Hi everyone! I'm Cath1 on this Virtual Hospice site and Catherine in the "real" world.
I am looking forward to contributing some of my experience with death of a loved one, most significantly to me, the passing of my Mom a year ago. I have also experienced the deaths of other family members over the years and each experience, in different ages and stages of my life, brought up different feelings and emotional reactions for me.
For reasons I will explain in a subsequent post, I believe I am coming through the tail end of a complicated period of grief due to the controversy surrounding the events leading up to my Mom's death. I am actually feeling quite positive these past couple of weeks, having passed - and survived - all the major milestones of the first year since my Mom died, and I can feel a gentle healing taking place within me. Grief and healing have somehow become connected and sometimes they are experienced simultaneously.
Healing and grief, for me, are not felt as a whole or solitary experience, rather they each are moving me, sometimes soothing me quietly within, at other times like a raging fire I wish would completely burn itself out. Individual and sometimes intangible sensations of sadness emanate through my body and solar plexus, my heart aching, and often the grief is felt pulsating as pain, shortness of breath, or tension headaches). ">anxiety located in my core, in my belly, it's physical fatigue, worry, anxiety, depression or sadness. ">pain too, and each tiny spasm of sorrow is linked one to one until it's three, and then four and so on. Yet grief is not a linear experience, it is all encompassing and sometimes it is felt so loudly pounding through my very soul that I have wondered at times if peace is possible. It is.
Having also experienced the grief over the loss of my Mom's mental health and that of other family members whom have suffered with a mental illness, I believe I know something of the nature of grief and its many faceted dimensions and it does not always involve the physical death of a loved one. I sometimes remember those feelings of loss as more difficult to bear, if that's possible, than the "ultimate" loss of life, if that makes any sense at all. Perhaps because those losses had no particular ending in sight and perhaps because they were experienced while in the innocence of my youth they are remembered as having been more overwhelming.
The grief I experienced as a child when my mother had an episode of mental illness and had to be hospitalized was as real to me as the sorrow I felt when my Mom actually died. When I was little I couldn't understand the ever-present threat of losing my Mom to an illness that changed her physical appearance, emotional demeanour, and her thoughts and behaviour. It was frightening. I recall often feeling very insecure and uncertain, abandoned and alone, and for me, every episode was experienced like a death of my "real" Mom. I learned at a very early age to be hyper-vigilant and protective of her and I knew instinctively how to compensate for her times of instability which made me very self-reliant at a tender age.
Eventually as I matured, I learned to deeply understand and accept my Mom's illness and I became expert at anticipating the onset of her symptoms so I could intervene and get her professional help. Distinguishing the subtle and not so subtle differences between my Mom as she truly was and my Mom's persona when she was ill became an art form for which I excelled over the years. Naturally, since I was the only daughter, and my father was never present in our lives, I became the advocate for my Mom throughout her life. It was, in memory, at times a burden, especially when I was little, and then as a young married woman with children of my own, and yet I came to feel it was a privilege to have been able to accept the responsibility of the role life cast for me so that my Mom could live the very best life possible - and she did - she lived a wonderful life for 84 years.
I read an older post on this site which was written by "highlanddancermom40" and what drew me to it was the date she wrote her post: December 5, 2010 - that's the date my Mom died. Her post was about feeling guilt and being conflicted about celebrating life when a loved one (her dear sister) is facing their own end. It's a huge challenge no doubt to even consider that we are entitled to pleasant feelings and experiences when one we love so dearly cannot experience the joy that we are capable of feeling. But life demands of us to embrace it in each moment, to live it fully, to celebrate its joys and to accept its hardships, all of which define a life well-lived.
I had a lot of these same type of internal conflicts throughout my life as I am by nature a happy person and an optimist. I often felt guilty - I suppose in some ways like "survivor guilt" - when I was enjoying my life knowing that my Mom or brother was unable to enjoy their lives with the same kind of enthusiasm due to circumstances. I do know that had I not been the stronger more resilient personality, had I not been able to see the humourous side of life and people and situations, had I not been able to live each moment of my life, my family would not have benefitted in any way. Instead I chose to stand strong and do what I could to help others stand strong on their own two feet; I learned to set healthy boundaries so I would not be swallowed whole by despair until others could see that despair can be overcome with effort and with kindness and self-acceptance; I learned to love my life and the people in it exactly as I am and as they are with few regrets and a lot of conviction that compassion shines through every dark cloud, eventually; and that with faith, hope and love all things are possible.
To those of you here who are experiencing the loss of a loved one, or perhaps facing your own mortality this holiday season, my heart goes out to you. You will find the courage to cope and to find acceptance. We each find our own way to that illusive healing place that exists within, and I wish that everyone here will arrive at the healing place soon.
Until next time . . .
Happy New Year!:)