The Art of Grieving

Everyone has an idea, a philosophy, a recommendation of what to do to handle the grieving of another. The truth of is it, what happens, happens. Some handle it well, but maybe it just seems that way on the outside. Regardless of what anyone says, another truth is that it takes time. As a dear friend/cousin of mine recently told me, now as she is enjoying her 80's, you "never get over the death of your mother, you just get more used to it." That's good information to know, and makes me feel less of a freak for feeling like I do sometimes, towards myself, my family, my extended family, and my friends. There are no rules of how to deal with death, a reality that we all know will come our way, one day, but for which we never seem to be ready.

What I have learned in all this is monumentally invaluable, and perhaps most of all I learned that I will never shelter my son from the natural course of life, and will particularly emphasize the importance of remembering the beauty of the person that died. We all die. We all live. The trick is understanding that the quality of how we live is a result of the different choices we all make, including how we handle the passing of a loved one. What I learned is that when a mother dies, her family unit may scramble to figure out what to do next, and sometimes that is a painful process, can involuntarily lead to the unintended alienation of others, with no definitive end in sight.

But, I am a believer, and I believe that things will work themselves out the way they are supposed to, whether I agree with the end result or not. It is not mine to determine, and if I ever felt a need to try to direct what "should be" or what "could be" well then I forever give up that role, it is not worth the heartache and misunderstandings, and any other fallout that will surely happen.

Last week I had the experience of a close friend who finally had the opportunity to pin me down, to push push push until I felt like exploding and just getting up and leaving altogether. She is concerned that I have made poor decisions, that I am not focusing on what is most important in my life, my son and husband and myself, and that I am pretty much floundering around. Hmmmm. Not exactly how I would have described it, although I do admit that the past couple years have not been the easiest. Letting friends go, the passing of a couple of friends, the passing of a grandmother, long-time close friend awaiting trial for 5-yr molestation of step-daughters, petty misdemeanor because our dog injured a small child while in my care (and then the kid's dad died 1 week before trial), finishing up my bachelor's degree after 25 years and 5 colleges later, starting my master's degree so I can go back to work when our son is in 1st grade, and then Mom died. Sure, lots of little things in between, life is life. The truth is, I've never had to "lose" friends, I don't break the law (and, our dog was sick, the kid squeezed her neck while she was sleeping, and our mayor is an egotistical jerk), I didn't take care of myself first when trying to get my degree all those years ago, and the hardest thing I've ever done yet in my life is to lay my Mother to rest.

But, I did make a conscious decision to take better care of myself and my immediate family, and this was BEFORE my friend pushed so hard, even though I know she means well. That is my priority, the rest will happen as it happens, I am not pushing or pulling, or trying to convince others to "do the right thing". They will either do the right thing, or not. We all have to live with our decisions. My decision is to focus internally on myself, as I once did many years ago, and to focus on my family unit, as it deserves to be.

So, managing life while perfecting, or dealing, or figuring out the art of grieving can be a tricky proposition, if you let it be that way. The truth is there are many out there who are willing and available to listen and give (or not give) feedback. The strength and beauty is in the memories of the loved one who passed, and in the continued relationships of those who temporarily remain behind on this existance on earth. May we all find our paths, and may those paths be filled with love and happiness.

A small window into how a big country family handles death. It's the hardest thing I've had to deal with yet.

So, Mom passed in July 2007. I know she's all around me, but I miss talking to her on the phone. I want back the option to see her in person when I go home to visit. I have lots of memories and plenty of people who loved her who will talk about stories and favorite memories. So, what's missing? My siblings, the brothers and sisters, those I lived with when growing up. There are ten of us, 5 boys, 5 girls, I am the oldest. Mom died, the family fell apart. We swore we'd "never do that" but yet here we are. Some have cut off all forms of communication with no explanation. Anger and bitterness, sadness and depression to spare. Gone are the opportunities in the first year following the death of a loved one where we can exchange beautiful memories and laugh and cry together, for it was stolen by the anger and bitterness. Perhaps those who acted and continue to act out in this way truly "can't help it" but then they are protected by some of the others in the pack of 10. This pack, which comes with spouses and lots of children in each of the 10 families.

