Grief

This grieving process is definitely something new for me. Yesterday was mom's cemetary service. I felt an incredible amount of peace having her finally at rest. I felt that sense of peace for most of the day. I thought that maybe I was moving forward. I thought I was making good progress.

Then the sun went down. As I laid in bed last night with the world quiet all around me, my head started spinning. It almost felt like a movie was playing in my head. You know when you watch a movie and they show you all the things flashing through someone's head? That was my head last night. I was seeing the hospital room where mom got her paracentesis performed. I was seeing the way she looked at me. I was seeing the color of the fluid for the first time when it changed to red and I knew something was up. I was seeing her at home the last couple of times I saw her before she died. I was seeing her wither away. I was hearing the sounds she made in her final moments. Intermixed with all this I was seeing little moments from times when I was growing up. It was all just a second of a glimpse of everything and it was moving fast and around and around. And then I was seeing dad all alone in their house. He told me he was lonely last night. I hurt for him. I saw happy times of them together. All of it was just spinning and spinning around in my head.

And then the tears came. And I didn't want to let them come. I have said here before that I cry. It's what I do. At mom's funeral I was a blubbering mess. I couldn't stop crying. I thought maybe I had let most of it out. But rationally, I know that's not true. Last night I just didn't want them to come though. I felt like it was going to be a waterfall of emotions and I wasn't ready. And so I pulled it together and somehow willed myself to sleep.

Today I am tired. So tired. Emotionally and physically.

When I teach labor to parents I explain that it is a full body experience. It involves your body, your mind, your soul. It's not just physical pain. It is truly a full body experience and people have to respect that in order to get through it. I explain the same thing about postpartum. A woman's body is recovering. She may feel good, but she has to remember to take care of herself because her body is recovering from a major transition.

It seems this is the same with grief. I've just started the process, but it is obvious to me that it is a full body experience. It's not just my mind involved in this. It is my physical body and my soul as well. Getting up in the morning is HARD. I don't have the energy to work out even though I know I need to.

I started my new classes on Sunday and am struggling with putting together sentences. I'll get through it, but it's harder than it once was.

Yesterday I thought I was doing well. Today, I feel so sad again. Maybe today is the hardest because Olly is back to work for the first time since Friday and it has been a busy few days. Friday we went up to Arlington, I picked up mom's ashes, we stayed in a hotel and spent time with family. Saturday was mom's funeral. Sunday was actually a day of rest, but Olly was home with me. Yesterday was mom's cemetery service.

Today really is day 1 of moving forward. It's been two weeks since mom died. Two weeks ago I was making the trek up to spend some time with dad and help him with mom. And she died.

In those two weeks, I have also done a birth, taught two classes, did 4 doula related appointments, took 2 finals, finished my first term at school, and started my 2nd term. What I probably haven't done enough of is rest and mourn. I know I probably should. But my mind just doesn't want to do it.

Two weeks. It honestly seems like an eternity in some ways. So much has happened in those two weeks and now life starts to return to "normal". Even more normal than the last 6 months. There are no more paracentesis appointments. There is no more waiting and wondering. Although I'll still be calling and checking in on dad twice a day, I'm not terrified of making that call. Life will return to a new normal. A normal where my mom is no longer here on this earth. It's not really a normal I want, but it is what I have.

And perhaps that normal is what terrifies me now. But it may be the thing that gets me through this. Tomorrow is the last of my 8 days off. It went fast. Right now, I'm not feeling ready to get up in front of a class and be "on", but I know that once I'm there I will fall right back into it. I have already noticed that some stories I tell that include my mom will change. I can't, and don't want to, pretend that she is still alive. So, even my work will change. But it is my work. And I love what I do. I have 3 births coming up. I'm ready for those. I'm looking forward to them. I need them. Those births remind me about the beauty of LIFE. I had planned to take December off, but may pick up one more birth simply because I want to.

And so as life returns to it's new normal, I am thankful for all that I have to keep me busy. But it's obvious that the grief will find it's way in when it can. At night. In the silence. And then I think about dad who doesn't have all that I have to keep me busy. I told Kiersten that it seems so unfair that we have so much to keep us busy that we can't stop to grieve and my dad needs something to keep him busy so he doesn't have to sit alone in that house only thinking of all he has lost.

Nonetheless...we all have to grieve. We can push it away and push it away, but it will find its way in. And I have to allow it in if I want to work my way through it.

It is a full body experience, and like labor, you have to work with it and not fight against it.

It's not easy in labor. It's not easy with grief. But the really important stuff in life is never easy.

Mom's Funeral (w/video link and copy of eulogy)

It is the day after my mom's funeral. It's still feeling awfully surreal and I am processing SO much. Her service was so beautiful. She and my dad are loved by so many people.

