One Year

One year of blog posts.

Last year I found myself on the kitchen floor in a heap of tears as I heard my mom had cancer.

This year I started the day at the cemetery having a long conversation with my mom.

It has been a very, very long year.

I have cried more in the past year than I have probably ever cried in a year.

I have lost more than I have ever lost before.

And I have grown more than ever before as well.

There are many more milestones coming up. This was the first this Spring.

I made it through this one. I will make it through the rest.

But on every one, I will miss my mom...terribly. Like I miss her today.

Today I ran my fingers over the letters in her name etched on a slab of granite.

It still didn't seem real.

As of today, I feel I can say that I've survived the hardest year of my life.

I have learned a lot about who I am and what I can do.

But a part of me is still broken. And likely will be for some time.

But it is Spring.

The days are longer.

The sun shines more.

The birds are chirping.

The flowers are blooming.

It is a time of new beginning.

Last year was a terrifying Spring, but it was the dawn of a new beginning too.

I just didn't understand it.

I have quoted a lot of different people in this blog...

It seems appropriate on this one anniversary to quote Jon Bon Jovi.

Mom would be laughing.

But he sang this to me on the way home today.

And it's exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks Jon... ;-)

"If you feel alone, and lost and need a friend
Remember every new beginning, is some beginning's end
Welcome to wherever you are
This is your life, you made it this far
Welcome, you gotta believe
That right here right now, you're exactly where you're supposed to be
Welcome, to wherever you are"

This IS my life. And I have made it this far. And this is where I am...I guess I need to welcome it.

So...Welcome Spring. Let's see what you have in store for me this year.

Day 365

At the end of today, a full year has gone by since the day I started this blog.

March 20th, 2009.

Spring was beginning. The days were longer. And my world was crumbling. I went back and read my first few blog posts. And I cried. They certainly took me back.

I am incredibly grateful for this little blog. It has been my therapy and it has held my voice and my pain. My entire year is held here. And I'm glad I have that.

I am not the same person I was when I started this blog 365 days ago. Yet my transformation is far from complete.

365 days ago, I didn't know what my year held or how I could possibly manage to live without my mom. But I survived the year and have managed to live without my mom for 5 months.

365 days ago my world changed and nothing has ever been the same.

But I'm here. I survived. I am stronger and wiser than I was 365 days ago.

Today will not be consumed with cancer. Today the boys and I are going to a long-awaited movie and we are going to laugh. Mom loved movies. Today I will sit in a theater with my boys eating buttery, unhealthy movie popcorn and I will enjoy the experience. I will feel the laughter deep down inside. I will remember my life 365 days ago. I will remember the pain and the fear. And I will honor it. But I won't let it hold me down. My mom wouldn't want it to hold me down.

I did find my mom last year. And I did find myself. Not in the way I expected, but I found what I needed to know. And for that I am grateful.

It has been a long, long 365 days. I seem to live in a perpetual state of exhaustion that is just normal now. But I am living. Some days are harder than others. But I keep going.

Tomorrow, I will spend a chilly, sunny first day of Spring morning at the cemetery with my mom. Tomorrow I will remember a year ago with her. But today, I will laugh with my boys. I will give them moments for them to remember about their mom. And I know my mom will be watching us and smiling too.

364 Days

364 days. It's stunning to think it has been nearly a year since my world turned upside down. And that I've lived without my mom for 156 of those 364 days.

Numbers...gosh, how I like numbers. I like balancing my checkbook and doing my taxes and statistics. Numbers can help you ignore reality though. 364 days. 156 of them without mom. I had 208 days with her after she was diagnosed. They are all numbers. They can mask all the feeling and emotion behind them. They are, after all, simply numbers. The events and tears and laughter and hurt and joy that make up all those numbers can get lost behind them.

But the numbers also bring their own emotion with them.

I have to believe that this is what I've been dealing with this month. The numbers sit in my head and I am taken back to a year ago. And the emotions are bubbling over. I am back to crying every day. Sobbing sometimes. And damn I hurt. And I'm searching for answers I can't find. And I know that they probably don't exist. This is just a journey I have to keep walking.

