I think I'm making progress in the grieving process. Last night I had a dream, and I remembered it. If my unconscious is rejuvenated then surely that means I'm working to heal both the inside and the outside of my psyche.
This dream was one of those house dreams where I'm moving from room to room looking for something or someone. The house was some type of boarding school, and the dining room was full of cans of Spaghettio's and the big, glass bottles of soda. There were a lot of kids and adults running around like it was an Open House. They were dressing up in costumes, and I think one of the rooms was devoted entirely to Halloween costumes. Then the house became a hotel w/ an elevator that I couldn't figure out how to operate so I just ended up on whatever floors other people went to. On one floor, I was in a bar, lying on my stomach, having a drink w/ some friends. My husband walked in, yelled at me, and I was so hurt and embarrassed that I left.
Somehow I ended up on some type of suspended, bridge-like structure hundreds of feet above a large body of water. I'm out on this cylinder-shaped structure, holding on tight while others around me are laughing and continuing their party. At one point I looked down and considered just jumping into the water, but I knew this would be suicide. I couldn't figure out why no one else around me was worried, and I wondered how they could continue to have a good time. Then, all of a sudden, I discovered the cylinder is supported by a lattice-tower so I just climb down.
Again, I was wandering from room to room trying to find the "Exit." Once I found it, I started to walk away but then realized I didn't know what the house looked like from the outside. I needed to know which house it was so I could get back to it. All the houses were extremely run-down and in need of TLC. I went back to the house to make sure I had the right one. I didn't want to go back in to confirm it was the right one, but I knew I had to.
I entered a room that appeared to be more like a back alley. I started pitching at a softball practice w/ adolescents. The coach is a woman I despise, yet I treid hard to please her w/ my pitching. But I'm not using a softball, I'm pitching an ice-ball similar to the one my daughter and I had kicked down the street after walking home from sledding at Cinder Hill. The ice ball became too small so I had to look around for another that's just the right size. When I turn around, instead of a bat, I see a face over the plate. I think it was mine.
How would Freud interpret this? I went to http://dreammoods.com/ for some help. Moving from room to room in a house means I'm going through some personal changes. I'd say this is an understatement. The fact that the house is run-down represents old beliefs and attitudes, and something in my life is causing these feelings to resurface. The only old belief that I think has changed is the belief that my family would always remain the same. I knew death would separate some of us, but Mom's death has even caused living relatives to distance themselves. Didn't see that one coming.
Having children in my dream supposedly means I'm reverting back to my childhood b/c I'm longing for the past and the opportunity to fulfill hopes and desires that I didn't accomplish in my youth. They suggest I take some time off to "cater to the inner child within." I did that yesterday when sledding down Cinder Hill......don't have time again now until June.
The elevator and my inability to figure out how to run it means my emotions are out of control, and I'm feeling like my life is in a rut. This ties in w/ being in the restaurant/bar, which symoblizes I'm feeling overwhelmed by decisions. Now, this is really getting weird how right-on this stuff seems to be. Of course, it seems a lot like astrology, being fairly general so I could apply it to just about any aspect of my life. But I find it interesting so I'll continue.
Playing softball means I'm supposed to go back to my basic beliefs and stay within my own "limits and capabilities." But I was pitching so well. I'm definitely seeing a theme about old beliefs emerging here. I'll have to explore this more in the coming days.
Having water in my dream is probably the most telling of all. Water in general refers to spirituality, knowledge, and healing. Since the water is calm, albeit 500 feet below me, indicates that I am in-touch w/ my spirituality. Bridges in general mean transition and since the bridge is over water, the transition "will be an emotional one."
I have to admit that I've always been a strong believer in dream interpretations, and this vivid dream solidifies my belief. Basically what this dream tells me is I'm normal, and the changes that Mom's death have brought in my life are to be expected. I think it's also fortuitous that I had this dream just before the new year arrives to give me hope that all the pain and sadness are serving a purpose. There's a Blue Moon tonight, which is a rarity and won't happen on New Year's Eve again until 2028. I'll be 64. I hope I'm around to see it again and that I remember the Blue Moon of 2009 and the dream that reassured me that life does go on through the pain and through the sadness.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Today has brought ridiculous red-tape and pure pleasure....fortunately the former did not preclude the latter.
