Heartache To Healing

Tag: grief

  • Death is a Part of Life but Little Comfort to the Griever

    Guest post by: Kim Pace

    Death is a Part of Life but Little Comfort to the Griever
    Kim Pace & Mom

    It has been almost three years since the death of my mother.  I fumble through day after day of waking up pretending I am okay living without her.   Yet, the truth is I lie every single day to myself with affirmations like “death is a part of life, she is in a better place, and she is no longer suffering”. You can rattle off all the inspirational quotes to me and my reaction is the same.   I will never be the same person I was before July 21, 2013.

    How can I? The reminder she is gone is constant. There are days the emptiness inside of me is more of a background noise, and then there are the days where it leaves me feeling crippled, helpless, lost and really mad.

    So very mad my Mom has died

    I selfishly sulk, saying over and over in my head how “NOT FAIR” it is that she was taken so young. How my boys, who loved their Grandma, were robbed of her quirky, hilarious personality. My mom filled every room with smiles and a no-nonsense attitude.

    My Mom was the center of my universe. She was a single Mom that raised three girls on her own with the help of my grandparents. We were in every sense of the word a dysfunctional family, but at the end of the day we knew we had each other. I knew no matter what my Mom would be there for me, and I would be there for her.

    My Mom was exceptional at loving.

    Breast cancer did not define her. She fought really hard the last four years of her life trying to outlive the death sentence of being Stage 4.

    This next part of my story is hard. It is hard for me to write, but harder for me to share because I can’t get past the pain I feel for experiencing all I did, and the guilt of feeling that I could have done more.

    It was Tuesday, July 16th 2013 when my Mom was discharged from the hospital and we were set up by her doctors to have hospice care come in to make her comfortable. The doctors and my Mom knew the end was coming. I was still not ready to accept reality.

    The day before my Mom came home from the hospital, my baby sister and I decorated the bedroom she would eventually spend her last days in. We filled it with all of my Moms favorite items and paintings. My Moms face lit up when she walked in and saw what we did.

    When the hospice nurse arrive she gave me very detailed instructions on how to administer the drugs that would evidentially help aide my Mother’s body in dying. I was the only one to administer them because I was her health care proxy.

    My sister and I had no idea we only had less than 48 hours with my Mom once I started administering the drugs. Thursday, July 19th my mom’s last words to me were she was thirsty.

    My family kept saying over and over again for me to step away, to take a break. But I insisted how I wanted to be there, how I needed to be there with my Mom during every moment. My sister and I set up a cot next to her hospice bed and we only left her side to go home and shower. I would drive home, spend an hour with the kids and my husband, making sure everything was and then I would give kisses head back to be with my Mom.

    Here is the truth of it all, the night before my Mom passed, and I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to run away. I couldn’t give her another dose of pills because her jaw was clinched tight; her death rattle was so profound that it echoes in my head to this day. My sister and I were scared. Scared because we couldn’t do anything. Scared because we knew the end was coming.

    Seeing death first hand never leaves you, ever.

    But knowing you are the one aiding death haunts you. Forever.

    It was early morning on Sunday, July 21st, and my sister and I had not slept again. We were making small talk with my Aunt in the kitchen. We decided to all go into Moms room to change the bedding and get her as comfortable as we could.

    We all talked to her knowing she could hear us, and we told her we were making her look pretty by cleaning her up. After we were done, my aunt went to start a load of laundry, and my sister ran downstairs for a moment to get something.

    As I had done every day, I sat on the cot next to my Mom, with her hand in mine and I was asking her what she wanted to watch on TV. She started to make the familiar moans, where I knew she was in pain, so I turned to her and said “I know Mom it hurts, but it’s not time for your meds yet”. I leaned in close to her, kissed her cheek, and then whispered in her ear “it is okay Mom; you know we love you, but you can go with Nanny and Poppy now. We will be okay.”

    I didn’t mean it.

    I knew I was not going to be okay. But I knew my Mom was done fighting. Cancer had ripped her down to the bone. She needed to be free from the pain.

    I watched her gasp for air one last time as I held her hand. It was if she was going to get up and say something, but it was the last gasp of air she took before I felt her leave. I felt my Mom leave her body.