Olly and I went bowling last night because I just couldn't stand the idea of staying in. I needed to see people living life. I, myself, needed to live a little of my own life. I realized yesterday that it has really been on hold for the past 6 months. I've been afraid to have fun. I've been afraid to live. I've been paralyzed with fear over the idea of losing my mom.

And now that loss is a reality. And I have to figure out how to move forward. Tomorrow is mom's cemetery service where she will be given her final resting place. After that...I need to start taking forward steps. Slowly, but deliberately. It is what my mom would want.

I decided last night that every June 6th (mom's birthday) and every October 13th (the day mom died), I will make a trek to one of our local casinos and I will bring a roll of quarters. And I will play until they are gone. I am not a gambler. I work too hard for my money to stick it in a machine and watch it disappear. It always made mom a little sad that I didn't have the gambling gene. ;-) So, twice a year, I will sit at a draw poker machine and gamble a little bit with my mom. I know she will be sitting right beside me cheering me on.

Thank you to all of you who made it a point to tell me how much this blog has meant to you. I was touched. I did start it for myself. For my own personal therapy. And it has served me well. But I'm glad that many of you have received something from it too. I intend to keep blogging as I make my way through the grieving process. I hope you will all share that journey with me as well. It gives me comfort to think I'm not walking this path alone.

For those of you who were at the funeral and asked for copies of Michael's Eulogy and mom's video...and for those of you who weren't there and who might like to see the video that Olly and I put together and read Michael's amazing eulogy (I wish we would have videotaped it...his presentation was incredible)...here you go...

Mom's Video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)

Michael's Eulogy

This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.

Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.

I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.

It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.

This operates against logic, against human will.

To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.

When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:

You fight it with all of your strength.

Go in swinging, go down swinging.

Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.

But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.

And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.

Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.

She let go.

This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.

I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.

She went to the casino.

She ate pizza.

She even drank beer.

She let go so she could live.

With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.

In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.

I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.

But she did it.

She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.

“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously

And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”

I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.

Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.

I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.

I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.

Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:

Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.

When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.

Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.

Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.

I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.

I understand why you didn't want me to play football.

I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.

I understand why you spoiled me.

I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.

I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.

I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.

I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.

I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.

Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.

I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.

And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.

I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.

Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.

I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.

I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.

I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.

I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.

I understand why you had a well stocked bar.

I understand how much you cared for us.

I understand how much you loved us.

I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.

To be selfless.

To sacrifice for those you love.

To be loyal to your friends.

To be loyal to your family.

To love your family almost to a fault.

To know when to stand and fight.

And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.

Perspective and more pain

I have mentioned here before that a Doula acquaintance of mine has been struggling with a terrible, aggressive cancer in her 14 year old son. His battle has been going on about as long as my mom's. His name was Sam. And Sam lost his battle today.

I am heartbroken. I never met Sam except through his mom's blog. But I feel his loss.

And it is bringing up so much pain. And anger. And yet, there is perspective. My mom was too young to die. She just was. She had so much life yet to live.

But 14??? That doesn't make sense at all.

The pain I feel at the loss of my mom is sometimes unbearable. But the idea of losing one of my children is a pain my heart and brain refuse to let me even try to imagine. I grabbed both my boys and held on for dear life tonight. I can't imagine my world without them in it.

I am hurting for this Sam's family. His mom and dad and brother and sister. I am hurting for myself and my family. I am hurting for the loss of two people that should still be here. I'm questioning so much right now.

And yet, I am also envisioning my mom welcoming this young man into Heaven...telling him she is new too and showing him around.

None of it makes any sense. All my wounds feel open and raw tonight.

I am just so incredibly sad.

Firsts

I apparently am now defining my life in the "first since my mom died" moments. There was the first night trying to sleep after my mom died. The first morning waking up without my mom. The first class taught since my mom died. The first grades since my mom died. The first birth since my mom died. Today was my first grocery trip since mom died.

It's odd...it's how I define everything these days without really even thinking about it.

The grocery store was tough today though and reminded me that it's time to start going easy on myself. My stress level is incredibly high and my patience level is incredibly low. I don't have time for the rudeness of people. I found myself taking lots of deep breaths just trying to make my way through the process.

It's as if my life stopped and started over the day my mom died. There is my life WITH my mom and my life WITHOUT my mom. And they are two completely different worlds. At some point, far down the line, I assume they will meld together in some ways. But right now, they are so starkly different.

And my shoulders...my poor shoulders. I have always carried my stress in my shoulders and by about this time every day, they are just aching. I am trying SO hard to deep breathe and release stress, but the stress is winning. I am wiped out every day by about 3pm. I sleep hard and am refreshed by morning, but ugh...it's getting to me. I can't run much longer.