First w/ the red-tape. Dad hasn't received Mom's death certificate so I called the funeral home. Turns out the doctor they sent it to can't sign it, and the one who can is out of the country. Why does a doctor need to make it official? I was there. I saw it. I felt it. Shouldn't someone who's known her for 45 years be able to confirm that she's gone? Why would I lie? I have everything to lose and nothing to gain by my mother being dead. Doctors preserve life; it's part of their Hippocratic Oath. If a doctor has to sign a death certificate, he's saying, "I failed" to uphold my oath. A failure shouldn't be given the power to sign a legal document.
And while we're on the subject of life, let's talk about insurance....life insurance, an oxymoron that ranks right up there w/ reality television. Dad needs Mom's death certificate to collect on her life insurance........as a culture we have some seriously screwed-up semantics. While we were on the subject of life insurance, we decided to look at one of Dad's policies. It's a whole-life policy that he's been paying on since 1967. To-date, he's paid in almost $1000 more than the policy is worth so I called the insurance company. I learned something today......whole-life policy means you pay on it for your WHOLE LIFE. But if Dad does that he'll have given the insurance company even more than they'll pay on his policy when he dies. He has two choices: cash it in now and receive $1060 less than the policy is worth or send a letter requesting a "reduced, paid-up policy" certificate. I wrote the letter this morning. Now he can stop paying the monthly premium, which he has paid faithfully for 42 years, and his heirs will receive $511.10 less than the policy is worth. Whoever first came up w/ the idea of insurance should, like Prometheus, have his liver pecked out by an eagle each day only to have it grow back so the cycle can continue. And there would be no Herakles to rescue him.
Now the pleasure. This was pleasure in its most pure form. I went sledding w/ my daughter. Racing down Cinder Hill on a Red Flexible-Flyer was so much better than dealing w/ red-tape. Cinder Hill is actually a street in my hometown that kids have been sledding down for decades. And I just today learned how it got its name. Because the hill is so steep, in the winter they would put the coal and wood cinders on the road to give people more traction in making it up the hill. In the beauty of a small town in the winter during Christmas vacation, we could put up barricades to block off the street and frolic w/o fear of needing to contact a doctor for a death certificate in order to collect life insurance.....wait....I'm over that. I've moved on to the pure pleasure. And it was bliss. Lying on our stomachs, steering the glider, under the barricade, around the corner, breaking the record for longest ride. Race down, run up; squeal all the way down, smile all the way up. That's what life's about. Spending time w/ family in the pure pursuit of pleasure, and it didn't cost a penny.
The red-tape and the red-flyer have left me mentally and physically exhausted. Good night.
First w/ the red-tape. Dad hasn't received Mom's death certificate so I called the funeral home. Turns out the doctor they sent it to can't sign it, and the one who can is out of the country. Why does a doctor need to make it official? I was there. I saw it. I felt it. Shouldn't someone who's known her for 45 years be able to confirm that she's gone? Why would I lie? I have everything to lose and nothing to gain by my mother being dead. Doctors preserve life; it's part of their Hippocratic Oath. If a doctor has to sign a death certificate, he's saying, "I failed" to uphold my oath. A failure shouldn't be given the power to sign a legal document.
And while we're on the subject of life, let's talk about insurance....life insurance, an oxymoron that ranks right up there w/ reality television. Dad needs Mom's death certificate to collect on her life insurance........as a culture we have some seriously screwed-up semantics. While we were on the subject of life insurance, we decided to look at one of Dad's policies. It's a whole-life policy that he's been paying on since 1967. To-date, he's paid in almost $1000 more than the policy is worth so I called the insurance company. I learned something today......whole-life policy means you pay on it for your WHOLE LIFE. But if Dad does that he'll have given the insurance company even more than they'll pay on his policy when he dies. He has two choices: cash it in now and receive $1060 less than the policy is worth or send a letter requesting a "reduced, paid-up policy" certificate. I wrote the letter this morning. Now he can stop paying the monthly premium, which he has paid faithfully for 42 years, and his heirs will receive $511.10 less than the policy is worth. Whoever first came up w/ the idea of insurance should, like Prometheus, have his liver pecked out by an eagle each day only to have it grow back so the cycle can continue. And there would be no Herakles to rescue him.