    I knew she was finally free of what Cancer did to her. And for a moment I felt such peace. It was a gift she gave me, because she knew I was there until the end with her, she knew I wanted to be there. She knew my sister or my aunt did not. They both left the room because it was how it was suppose to be. My mom was supposed to pass with just me in the room. There is such purity in my heart for that last moment with her. It is what calms my demons when I get so mad that she is gone.

    My Aunt and Sister both ran into the room seconds after she past and said she is gone right? She is gone? They felt her leave too.

    I just nodded and we all fell apart.

    It was as if her body went cold and hard within seconds. I put my head on her chest and held her hand until my sister had me get up. We both couldn’t believe she was gone.

    My sister and my Aunt are the only two people who were there for those last days. They know the horror I replay in my mind. It is not what I choose to replay. Those are not the memories that flash through my mind when I think of the amazing women my mother was. The images that haunt me are only in my nightmares.

    The guilt I carry that I could have done more to help her strangles me at times. That I hurt her because I was the one that gave her the medicine that shut her body down and killed her.

    Life is life, and I understand our bodies are just a temporary place until we cross over. I cannot tell you the countless times I have heard “you knew this was coming, you can’t be shocked”. We knew at some point cancer would rip my mother from life. And I am in awe of people that handle death with grace and ease. They are stronger than I am.

    There is no way to measure the toll my Moms death has taken on me. I thought I would be able to slap a smile on my face and move on and hide my pain. That only made my depression get deeper. My guilt stronger. Hiding what I was going through crippled me and crippled my rational thinking. It changed me.

    Yet no one saw it.

    No one saw it because I kept those closest to me far, far away from me. I blocked them all from knowing how I was falling apart. I wedged bridges between lifelong friends because it was easier than dealing with who I was now.

    I was an optimist that lost all hope.

    I lost me when my Mom died. She was so much a part of my everyday life. I spoke to my mom more than three times a day. I saw her at least four to five times a week. If we were not running around to doctors, or hospitals, my mom was at a ball game cheering on my kids or doing something with her 5 other grandkids.

    My Mom never stopped living, no matter how hard cancer tried to make her stop.

    I didn’t know how to live without her and I had the easy part. I was only her cheerleader. I held her hand during chemo, or transfusions. I was not the one going through it. I was not strong. I was there for her, to make her laugh, to distract her from the cancer. And that part I did well, I never let my know how I cried knowing how I saw her suffer. I never cried because I knew she was being strong for me, and the least I could do was be strong for her.

    The reason why I chose to share my story is not for sympathy. Not for empathy. Not for the “time heals all wounds” encouragement. It is for others that think they are drowning in their own private sorrow after losing someone so close to them that they need to reach out to a friend or someone they love before it’s too late.

    I didn’t.

    I don’t blame anyone but me.

    I lost touch with so many friends because I shut down so hard on what was real in my life and hurt so many people along the way.

    Almost three years later what have I learned?

    That cancers sucks, but my Mom fought until the end. Her strength gave me the tools to constantly pick myself up, dust myself off and deal with life. No matter what.

    And more importantly, I have learned that I miss my mom so much.

    I miss her sense of humor. I miss how exceptionally loved I always felt around her.

    Author:  Kim Pace, KimPacePhotography.com

  • What is Waiting For You on the Other Side of Grief?

    What Waiting for you on the otherside of griefTen years ago my life was forever changed, death has a way of doing that.  My mother died after an extended illness and less than one month later my husband died following a tragic accident.  I’m sure as you read this you are wondering how you will survive the terrible heartache of your loss.

    The loss of my mother was so heartbreaking I was not prepared to say goodby and I miss her everyday wishing for more time as there was so much more I wanted to share and learn from her.  My husband was my rock and held me up during those days following Mom’s funeral and so willingly listened while I recalled story after story and shed tear after tear.

    Less than 30 days later when he died following a tragic accident – I did not know how I would live life without him.  Not only was he my life partner, he was also my business partner. I had to find a way to keep my personal life and business together and I did with the help of caring friends and family.

    You need help

    I learned fairly early on that I couldn’t go this trip alone. I typically was a strong, independent woman that was up for most challenges in life but this was bigger than me and if I were to survive the pain than I needed to be vulnerable and ask for help.  What I know for certain now is that people want to help, they often don’t know how so by asking we are allowing other to give us a gift.

