The Road Not Taken

Today I found myself thinking about Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken (published in 1920).  I looked it up and read it again and found myself moved once more by his description of a choice he made that had a great impact on the rest of his life.  And so it speaks to all of us at one point or another.  

I have noticed that in the last few months, I have been approaching closer and closer to those divergent paths, all the while "sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller..." (lines 2, 3) ... and I find myself wishing, as I read about Frost's experience of choosing the 'road less travelled by' ... that the same will be true of my life, that I will find that 'that has made all the difference (lines 19, 20).  

When I mentioned this to my husband, he smiled. "But you've been taking the road less travelled all of your life!" he exclaimed.  Then he started listing all of the choices I made that were firsts in my family, the community where I grew up, the various spiritual journeys of growth and healing that I have been on, and on and on the examples came.... everything from getting my Bachelor's degree in the 1980s, to child-rearing choices I made, to applying for a management position when I was still a clerk (and being in the top three candidates to be assessed - 14 years ago - a lifetime for some), ... and now this.  

Image "Arrows Choice Shows Options Alternatives
Or Choosing" courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

This - this career path I've chosen (and for which I am going for my Master's degree) - this feels somehow more ... pivotal than most of the other times. As I get closer to where the paths REALLY diverge, when I am going to have to make that decision, clear away the brush and follow that second path, I notice more and more how different the paths seem from each other, and how much more that second path is in keeping with the series of choices I've made all of my life. Like my husband told me, I've never been one to follow or to join ... and I can lead when I have to ... but this is more like walking alongside individuals on their various journeys. And getting to that place is not going to be easy. It's going to be a lot of hard work, and I don't know what lies ahead.  I have an inkling perhaps, but I don't KNOW.

It's scary.  It's really scary.  But in their own way, all of those previous decisions have been scary too.  And if I never follow through with this choice, I'll always wonder what might have happened if I had.

So as the crossroads loom closer and closer, I take the next step. And the next one.  One at a time, bit by little bit.  Yes, I know where the road will take me, but if I worry about stumbling, I will end up pacing back and forth in the middle of the road - and that will get me nowhere.

Deep breath. 

The importance of self-care

As busy as life is working full time and fitting in all the other important things into the day (add to that school for most of the year for me), it is easy for me to assume that retirement will give me more time to do those things that just got "fit in" before. However, watching my hubby the last 7 years has taught me that retirement doesn't do that at ALL!! In fact, retirees have LESS time to fit everything in because everyone thinks they have time on their hands to do extra things, and their days easily fill up with errands, projects, visits, and appointments. Self-care is just as important (perhaps even more so) for the retired person as for the career-minded person. 

For those people who are mentally and emotionally drained by spending time in social situations with others - even if enjoying that time (like me!) - sometimes that means letting opportunities pass by for activities that they might really enjoy but they have just no energy to spend on those things because they need to spend that energy on getting through the rest of the day. I find the explanation known as "spoon theory" quite fitting to describe this phenomenon.

Photo "Mix Spoon It Multicolored On White
Isolate Background" courtesy of jk1991
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Spoon theory was invented by a lady who has lupus (Christine Miserandino) to describe to her best friend what it was like to live with a debilitating sickness.  It has since been used to describe what it is like to live with any chronic illness (including mental illness).  And, while I've never been officially diagnosed with a mental illness, I'm sure that I would be diagnosed with several if I were to seek a referral to a psychologist: the ones that come to mind are social anxiety disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, agoraphobia, seasonal affective disorder, and maybe one or two others.  

Spoon theory says that every day, someone who has a chronic illness starts the day with a certain limited number of "spoons" - units of energy - that they get to spend on activities that require mental, emotional, and/or physical energy to do.  Getting out of bed isn't just getting out of bed, it's opening the eyes, screwing up the courage to roll over, to sit up, to put one's feet on the floor, to stand up.  Depending on the degree of effort, that might cost three spoons instead of just one. And so it goes.  Cooking breakfast costs a spoon.  Driving to work in tourist traffic at rush hour is at least one if not two spoons.  By the time one gets to work, half the spoons for the day are probably already gone.... and there's the rest of the day to re-plan.  If one runs out of spoons for the day, one can borrow from the next day's supply - but then that next day will be that much more difficult with fewer spoons to start with.  