Now the pleasure. This was pleasure in its most pure form. I went sledding w/ my daughter. Racing down Cinder Hill on a Red Flexible-Flyer was so much better than dealing w/ red-tape. Cinder Hill is actually a street in my hometown that kids have been sledding down for decades. And I just today learned how it got its name. Because the hill is so steep, in the winter they would put the coal and wood cinders on the road to give people more traction in making it up the hill. In the beauty of a small town in the winter during Christmas vacation, we could put up barricades to block off the street and frolic w/o fear of needing to contact a doctor for a death certificate in order to collect life insurance.....wait....I'm over that. I've moved on to the pure pleasure. And it was bliss. Lying on our stomachs, steering the glider, under the barricade, around the corner, breaking the record for longest ride. Race down, run up; squeal all the way down, smile all the way up. That's what life's about. Spending time w/ family in the pure pursuit of pleasure, and it didn't cost a penny.
The red-tape and the red-flyer have left me mentally and physically exhausted. Good night.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Do we really see the people in our lives? Despite being five foot two, Mom was a huge presence in everything we did as a family. But did I always SEE her? Almost daily now I catch myself thinking, "Well, Mom would know how...." Dad has said similar phrases numerous times today. Phrases like, "Ma always took care of that," and "Ma would know who...." In retrospect, however, I feel like we didn't appreciate her enough; we didn't realize all the work that went into preparing the holiday meals and the Easter egg hunts and the family reunions. When I fixed Mom's fried chicken Dad told me it was very good......just like Mom's. Then there was a catch in his voice as he said, "I never told Ma that, and she always cooked such good meals."
When I was in graduate school, I remember reading a study about how as women age they become more and more invisible. It went so far as to claim that this was why women, who are past child-bearing age, baked cakes so they would still have something to present that would make others go, "Ooh" and "Ah." Everyone sees the cute, young girl, but the wrinkled, old woman all but disappears. I worry that we took Mom for granted and didn't see and appreciate everything she did for us. I worry that I take my husband and children and siblings and friends for granted. There's still time to see them, I mean really see them.
I did today the task I had been dreading....I put away the Christmas decorations that Mom got out at the beginning of this month. The placement of the ceramic Christmas trees and the Nativity scene were just as she had arranged them. Taking them down emphasized that she's not here to put any holiday decorations up ever again, and she decorated for every holiday. Paul Simon or Joni Mitchell (I'm not sure who wrote the lyrics) had it right: "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone." Five and a half years ago I developed double vision as a result of a brain aneurysm. I definitely understood then what it's like to not be able to see, and I got a second chance to see and appreciate everything and everyone. Why must it take cataclysmic events for us to step back and look at what we have in life or what we want out of life? Maybe the next time we're tempted to ask, "Why did this happen?", we should take a self-examination and ask, "What am I overlooking?"
I pledge, and not just as a New Year's resolution, to see and appreciate the people in my life. I pledge to tell them how I feel about them.....well, maybe only the ones that I like. I pledge to be seen and be heard, although those who know me are thinking right now that this has never been an issue. If "seeing is believing" then "telling is healing."
When I was in graduate school, I remember reading a study about how as women age they become more and more invisible. It went so far as to claim that this was why women, who are past child-bearing age, baked cakes so they would still have something to present that would make others go, "Ooh" and "Ah." Everyone sees the cute, young girl, but the wrinkled, old woman all but disappears. I worry that we took Mom for granted and didn't see and appreciate everything she did for us. I worry that I take my husband and children and siblings and friends for granted. There's still time to see them, I mean really see them.
I did today the task I had been dreading....I put away the Christmas decorations that Mom got out at the beginning of this month. The placement of the ceramic Christmas trees and the Nativity scene were just as she had arranged them. Taking them down emphasized that she's not here to put any holiday decorations up ever again, and she decorated for every holiday. Paul Simon or Joni Mitchell (I'm not sure who wrote the lyrics) had it right: "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone." Five and a half years ago I developed double vision as a result of a brain aneurysm. I definitely understood then what it's like to not be able to see, and I got a second chance to see and appreciate everything and everyone. Why must it take cataclysmic events for us to step back and look at what we have in life or what we want out of life? Maybe the next time we're tempted to ask, "Why did this happen?", we should take a self-examination and ask, "What am I overlooking?"
