Tag: loss

good grief, self-discovery

The Chainsaw Perspective

WFAM

It’s Halloween and I’m not feeling it. I’m guessing all the holidays after losing someone you love don’t have the luster they normally have. I didn’t put out any Halloween decorations this year. On the plus side, clean up is already done.

It’s not like my Mom and I hung out together on Halloween or had lavish Halloween traditions. However, she always knew what our plans were and I always shared the experience with her through phone calls and pictures. I don’t like not being able to share those things with her. Therefore, I don’t like holidays that create these sharable moments particularly much this year.

Despite my personal agreement with myself on Halloween morning to be cranky and ambivalent, I started to have some fun. There’s something about putting a Transformers costume on a sweet-faced two year-old that seems so wrong it becomes right. The boys were so passionate about trick-or-treating and their costumes I started to get swept up in their enthusiasm.

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pa313466As our evening wound down and we came home, they got even more hyped up to hand out the remainder of our candy. Full Speed would go to the end of our driveway and announce, “Candy for sale, come right up and get your candy!” Then as the stream of costumed neighbors paraded up, he would race back to our green kiddie table and distribute the goods. I would sit back and watch as the two of them would give about fifty-seven pieces of candy to ONE princess (they really dug the princesses) and then I would have to step in and say ‘enough!’. It was pure joy to watch them have so much fun.

I don’t know why, but this cheered me even more. My neighbor dressed in flannel and a scary mask had a chainsaw (with no chain) that he would fire up out of the darkness as the trick-or-treaters approached. The kids were taken off guard and some were genuinely scared. Everyone involved had a good time especially when the kids realized there was no real danger.
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The moral of the story is that even if you plan on not having fun, life can surprise you. You will be shocked to find you are having a good time. Sometimes all you need is a man in a scary mask with a chainsaw to put things into perspective (well, you know what I mean).

good grief, loss of parent, self-discovery

The Force

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Last night was date night. It was rather exceptional. Of course any time a stay-at-home Mom showers and puts on make-up makes an evening exceptional. This was exceptional for other reasons. Mad Dog took me to see Star Wars in Concert. I loved it.

The whole outing made me feel loved and special. Only someone who knows me well (like my husband) would know to take me to something like this. Even if the show was lame (which it was not) I felt the night was a success because he recognized my love of all things Star Wars. Thank you Mad Dog. Han Solo’s got nothing on you (except maybe the Millennium Falcon)!

I had a moment as the opening and highly recognizable crescendo of Star Wars theme music kicked off the show and my heart welled up and broke a little. I have these moments in my life that I off-handedly think, ‘can’t wait to tell my Mom about this’. The thought leaves my brain before my heart has a chance to remind it that she’s not here anymore. When it happens it knocks the wind out of my lungs and I miss her so much everything hurts.

A Mom knows you almost better than you know yourself (that is if you are lucky enough to have a kind and compassionate variety such as myself). She would have gotten a huge kick out of hearing about my Star Wars experience. She was there as I grew up and my sister and I watched Star Wars dozens of times. She respected the fact that Han Solo was my first love. She knew the force was strong in me and loved me anyway.

Star WarsI know on some level she sees my life and is part of it everyday. She knows I had a great time on my date and that the music of the trilogy I love so much moved me. Although she is no longer physically tangible to me, I can feel her with me in the deep pause between life’s moments. I haven’t totally accepted that she is gone. I have totally accepted that she knew me and loved me like only a mother could. And that is a force all unto its own.

eyesight, good grief, loss of parent, mommyhood, self-discovery

Progress

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Full Speed’s eye testing today was phenomenal. It is the best I have ever seen him do. He was rattling off tiny letters like he had been doing it his whole life (which he has not). I finally broke down a little in the exam room. It still hasn’t totally connected in my heart that his vision has improved significantly. I keep waiting for someone to jump out and say that it’s a joke and that he still is considered legally blind.

There are no words. There are no words that a mother can say to properly describe the overwhelming desire for her children to have clear vision. My psyche cannot process that this day of clear sight is finally here. Both my boys are on track for excellent vision. Unbelievable.

Today even T.Puzzle wowed at his regular check-up. We had scheduled it months before Full Speed had his surgery so we piggy-backed Full Speed’s post-op with this  appointment. T.Puzzle was identifying letters like a firecracker. The nurse of course was impressed that a two year old knew his letters so well (thank you pre-school and Sesame Street!) and fawned over him when he said the letter ‘F’ as ‘efp’ (it was pretty adorable).

It felt like I was in another exam room with different children (and thank you to my Mother-in-law who accompanied me and supported us today). This was the first time the eye tests were a breeze for both of them (as we have finally pinpointed T.Puzzle’s prescription and what a long road that was!). I felt like I imagine a majority of the population feels when they take their kids in for check-ups and the doctor has them read the simple eye-chart. I felt like of course they can identify a tiny letter ‘B’ from across the room. That’s just what kids do. And now, it’s what MY kids do. I’m still shaking my head in disbelief.