    Time really does heal

    Regardless of how cliche is sounds, time does heal and there is life on the other side of grief.
    I celebrate more than I shed tears and I have learned to live life without the physical presence of those I loved so dearly.  Healing is not forgetting and living life is not ignoring our past.  I truly believe the greatest way to honor our loved ones who have died is by continuing to live life!

    We all have a choice

    We all get to decide how we will live life.  We get to decide if we want to be bitter or better. We get to decide to find joy and contentment and we get to decide what’s next in this journey called life.  I decided to live life fully, to be compassionate and lend a hand to others who are grieving. I decided to move and start again, I decided to be a better listener, to stop and be in nature every day to make new friends and treasure time with old friends.  I decided to spend quality time with family, I decided to make new friends.  Each day I get to decide how to live, and when you think of it that way isn’t that a gift?

    So what’s waiting for you on the otherside of grief?  You may not be ready to look just yet, but just know that in time there are many experiences just waiting for you!

    I am inspired by the poem “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver.  I hope you will read the entire poem and then share with me in the comments below, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

    with love, JoAnne Funch

    Mary Oliver Poem on Life

  • This Can’t Be Real – The Shock of Grief

    Guest post By Gary Roe

    Jeff was a good friend. He sat in front of me in seventh grade English. He was quiet, respectful, and smart. He was easy to be with.

    The day after Christmas break, Jeff was absent. He wasn’t there the next day either. The third day, the principle came in, looking somber.

    “I’m sorry to tell you this,” she said. “Jeff got very sick with spinal meningitis during Christmas. He didn’t make it.”

    I stared at her in shock. I dropped my eyes and gazed at the empty desk in front of me. “He didn’t make it,” echoed over and over in my mind.
    The rest of the day was a blur. I kept thinking, “This can’t be real.”
    It was real, all right. It just wasn’t real for me yet.

    Loss hits us that way. We can’t digest it. It feels surreal, as if life suddenly stopped and abruptly changed direction. It’s like a dream, or a nightmare. We wonder when we’re going to wake up.
    For several weeks, I dreaded going to English class. I would ease into my seat, hyper-aware of the empty desk in front of me. I had trouble concentrating. I didn’t know it, but I was still in shock.

    Shock is a part of healthy grief, and it can last a while. It can come and go over a period of months, triggered by certain memories or situations.
    We feel for our loved one next to us in the bed. We expect to hear them in the kitchen. We find ourselves looking for them, wondering where they are. Their fragrance lingers here and there. Our houses, and our lives, seem unnaturally quiet.
    We long to hear their voice. We miss their touch. We hunger to look into their eyes. We miss everything.
    Our lives have been altered forever. How could we not be in shock?

    What can we do? How do we get out of this daze?

    1. Don’t be in a hurry. Your grief, and the shock of it, honors the one you’ve lost. It proclaims how important they are to you. You’re never going to get over them (you’re not supposed to), but you will get through this time.

    2. Be nice to yourself and patient with yourself. This time is unlike any other. Things aren’t normal and routine, so don’t expect yourself to be either.

    3. Do what’s best for you, and let the world keep spinning. When my father died (I was fifteen), I got very angry that the world dared to go about its business as if nothing had happened. Right now, it’s almost as if someone pushed the pause button on your life. That’s okay. Do what’s best for you, and try not to worry about the circus around you.

    So when your loss is triggered by that fragrance, song, or special place, take a deep breath. The shock you feel is real, and normal. Let it come, and let it pass on through. Then ask yourself, “What do I need most right now?”

    Gary Sykes pics 076Gary Roe is an author, speaker, and chaplain with Hospice Brazos Valley in central Texas. He has written threes books, two in the grief and loss realm. You can reach Gary at: groe@hospicebrazosvalley.org
    Saying Goodbye: Facing the Loss of a Loved One (co-authored with Cecil Murphey)

    Surviving the Holidays without You: Navigating Grief During Special Seasons

     

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  • Living life without anguish

    contemplative woman-I decideGrief is so often a painful experience and for some a journey that never seems to end and they suffer such great sadness long after a loved one has died. Although we all grieve differently and there is no timetable saying our grief should only last a certain period of time, we can also get stuck in grief that paralyzes us from continuing to live our own life.

    Recently I heard the spiritual author and teacher Gary Zukav say some thing that I thought was worth sharing because I found him quite thought provoking.

    He said “If you think people left earth when they chose you will then begin to see the gifts the soul gave you while on this earth.  You will get to a place where you are grateful for the short time this person whose to be with YOU, otherwise you will live in anguish.”