I pledge, and not just as a New Year's resolution, to see and appreciate the people in my life. I pledge to tell them how I feel about them.....well, maybe only the ones that I like. I pledge to be seen and be heard, although those who know me are thinking right now that this has never been an issue. If "seeing is believing" then "telling is healing."
Monday, December 28, 2009
Monday, 28 December 2009
Just got back from walking the dog. The snow is "squeaking underfoot," as Mom used to say. That means it's really cold. In the past when I've thought about loved ones passing away, I always hoped it wouldn't happen in the winter. The thought, "that they should lay (them) in the cold, cold ground," as Ophelia laments about her father's passing, distressed me......, but not enough to drive me crazy. Surpisingly now, however, I haven't really thought about Mom being buried beneath a foot of snow and six feet of frozen earth. I know she's not there....only her mortal trappings. At the cemetery after the funeral, Dad had a difficult time leaving her there, not b/c of her being in the cold, cold ground, but b/c he had to leave her--something he hadn't done in nearly 63 years. And we're trying not to leave Dad alone too much.
I'm back home with him now for a few days. I called him before I left my house to find out what the weather was like. He wasn't home so I got the answering machine. Mom's voice still cheerfully invited me to, "Please leave a message; we'll call back." I hadn't heard her voice in over two weeks, and I wasn't prepared. I couldn't leave a message. Dad wouldn't have been able to understand me anyway.
I've always enjoyed coming home, but today's return was the first time that Mom didn't come racing out the front door to greet me. Even during this last year when she was so very tired, she still met me at the front door with a hug. I've been coming home to this house for 27 years. The first 10 of those my room remained exactly the same, including everything on my bulletin board from my senior year of high school. My older siblings called it the "shrine," and proof that as the baby, I was the most spoiled. This house of my youth holds the warmth and familiarity of a favorite flannel shirt.
I'm typing this on Mom's computer. Her shoes are just beneath me, right where she took them off the last time. Yes, the floor has been swept, but the shoes remain. I noticed Dad has moved some of her clothes from the rocking chair in their bedroom to the dresser there. Baby steps. The day after Mom passed, Dad brought me one of her blouses that had just been washed and said it needed to be ironed. I placed it on the rocking chair. We cleaned out the last of the frozen apples and kale that Mom had put up last year, and Dad unplugged the freezer that had been running since they bought it in the 1970's. Baby steps. It's easier for me to take them here. I thought it would be easier for me to grieve in my own home away from all the physical reminders of Mom. I was wrong. To look up at her sprinkling can collection and sit in her computer chair is comforting.
I know Mom's not in the cold, cold ground. She's home w/ her Savior, who I'm sure greeted her at the front door w/ a hug.
I'm back home with him now for a few days. I called him before I left my house to find out what the weather was like. He wasn't home so I got the answering machine. Mom's voice still cheerfully invited me to, "Please leave a message; we'll call back." I hadn't heard her voice in over two weeks, and I wasn't prepared. I couldn't leave a message. Dad wouldn't have been able to understand me anyway.
I've always enjoyed coming home, but today's return was the first time that Mom didn't come racing out the front door to greet me. Even during this last year when she was so very tired, she still met me at the front door with a hug. I've been coming home to this house for 27 years. The first 10 of those my room remained exactly the same, including everything on my bulletin board from my senior year of high school. My older siblings called it the "shrine," and proof that as the baby, I was the most spoiled. This house of my youth holds the warmth and familiarity of a favorite flannel shirt.
I'm typing this on Mom's computer. Her shoes are just beneath me, right where she took them off the last time. Yes, the floor has been swept, but the shoes remain. I noticed Dad has moved some of her clothes from the rocking chair in their bedroom to the dresser there. Baby steps. The day after Mom passed, Dad brought me one of her blouses that had just been washed and said it needed to be ironed. I placed it on the rocking chair. We cleaned out the last of the frozen apples and kale that Mom had put up last year, and Dad unplugged the freezer that had been running since they bought it in the 1970's. Baby steps. It's easier for me to take them here. I thought it would be easier for me to grieve in my own home away from all the physical reminders of Mom. I was wrong. To look up at her sprinkling can collection and sit in her computer chair is comforting.