Other people don't have to think about how many spoons they have. They just do things willy-nilly, and seem to get by with spoons to spare at the end of the day. Those with a chronic illness, though, have to plan every move, and often have to change plans ... sometimes without notice.  This can lead to them being judged by their non-sick friends, especially if the illness is "invisible." That is, the common perception is that if someone doesn't LOOK sick, they aren't. Whether these friends mean to do it or not, they can be quite judgmental, even if they try to be nice about it.  They spread shame and guilt as if running out of energy was a deliberate choice designed to make them feel bad.  "I'm so disappointed that you couldn't find the time to spend with me," I've heard people say.   

Wow.  Just ... wow.  

It is just as much self-care to refrain from spending spoons as it is to actively go about replenishing them - and there are things that replenish spoon supply - in whatever way works for the one who is running low.  For me, that looks like sunning myself (in the summer) with my music playing, or laying down in a quiet room with a white-noise machine going to drown out the constant ringing in my ear, or watching a feel-good movie, among other things.  But it also looks like staying away from outings that I know will drain me - anything with anyone outside immediate family: the more people, the more draining it will be - and from topics of conversation that require a confrontational stance: politics and religion come to mind.  (That one is HARD to manage because everyone seems to have a different opinion and I'm no exception! The last time it happened, though, it took me three days to recover to where I felt ready to face a full day again ...)  If someone is constantly bringing up topics that drain me, I am learning to stay away from that person.  The mere knowledge that I won't have to be exposed to those things tends to give me a bit more energy - strange, I know, but it is true - and at the end of the day, I might find a spoon in my pocket that I didn't know I had. That is a rare and special find - because while I can save a spoon or two for the next day, I can't save up a whole lot to use later.  I made the mistake of thinking that earlier this year ... and the results were disastrous.

The bottom line is that self-care is so very important, and at the same time, so very under-rated.  There are lessons I've learned about it that have been hard to learn; I am still learning others.  One of the most crucial lessons for me was that self-care, contrary to popular religious and cultural belief, is FAR from selfish.  It is often the kindest thing one can do for one's family and friends, because someone who doesn't practice self-care will NOT have any reserves left and could end up damaging people who are near and dear, sometimes irreparably.  And another learning is that it is okay to (1) say no, and (2) ask for help.  It doesn't mean that I'm less of a person; it means I am becoming aware of my limits and I am trying to stay within them. 

So if I use a spoon to spend time with you, know that (1) it is a good day for me and (2) if someday I can't, it's not your fault ... and it's not mine either.

Nothing to prove

In just a couple of months, it will have been three years since our daughter passed away at the age of 21. Grief, my constant and relentless companion at first, has become more of a travelling companion now, and I nod at it as it overtakes me and carries me in its wake at times. Other times, I travel life without it dogging my heels. Some days I even forget that I have been that profoundly touched by its presence. Other days, it's all I can think about.

At first, every conversation was about her. I needed to talk about her, needed to not forget her. I was afraid that I would forget what her laugh sounded like. I was afraid that if I enjoyed life, I might stop hurting - and I needed to hurt - hurting made the loss feel more fitting somehow.  

I kept reminders of her everywhere. Pictures, pieces of jewelry, little keepsakes, cards and letters from people expressing their condolences... things that helped me traverse the nettles of fresh grief, things that kept the wound from closing until it healed on the inside. I maintained that one never gets over the death of someone so close. And one doesn't.  Yet ... I started to get worn down by the grief. It was like being chained to a post. The reminders became burdensome because they were reminders of what I had lost, not of what she had gained by being free of her own chains, all the strikes against her.  I lost sight of how happy she is now.  

April 26, 2016 - the décor of our living room is changing.

