sunrays two faced ..
Originally uploaded by faixxal
Another in a series of very busy days, and late night posting.
I am completely exhausted. My life is busy enough, but today had me running a marathon between working in the office, seeing clients, driving the boys to jiu jitsu and guitar lessons, then reading and signing various school forms. Oh, and in the middle of all of this I did manage to get my allergy shots and sit on my therapist's couch.
I was telling my therapist that when I arrived at work today I found that 24 voice mail messages had come in to my line in the past 24 hours. Before I could even get to them I had to attend a two hour work meeting. During lunch I ran by my house to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then went to interview a child on my case load. After my interview I was rushing back to work, when the water works began.
Aside from having such a crazy day, the weather was equally as strange. Throughout the day it went from cold to warm, from sunny to very dark, and from rainy to dry. Yet when I speak of 'water works' I speak of the down pouring that came from my eyes. In driving back to the office I was feeling overwhelmed at all that I was accomplishing to stay on top of my work, and also thinking about what was still ahead of me for the day. I began to acknowledge to myself that when the day was through there would be no one to listen to me vent. There would be no one to rub my shoulders. There would be no one to put his arms around me. Michael would not be there.
The crying began, and lasted until I pulled into the parking lot. I quickly dried my eyes, put on my sunglasses, and sprinted back into the office. An hour later I was firmly planted on my therapist's couch. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak the tears returned. In the course of the hour I went from tears of sadness, to the joy, and comfort, that writing this blog provides me. As my therapist was pointing out to me that although I am definitely going through some dark times, I do have periods of brightness, the sun suddenly broke through the rain clouds and flooded his office with light. We both immediately recognized that the metaphor became realized, and we began laughing.
As I was walking out of my therapist's office I looked up at the sky. I saw that parts of the sky were filled with dark rain clouds, and other parts were extremely bright. I immediately thought of the book/movie from my youth, "Lisa, Bright and Dark." I remember that the story was about a teenage girl named Lisa, whose behavior, and moods, were beginning to exhibit signs of adult onset mental illness. She struggled to understand why her moods were going through such extremes. When her moods began to scare her she sought help from her parents, and the adults around her. Unfortunately the adults failed Lisa. They didn't want to see what she was experiencing. They wanted her to be a normal teenager, so that is what they chose to see. It was only her peers who were willing to walk along side Lisa, and listen to her plea for help. They were the only ones willing to be present to her discomfort, and to offer her a safe place to be.
The process of mourning is much like this. Often times the people we would expect to be there for us, appear to be less comfortable with the reality that is grief. They would prefer to think of us as getting better, or to have moved on. Rare is the person who is willing to sit with us, and allow us to be authentic in our experience. It is not surprising really, as our society has pretty much lost any sense of ritual when it comes to mourning. Without the rituals of the past, there is little to distinguish the widowed from the not widowed. Unless someone cares to ask the right questions, and be willing to be present to our pain, they will remain in darkness about what we truly experience. And like someone who is being pulled into the darkness that is mental illness, the pain of our grief can make us susceptible to extreme mood shifts. During these past five months I have often worried that I would lose my grip on reality.
For now I must learn to accept that I will be a person who goes from bright to dark without warning. I must remember to breathe, and to be patient with myself. I must continue to seek opportunities to express myself as I continue on the journey. I must remind myself that I have felt these depths of despair before, and that the sun has always risen.
I am completely exhausted. My life is busy enough, but today had me running a marathon between working in the office, seeing clients, driving the boys to jiu jitsu and guitar lessons, then reading and signing various school forms. Oh, and in the middle of all of this I did manage to get my allergy shots and sit on my therapist's couch.
I was telling my therapist that when I arrived at work today I found that 24 voice mail messages had come in to my line in the past 24 hours. Before I could even get to them I had to attend a two hour work meeting. During lunch I ran by my house to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then went to interview a child on my case load. After my interview I was rushing back to work, when the water works began.
Aside from having such a crazy day, the weather was equally as strange. Throughout the day it went from cold to warm, from sunny to very dark, and from rainy to dry. Yet when I speak of 'water works' I speak of the down pouring that came from my eyes. In driving back to the office I was feeling overwhelmed at all that I was accomplishing to stay on top of my work, and also thinking about what was still ahead of me for the day. I began to acknowledge to myself that when the day was through there would be no one to listen to me vent. There would be no one to rub my shoulders. There would be no one to put his arms around me. Michael would not be there.
The crying began, and lasted until I pulled into the parking lot. I quickly dried my eyes, put on my sunglasses, and sprinted back into the office. An hour later I was firmly planted on my therapist's couch. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak the tears returned. In the course of the hour I went from tears of sadness, to the joy, and comfort, that writing this blog provides me. As my therapist was pointing out to me that although I am definitely going through some dark times, I do have periods of brightness, the sun suddenly broke through the rain clouds and flooded his office with light. We both immediately recognized that the metaphor became realized, and we began laughing.
