ljg

Oh Pam…

I so understand and wish that I did not.

I was 38 when my Mother died, and frankly I think that we are all 4 when we loose our Mom. What you are feeling is natural, and you know that. You also know that you are special and worth celebrating. Happy Birthday.

The Happy part of that is relative. You will grow to understand, just as I have, that you will appreciate things even more in your life with with experience as a reference. You will love more deeply, live more fully and understand the meaning of life. That is your unusual birthday present. There is a gift that comes with all of this mess. And you are on that road of enlightenment, whether you want to be or not.

I know. I have been there. After my Dad died I told my Mom that were are the walking wounded, and we are. After a while it becomes strength and courage, so hold on, and know that you are both that secure woman and that sad 4 year old that we all are when we hurt.

My best to you in celebration of your special day. We also have to be happy that we made it this far, and that’s the Happy part. (((hugs))) -ljg

Pam-

I have a bird story too for you. My husband’s Grandfather lost his wife very young, never remarried and was not necessarily happy without her. We went to him when he was dying and we waited there a long time. It finally dawned on us, my husband and he being so close, that he would not leave with us there. So we started to drive home, a 6 hour trip.

We were in separate cars and it was raining very hard. We had 2 way radios and he turned one way, when I the other. It was frustrating and so I talked to him on the radio. No answer. He called my cell phone after his rang about the news that his beloved “Bumba’ had left this world.

When we found each other at a corner and I jumped out of the car in the terrible storm to hug him, crying… I looked to my right because I heard a noise. Two small birds, and no I am sorry I do not know what kind they were (they were tiny) were playing and dancing in the huge puddle.

Right then I knew that his grandfather was reunited with his grandmother and that they were happy.

Funny… -ljg

Dragonflies, My Story

My father was a religious person and I pretty much am not. After he died (he had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis), I started seeing dragonflies. My Mother (who one year later died of CC) was very busy seeing crosses, and I supported her cross thing. I wasn’t into it, but I knew it had meaning for her. So, one day, when a dragonfly buzzed my car relentlessly, I realized that I was being “harassed” by this dragonfly. I looked closely and realized it looked like a cross, in a way.

I later mentioned this to my Mom, and realized that my Dad knew he would not get me through religion, but nature had a chance to grab my attention. Okay, here’s the odd part now…

After my father died, I was on the porch and a blue dragonfly approached, I watched him with interest, and he got quickly and tragically snagged by a huge spider and web above my head. I was astounded and really pissed off for that dragonfly. I wanted to save him. I found myself getting a lite broom pull him out with the web, and he lay there trapped in all this webbing . For those of you who are not very visual, this sticky mess was allowing him to lift and take off but not fly! My father was life flighted to the hospital and it triggered all sorts of memories for me.

Strangely, seeing this dragonfly’s circumstances made me immediately think of my father, and I ran into the house and got tweezers to use to clear the webbing. It took some time (over an hour). As I worked and realized that the wings of the dragonfly are much like the tissue paper thin tissues of the lungs that, for my Dad, were scarred and even more delicate.

I freed the blue dragonfly and he stood still there for hours, perched on a towel. I even have photos of this. He took his time and when he was ready, he flew away.

My Mom (preCC and during) was very well aware of my dragonfly issue, and one day in the hospital she sent me to get “something for myself” in the gift shop. She had never even been out of bed there, and I was barely making it to eat most days. She had casually handed me a $20 bill a few days prior and said when I could, go to the gift shop and get something for myself. I never had the time to brush my teeth let alone leave the room most days.

One night, we were low because she wanted to go home desperately, and I had not worked out the details with hospice yet. It was a tricky situation in her case. I had to get some dinner, and I had a nurse to check on her for me while I was gone. That night I did stop at the gift shop. I bought her a lovely healing stone chakara bracelet, to focus on. She loved jewelry and it was really special and detailed. I was on my way out with the $20 still in my purse when a box jumped off the clearance shelf and landed on the floor, hitting my foot. It was a high quality sterling silver necklace with a glass paned blue dragonfly, marked down from $55 to $20. I had to buy it for myself.

She cried when she saw it. And she enjoyed the bracelet I bought her and played with the toggle. And after she left me, the dragonflies started coming again. Following my car, arriving on my porch, and even following me into town while I drove a few times.

I am not sure what it all means, but I am open to nature and they kinda do look like crosses. Life, it seems, even in the worst of times… never ceases to amaze me. -ljg

Heather-

That’s right… don’t get ahead of yourself, intuitively feel everything and really do the work of grieving. I think that is the way it is to be. Getting it over with will not occur, and generally those who believe in that are short cutting the process, only to land back in it.

Trust that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, never late or stubborn to the process… just where you are is fine. Things slow down, and we feel the person we miss more, which is good, because I ain’t letting go yet, because frankly I know that I am not ready. When I am ready, that will be the time to let go.