As well, as time wore on, I began to realize that my belle was all about living large - enjoying the moment - and she would want me to do the same.  So I began to put away in a safe place some of the little things that were such a constant reminder of her and which, likely as not, would just end up making me sad. All those snowflakes are mostly relegated to one Christmas ornament that hangs in the corner of our living room doorway, and a chain of snowflakes a dear friend crocheted for me for Christmas last year. Oh ... and the paper snowflakes my belle taped to a lampshade one year. Her picture still hangs in our kitchen, but the wall art in the living room - where we spend the most time during our waking hours - has changed to reflect the things in our lives that we enjoy. Things that remind us all of life, of beauty, of strength and freedom.

I think that before, I kept trying to prove to people that I loved my daughter and that I missed her.  I have come to a sort of place of peace about that, knowing that love is eternal, that it is probably the only thing that you take with you when you die (so I know she still loves me!), and that as long as we are separated, I will ALWAYS miss her.  I don't have to prove that.  It's a fact.

So I guess I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore - and I think that I have already begun to move forward, onward, upward - in small ways.  I don't need those constant reminders anymore.  I don't need to look back at what might have been; I can't change that.  I don't need to wish I could go to her in the sweet bye and bye.  That will happen soon enough; that's a fact of life.  

It's okay that she is free of having to prove herself too. She's totally free of that pressure to perform, that uphill battle to just have the right to take up space. I would not dare take that freedom away from her even if I could.  And I cannot.

What I can do is live.  Not just survive, but LIVE. Enjoy life.  Have goals. Strive for them. Relish today.  Savour the moment.  Not living in the "if only I had" or the "I can't wait until" but living in the "this is so cool" mentality.  That's how she lived her life.  That's how I choose to live mine.  Nothing to prove, not to anyone, not to her, not even to myself.  

It's okay to put some of her stuff away.  It doesn't mean that I forgot her or that I ever WILL forget her.  It just means that I embrace life, not death.  

I think that's what she would want.  I know it's what I want.

Press Pause

What a whirlwind the last three weeks has been! I have been in a city that is three thousand miles away from my home, knowing only the people I have met online through my master's program, and often depending on the kindness of strangers, or if not strangers, people who are new to my experience. 

Three weeks ago today, I left behind my office desk with a note on it to not give me new work because I wouldn't be back until nearly the end of July, and I went home to do my final packing. In a way, it was like I pressed "Pause" on my work life.  That world would no longer occupy me for a period of three weeks. And so it has not.  I have become immersed in the atmosphere of students desiring earnestly to develop their skills, just as I am. 

Academically, this has been intense - there has been such a strong component of hands-on practice in what some have dubbed "Summer Intensive" (as opposed to Summer Institute, which it is really called).  I can literally feel my mind expanding as I have gone through these few weeks. I chuckle when I remember how the smallest of skills posed such a problem for me at first, and then, looking back, I wonder what all the fuss was about. My confidence in my abilities has increased exponentially. Yes, academically, it has been a good experience. It will stand me in good stead in my practicum, but that won't happen until 13 months or so from now.

As challenging and invigorating as that has been, physically, it has been exhausting. It took me a few days to realize that I was lagging behind other people and feeling out of breath all the time because I was 3,500 feet higher above sea level than I was used to being! Altitude sickness includes symptoms of fatigue, shortness of breath, acute insomnia, headaches and joint aches ....and I had it all!  It lasted for almost two weeks! About a week after getting here, I was given the opportunity to book a place in residence (on the campus). It turned out to be a good move for me, as I could devote more time to self-care than I had in months. And now, a lot of those aches and pains have disappeared or vastly reduced. I can enjoy the walk to and from class now, and it doesn't tire me out like it used to. And I have even gotten some sunshine in the process! It's like I have finally been able to press Pause, to gather my legs under me, to get my bearings physically.

Emotionally and relationally, this period has been difficult.  I have been confronted with just how much of a jerk I can be sometimes (even moreso when I am feeling tired, weak, and lonely), which has led me to begin to re-evaluate my approach to communication in relationships. That was - and is - a hard (and emotionally expensive) lesson to learn. I have had to press Pause, to reflect on a lot of things surrounding my insecurities and fears about how to be a friend and whether I have the ability to be true to who I am and say how I feel without being afraid of making someone mad at me. I sense that this will be a long Pause. There is a lot to work through.

