good years left. And I think it's wrong that she is gone. I really, really do. I admire those who can find comfort in their faith and the belief that their loved one is happier. But I'm not there. Maybe I will be, but I'm just not yet.

And I've found social networking to be an interesting piece in the grieving process in the 21st century. I have received huge support through my Facebook friends. I have posted my mom's obituary there. 25 years ago, when you were grieving you had to wait for a phone call or letter for support...not to even mention years and years before that. Now, the support is instant through e-mail and social networking sites. At the same time, the world goes on in those places. Everyone else's life keeps moving forward. Silly things are posted. Trivial things. Funny things. And for someone that is grieving, it is interesting to see my first response to those posts. They make me mad. And it's really just jealousy. I want to live in the world where trivial posts are fun and something to break up the monotony of the day. I don't live there right now. I'm sure I will again. But today, I don't. And I'm jealous of others who do. And maybe at the same time, it gives me hope that we do continue forward. That's all we can do.

And I guess that's the reality. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other every day. Thank goodness for my wonderful boys. They keep me going. They give me smiles and laughter. Christopher gives the greatest, most meaningful hugs. He expresses feelings that a 7 year old can't put into words through his hugs. It is incredible. They are my lifeforce right now.

I always imagined that my world would stop when my mom died. I'd cancel appts., have back up doulas take my clients, etc., etc. But instead I just keep going. I had a prenatal appt last night. I'm sure if my clients knew that my mom had died just a little over 24 hours prior they would have been upset with me that I was there. But they didn't know. Their life is consumed with their new baby on the way, as it should be. And they hired me to support them. And I will. Today is homeschool bowling. Tonight I finish a childbirth class series. I can teach. It's what I do. Tomorrow another prenatal. Saturday back up to spend some time with dad and work on the funeral service. I have to stop at the cemetery on the way up and sign some papers so dad doesn't need to make the trip down. Sunday, a meet and greet with potential clients. Monday, another prenatal. Tuesday, I teach. Somewhere in all of that, I will most likely have a client have a baby. And I have to finish up my classes. This term ends next week. The day before mom's funeral. I keep going. Once next Tuesday ends though, my calendar is open. I'm scared of that. What happens when I have nothing to keep my mind busy? I'm actually a little terrified of next Wednesday. But I know I'll keep going.

And I'll just keep walking back and forth through the stages of grief until I find that acceptance somewhere at the end...and then probably still walk back a few times...

I miss her so much. It's physically painful how much I miss her.

Nancy Lee Barr - 6/6/36 - 10/13/09

http://nkctribune.com/obituary/

My world will never be the same without her.