I know Mom's not in the cold, cold ground. She's home w/ her Savior, who I'm sure greeted her at the front door w/ a hug.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Dad and other widows and widowers that I've talked to have said that the nights are the worst. Right now it feels like the worst time is from when I wake up until when I fall asleep, which isn't always a given anymore. I used to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but last night like many other nights, I woke up after 30 minutes and couldn't get back to sleep. Good thing we have cable and that TCM runs old movies 24/7. Last night was Tracy and Hepburn as husband and wife attorneys......never did find out the title.
I have no motivation to do much beyond the very basic of needs, and if it wasn't for having my own family, I probably wouldn't even be motivated to fulfill those. My husband's family was supposed to come over to celebrate Christmas today, but the weather prohibited that. The thought of having company doesn't appeal to me, but I know when I'm around other people, I feel better. Talking to my dad and my oldest brother on a regular basis has helped a lot; something like the tie that binds, only in this case the tie is pain. Just talking about daily events w/ them helps us all have some normalcy, and I think it reminds us that we're still alive. My family has never been big on expressing our emotions; we'd rather talk about events. Mom's passing has helped us be more comfortable in comforting each other. I just we could've been more comfortable when she was still w/ us. I think of all the inane conversations we had about the weather and current activities when we could've been telling each other how much we loved and appreciated each other. I asked my daughters if they wanted the URL for this blog so they could read what I've been feeling. They weren't interested. I can't really blame them. When I was a teenager, I didn't want to know what my mom was feeling. Mom asked me last year if I wanted to read her journal. I started to but then got distracted and never finished it. Now I can't find it.
Distractions are such a big part of our lives. We intentionally distract ourselves w/ movies and trivia and unintentionally distract ourselves w/ daily chores and work. W/ all these distractions when do we find time to get around to what matters. But what really matters? I'm too distracted right now to know, and I can't seem to put together coherent ideas, which, for someone who teaches communication, is very frustrating. Maybe I'll go to bed, which means I'll be up in 30 minutes watching a movie.
I have no motivation to do much beyond the very basic of needs, and if it wasn't for having my own family, I probably wouldn't even be motivated to fulfill those. My husband's family was supposed to come over to celebrate Christmas today, but the weather prohibited that. The thought of having company doesn't appeal to me, but I know when I'm around other people, I feel better. Talking to my dad and my oldest brother on a regular basis has helped a lot; something like the tie that binds, only in this case the tie is pain. Just talking about daily events w/ them helps us all have some normalcy, and I think it reminds us that we're still alive. My family has never been big on expressing our emotions; we'd rather talk about events. Mom's passing has helped us be more comfortable in comforting each other. I just we could've been more comfortable when she was still w/ us. I think of all the inane conversations we had about the weather and current activities when we could've been telling each other how much we loved and appreciated each other. I asked my daughters if they wanted the URL for this blog so they could read what I've been feeling. They weren't interested. I can't really blame them. When I was a teenager, I didn't want to know what my mom was feeling. Mom asked me last year if I wanted to read her journal. I started to but then got distracted and never finished it. Now I can't find it.
Distractions are such a big part of our lives. We intentionally distract ourselves w/ movies and trivia and unintentionally distract ourselves w/ daily chores and work. W/ all these distractions when do we find time to get around to what matters. But what really matters? I'm too distracted right now to know, and I can't seem to put together coherent ideas, which, for someone who teaches communication, is very frustrating. Maybe I'll go to bed, which means I'll be up in 30 minutes watching a movie.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Why am I doing this? I could keep a private journal to express my feelings. My oldest brother has kept a journal since the 1980's, and he writes it in practically daily. My great grandmother kept a journal that spanned the 1880's to the 1930's. I have journals w/ about a half dozen entries per year so why a blog? I've asked several friends and relatives this question, but noone has gotten back to me yet. I'm hoping it's the holidays that's keeping them from responding and not that they can't find the words to tell me this is a stupid idea. See, even now I'm focusing more on if this is the forum in which to work through the grieving process rather than focusing on the grieving process. But actually, I'm hoping this blog will keep me focused on the pin-ball-esque feelings that I'm experiencing each day. I know from past experience that I won't continue to write daily if this journal is kept private; I need the potential public scrutiny to keep me writing. And if I keep writing, maybe at the one-year anniversary of Mom's passing, I won't feel so empty. Okay, I'm going to look at this first paragraph today as an exercise in free writing--that I have to get through all the junk in my head to get to the jewels.