And then there's the homesickness!! WOW have I ever suffered from that!! Especially in the last week, I have been (as my prof described to me) "off" - not quite on my game, if you will. And that has simply been a function of homesickness combined with the stress of public speaking without the benefit of either raised stage or microphone.  (Let me tell you, that is a totally different ball game...) But mostly it's just been that being away from my loved ones is wearing on me, and I just can't wait to see them again!!  I went to timeanddate.com to create a countdown for not only the plane landing back home, but also for it taking off from here.  What's that you say? I got it bad? Yeah you bet!! 

Health-wise, this has been a pleasant pause. I am strengthening my lifestyle choices regarding eating and activity level, and have learned that I CAN look after myself (and yes, medication helps) and eventually beat my health challenges. My sugars are ALMOST back to normal and I feel less draggy and tired than I was two short months ago when I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I can foresee a day when things will be completely under control and I will be able to get back to activities that I had to give up because it was just too uncomfortable and/or tired to do them. (Golf, folks. I was talking about golf.  And horseback riding. Tsk!) 

Photo "Stone And Sand Background" courtesy
of gubgib at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And now I get ready to press another Pause.  After this weekend, I will be officially finished this course and won't have to start another until September - and even then, instead of two courses, I will only be taking one. August is a month I look forward to simply because it is a breather from the constant need to stay on top of a pretty intense school routine added onto an already full plate of work and home (not to mention sleep, nutrition, and activity).  One less thing to focus on gives me a slight break in that routine. I'm thankful for that; it will give me a chance to reconnect with my friends and spend time with my family.

That way, when September comes and I release that Pause button, I will be energetic enough to dance to the music again. 

Commemoration Days

Commemoration is something you do to honour the person (or people) who has (or have) died... for whatever reason.  Usually you hear the word around November 11, but someone said that word to me last night as I explained that the next day would have been my youngest daughter's 24th birthday. 

"Are you doing anything to commemorate? you know, something special?"

Frankly, I was just going to try to survive the day. But when I awoke this morning and started thinking about it, and planning my meals for the day, I began to think about my girl's favourite things... and how I could honour her in the choices I make in the little things today. 

I started with cooking a breakfast for myself that was one of her favourites: "hash" - which is hash-browned potatoes made with "real" potato (not the instant kind) - bacon (cooked chewy but not crispy), and scrambled eggs (that last bit was for me). As I ate it I recalled how she would relish every bite, rolling her eyes back with ecstasy when she took that first bite of bacon, that first taste of potato. Then how she would try to get as many potato pieces as she could fit on her fork, and give her potato-head fork a "haircut"... fill her mouth really full of the food and then act silly trying to talk through a mouth packed full. 

Arielle at Sam's - early 2012
Copyright 2012, Judy Gillis

I lingered over breakfast, savouring every morsel, each one a memory of fun times at the breakfast table either at home or at her favourite restaurant to have breakfast at: Sam's. Our family still goes there, quite frequently.  We like it there too. 

The last couple of weeks I have been living in Calgary, Alberta - I'm here for my schooling - and being this close to where she had her accident has been very emotional for me. It has made me more sensitive, and affected nearly all my interactions with people.

I find myself usually thinking about the things I miss about her - and there is a LOT of that! - and not wanting to think of the things about her that drove me crazy - her in-your-face attitude, her loudness, her impulsiveness to the point of taking unnecessary risks and not being considerate of people who were worried about her - but those things were a part of her as well. It took her quite a while for her to learn not to crowd me (she'd stand too close for my personal comfort and would NOT lower her voice) but she eventually learned that it "made Mom's skin get all snaky-feeling."

I miss her smile. I miss her laughter and her fun-ness. I miss how generous and loving she was, how she would put herself out for a friend in need.  I miss the quirk of her eyebrow ... and I miss her unshakable faith.  I miss her hugs ... most of all I miss those. 

I know that I will find other ways to make this day special.  But honestly, she left such an impact on my life that I try to "commemorate" her by living a little more like she did, by her unique life's motto, "Every snowflake counts" (see my October 24, 2013 post), every day.

