Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: June 2023

First Lessons of a Death Diva

June 25, 2023 /

They say when you experience deep grief, you find yourself. Your truth north is formed. I’m not sure if that is right but it might explain my calling to be a Death Doula. Or as my good friend told me, “You are not a doula, you are a Diva…claim it”.  That makes me giggle. I succumbed to this invisible push and signed up for certification training just before my brother-in-law was told he had advanced cancer. He became my practicum to which he took his last breath shortly after I graduated. I learned a lot and since his passing a year ago, I have had opportunities to practice my new skill. It has been bittersweet learning as they have all been close friends.

The biggest lesson I have learned is that no one wants to talk about death until it is too late. I have a friend who kept procrastinating the conversation and now she isn’t cognizant to have a meaningful one.  Discussions about death are hard but necessary. It includes the answers to obvious questions; do I want to be resuscitated, cremated, or buried etc. But the questions that I feel are as important, if not more, are the ones about after-life. Is it ok to keep some of the ashes for memory jewelry? What specifics do you want at your funeral? What do you want us to do to honor and remember you?  My brother-in-law had us promise, among a few other things, that there would always be pineapple torte eaten on his birthday.  These answers from our loved one, before they depart, bring us solace when they do die. It gives credence to the fact that we are doing the right thing for them.  There are fewer regrets. It is why these conversations are essential but sadly, seldom had to the degree they deserve.

The next lesson is all about anticipatory grief. When one is dying, we begin grieving.  And grief brings out the best and the worst in a person. I have been snapped at, cried on, and asked to do a multitude of mundane tasks.  I was asked to be at home or at the hospital and then told to get out. I have seen families split apart over the details of care and after-life desires. Anticipatory grief is grieving without the comfort of shock.  It is raw and ugly. And no one escapes it. It includes judging, blaming, assumptions and irrationality. It is the hardest part of this new role when I want everyone to be ok but that is impossible.  

The third lesson I have learned (in this early journey I am on) is that self-care becomes a stranger. You wish to be with your loved one every second. The sounds and disturbances of a hospital or home care create an environment that does not compute rest for those sitting next to their loved one. Showers, meals, and routine go out the window fast. Adrenaline is the ingredient that keeps you going.

It was 11:00 am when I was buying tea for a friend who had been with his partner all night.  The young cashier looked at me and asked, “have you had breakfast?” I said, “what do you mean?” He said, “iced tea at 11:00 am…did you eat or is this your breakfast and probably your lunch?” I stopped to think.  No, he was wrong, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness. And the reminder that we must care for ourselves so that we can fully care for our loved ones.

I value this new role of death diva. I want to help, to be there as a source of comfort in whatever way I can. It is a privilege to be a part of readying one to travel to the other realm, to listen to their needs and to assure them that we will fulfill their hopes and dreams as best we can and support their family and friends left behind. It brings peace to both parties. The dying feel sanctioned that their last wishes are respected. Those left behind are empowered knowing, not guessing, what their loved one wants. It is the foundation to enable you to carry your grief better, in the confirmation that you are doing what your loved one requested.  That is my highest and most valuable message as I explore this path towards my north star.  

Three Cheers for Fathers

June 18, 2023 /

I was blessed to have had 3 fathers share this life with me.  Mine, my Godfather, and my father-in-law. Each one I had a very special relationship with that I carry with me long after they have gone. Each man was very different in his career choice, hobbies, and passions. The commonality was each of them was insightful, giving, and protective of those they loved. They did not say too much and did not say it loud.  So, when they talked, if you listened, lessons abound. And those lessons, are part of who I am today.

My father worried that God would punish any of his sins through me. I was his first ‘little girl’ and his inability to spare me from harmful experiences molded him into a private detective that cared for me behind the scenes.  He was my guardian angel. He was my first experience of kindness.  Never did a stranger cross his path that he did not receive something from my father. He was the epitome of ‘do unto others as you would like them do to you’. My desire to nurture comes from him.

My Godfather kept me out of trouble, big and small. I was his girl that met him for lunches and shared my woes and found solutions in each conversation we shared. He stood next to me when I was threatened and guided me to safety. He was my shelter from the storms. He was my first experience of justice. Every situation he faced, he did with integrity to which he practiced in his career and his personal life. He was the epitome of ‘by the Grace of God, go I’. I watched him handle his own battles without a complaint and with the power of a gentle man.  My desire to understand comes from him.

My father-in-law took philosophy to a higher level. I was his girl that we could share truths with about life, family, and ourselves. Our heart shared conversations about the things that mattered were a special part of our visits. His sense of humor hugged you like a cozy blanket while your soul giggled. He was my shining light. He was my first experience of self. Never did he condemn another’s actions or dreams. In fact the opposite, he encouraged one to follow their own path with honesty and goodness. He exhibited that in his own behaviors.  He was the epitome of ‘to your own self be true’. My desire for discovery comes from him.

I think of each of them every day.  Our families celebrate them often. It is hard to believe that they are not still physically here. But I guess that is the thing about fathers. Their absence is softened by the knowledge that their love is imprinted on our hearts. Their lessons a part of our makeup. Our souls know that they will always watch over us. We will always be, ‘their little girl’.