The progress for my boys is remarkable. I feel like I also made some progress on my own path towards healing. Today I purposefully chose to wear a necklace that my Mom had given me a couple years ago. It is flowery and blue which happen to be two of my favorite artistic components of expression. I did not feel sad as I placed it around my throat and hooked the clasp shut. I felt empowered and loved. She had wanted good vision for my boys as badly as I do. I embraced what I felt to be her presence and I smiled. I am doubly thankful that now my boys will be able to see their Mommy’s smile clearly.

My prayer is one of thanks today. Some tears have fallen, but they have been tears of gratitude and deeply felt love. Whether it was seen, felt or heard, love was all around us.

good grief, loss of parent, self-discovery

The Cheese Stick and a Hug

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I have been struggling lately. I am sad more days than not. It’s been about six months since my mother’s death and I feel I am deep in the sadness part of my grief process. I have no more denial to protect me. I must move forward through this raw, biting pain that sits on my chest and weighs my movements as if I am submerged in water.

Today has been particularly rough. No rhyme, no reason. I have this overwhelming sadness that feels so powerful that it’s like carrying around another full-grown, helpless person.

I am home today with T.Puzzle. This is the first day in a long while that I didn’t have a million and one things to do. I have time to be still. I hate it. I can’t run anymore. I have to face the fact that my Mom is never coming back. She is gone forever. End of story.

I have to admit (and not proudly), T.Puzzle is watching a lot more television than I normally allow. I don’t have it in me to be ‘Mommy’ today. At least it’s stuff like Sesame Street so it will hopefully reinforce his letter recognition and won’t be a total wash.

He can tell I feel off today. He’s not fighting me at every corner. He’s been more gentle and loving which I appreciate. It’s amazing the intuitive nature that children possess. I hope he always keeps that.

I was sitting on the couch staring into nothingness and feeling downright sorry for myself. T.Puzzle came over and climbed on my lap. It’s surreal that feeling you get when you are holding one of your children. You sort of lose where you begin and they end. It’s like the physical boundaries of the world melt away and disappear into the love you have for one another. It felt good. I liked the weight of his body pressing into the sadness that sat deep in my gut. I didn’t hold him for too long. I understand that my grief is ultimately a solitary process. It’s not up to a child to fix an adult’s broken heart. I have to sit with it and come to terms with it all by myself.

I lifted him up and gave him a snack, a cheese stick of all things. He ate it with hearty enthusiasm. I went back and found my position on the couch and began my pity party all over again.p9173290

T.Puzzle finished his cheese stick, came over to me and climbed right back up on my lap. Who am I to fight the wisdom of my own child? Maybe he knows that I need him more than he needs me in this moment. Sometimes Mommies need band-aids for our hurts. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.

good grief, self-discovery

My (almost) Birthday Blues

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p4182669The days leading up to my 35th birthday have been incredibly sad. This is the saddest I have ever felt as a birthday has approached. Your birthday is the one day that links you inexorably to your Mom. In most ways that is a beautiful thing. If your Mom is no longer alive, it kind of makes it difficult to achieve a celebratory mood.

I keep imagining my Mom, thirty-five years ago being fully expectant with me (I was overdue), feeling as big as a house, harboring anxiety over my impending birth and the stirrings of unconditional love for a mysterious being she hadn’t even met. My Mom was a woman of few words. I know only the basic details of my birth day. I was slightly over nine pounds, my Mom was overwhelmed with relief that I was healthy (she had me at thirty-three which categorized her as an older, at-risk Mom in that day and age), that I was born on a Friday the thirteenth (which my Mom claimed to have been one of her luckiest Fridays ever) and I was a good baby right from the start (oh, why oh why couldn’t my boys have been like that in the newborn phase?).

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I don’t know much about what she was feeling. I think that now that I’ve given birth twice, I have a better perspective. That’s what I can’t get out of my head. I can’t escape the images of my Mom being young and beautiful, eagerly waiting for my arrival. I feel what she felt. I feel the hope and the fear of it all. The feelings of a power greater than yourself as you prepare to give life to another person and the feelings of absolute helplessness because you have no control over the process or the outcome. It is at once amazing and terrifying.

I was with my Mom on that day. She held me and loved me and promised to take care of me. On that day there was no inkling that we would only have thirty-four years and how our time together would end. There was only relief and joy.

I know that a year from now, the grief I am feeling surrounding my birthday won’t feel as raw as it does right now. I am trying to label the sadness I feel as simply love that is blurred at the edges. The painful connection I feel to what used to be is a reminder that I had something special in the first place. Maybe the more sadness you feel when you lose someone means the more blessed you were by the impact they had on your life. If this is true, then I am blessed a million times over. For that, I am truly grateful, deep sadness and all.

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