I can't help but think that this time right now is causing some of this though. Tonight I teach the last class in a 5 week series. It was this class series and this particular class last year when I received that phone call from mom and dad. I know none of that is going to happen tonight. I know I'm not going to get a phone call that leaves me crying in a birth room, trying to compose myself. I'm not going to teach this class numb and confused and lost. I know all of that. But THIS class is monumental for me and maybe I just need to get through it. Maybe I just need to get through these next three days to find another side of what I'm feeling right now. Or maybe there will always be another "thing" to get through. I don't know. I just know what today means. I know that this class tonight holds some power over me. I know that tomorrow is 365 days since I started this blog. And that Saturday is day 366...or day 1 again. It will be one full year since I found myself on the floor of my kitchen with a phone to my ear hearing the confirmation that my mom had cancer and it was bad.

I know I have to walk through these days. And as I've mentioned, I really was in denial that this particular time was approaching and that it was going to be tough. But it's here...and it is harder than I expected. I think the anticipation has been building all week, pehaps all month, even though I try to keep pushing it down. But it's been there...bubbling...and building to today.

In the book, Motherless Daughters, Hope Edelman says, "Grief goes in cycles, like the seasons, like the moon. No one is better created to understand this than a woman, whose bodily existence is marked by a monthly rhythm for more than half her life. For centuries, writers, aware of grief's organic cadence, also have used seasonal metaphors to describe a process that continually leads us from the deepest sorrow toward the peak of renewal, and back again." She goes on to say, "We're an impatient culture, accustomed to gratifying most of our needs quickly. But mourning requires a certain resignation to the forces of time. Expecting grief to run a quick, predictable course has led us to overpathologize the process, viewing normal responses as indications of serious distress." And lastly, "I used to criticize myself: It's been six months already. Get on with your life. Get over it. I tried. I really tried. But it's impossible to undo fifteen or twenty years of learned behavior with a mother in only a few months time. If it takes nine months to bring a life into this world, what makes us think we can let go of someone in less?"

Yet another reference to birth. And a good one. And one I needed today. Hope lost her mom when she was 17. I lost my mom when I was 40. I have 40 years of of learned behavior. For instance, I managed another 4.0 last term. In 6 classes, I have managed 5 As and 1 B+. My cumulative GPA is nearly 3.9. I KNOW...I simply KNOW how proud my mom would be. And that learned behavior had me wanting to pick up the phone and immediately call her when I got my grades this week. I could HEAR how proud she would be. I could SEE her smile. But I couldn't call. I couldn't truly hear her or see her. I have to accept what I have in my head. But honestly, that's simply not enough. I want more. And I'm so angry that I can't have it.

And so, I keep walking through another stage of this grief process. I'll finish with one more quote from Hope Edelman as it is exactly what I am in the process of learning right now.

"Here's what I've learned about grief...It's not linear. It's not predictable. It's anything but smooth and self-contained. Someone did us all a grave injustice by first implying that mourning has a distinct beginning, middle, and end. That's the stuff of short fiction. Not real life."

This is real life I'm living. And I am still living. But some days are harder than others. Some days are like climbing mountains. Days like these next three. But I'll get through them, emerge on the other side, and keep walking towards the next mountain. And I'll get over that one too. And the one after that. And the one after that. But it doesn't mean I won't get sad or angry or want to quit halfway up the mountain. But I will keep going. I will keep walking like all those who have gone before me have continued to do as well. I follow their footprints. And I keep walking. As long as I keep walking, I know I'm doing okay, no matter how hard it seems at times.

5 Months

I taught all day today. Really wished I could have made it up to the cemetery. I don't have much more to add on to what I posted 2 days ago, but I wanted to mark the anniversary. It feels like an extra hard one today. I'm hoping this is just another stage in the grief process that I'm walking through.

Next week will be a year since her diagnosis. Maybe that's what is bringing all this on...I guess only time will tell.

Tasks of Grief

I don't really understand why, as I come up to the 5 month anniversary of my mom's death, that it seems to get harder rather than easier.

