The Silence of Grief

Last weekend we went home for my birthday. Saturday morning I woke up in my bed; it was a good feeling. I had 6 weeks of dust covering my furniture and mile of paw prints (the size of a small horse) covering my hardwood floors. In addition to my disorder, I had mounds of clothes that had been hurriedly packed and moved, along with odds and ends from Mom’s front bedroom when the hospital bed was brought.  The last six weeks had been a whirlwind of activity and endless tasks that had to be taken care of. Dad isn’t one to ask for help, so when he does you know he’s in desperate need. I had thank you cards to write, contributions that needed to be acknowledged, plants to tend (we all know how handy I am with plants), and dishes to return.  These are things Dad didn’t feel like he could cope with and I was more than willing to handle. My house with its dust and prints had been put on indefinite hold; such is the nature of love. Saturday was the first chance I had without obligations or the need to keep up appearances. My brother and his wife were coming down to go shooting with my Dad and my husband…. I was alone! As much as I fussed and cried about having an empty nest, I really had gotten used to being my own boss and keeping my own hours and I was looking forward to several hours of doing my own thing. As it turned out, doing my own thing consisted of cleaning and sorting and very little of just sitting and reflecting. Sitting and reflecting wasn’t something I was ready for, so I dove in head first into cleaning my house. I can’t say I got it all done, but I made some progress and it felt great to focus on something else for a while. The time passed too quickly leaving me with things I didn’t get a chance to check off like a walk and cleaning the car, but I’ll have other “doing my own thing” days…. Eventually.  

When we left Dad’s Friday, I didn’t pack anything except what I needed for that night. Every night I go straight to his house when I get off work and Mike comes when he gets off. Dad has dinner waiting for us. With the empty nest, we’d gotten used to eating… Whenever, but we’ll both admit, it’s nice to have dinner on the table when we get home. We eat as a family, clean the kitchen together then retire to the family room for TV, reading the paper and playing fetch with Dad’s funny as heck Corgi (that little stinker will keep you on your toes). When Dad gets ready for bed, I’ll go into my bedroom, throw a few more things of mine in a bag and bid him good night. It’s been easier for him to see my things slowly disappear, then to have everything packed up and move out in one sudden change. Coffee with Mom was one of his favorite time of day, so I get up a little earlier in the mornings and stop by his house for coffee before heading to work. I know it’s not the same, but it makes me feel better and I hope it makes him feel better too. When I get there, he has my coffee mug out and has it filled with hot water so my coffee doesn’t turn cold. That’s the kind of guy he is.  Although he’s usually chatty, he’s become very quiet. Sometimes we’ll sit and allow the silence to cover us like a blanket; silence can be good. “The days sure are long with no one to take care of.” Daddy said during morning coffee. All I could say was… “I know Daddy, I know.” And the silence of grief covered us again.

Daddy's Girl

My husband and I walked into the house a little after 5. I was exhausted for no apparent reason. Work had been the same as usual I kept busy, but not particularly entertained; spreadsheets are funny like that. Daddy looked like he felt the same… Shoulders slumped, his happy cheeks unusually somber. I asked how his day had been and in an uncharacteristically honest way, he said he had been pretty blah. My heart ached for him. We ate dinner and watched the Olympics before I excused myself to a bubble bath. I lay in Momma’s deep tub and pondered the best solution for everyone. Prior to Mom’s death, Daddy asked us to move in to help care for her. When the time came, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. The week of the funeral, being home with him made more sense than moving back home, especially when he asked me not to. The three of us have settled into a comfortable routine, coffee with Daddy before I get ready for work, dinner and T.V. in the evening and quiet time with my husband when Daddy goes to bed @ 8. He asked me to give him two weeks before I moved out and in a couple of days those two weeks will be up. The first week after her death, he ran from his grief at a break neck pace. He kept busy and wore himself out. This week his energy seems to have drained from him and I know he’s fighting the battle of facing a reality that bites. I have kept my shadows at bay by keeping busy at work and anchoring in the safe harbor of home where I know he’ll be okay as long as he knows he isn’t alone. A tight knot forms in my stomach each time I realize the move must be made and when it is, we won’t be able to live in denial any longer. I can hear my two men talking about the Olympic skiing as I lay on the other side of the door as I blog my thoughts and fears. I’ve enjoyed the last couple of weeks, in spite of the circumstances. I’ve enjoyed thinking I could “fix” what’s broken and I’ve enjoyed being the Daddy’s girl I haven’t been in years. They say time heals all wounds, but losing the love of your life after 57 years isn’t a wound, it’s a gaping hole that’s deeper and wider than the band aide of time can cover. That’s a problem even a Daddy’s girl can’t fix.

