Waiting for Christmas

I'm waiting for Christmas.
It's not even Thanksgiving yet, and the world
is already getting ready for the celebration of the
birth of the Christ child. 

The ornaments are being stocked up, stockings hung to 
be ready to buy, toys overflow every store shelf. 

There are bright colors, shining lights, gay music. 
And, it's not even Thanksgiving yet!

I'm not sure exactly why I'm waiting for Christmas.
I think that I'm afraid that it's going to knock me onto 
my knees. I guess I think that if I'm on my guard, then I 
can outwit it, and that it won't catch me unprepared. But, 
grief has a way of showing up unexpectedly irregardless 
of how prepared I try to be. 

I still feel numb. Going through the holiday motions. 
Having our family portrait taken, just like we do every year.
Getting ornaments ready for the tree. 
Asking the children what they would like from Santa. 

It's frustrating. I want to be happy so badly. But, some days
I can't feel anything. I honestly don't know what to make of 
Christmas this year. I don't know how I feel. Maybe I'm afaid
to feel anything.

I don't think that Christmas will feel "normal" this year.
I don't think it will feel "normal" for many years to come.

I have begun a new tradition, I think. We're going to pick
a new theme each year for our Christmas tree. And, the 
children will make the ornaments by hand to and decorate 
the tree. 


But, then again, who am I kidding? Starting a hundred new
traditions won't stop my pain. It won't make me forget that
my mom is no longer here with us. It won't stop that 
aching feeling in my stomach that is from grief stirring
itself up again. 


Here I sit, waiting for Christmas. I wait for what is supposed
to be one of the happiest days of the year. Yet, I feel no 
excitement, no joy, nothing. 


Well, maybe not nothing. I do have a flicker of light. 
A small flame of hope that lives on inside of myself. 
Maybe this flicker will be nurtured into a large, bright, 
fire. A fire that would allow my joy, love, compassion, 
happiness, and love to overflow. Now, this would be a
wonderful Christmas gift. In the meantime, I'll be 
waiting. For Christmas.

Analogies and Surprises

So, I've been thinking. About grief.
Or, more accurately, what it's like going through grief. And, coming out of it.
Two ideas stand out most strongly in my mind.

The first idea is a cliche of sorts. 
It is a tunnel. My mother's death put me at the opening of the tunnel. 
Going through it was grief. And, coming out was healing and light.


I distinctly remember, just before leaving to go see my mom's resting place, 
having a picture in my mind. I was standing at the end of the tunnel. I wasn't quite out
all the way. But, I was standing right at the threshold of stepping out into the light. 
Then, a few days after I'd seen her resting place, I remember experiencing a huge 
sigh of relief. I realized then, that I was finally out. Out of the darkness. Out of the tunnel.
I envisioned myself standing in a meadow, the warm sun shining down on me, 
with the opening of the end of the long, dark tunnel behind me. I had finally made it out!


The other picture that I had was a cocoon. I think that grief is like metamophesis.
It's like being inside a cocoon. All the while I was inside the cocoon, I was going 
through grief. I twisted, I cried, I hurt. I hated being inside of it.
But, in some way, the cocoon was like God's protection. The cocoon is wrapped around
the body of the caterpillar as it grows and changes. And, God wrapped Himself 
around me, to protect me as I grieved and healed. Other times, I think that He used 
my loved ones to protect me. They sort of made a protective support for me, so that I 
could go through a painful process that I didn't understand. And, for this, I am grateful.  
Shortly, after seeing my mother's resting place, I realized that I was finally a butterfly. 
I was free! This is not to imply that I'll never miss my mom or hurt again; 
but that the hardest part was FINALLY over. 
I went through the process, and now I'm done!

 When someone would hurt me in life, or treat me unfairly, 
my mother would always tell me, "What goes around, comes around".  
Those words echo in my mind. I suppose that's one reason why I tried 
to be kind to my step-father this past year, even though I don't think 
that he deserve it. As I mentioned in a previous post, I sent him a birthday card. 
I kept it simple. Well, it's been almost a month since his birthday came and went. 
And, you can probably imagine my surprise (and fear) when I discovered an e-mail 
waiting in my box from him. I hadn't heard a word from him in 4 months. 
But, the surprising thing was really that he used more humble words in his recent e-mail. 
He didn't use words that were sharp, or haughty. It almost sounded like grief was finally 
catching up to him. He might be just starting to go through what I had been 
suffering through this entire past year. 