I feel like I cry every day now. I'm telling myself it's PMS...and it is certainly bigger when I'm in an emotional upheaval, but I know that I have cried at least once a day in the last two weeks. And not just cried...but sobbed...painfully...from deep down inside. I miss my mom terribly. Is it just reality setting in and I'm working through it? I don't know...but as I do when I need answers...I went searching on the web. :-O

And I found this...it talked about some tasks of grief...I've copied the first two because they are most relevant to me.

• Tell the story: Talk about what has happened until it becomes real. Talk to caring family and friends, attend a support group, begin individual work with a mental health professional, but find a way to speak about the person who died and how the death has impacted your life and family. Tell the story until you don't need to tell it anymore. Chances are, you will be close to acceptance at that point.

I know therapy would help. I KNOW this. I'm working towards being a therapist for pete's sake...I know therapy would help. But $$ wise, it's just not in the cards right now, so this blog has been my personal therapy. I do feel that I've told the story...although I admit, I refrain from telling it out loud much anymore because I feel like people are thinking, "Come on...it's been 5 months...move on". And I have moved forward...but it's "only" been 5 months.

• Express the Emotions: Grief is filled with conflicting tidal waves of emotion. Just when you think you've accepted the death, disbelief may sweep over you again. You may feel intense anger along with equally intense feelings of love and loss. Or, in the midst of crying about the person's death, a sense of unreality may surface again. No matter what the range of emotions, all are to be expected during grief. It is crucial to get the emotions outside of yourself. "Stuffed" feelings can build and build and become overwhelming. Scream, cry, write, draw, punch a punching bag, tell an empathetic someone, take a walk, do SOMETHING to express what you feel.

This is really what I feel. That just when I thought I had accepted things, "disbelief swept over me again". This is exactly how I feel right now.

Then the 7 stages of grief (which I once thought were only 5...who knew?)

7 Stages of Grief...

1. SHOCK & DENIAL-
You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

2. PAIN & GUILT-
As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.

You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn't do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.

3. ANGER & BARGAINING-
Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion.

You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?" You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair ("I will never drink again if you just bring him back")

4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.

During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

This, again, sounds just like where I am. I guess it's good to hear I may be normal (although some would argue that. ;-)). Just reading this stage makes me cry.

5. THE UPWARD TURN-
As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your "depression" begins to lift slightly.

But see, I felt like I was already here. I know people have said that you go through the stages, sometimes back and forth...perhaps that is what is happening. It's just frustrating to think I was on my upward turn and somehow slid backwards. Is it possible I tried to do it all too fast?

6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-
As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

And I felt like I was doing this too...and I do still feel like this. I suppose you can be in more than one stage at the same time.

7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.

You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living.

I think that's the thing that has surprised me..."the wrenching pain" that has resurfaced. I know I'm going to be sad. But I thought the wrenching pain was over. And it's not. It's back with a vengeance.

And yet, I'm still moving forward. I still feel strong. I still do my "stuff"...but the break downs in my car and alone in the bathroom have increased and have surprised me.

I guess in reading through all the above though, I'm not completely out of the ordinary.

The bottom line right now is that I hurt. I hurt for me. I hurt for my dad. I hurt for my brother. I hurt for my extended family. I hurt for all of us. The loss of my mom has been enormous in so many ways for so many of us.

And I just have to believe this resurface of pain and feelings of loss is normal in this journey through grief and mourning. It's surprising and unpleasant, but seemingly "normal" in a process that seems anything but "normal".

March

So, here it is...March 1st. I'm thrilled that winter is nearing an end and before this month is over, it will officially be Spring.

However, with March comes an "anniversary" that I have been dreading. I know that my birthday and Mother's Day are going to be extra difficult this year...but March 19th is coming up even faster and it's a day that I've been pretending holds no meaning, but instead, as it approaches, I have to acknowledge how much meaning it actually does hold for me.