The Eye of the Needle

It was 5 a.m. when my husband whispered.... "What's plan B?" To which I answered.... "To sleep in and not worry about it."  We were supposed to hit the road to OKC to help my daughter continue the hazmat-like cleaning. I was surprised to wake up to inches (INCHES) of snow.  Oh my! After breakfast I put on my ski gear and headed for my favorite place.... The woods. The streets were abandoned as most churches had cancelled services. When I got to the trail, everything was shrouded in fluffy snow. The cedar trees looked as if the snow had been painted onthem, they were picture perfect. As I walked the trail, my mind wondered over the events of the week. Friday, after several weeks of agony, my Mom went home to her Lord. I was keenly aware that my husband and friends had kept a close eye on me, not knowing fully how I would react to the stress of caring for her, along with the loss and exhaustion. Since the TBI 4 years ago, I can be unpredictable when under stress. Although, I feel whole now, I think they thought the TBI would poke it’s ugly little head out.  I feel like I handled it as well as I would have pre-TBI. I was thinking about the kindness of others who brought meals, offered words of 

encouragement, or just let me have mini meltdowns in their presence.

One of the most difficult things to do, is to look in the eyes of a friend who wants desperately to rescue you from your pain, but knowing there is nothing that can “fix” one of those life events we all, at some time, have to go through. As I walked the snowy trail, I mentioned to God that I felt like I had been pulled through the eye of a needle.  Sometimes I get the sense, God gets a kick out of our humanness…. And sometimes I think he’d like to pinch our little heads off. I felt his presence on the snowy trail and I’m almost sure he smiled at my analogy.  He assured me that I had been pulled through the eye of the needle, because that’s what he does when the thread he is using is weak….. He pulls the thread through the eye of the needle which causes it to double on the other side. 

With the thread doubled, he can mend a seam or a tear and know it will hold because the thread is twice as strong as it was before it went through the eye. Does that make sense to anyone but me? I’m not as weak and as fragile as I have been the last few years; I’ve healed and I’ve grown, because I’ve been pulled through to the other side and I’m grateful for the gift of having made the journey and the memories. As I drove home I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that just after Mom went to heaven, we got several inches of snow. I knew it wouldn’t take her long to start taking charge of something. I’m pretty sure she’s the new Snow Director in heaven and she knew just the thing to make me smile.

The Last Word, My Mother's Daughter

Needless to say, and I am in no way seeking sympathy, but the last couple of months have been a difficult journey and a priceless treasure. Tonight after months of pain, and weeks of severe suffering, my Mother was ushered into the arms of her heavenly Father. I will forever remember her childlike smile of the last few weeks, our silly humor at Daddy's expense and the laughter we shared. Those memories far out weigh the burden of watching her slowly suffer as she slipped from her earthly home to her heavenly mansion. My sadness is only that we will have no more of those priceless moments, just the instant replay that will forever be in my heart. As a daughter, there is no greater joy than to comfort and care for the one who gave me life at the end of her life. For those who have not had the experience, let me say there is nothing quite like it. I am at peace as I know whom she believed and have total confidence that her life is just beginning to blossom. Like most Mothers and daughters we had our moments of intense fellowship and more come to Jesus meetings than I care to dwell on. Forever the Mother,  there were times when I felt I couldn't live up to her expectations and at times I know I failed her miserably. Somehow I knew she would settle those scores in her final goodbye. Last night as I lay in her room wide eyed and bushy tailed I thought to myself.... "She isn't going to let you see her pass." I'll admit that I have always envied those who told stories of their loved  ones passing while giving vivid descriptions of what lie on the other side. Some how I knew that Mom would wait until I walked out of the room and slip away behind my back in a final "gotcha" moment. A daughter knows her Mother, and true to form, I turned my back for a moment and she took the opportunity to slip away just out of my eye sight. She always did have to have the last word and in her passing she made no exception  and honestly I wouldn't expect her to. She did forget one little seemingly minuscule fact, and that's that I have a blog and she doesn't! Whose your Momma now? You ask how I could use humor at such a reverent time? Because I'm my Mother's daughter and she is the one who gave me the ornery streak that's a mile wide. She also gave me a firm foundation of faith and the a strong assurance that life is but a vapor.... Oh and taught me to never miss the chance to get the last word in. Love you forever Mom and I'll meet you on the other side.