I think about my journey this past year. I think about all the pain, hurt, 
suffering, and how much I leaned on family and God. 
I think it's sad, really. I've finally just stepped out of the tunnel and/or cocoon;
and he may be just beginning to enter. But, he'll have to find his own way. 
He can go it alone, or go it with God. But, only God can truly go through it
with him. Just as God went through it with me. I truly hope that he finds God, 
and that he finds his way. 

Lord, please turn his heart toward You, and show him the way. Amen.

Her final resting place

So, I finally saw my mom's final resting place.
It was on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. 
October 8th, 2011. Almost exactly 10 months 
after she passed away. A day with a clear blue
sky, the sun shining. 

Me, my cousin, my mom's best friend, and two
more of her close friends gathered at the cemetery.
I read Footprints In the Sand, then I read a piece
that I had typed here, on my blog, called 
Flip Flops in Heaven. Then, I read what I wanted to say, 
and finally, my cousin read the poem called,
When I'm an Old Woman, I Shall Wear Purple.
This was my mom's favorite poem. And, we all 
got a chuckle out of it. I'm glad too, I wanted things
to end on a lighter note. 


We put flowers on top of the wall that her ashes are placed into,
poured some beer for her, and stood in silence for a moment.....
remembering. Her life, and what she meant to us. 


Then, we all went out to lunch at the Wooden Spoon. 
Afterwards, we parted, and went our own ways. 


There is something good about finally having seen my 
mom's resting place. I can have peace knowing that she
is finally at peace. I can breathe. 


But, with peace also came more grief. 
It was like a dam had been broken, and all the 
pent-up emotions had been released. All the feelings 
that I didn't let go of before, came rushing forward later. 


I still struggle. I still hurt. Every time I think of 
another thing that I forgot at the house, I sob
and cry. I keep telling myself that it's "just stuff".
But, it's getting harder. Because some of the "stuff"
had deep meaning for me. And, I fear that I'll never
get any of that "stuff" back. Things that I had planned
on passing to my own children. Things that I had given 
to my mother. Gifts. A nativity set. A coffee cup. 
Christmas ornaments that I had made. If I ever see 
these things again, it will be a miracle only from God. 


Life goes forward. The pain is still there. But, I have
to push on. For me, for my family. I have to believe that
God will make this better somehow. And I do believe He will.
Thank-you, God. 
For carrying me through. 
For helping me. 
Thank-you.

Letting Go

Letting go. 
It can be hard to do.
I feel that I let go of so much this past year.

I let go of my mom when she passed away.
I let go of life as I knew it.
I've been letting go of grief.
I let go of her ashes because I didn't know when  or if 
her husband would ever bury them. 

I'm letting go of her husband. My step-father.
My step-father of 21 years.
I didn't want to let him go. 
I did try to make our step-father/step-daughter relationship still work.
But, he has chosen to ignore me, his son-in-law, and his grandchildren. 

This hurts deeply. 
I wondered if I was trying hard enough. 
Doing enough. 
His message, "I need my space" seemed to truly say, 
"Stay the hell away from me". 
 But, I didn't. 
I kept trying. But, without cramping his "space". 
I find it hard to believe that I was in his space to begin
with; we live 3 states away from each other.

I sent a Father's Day card. 
I think I only got a response because that happened to be 
the same time that he had my mother's ashes buried. 
And his "thank-you" wasn't even one of sincere joy.


And, more recently, I sent him a birthday card. 
I went back and forth about it. 
Would he be angry? Would he ignore me like he has been?
What if I don't send it, and he thinks I don't care?
What if I do send it, and he gets angry because he is trying
his damndest to forget about all of us.


So, I sent the birthday card. 
I sent it because I read an Amish proverb....
       "To give good for good is human, 
               to give good for evil is divine."


He may never thank me. He may never acknowledge me again.
But, I felt good. I believe that I did what was right. I know that
my mother would be proud. 


But, since he has not responded, and I still think that he never will, 
I'm letting go. Originally, I thought that I would give him a year. 
But, in 10 months, he has only bothered to contact me a small 
handful of  times; mostly of which were to ask me repeatedly to
come and fetch my mother's belongings from the house. 
(Because he was too much of a coward to do it himself.)


For months I ached the loss of my mom.
Then, I ached for the loss of my step-father. 
I ached for the fact that I can never go "home" again. 


But, if I've let go of the grief from my mother's passing.
And, I've accepted the fact that I'll never see my mother's house again, 
then I suppose, it's time to let him go too. 