Slow Down, Your Soul Is Speaking

June 11, 2023 /

If you’re like me, you don’t slow down. I relish over setting goals, project planning, and task lists. I am an A-type personality that has been raised and has lived as an extrovert for sixty years.  It was only in the last decade that I discovered I am an introvert. And accordingly, is the foundation of why I am an emotional, physical, and spiritual mess.

All my loved ones have begged me to slow down. Including Zane. In the days after Zane was killed, when my grief brought me to my knees every waking moment, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to not have to talk to anyone or listen to them or care for them.  I didn’t want to slow down, I wanted to stop. I wanted just to be by myself. Of course, that did not happen, in fact quite the opposite. I ended up with more family and friends and social events that I was “obliged” to attend that my physical health got worse. Life did not slow down, it moved faster with work, moves, deaths, travel, and at the end of the day, cancer arrived.

I told my family that I believe my diagnosis was because the angels are fed up with me not listening to what I need so have given me a life-threatening wake up call. SLOW DOWN. And I did; but as a properly raised extrovert, I did for just a wee bit.  Not long enough to correctly heal nor long enough to make it a lifestyle. So, no surprise that 6 months later, I find myself back in the doctor’s office with complications that require more tests, x-rays, and medications with scary side effects. Will I ever learn?

Here’s the thing. My therapist told me that when we are grieving, time alone to sit with our pain is essential. What she didn’t tell me, or I didn’t hear, was that sitting alone brought me closer to Zane. When I take the time to slow down and retreat, I feel my energy.  I receive more signs. I have more dreams. I am in less pain. Time alone to sit with my thoughts and dreams recharges me to be able to be there for my family and friends better. Including my son.

I’m not sure why when we feel good, we forget to slow down.  When the energy is there, we often keep running until it is depleted. A friend told me that when illness does not show on the outside, it gives people reason to think you are ok and expect more of you than if you were visibly ill.  And we don’t help ourselves by saying, “I’m ok” when we know we are not. A-type personalities are great at faking being ok. Whether the struggle is mental or physical or both, we soldier on with a tough guy attitude that people learn to count on.

My nephew, struggling with his own health, wears a jacket that has imprinted on it, “Everything’s OK”. He wears it because of the irony of this statement. I laughed the first time I saw him wear it. He smiled and said, “right?” We get each other.  If I was honest, my jacket would bear the statement, “I’m not ok, so don’t ask”. I hate having to explain why or reassuring those asking “it will be ok” when I don’t know.

All that said, we need to be honest with ourselves and others when we are not ok. We need to be comfortable with the times we are not ok. We need to quit pushing ourselves and pretending. We need to set aside time to sit alone and heal. Whether you are an extrovert or an introvert, slowing down and taking time to be alone is essential to feeling our best and to staying connected to those we love here and on the other realm.

It’s Going To Be OK

June 4, 2023 /

There were five of us diagnosed with cancer over the last year. Two with a brain tumor, one with melanoma, one with prostate and me with breast. It was another ‘thing’ that brought us closer. We all are good patients; listening, following doctor orders and so far, we all are ok. Until the phone rang.

I remember sitting in the doctor’s office with her. She was scared as an infection was now being biopsied. I held her hand. “It’s going to be ok.”  We found out it was skin cancer. Surgery came.  It going to be ok. Then more was found in the lymph nodes. It’s going to be ok. More surgery. It’s going to be ok. Then a lump appeared. It’s going to be ok. And then the lump grew. And now the treatment is radiation to ensure the lump doesn’t blow up until they figure it out. The answers will come next week.

While we wait, her sweet husband is calling all of us. It’s going to be ok, has turned to, “It’s not looking good”. And each of us holds our breath and sends prayers to the heavens. How is this possible? It was just 6 months ago we were shaking our booty to Pit Bull at her birthday party. A milestone party where we laughed at how she could shake it and would be shaking it for decades longer. What the hell happened?  How did we go from that to this.

The sudden death of our children (3 of the 5 of us have lost a child), has taught us that life is not always how we wish. Through our children’s death we have learned to be warriors. But when ill health hits us personally, the art of being a warrior takes on a new meaning. A physical fight needs to join the emotional battle we endure every day. We have so much more living to do.  Not for us.  No, this is an unselfish request, plea to the Universe that we have another child, a pet, a spouse, more family…we have a ton of reasons as to why we must still be here.  We are not ready to go because we know we are still needed.  Our loved ones have already lost, and we want to spare them the pain of losing more.

These earthly emotions bring energy to your battle, strength to withstand cancer treatments and the pain that has you popping pills every four hours.  It brings that smile to your face that your family so desperately needs to see. It also brings you closer to fate. The closer we get to our fate, the clearer we become of what is happening.  Bravery becomes the mask worn.

Our group is blessed with the belief that we do not die. We live on. This doesn’t mean that when death comes close, it becomes more comfortable. No. It becomes the energy for our life’s task list. The clarity to see what still needs to be done, what can be released, and what we need to delegate becomes the focus. It is not giving up; it is getting real. We do it with the hope that there is a miracle still in the bag. It is demanding more time to ensure that when this life is completed, we pass with a feeling of peace that, “It’s going to be ok”.

That has now become the wish of my friend. And for the five of us, our friends and family, the term “FU** Cancer!” is shouted in unison. And shouted so loud that the heavens rumble.  

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