There are the ones who want to move things along, for didn't we appoint a friend of Mom's to act as her executor? Thank goodness Grandma no longer had to deal with the ignorance that has dominated this process from the very first day of "finding out" all the way to today. But, surely, the family can see how the obviously ineffective communication, and LACK of communication has led us to this place of frustration. And now as the witching hour descends upon us, those who are in denial and refuse to cooperate on any level are being pressured to cooperate so the situation does not escalate into a court situation. It never needs to go to court, it should have been able to be handled months ago. For those that don't agree that an estate must be handled within months, because "it's too soon" or "I'm not ready" or "he's/she's just not ready yet" or "they just can't handle it right now"....well, let me inform you ALL that when there are TEN of you, that option does NOT EXIST!!! As much as I love my Mother, I know that we have to move forward with her wishes.

Even though that means her house and her things will no longer exist as we all remember them. They won't be in the same places. They will be moved to various houses. The next time I go back to my home in down county, it won't be the home I grew up in any longer. That hurts my heart, and I can understand how those who chose to stay in the county would be the most resistent. Those of us who moved away from the county obviously have had a different experience with this sad passing of Mom and the inevitable handling of her things. I did not just say it was "easier" to handle, now did I? It may be different, but it is assuredly NOT easier.

So a division between the dedicated ones who stayed versus the ones who moved away. Dividing line between those who use email and those who don't. Dividing line between those who "appear" to be handling things and those who just cannot contain how angry, bitter or hurt they may be feeling. Now, a dividing line between anyone who expresses a valid argument with those who just don't want to discuss ANYTHING about it. Leave it alone and it will just go away.

But, don't forget: the witching hour!!! It is upon us. I tried for months in a gentle and nurturing way to try to pull us all together. Asked for a few things to get started on, such as scanning photos so we can all have something that just cannot be equally divided into 10 parts. Sure, you can divide over 10K pictures into 10 piles, but wtf! That's not the right thing to do, we all know that. So, one person holds onto the pictures and tells no one, it's a secret, all a secret. What is done with the pictures, why they are held at one place and unavailable for anyone else, why they can't be split up to be scanned by several people. The intentions by me were very clear. They were rejected over and over again. Thus, the situation inevitably escalates, and now involves EVERYONE. And, everyone has an opinion. Didn't have opinions months ago. But, the witching hour is upon us, and many of the 10 are getting nervous, scared, don't know what to do. Don't know what to do with the bumps in the road that have now become unpassable obstacles. But, it needs to be resolved.

So, another out of towner sibling makes a 2nd visit to help sort thru the "things", a job that has to be done. The scared feelings are now up front and raging by many. Most have no idea how to handle these emotions, and so revert to the plan we all know so well: attack. Beat up the perpetrator. Oh, yes, she's a sister, not a perpetrator. But, she's moving Mom's things! She's pushing us along. And then the other one, me, well, she's just doing it all wrong. Why does she ever call? Why does she ever have to KEEP bringing it up? Why can't she just figure it out that WE DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH REALITY. We just don't want to laugh and talk about the good times. We can't handle remembering the beautiful woman Mom was, how dedicated she was to her family, how she just wanted us all to get along and be happy in life.

AND: She wanted us to have FUN ** imagine that, FUN! ** when we went through, these are her words, "when you go thru the house, you will probably find lots of little treasures that you will be glad you got to share and have." And, I can tell you, from spending 3 weeks going through her papers, that was an understatement! Thank you, Mom! But here we are, NOT having fun, not laughing, not sharing memories, just the crankiness that comes from fear and the unwillingness to be open to the possibilities.

The solution?

I will move myself and my immediate family along. I can't handle the negativity anymore. I will not spend anymore energy trying to "fix" that which I am no longer welcome to discuss with the majority of the 10. I can only be thankful for the few that kept their arms open and could see things for how they really are and were, and who did not brutally, or passively, reject any efforts by me and others to "do the right thing". Those who can see would recognize how much it hurts to say goodbye, AND realize that I feel it, too. On some levels, perhaps more than others.

But then, I believe in the afterlife, and I believe spirits can communicate with us if we are but open to that experience, as well. It's a beautiful thing, and I communicate with Mom and others all the time.

And life goes on, and my headache is now over.