    He also went on to say, “If you look at your loved one as that soul who voluntarily entered the earth and voluntarily chose to leave, you will appreciate the power of the interaction you had with that soul and then you will feel the power of those gifts you received.” 

    Can we learn from joy versus suffering?

    I think we can find meaning in everything and everything is a choice.  We can choose to to grieve actively and at the same time feel blessed for the time we had with our loved ones who have departed or we can choose to grieve and mourn our loss feeling hopeless that life will go on for us.

    We all will experience both love and loss – this is a universal truth.  How we grieve often determines how we will continue to live and how we will seek out joy.

    I encourage you to find some joy today – perhaps a walk in park, coffee with an old friend or taking  time to watch children at play.  Joy comes in all forms and sometimes we have to work harder at finding it especially on those days when all we want to do is cry.

    Isn’t the greatest honor we could bestow upon the memory of our loved ones is to live life in joy rather than sorrow?  In peaceful contentment rather than anxiety and stress?  Something to think about….

  • Grief and Gratitude

    By Allen Klein

    After we experience a loss, we tend to focus on what we no longer have. As a result we focus our energy on the negative, or what is missing in our life, rather than on the positive, or all of those wonderful things we still have. One of my spiritual teachers once told me that when we want what we don’t have, we waste what we do have. To translate that into loss-related situations—to want what is no longer in our life is to waste what still remains in our life.

    We usually don’t think about giving thanks when someone dies. Yet gratitude can be one of the most healing tools we have.

    Being grateful for what remains after you have experienced a loss can be a powerful way to deal with, and heal, that loss. Turning your attention on how your life was enriched because that person was in it, for example, rather than on the vacuum the loss created, might be one powerful and healthy approach to confronting grief.

    After my wife died at the age of thirty-four, my thoughts, as often experienced by someone who is grieving, sometimes turned to darker questions like, “How can I go on with my life without her?” Grief also brought up a feeling of emptiness, depression, and hopelessness. Once I started to be thankful for all that remained in my life—my daughter, my friends, my work, etc.—I got a glimpse of why I could go on living and, in fact, fully enjoy life again.

    Richard Carlson, author of a number of self-help books, talks about how gratitude comforted him after the loss of a close friend. In You Can Be Happy No Matter What, Carlson writes about how gratitude comforted him after the loss of a close friend.

    Carlson says,
    When we access our healthy functioning, emotional pain has a different feeling to it—it is still painful, but it includes genuine gratitude for having known the person we have lost. This worked beautifully in my own life, when one of my best friends was tragically killed by a drunk driver on his way to be in my wedding. Rather than think about him sadly, I was able to clear my mind and feel tremendous gratitude for having known such a wonderful friend. Instead of feeling sorry for myself or for my friend’s family, fond memories began to surface from our past together. I was not overwhelmed by my sad feelings and was able to function.

    Gratitude has the power to help those in mourning rise above their loss. It is life affirming. It can provide hope. And, perhaps most important, it can help us let go of the past and focus on the abundance that surrounds us now.

    Learning_laughP.S.- In my book, Learning to Laugh When You Feel Like Crying (Goodman Beck, 2011), I suggest a simple way to move towards being grateful after a loss:  Tomorrow morning, before you get out of bed, think of at least one thing that you are thankful for. And then, when you get out of bed, start writing down all the wonderful things in your life.

    You can be thankful for:
    -a penny found on the street
    -the cookies a neighbor brought you
    -the friends you have
    -a rainbow
    -flowers in the park
    -a cup of tea.

    Those are just of few little gratitudes that can keep you afloat while you are in a sea of grief. But you might also want to note some of the bigger things for which you are grateful.

    For example:
    -that the deceased was in your life
    -the lessons you learned from them
    -that their spirit still lives within you.

    And, you can be grateful for life itself. As comedian Robin Williams discovered after his heart surgery: “When you have something like heart surgery, you appreciate the simple things, like breathing.”

    Originally published on Examiner.com on May 14, 2013“Learning to Laugh When You Feel Like Crying.”

    Allen Klein saw the therapeutic value of humor during his wife’s terminal illness. Klein is an award-winning professional speaker and author of nineteen books including The Healing Power of Humor, The Courage to Laugh, and Learning to Laugh When You Feel Like Cryging www.allenklein.com