I guess this is the part now where I get to the jewels. According to Hospice of the North Shore and their link about The Grieving Process (http://www.hns.org/Center_for_Grief_Healing/The_Grieving_Process.aspx), "The grieving process gives us time to reflect and find new strength that enables us to continue life's journey and regain peace-of-mind." Looks like this blog is now a travel journal toward sanity, back to a place and time when I could look at a tree and see its beauty and not think how much Mom hated to see them cut down. I must be doing something right here b/c the first sentence on the link about The Stages of Grief (http://www.hns.org/Portals/1/Stages%20of%20Grief.pdf) says that I can't rush my grief, and that most times it takes at least a year to deal w/ the "purest pain (I) have ever known."
According to the Center for Grief and Healing (www.griefandhealing.org), "Shared feelings are a gift, and bring a closeness to all involved." That's part of the Emotional Release stage. Or am I in the "Preoccupation w/ the Deceased or the Crisis" stage? But I also have Symptoms of Physical and Emotional Distress b/c there's that "empty hollow feeling" and a "feeling that no one really understands and cares." Stages implies that I'm supposed to go through one at a time and a process implies that I'm supposed to do them in a step-by-step order. Why am I showing signs of multiple stages at once? Is that a sign that I'm thoroughly screwed up? I'm holding out hope that once I experience everything the experts say I'm supposed to experience then in one year, I'll magically feel less like crap.
My mantra for today is "I'm doing this to help me grieve and heal." I definitely passed through the Shock stage quickly b/c I was able to "express emotions immediately." Although Mom's passing wasn't expected just yet, we knew she only had a few months. The shock mostly came when we had to honor her wishes to have the breathing tube removed, knowing the end would come shortly thereafter. I'm going to continue to express my emotions, even those of anger, and cherish seeing Mom in every tree I pass. She had the courage and grace to face six types of cancer in her lifetime of 79 years. I should be able to have the strength to handle a year of The Grieving Process.
I guess this is the part now where I get to the jewels. According to Hospice of the North Shore and their link about The Grieving Process (http://www.hns.org/Center_for_Grief_Healing/The_Grieving_Process.aspx), "The grieving process gives us time to reflect and find new strength that enables us to continue life's journey and regain peace-of-mind." Looks like this blog is now a travel journal toward sanity, back to a place and time when I could look at a tree and see its beauty and not think how much Mom hated to see them cut down. I must be doing something right here b/c the first sentence on the link about The Stages of Grief (http://www.hns.org/Portals/1/Stages%20of%20Grief.pdf) says that I can't rush my grief, and that most times it takes at least a year to deal w/ the "purest pain (I) have ever known."
According to the Center for Grief and Healing (www.griefandhealing.org), "Shared feelings are a gift, and bring a closeness to all involved." That's part of the Emotional Release stage. Or am I in the "Preoccupation w/ the Deceased or the Crisis" stage? But I also have Symptoms of Physical and Emotional Distress b/c there's that "empty hollow feeling" and a "feeling that no one really understands and cares." Stages implies that I'm supposed to go through one at a time and a process implies that I'm supposed to do them in a step-by-step order. Why am I showing signs of multiple stages at once? Is that a sign that I'm thoroughly screwed up? I'm holding out hope that once I experience everything the experts say I'm supposed to experience then in one year, I'll magically feel less like crap.
My mantra for today is "I'm doing this to help me grieve and heal." I definitely passed through the Shock stage quickly b/c I was able to "express emotions immediately." Although Mom's passing wasn't expected just yet, we knew she only had a few months. The shock mostly came when we had to honor her wishes to have the breathing tube removed, knowing the end would come shortly thereafter. I'm going to continue to express my emotions, even those of anger, and cherish seeing Mom in every tree I pass. She had the courage and grace to face six types of cancer in her lifetime of 79 years. I should be able to have the strength to handle a year of The Grieving Process.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas Day 2009
I awoke very sad this morning as I do most mornings now. It seems like the reality of Mom's passing hits me hardest when I first awake and my heart feels very heavy. I was even more morose w/ it being Christmas Day, my mother gone, and my family 150 miles away. But when I entered the kitchen this morning, I heard Christmas music and my husband and daughters busy fixing breakfast. Mom always made Christmas morning special. Even last year at the age of 44, I found a present under the tree from Santa. I've got to stop focusing so much on my sadness and follow my husband's lead by working harder to make this Christmas special for my daughters.