This is starting to feel like a 12 step program for recovery… in fact it sort of is. We are learning to live without someone very important to us. Like kids, holding on, we give ourselves all the time we need to get where we are going. We’ll get there… eventually.

From my standpoint, we are right on track with this. I let myself feel exactly what I need to, strength or courage, darkness or despair, lightness or joy, the presence of my Mom visiting or not feeling her presence at all. Whatever I need.

If I need to flip out while shopping… then there you go. I am giving myself the patience to be wherever I am whenever I want. If I want chocolate, I eat it. If I want spinach salad for breakfast, I eat that for nutrients to go on. I let myself be in that moment, and I have to say it works for me.

To all of you in the thick of this… grief… just feel it until you need to feel something else, but take it in stride, with pride, and set limits of how much is too much for you, personally.

I have to say, my Mom would be proud that I can give myself that now. Best to you all.

Dear Rose-

I wondered about this myself, as a caregiver to my sick Mother, Patty. You are so right to ask this question, and to be concerned that the “fix” can contribute to your health negatively.

We do these very best we can in these situations, but these things can overwhelm the system, and some may have longer/worse effects than we realize. I encourage you to have a voice in your care and talk to your doctor and family about it.

Ultimately, you want what is best for you, and what works. It’s a tricky combination. Keep asking questions and taking a role in your care. It is a positive sign to all that care for you, that you still care too and that you want quality treatment.

My very best to you… -ljg

Pam-

I wish I could say that I’ve never been there… oh, but I have. 7 months today since my Mom “left” us at age 61. So unsuspected and a mere 41 days after diagnosis. (Hello Mom…). I have snapped at pets, certainly my husband, and friends that either never call to check on me or those who do. When you are there, and you have had enough, it just flows right from you. I agree it is good, because keeping anything in is destructive. My Mom kept it in and she’s not here anymore to let it out. Lesson learned.

The times I have let it all go have helped to heal part of me. Crying at 2am after a terrible dream, I though I had my shit together recently when that happened. Now I know that my body and mind will take the break and release the emotions no matter where I am. It’s nature.

I will share this with you, and I do hope it helps in some small way. At first it is every minute, then every few, then every hour, then every day, each week, each month, and so on. Like waves in the oceans, it recedes slowly and I hear that it gets easier. I am not convinced, but I am hopeful.

A ton of denial hit me yesterday, followed by a whoosh of “My Mom should be here now”, and next “My Mom could be here now”. I realized that she suffered, and I grasped so quickly that she is not and it is (unbelievable that I can admit this now) better that she did not spend more time here over these last 7 months. What a smack of reality that grown-up thought is.

Still, I miss here now, and always will. Part of my brains puts her some place happy, laughing and carrying on. It’s sunny and she is doing what she did best, helping others. I am starting to remember that she was happy once, before all this and I also quickly realize that from the day that she was diagnosed she was not herself. And so it goes…

What I suppose I am trying to say, is that ultimately my Mother is where she was going. I just have to catch up with the reality of that statement, a few thousand more times.

We are all driving in your car right now with you.
You know and can likely feel that you are not alone.
-ljg

Magic-

Oh my, I feel for you so much right now. I have lost my Mom and the ache can be deep and worrisome. I found myself in an anxiety-mode just recently.

I want you to know that your Husband and my Mother want us to go on, to live fully and to change the way we see the world for the better. Just the fact that you are reaching out to us here is a magical thing, really. I can feel your pain right through the screen and you need to know how courageous I believe that you are.

Life, let’s face it, can be really tough when we see it from the vantage point of expecting everything to be the same. When you realize that people are going through this kind of stuff all over and that we are so lucky to be alive and vertical, it somehow changes and reorganizes your perspective. Maybe not instantly, but over time.

It’s not my favorite way of thinking, and far be it for me to kick anyone’s ass but my own, but we are ALIVE and lucky to be, and you will start to feel this soon, after the shock wears off. Our problems become challenges, and as we hurdle one, we do get stronger again.

I know deep down that you have it in you to get back up and give it a shot tomorrow, and the next day. You can hear that I am routing for you, I hope?

You are not alone. You are loved, Magic, from near and far. Hang in there when things don’t quite make sense. And do seek help for the overwhelm; it helps. (((HUGE HUGS TO YOU))). -ljg

Hello.

It is amazing to see you have retained your sense of humor. What an incredible woman your Mother raised! I hope I get mine back after all this.

BTW, my Mom had some unusual issues and I first attributed it to meds, so we changed them, but later when they returned I researched it and learned about ammonia build-up effecting reality for them. Totally stands to reason.

Your sense of humor, which my Mom retained until the very end, means that you have resiliency and I know now that you will be okay.

All my best to you and your Mom. -ljg