Yes, it hurts. Yes, it's hard.
But, my mother didn't chose to have cancer.
He chose to kill our relationship. 
I did all that I could do.
It's time to heal.
It's time to move on.

Like a brick in the head

Grief. It can sure knock me upside the head when I least expect it.
It's like cruising along the scenic route, watching the sun set, and then, 
in a split second, you realize that you've crashed. You didn't see it coming.
It just happened. That's grief. 

I was cruising along. I was breathing a sigh of relief, for a moment anyhow.
I had wrangled free from the grip of grief. But, it does manage to catch up
with me eventually. I'm getting better then it, though. I'm not trying 
to outrun it. But, it seems to be having a harder time catching up to me, 
and even when it does, it has a hard time getting hold of me. 

But, lately, it has had me in it's grip pretty tightly. I keep trying to get free.
But, anything I try, doesn't work. I'm back to when nothing I did worked. 
Nothing I did seemed to loosen it's grip on me. 

I think it's amazing what the difference a day can make. The other day, 
I was fine. Today, I struggled with grief all day long. It just hurt, and hurt.
And, it wouldn't stop. 

A day. Just a day. The last time I ever talked to my mom on the phone 
was on Dec. 10th. A Friday. An ordinary day. With ordinary chores, 
ordinary weather, ordinary words. But, the next day would 
change my life forever. Flip my world upside down. The next day, 
my mom had passed away. In just a day. A single day. 

A day. Before she passed away, she told me that she, I, and the kids 
would bake goodies at Thanksgiving time to have ready for Christmas. 
I still struggle with this statement. I keep asking myself, 
"If she had plans in life, then why did she die?"
This has never made any sense to me. She MADE plans. 
So, why did she go?  She talked about how she had to see 
my oldest graduate, how she wanted to be around when 
my children get married, and how we could spend time 
together because she was finally retired. 
I just don't understand why she had to go.
I may never understand. 

One of the hardest things I struggle with is the fact that 
I may not get to see her for another 25 to 50 years. 
That's a long time not to see someone.  This breaks my heart as well. 

I know I'll see her again some day. One day. And, it may be an ordinary day, 
with ordinary weather. People using ordinary words. I just hope that 
when it's my turn, that I'll be blessed enough to have my husband 
and children with me by my side. As I take my last breath here on earth, 
and take my first breath in heaven.

Someone like me

Aaaah!

It is so refreshing to meet someone who is hearing impaired. 
It is incredible to meet someone who is a hearing impaired 
mom and homeschooler of six! And, we almost didn't meet. 
Circumstances put us in the same place during a single 
moment in time. We both agree, God had his fingerprints 
all over that meeting. 

It was so exciting to share common joys and frustrations 
that appear to be so rare in the general public. 
It isn't so much about being hearing impaired
in and of itself. That isn't really anything unusual. 
It's about the challenges of raising and homeschooling 
hearing children, sharing a marriage with a hearing husband, 
and not losing our sanity in the midst of it all. 
That is what makes it rare. 

I look forward to sharing time with this mom of six. 
Sipping coffee, discussing ways to overcome everyday 
challenges while trying to get along in a predominately hearing world. 

Hopefully, this friendship will grow to be close and long lasting. 
Time will only tell.  

Another Anniversary

Today is 9/11.
Today is also the 9 month anniversary of my mom's death.

Today, though a reminder of a tragedy and a loss, became a day
of renewal. Today, I cleaned. I de-cluttered. That in itself says nothing. But, it was a turning point in my grief that I could feel.

I feel like I've been laying dormant for months now. I still managed
to do my daily work, chores, etc. But, today is different. 

Today, each spot I cleaned and emptied clutter, felt like I was
clearing out grief. Emptying a cupboard of plastic ware, and 
arranging them neatly, and throwing out the old, felt good.
Keeping memories of her, but throwing off the grief that 
has gripped me for nearly a year now is becoming easier.

Symbolic perhaps. Examining my life. Keeping what 
is important, and throwing out what is not. Deciding who is 
important to me, and making an effort to show them I care. 
And, those who aren't, I'll let them go. It hurts to let people go.
But, I cannot change them, or make them want me in their life. 
So, I de-clutter my life. I don't need all the drama, mood swings,
and pain that some people bring to my life. 


So, even though today is a memory of a tragedy, for me
it is a turning point. Almost a celebration of freedom from
the grips of grief. I look forward to my real celebration on 
January 1st. When I have gotten through an entire year of 
grief and a whole year without her.    
To my mother, to God and to January 1st.  :o)