A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #hope

Grieving Room by Leanne Friesen

My latest read was about how many spaces our grief needs and how to build room for each. Leanne, a Pastor who tended to her Parish in their times of joy and sorrow, found herself personally dealing with grief, when her sister passed away after a long battle with cancer. Grief knocked the foundation of all she knew. Her book, Grieving Room, is the story of her journey to which she shares with the reader the different spaces that we need to give grief. It was one of the best written ‘how-to-survive-this-pain’ I have read.

Each chapter is about an area you need to make room for and how, through stories of her and her relationship with her sister, family and church members. And although, she explains at the beginning, that as a Pastor the book will have a faith-based thread to it, her references to the Christian bible are told in a story format such that the lesson has more of a spiritual tone rather than a religious one. For example, she writes about the popular belief that if you have enough faith in God, you’re loved one will be healed. She writes of how in fact it isn’t about believing and then receiving a miracle. The miracle sometimes is just more faith. Faith for strength. Faith for the ability to be there for our loved one. Faith for the possibilities of what will be next for them and for us. It is about having faith that more faith will be given to us.

Her chapter about giving room for rage made me laugh out loud. She shares the story of how angry she was her sister had died and how it infiltrated into her job. She gives the example of walking behind two elderly ladies at a weekend retreat. The ladies are sisters, laughing and walking arm in arm. Leanne followed behind them, furious that she was robbed of the same life with her sister.  She writes, “I was angry that they were flaunting their sisterliness all over the place, right under my nose! I remember consciously resisting the urge to shove these old ladies in the mud.”

Her chapter about giving permission to not have room for more is a coping mechanism that many grievers do not adhere to.  I know I didn’t in my early grief. Leanne reminds us that “grief gives you a constantly full glass.”  Our ability to face even small challenges, to accept another appointment or request, will ensure that your grief will overflow. She talks about what it does to our bodies and the need for more rest, more alone time, suggesting we schedule it into our calendars. She reaffirms that reserving time to grieve does not mean you have to cry all night. It is about making time to sit with our grief and acknowledge the numerous facets of our loss.

The book ends, like most grief therapy books, that you will come to a place where the pain will become softer. A room for redemption, she calls it. A place in your life where the grief you carry, can be a supportive tool for others.  I call it the land of bittersweet.

Some books related to death are not suitable in the early stages of grief; the message might be too extreme to comprehend. In my earlier years, I could not read about how one day I will experience a new and joyful existence. I still don’t really get that concept but Leanne’s writing is an easy and comforting read that is palpable at any stage. This is the book that gives you hope. And the tools to build room for that hope.

To Zane, Hope for What Six Brings

There is something to be said

about the power of the number six.

It is to bring balance, harmony

It is the number related to absolute love.

Ironic, isn’t it, a number that connects to the spirit

Encouraging one to seek peace within themselves

is the number for this year-to-be…

Something I have yet to achieve.

I wonder if this could possibly be a proposition,

reflected in the number of years you have been gone.

Perhaps this years’ number can present a solution

to how I might carry on with the burden of my grief.

Could it be thinkable that this is the year that

my internal screams hush

or the rage of the injustice settles

into a more manageable madness.

Or that my broken heart does not encourage

The rest of my body to manifest into another type of cancer.

Could there be some magic in the number six

that delivers what it is supposed to,

A peace, a harmony through its reminder

that it is all about unconditional love.

The type of love I have for you

and what you gave to me,

An eternal love that crosses the veil.

Maybe number six might bring with it

more of its meaning, in small seen doses

Perchance it may be that I will feel you more often.

Thus, I will put my hopes in this taunting number six

that it comes gently, carrying with it

The prophecy of better.

It’s Going To Be OK

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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