As I was walking out of my therapist's office I looked up at the sky. I saw that parts of the sky were filled with dark rain clouds, and other parts were extremely bright. I immediately thought of the book/movie from my youth, "Lisa, Bright and Dark." I remember that the story was about a teenage girl named Lisa, whose behavior, and moods, were beginning to exhibit signs of adult onset mental illness. She struggled to understand why her moods were going through such extremes. When her moods began to scare her she sought help from her parents, and the adults around her. Unfortunately the adults failed Lisa. They didn't want to see what she was experiencing. They wanted her to be a normal teenager, so that is what they chose to see. It was only her peers who were willing to walk along side Lisa, and listen to her plea for help. They were the only ones willing to be present to her discomfort, and to offer her a safe place to be.
The process of mourning is much like this. Often times the people we would expect to be there for us, appear to be less comfortable with the reality that is grief. They would prefer to think of us as getting better, or to have moved on. Rare is the person who is willing to sit with us, and allow us to be authentic in our experience. It is not surprising really, as our society has pretty much lost any sense of ritual when it comes to mourning. Without the rituals of the past, there is little to distinguish the widowed from the not widowed. Unless someone cares to ask the right questions, and be willing to be present to our pain, they will remain in darkness about what we truly experience. And like someone who is being pulled into the darkness that is mental illness, the pain of our grief can make us susceptible to extreme mood shifts. During these past five months I have often worried that I would lose my grip on reality.
For now I must learn to accept that I will be a person who goes from bright to dark without warning. I must remember to breathe, and to be patient with myself. I must continue to seek opportunities to express myself as I continue on the journey. I must remind myself that I have felt these depths of despair before, and that the sun has always risen.
"How Can You Mend A Broken Heart"
I can think of younger days when living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do.
I could never see tomorrow, but I was never told about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend a this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.
I can still feel the breeze that rustles through the trees
And misty memories do days gone by
We could never see tomorrow, no one said a word about the sorrow.
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.
i like the way you put it. "people we would expect to be there for us, appear to be less comfortable with the reality that is grief." aside from contacts online, i only have my daughter close by to talk to. she wants her old mom back, the one who was able to protect her from her father and not this one who is introspective and and quite a bit withdrawn.
ReplyDeletei wonder if the best people to sit with us are the true veterans, the ones who have been widow(er)ed for over 10 years, the ones who have a very long time under their belts. they know all the ins and outs. they have faced, accepted, and learned from grief and are not afraid to face it again through someone else's anguish.
sort of like a sherpa who has the more than experience. they have the wisdom. that's what i'd like to find. a grief sherpa.
you live in my heart. peace.
I've always reacted to weather - clouds, rain, sunlight - and now I find myself even more influenced. I've probably mentioned this before, if not here, then on my blog, but I can't stand snow anymore as I struggled to get Don to chemo through so many snowstorms one winter, and that was like a déjà vu replay of trying to get my dad to chemo through snowstorms. Now, I identify snow with hospitals and grief. Rain feels that way to me too and really brings me down. However, as soon as the sun comes out, I feel better. It's difficult - this sort of whipsaw existence of shifting moods. Feeling "okay" one moment, then sad the next. I chose to come here to Arizona to avoid the snow, darkness, clouds and rain in winter when I know I am most vulnerable. I'm not sure how long it will take to get beyond all of that. Maybe I will be here in winter for many years.
ReplyDeleteI don't really have anyone with whom I can discuss my feelings. That made it difficult during the first year or so. Now, I can cope better - or have coping strategies - but most of those depend a lot on me having control over my environment. I realize that my situation is different than others as I have chosen to follow such a solitary path - and that's okay. There is still much that I feel that is common to all of us who are grieving. How good it is to have the internet and these blogs over which we can discuss our challenges and how we feel and cope.
I'm thinking Fall will forever be ruined for me since my partner passed at the height of the Fall colors here in Ohio...and Fall was my favorite season. I can sympathize whith Dan's remarks about mourning and others inability or difficulty in understanding this. I think In my case no one, not my parents or freinds, have lost a spouse and life partner, so there is this, well, barrier of sorts where I have to work through this myself to some degree. It is lonely. I think the ritual aspect of..well, I understand it more now, the idea or tradition of a year of mourning or widows wearing black for a year. Each turn of the seasons, each holiday or special days or events we did together (like festivals, birthdays, etc.) will be experienced without my partner, making his loss even more acute. So one understands the tradition now. The year of mourning.
ReplyDelete