Jesus went to the Garden to Pray

I spent the afternoon at the Cancer Center with my mom and dad. She had her first visit with the Oncologist. We're still not sure if it's Lymphoma or pancreatic cancer, but we liked her doctor. When I picked her up, it had just began to sleet. I sat with her as dad filled out her paperwork. She folded a paper towel over and over as we talked.  I don't want to be afraid to talk to her about what is going on, and in that moment, I had a handle on my emotions so I asked her.... "What do you think about it Mom?" She just looked at me with childlike wonder and asked.... "You mean, what do I think about having cancer?" I told her yes, then she said... "Well, on one hand you ask God why me? Then again you have to ask... "Why not me?" I just nodded. I'm not sure I've ever been more proud of my Mother than I was in that moment. When we finished at the clinic, I had to scrape my windshield, then worry about getting everyone into the house safely. Not willing to take a risk, I pulled over the drive way, across their lawn and pulled up as close as I could get to the front porch.  With everyone safely home, I checked my phone and found my office had closed for the day so I had a cold afternoon off. When I got home, I found my husband had the afternoon off as well. I wrestled with myself for as long as I could wrestle, then finally I put on my ski gear, ran to the basement and told my husband I was going for a walk in the woods. Some friends of ours bought several acres on the edge of town. They cleared a path around their land, making a great walking trail through the pasture around the pond and through a creek. It has become my refuge. By the time I left the house, the traffic had cleared.  Most offices had closed, sending their employees home to snuggle by a cozy fire... Not me! I want out in the middle of it all. When I got past town I kept a steady slow speed, ignoring all stop signs that might trip up my traction. With my fingers tightly gripping the steering wheel and my eyes dead ahead, I was realized I was intense about getting to the woods. I fight my emotions every day, all day long, sometimes hanging on by just the tips of my nails. I know, if I can just make it until my walk in the woods... I'll be okay. I rarely claim that God speaks to me, but when he does, there is no doubt it's him. I can count on one hand how many times I think I've actually heard a word from him... Today was one of those days. As I drove to the woods I could almost hear him say.... "Jesus went to the garden to pray." He did. Jesus did go to the garden to pray. I never really wondered why he went to the garden to pray, I just accepted the fact that he did. He was Jesus, he could have prayed anywhere and I'm sure his Father would have heard him. Why the garden? This is what my heart is telling me. There is healing in the garden. Maybe not physical healing, although there can be, but there is a healing of the heart found in the garden. When my heart is broken, when I feel torn apart and when I fill like my plate is as full as it's ever going to be without something spilling over.... I find healing in the garden. I look forward to my walks in the woods. I'm always at peace when I leave. During the day I hang onto the moment when I can leave for my walk..... If I can just make it until then, I can let it all go. I can cry if I want to cry, scream if I want to scream, pray if I want to pray, laugh, dance or just drink it all in, but there is no judgement in the woods. Maybe that's why Jesus went to the woods. Maybe he needed to get away from the noise of the city. Maybe he escaped to the garden because it was far away from all expectations, disappointments, gossip, rumors and the cold harsh fact that the end was very near. Maybe he was like me, and found healing in the quiet whisper of the evening breeze.