Tonight is a prenatal appt with clients and tomorrow I teach and then I'm done for 8 days. Done. Completely done. I hopefully will even be done with school for this term. I finished one class today. I hope to finish my other tomorrow. And then I can let go for a bit. I can just feel all the things I'm trying to avoid right now for fear that if I start to melt, I just might not stop and I still have things to do. But the emotions are building, bubbling...just waiting to erupt. I'm afraid of what this is going to look or feel like. I've seen bits and pieces. It's something I've never felt. It's so new and scary. All of it. And yet, what choice do I have but to make my way through it?

The funeral planning continues. It's odd planning my mom's funeral while birthing and visiting with clients and doing my finals. Again...it's like two different worlds.

One day I'm going to laugh and really feel it again right? I mean, I have laughed. I have smiled, but it doesn't feel the same on the inside...as though the pain just eats the happiness up from the inside out. I assume that will get better. I know my mom would want me to have happiness. I know she wouldn't want me sad all the time. But it's not as easy as that. I underestimated this pain. I really did. It has a life of its own and it's powerful. I'm trying to be stronger than the pain, but it seems like a battle I can't win.

And so I just keep experiencing the firsts. I keep seeing this world through different eyes. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Heck I even did a small workout this morning. But everything seems so different. And lonelier. I can't even imagine what it's like for my dad. I have my kids and Olly to keep me company. He just has phone calls. It makes me really sad to think about it. We both talked yesterday about how we think of things to tell mom and then instantly are reminded she's not here to tell. I hate it.

Olly is working hard on a beautiful photo montage for the reception after the funeral. I picked the music and the pictures, but he's done the majority of the work. And I have yet to be able to get through the first few pictures without bursting into tears. Mom's funeral is 5 days away. I don't know how to get through my mom's funeral. It terrifies me. But, as with everything else, what choice do I have? It still feels all so surreal. My head feels so foggy all the time. Decision making is impossible. The little things don't feel little.

I WILL get through this. I know that. But this is harder than I imagined. Harder than I expected. And sometimes it just seems too much.

I feel like I can't miss her any more than I already do...and then each day, I still miss her more.

Be nice to your kids...plan your funeral.

So, today I made another trek up north to go through the funeral preparations with dad. I stopped at the cemetery on the way up to sign some papers. The person at the cemetery sat with me for some time and then took me out to the area where mom and dad had purchased their niche for their urns. I wasn't sure I was ready for it. I was all alone and unprepared. But I am SO glad I did it. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful. Even in the very ugly weather we had today, it was incredible. I felt such peace. I see myself spending many days up at that cemetery walking the grounds with my mom's spirit right beside me.

My parents arranged for everything. I remember not wanting to hear them talk about it back in 2001 when they purchased their niches and paid for everything at the funeral home. I remember feeling it was morbid and I just didn't want to hear it. But, wow... everyone should do this for their children. There have been no questions of what mom wanted or where she wanted her final resting place to be. They handled it all years ago. It has been an incredible blessing for Michael and me. Please, please do this for your children.

The funeral service is pretty much taken care of. Today dad and I just needed to pick out readings and psalms, etc. Just a few things have to be handled and then it's done. The church provided a very simple template and it was fairly easy.

Dad and I went out to lunch afterwards and we talked and cried together. The cemetery gave me a wonderful handout on grief and it was the best thing I've read about what it feels like to grieve. It discusses that it can be months before you feel like you can tackle the little things. That none of that stuff is important. That was good for both me and dad to read. It also mentioned you can often feel like your head is in a cloud of cotton. That was sort of stunning for me because I haven't been able to explain how I feel, but THAT is it!

I have arranged for a day off tomorrow, unless my client goes into labor. I'm looking forward to that. I may just stay in my pajamas and do a little studying and a lot of just "being". Michael and Kiersten will be visiting with dad which makes me happy.

Today was an okay day. I did a lot of crying on my trip up and back alone in my car. Spending time with dad was good for both of us. I'm slowly learning to take better care of myself. I feel a great desire to laugh. We're planning a little get together on Friday night with family to simply laugh before mom's funeral the next day. It is what my mom would want and it will be good for all of us.

Mom's obituary comes out in the paper tomorrow. That will be hard. But none of this is easy. Each step forward is a good one.

Although, I seem to miss her more every day.

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.

And so this is how it ends...

I think everyone that reads my blog already knows that my mom died yesterday.

208 days.

In some ways that is remarkable because I remember hoping and dreaming for 100. But in most ways in my head right now it is so incredibly painful.

I was there with her when she died. It's strange since I had reconciled with the fact that I wouldn't be there. It was a blessing and a curse. Mom's last 1/2 hour was not quiet. But I'm so glad dad wasn't alone.

I will share the story soon. Right now, it's too much. I just got home and am typing this with my mom's wedding ring on my hand.

The pain I feel is sometimes unbearable. And the relief I feel is painful in and of itself.

I hurt in a way I assume you only feel when you lose your mother. I can't believe I'm living in this world without her. I miss her so incredibly much.

I love you Mom. I will love you and miss you for the rest of my life.