Grieving - Am I Doing It Right?
“But grace can be the experience of a second wind, when even though what you want is clarity and resolution, what you get is stamina and poignancy and the strength to hang on.”
Grieving is weird. Hard. And also weird. It doesn’t come with a guidebook, which would be very helpful. I love a good guidebook. Something I could check to see if “I’m doing it right.” Actually, just one month into the grieving process I realize that would never work. Because we all grieve so, so differently.
I have been in Chicago since February 19. Went straight to the hospital from the airport. Spent the majority of the next 12 days in two different hospitals. The weeks after that up until my mom passed on April 1 were ferocious. Most of the time I didn’t know what time it was, what day it was, and I drank a lot of champagne. (* I understand that most people drink champagne to celebrate. I drink it, daily, because I effing love it. The tiny bubbles are comforting to me and soothe my stomach. So no, I was not “celebrating” during those weeks – I was trying to survive.)
It is now May – it has been 10 weeks since I have seen my son or my husband. And my pets. Somewhere in this time we also entered a pandemic – as an already anxious (understatement) flier – I will not be getting on a plane anytime soon. In fact, my dad was gracious enough to gift me my mom ‘s car to drive back to Seattle. She hated that car and it was filled with only memories of cancer for me so I traded it in. I digress…
A lot of people have asked me how I could possibly not have run right home after my mom died, to be with my son. My husband too. But mostly, my son. It has taken me a month to be able to articulate my answer. I am still working through getting immediately defensive about the entire topic – it’s getting easier. You see, what might feel good for one person in grief may feel like too much for another. And sometimes the things that “should” be of comfort just aren’t. The truth is – I don’t think anyone in early grief can really know what they need. It’s a process. It’s a practice – in self-awareness, self-care, and patience.
This is obviously not to say that I don’t miss my son and husband terribly. Deeply. My mom died and I couldn’t hug my son or my husband. I never thought I’d lose my mom this early, and I certainly didn’t think it would happen during a pandemic under “stay at home” orders.
Here are my truths //
1. For almost one year – since the phone call confirming there was a mass – I have been a mess. I cried everyday and when I was in Seattle I was fretting about not being in Chicago. My instincts as a daughter told me I needed to be with my mom, to help her. (Now I see that I just needed to BE with her) I am not prepared to head back to Seattle quite so messy. I am taking this time to meet my grief, try to understand it, and aiming to be able to articulate it to my son and husband when I return. I do not believe I will be “healed” or “ok” by any sense of the words – just a little less messy.
2. My people are here. With the exception of my son and husband, of course. In this time I have strengthened relationships with my oldest and dearest friends – friends I have had for 31 years. For the last 10 years I may come home once or twice a year and rarely see all of the people in my life that matter. Now, I am surrounded with friends and family that called my mom a second mom, grew up with her, and can share stories with me about their memories of her. That is healing and that is comfort.
3. I have irrational resentment towards Seattle. I hated it when I first moved there; it’s beautiful, but not the “warmest” city. The Seattle Freeze is real – although it has thawed in the last five years – it is still not as friendly as Chicago (in my opinion). When I left 10 years ago I missed my mom terribly. Her first visit was just two weeks after I lived there and she stayed for three weeks. If I had known I’d lose her so soon I would’ve never left (see, I told you it was irrational. But at least I’m self-aware). The story that I’m telling myself right now is that Seattle stole 10 years of my mom from me.
4. I am mending my relationship with my dad. For the last year, him and I approached my mom’s cancer very differently. I dove in, researched, made color-coded notebooks and binders, and tried to learn everything I could about her disease. He… did nothing. I had all sorts of feelings about what that meant – now I understand. It meant it was hard for him and he processed that hard differently than I did. But things got tense. I started to resent him, I was angry that he seemed to be in denial (especially in the last month of her life), and I was not my best self as a daughter to him. So, now we heal. We apologize. We forgive.
5. Once I leave I will never come back here to a mom again. I am still holding on to the fact that I saw her on “this trip”. I got here in February and had a month and a half with her. I came here to take care of her. Once I leave – I will never come back to her. So, I’m taking my time. I’m holding onto “this trip”. I’m going at my pace.
I’m learning that people have a lot of opinions about grief. Most are just trying to be helpful or comforting. But grief is weird. And hard. So, the only opinions about my grief and how to “do” it that matter to me are my own. That’s not selfish, that’s self-care.