On March 19th last year, I was at the birth center preparing to teach the last night of a 5 week childbirth class series. My classes start at 6:30pm and just before 6:30, my phone rang and it was mom and dad's number. I was instantly a little concerned because mom and dad rarely ever called me. I did all the calling. So, I answered the phone and mom and dad were both there on speaker. Dad said, "Well, we have some good news and some bad news." I said, "Okay..." and dad went on to tell me about receiving a check from the Dept. of Revenue for money that I had found was due to them online. I said that was great and then asked about the bad news, to which my mom said, through tears..."Well, it's really bad..." and then she broke down and said dad was going to need to tell me. I knew this was definitely really bad and I made my way back to one of the birth rooms to be alone.

I don't know that I'll ever forget the moment that dad walked me through their week and mom being in the hospital for three days and having her stomach drained and the reality that it was likely cancer. I stood in that birth room with tears pouring down my face and trying to figure out how I was going to compose myself in order to teach my class. But somehow I did it. I taught my class and then sobbed the entire way home. I remember thinking that I had just been living my normal life and my mom had been lying in the hospital. I remember being angry that they didn't call and tell me. But I think I just needed to be angry at something right then.

The next day I waited and waited for mom and dad to call to give me an update as they were going to have another appointment to get the test results. I finally called them and it is another moment I'll never forget. It was definitely cancer. And it was bad. And when I asked for how long, dad said, "3 months without chemo, a year with..." There has never been another time in my 40 years when a few words have dropped me to the floor, but those did. I found myself on the floor in my kitchen sobbing from a place I had never been to before.

And the rest...well, you all know the rest...it's when I began this blog...coming up on a year ago. And as I turned over the calendar this morning, the reality of that "anniversary" really hit me and I'm having to accept that those couple of days will be hard this month.

The holidays were hard...but I think I was still numb. I knew that this Spring was going to hold some difficult days, but I was in denial they were to start this month.

March 19th (cancer diagnosis). April 30th (my birthday). May 9th (Mother's Day). June 6th (Mom's birthday).

Looks like one a month starting later this month.

I will survive as I always have. I guess I just need to prepare myself for them and not let them sneak up on me.

On a side note, 2 weeks ago, the boys and I went up to Arlington and I drove dad back down to the cemetery. It was the first time he had been there since November and the first time he had any time alone there with mom. I left him alone for a while so he could just be there with her. I think it was good for him. The cemetery has been my place of cleansing. It is where I can go and cry and just feel like I can talk directly to mom. I hope to be able to get up there and do this once a month for dad. It's a lot of driving, but I think it's important.

I have to admit, I'm feeling fairly overwhelmed these days with everything going on in my life right now, but I guess this is the 40s. Taking care of my children and my dad all the while trying to take care of myself in there somewhere too. I am finally focusing on my health a little again. The last 5 years have taken a toll on my body...the last year especially. I finally am trying to shed the protective cover I have been carrying around on me. I've lost 10 pounds and hope to be at my goal weight by August. It feels good to feel like I'm in control of that when everything else in my life seems so out of control. And I'm 1/4 of the way done on my way to my Bachelor's Degree. Just like that. This week I will complete my 3rd term out of 12. I'm on the Dean's List. Mom would be so damn proud. That I know. I know it's important to take care of ME too. But I have always done a very poor job of that. I'm trying to change that a little this year.

And so here is March. I am SO looking forward to longer days and blooming flowers. But I can't help remembering how much I was looking forward to all that last year as well. And how it seemed my world stopped rotating 2 days before Spring began. I realize that is not likely to happen again this year, but I have never forgotten how one simple phone call can change your world.

I am hoping to enjoy this Spring a little more. Last year as I was anticipating Spring, I didn't expect that I would look forward to future Spring seasons in order to have warmer trips to the cemetery and more time to spend there, but that is on my list this year. As I expect it will be for the rest of my life.

Last Spring my entire life was turned upside down. But I survived the upheaval. I'm waking and walking and surviving every day in my new world. And I will continue to do so.

Spring holds challenges for me this year, but hopefully none like last year. I can get through these challenges. After surviving last year, I know I can get through anything.