The Great Shaw P. Mills is back!

All us folk from Down County love us some Shawpy! And it warms my heart to see he's back and giving his weekly sermon after such a long hiatus! Yay for us! You can catch his wisdom at his host's blagh page: http://oneferry.blogspot.com/.

I can't wait to see what's in store for us next week.... be sure to tell all ya'll friends 'bout the fabulous news!

bloody mess!

Well, it wasn't exactly blood, but it WAS red, and it was hard to clean up. Fingernail polish actually splashes everwhere when you drop a bottle with a loose lid from the inside of your car. Dammit! We were on the way to the car dealership to drop my car for an oil change yesterday, then off to a mattinee movie (Vantage Point, excellent movie!) to start our weekend of anniversary celebration. I have a black fingernail on my left middle finger from when I got it jammed on the conveyer belt at the grocery store mid-Deccember when a frozen turkey rolled back on it. Since then, I have had to keep on fingernail polish on my otherwise short and brittle fingernails, or endure the inevitable question, "Wow, that must have hurt, what did you do to it?" So, I started putting on the first coat of brilliantly red polish before we left the house, but got sidetracked and had to stop and just took the bottle with me. I figured I could finish once we got to the theater, since it wouldn't be crowded on a Fri. at 11:30 am and we were going to be early.

Well.....I went to put it in my purse once I got in my van, and it slipped out, which is when I realized the lid was just sitting on it. Nail polish went everwhere, surprisingly for such a short fall from such a small bottle. Thank goodness for Betty Boop floor mats, but it still left a 6" streak on the floor carpet, a blob on the carpet, a couple places on the passenger seat, on the vinyl all in the front and at the bottom of the seat, and all over the floor mat. As I reached down with a baby wipe to take up some of it before it completely QUICK dried, like polish is supposed to do, well, that is when I discovered it was on the vinyl on the front of the seat. Which was now on the inside of my arm and elbow area, about 8" worth of smeared polish. I wiped up the best i could, but since it was RED, I think it only got worse.

This is about the time that Mike had circled back around the neighborhood to see why I hadn't followed him out. I couldn't do anything but smile, 'cause how does one gracefully explain splattered nail polish bottle that I was apparently now wearing on my arm and only a little on my nails? I just held up the bunched up red streaked baby wipes, which probably looked like blood from his vantage point, and he asked with a puzzled look, "What is that?!" So, I hesitated slightly before biting the bullet and told him it was nail polish, that I had dropped my bottle on the floor. Of course, he just looked at me increduously and drove off saying, "I'll meet you there." I think he actually shook his head a little, and I do know he was speachless for once. Later he asked me why I was trying to put on nail polish while starting to drive the van, which "of course!" was not my intention at all.

So, by now we're going to be cutting it closer to get to the movies on time, so I didn't have time to go back in and look for polish remover. I figured I'd ask the mechanics at the garage if I could have a spray of wd-40, which should take off the polish on my arm, but the manager lied when he said all he had was window cleaner, idiot, but I wasn't going to waste our anniversary getting in a bad mood by arguing with him. The dealership has about 20 bays in it, I'm sure if I was in my 20's he might have been a little more accommodating.

Off to the movies in polish and with a husband who likes to poke fun and point out the obvious. When we got home later, and Mike had picked up Christopher from pre-school, the little guy was very concerned about what he thought was blood all over my arm. Apparently I had actually managed to get it on BOTH sides of my right arm...in case it wasn't already obvious to passersby.

As soon as we got the house cleaned up a bit, as we were going to have a babysitter over and go out to dinner for our anniversary, I found my 4-yr old bottle of nail polish remover, which was still 1/2 full at that point. It's almost empty now. Used it to get off the offensive polish on my body, and then attacked the carpeting in the van. This is when I discovered just how much splashing that little tiny bottle can do, how far polish can travel when only dropped about 18 inches! Fortunately, most of it came up pretty easily, there is only a small barely visible streak of polish and small blob on the floor, and a tiny blob on he chair fabric. Vinyl cleans up easily, thankfully!

So, the moral of the story is: it's really easier all around when you don't let a frozen turkey smash your middle finger on the conveyer belt bar in a grocery store!

And so we started our anniversary weekend.....