I think it wasn't just having Christmas w/o Mom that was getting me down today; she didn't keep her promise to come back to visit us on Christmas Eve. At least I didn't feel her presence like I thought I would. Shouldn't I be able to still feel her? You can't love someone so deeply and not still feel them when they're gone, right? But this morning while we were out moving the 10+ inches of snow, my younger daughter came out to take pictures. And then I saw her. Mom used to love to take pictures of the big snowstorms. She'd come after all in the snowflakes and in my Maddy May. Mom loved the snow. She loved to go sledding w/ us and make snow angels and snowmen. My girls have wonderful memories of the snow families they used to make w/ Grandma. The day after Mom passed it snowed so my daughters and their little cousins made a snow-woman, complete w/ snow boobies.....just like Grandma taught them.
Maybe it's selfish to want to have her presence or her essence or her spirit here w/ me. She deserves to be in heaven. We've tried to comfort ourselves by thinking she's now reunited w/ her sister who she hadn't seen since she was 16 and her mother whom she hadn't seen since she was three. Yet there are brief moments when I feel her especially close. The night after she passed, I was walking the dog, and as I walked around the city park, I heard an owl. One of my brothers said he heard an owl in his backyard that same night. Owls hold the superstition of being harbingers of death or being present when a ghost is near. For a brief time I smiled until I left the park and heard the owl no more.
I guess part of me thinks that if I'm not sad, I'd be doing Mom an injustice. A slap in the face of her memory. But she loved to laugh, and we did it a lot together....the kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes and makes it difficult to breathe. And then when the air finally does return to your lungs, you start all over again. Laughter over silly things, such as the names of people she once knew: Rosie Butts and Harry Wiener and then inverting the first letters to say Bosie Rutts and Warry Hiener. One of those things where you just had to be there to fully understand, I guess. So I guess she was w/ us last night after all while we played Mad Gab and snorted at our silliness.
I have to give myself permission to laugh and be happy. That will be my Christmas present to myself, or is it the present Mom left for me under the tree last night, and I'm just now ready to open it?
I think it wasn't just having Christmas w/o Mom that was getting me down today; she didn't keep her promise to come back to visit us on Christmas Eve. At least I didn't feel her presence like I thought I would. Shouldn't I be able to still feel her? You can't love someone so deeply and not still feel them when they're gone, right? But this morning while we were out moving the 10+ inches of snow, my younger daughter came out to take pictures. And then I saw her. Mom used to love to take pictures of the big snowstorms. She'd come after all in the snowflakes and in my Maddy May. Mom loved the snow. She loved to go sledding w/ us and make snow angels and snowmen. My girls have wonderful memories of the snow families they used to make w/ Grandma. The day after Mom passed it snowed so my daughters and their little cousins made a snow-woman, complete w/ snow boobies.....just like Grandma taught them.
Maybe it's selfish to want to have her presence or her essence or her spirit here w/ me. She deserves to be in heaven. We've tried to comfort ourselves by thinking she's now reunited w/ her sister who she hadn't seen since she was 16 and her mother whom she hadn't seen since she was three. Yet there are brief moments when I feel her especially close. The night after she passed, I was walking the dog, and as I walked around the city park, I heard an owl. One of my brothers said he heard an owl in his backyard that same night. Owls hold the superstition of being harbingers of death or being present when a ghost is near. For a brief time I smiled until I left the park and heard the owl no more.
I guess part of me thinks that if I'm not sad, I'd be doing Mom an injustice. A slap in the face of her memory. But she loved to laugh, and we did it a lot together....the kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes and makes it difficult to breathe. And then when the air finally does return to your lungs, you start all over again. Laughter over silly things, such as the names of people she once knew: Rosie Butts and Harry Wiener and then inverting the first letters to say Bosie Rutts and Warry Hiener. One of those things where you just had to be there to fully understand, I guess. So I guess she was w/ us last night after all while we played Mad Gab and snorted at our silliness.
I have to give myself permission to laugh and be happy. That will be my Christmas present to myself, or is it the present Mom left for me under the tree last night, and I'm just now ready to open it?
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