It not only keeps her close, it's a wonderful way to live. 

Thanks, sweetie, for lighting the way.  

How did I miss this?

I sat in my doctor's office today and he asked me how I had been feeling the last few weeks since starting my diabetes medication.

I found myself gushing.  Literally gushing!  The words tumbled out of my mouth like a torrent.  I was feeling so good! not so exhausted all the time! more energy! not as ravenous! feeling like I was eating more even though the calories were way less than before! I almost felt like I was cheating!

His face flushed with pleasure. He was beaming.  (Note to self: this guy really CARES about me - he loves what he does and loves to see people healthy!) 

I was nearly breathless with telling him about all the positive changes.  And he asked me about my numbers.  I showed him my sugar log and noted the variations in my levels, better during the day and more in the morning than they should be. So we both agreed that he needed to up my dose of one of the medications - and he wrote the script for that.  We agreed to meet again in a couple of weeks. 

I couldn't contain myself anymore.  I caught his eye and said to him, incredulous, "How did I MISS this?"  I had always thought that eating healthy was so hard, so much work.  Yet here I was eating completely balanced meals and feeling so wonderful ... was this what normal people felt like? not getting hungry until almost mealtime? slowing down and enjoying the taste of food? 

He validated my good report and told me that it doesn't take long when adopting a healthy lifestyle to start noticing a difference.  Boy was HE right! 

Talking about it with my husband later, I started to shake my head with disbelief. Again. "I can't believe how good I feel!" I said to him.  

He grinned, and then looked pensive. "I'm so thankful.  He probably saved your life," he said. "If he hadn't made you take those blood tests, you'd still be tired and on your way to ..." his voice trailed off and his eyes misted a bit.  

"... a heart attack," I finished his sentence.

"Yeah." 

"I know.  We have a lot to be grateful for." 

"We do." 

I know that there are some people who have been trying all my adult life to guilt me into making healthier choices; guilt trips are red flags for me and I resist them. But it was the caring and concern of this stranger who sat me down and informed me of the facts ... with no "shoulds" ever coming out of his mouth ... and let me make up my own mind, who really had a big influence on my decision to live.  I chose to live. I chose to stick around. And that, my friends, is the truth.

How did I miss this?  I was ignorant.  I didn't know what was wrong - and in my arrogance, I thought that it was stress or normal reactions from being bullied or burning the candle at both ends. It turns out I was partly right; prolonged intense stress is a risk factor in the development of diabetes.  But mostly, I was caught in a web of fear ... fear of going to a doctor I didn't trust (my former physician), fear of what he might say and how he might say it, fear of how others might jump on the "jump on Judy" bandwagon, fear of something actually being wrong (and not fixable), fear of leaving the familiar and launching out into new territory, and fear that I wouldn't be able to make the changes that I would need to make. 

Photo "Young Plant" by amenic181 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It turns out that I had all that fear for nothing.  It turns out that diabetes - as life-limiting as the diagnosis sounds - freed me to have the lifestyle I enjoy now. I can't explain it any better than that.  Whether I lose weight or not, matters not. That I feel better for putting the right fuel into my body does matter. It not only makes my body feel better, it makes my soul and spirit feel better as well, because I am looking after myself and making time for me - even if it is only a small portion out of my day to pack a lunch for myself to take to work instead of buying my lunch from the vending machine in the basement at my work. And it only takes a couple of minutes a few times a day to write down what I eat. And maybe I feel good enough to go for a stroll once in a while. 

I'm so grateful. 

And don't worry, I won't be turning my blog into a fitness diary.  I've seen too many people get turned onto this or that "healthy" practice and become people I didn't like as much anymore. But I did want to say that here is one little gray duck that is so glad someone with patience, wisdom and respect took the time to give me the facts and let me decide what to do with them. He made sure that I didn't "miss it." And that my family wouldn't miss me.

The Road to Self-care

So okay, NOW I can talk about this on my blog. I had to make sure that everyone in my household was in the know and aware. And not overreacting. Because it's no super big deal.

So here goes: I am in the process of getting diagnosed with type 2 Diabetes (late onset, or what the old-timers used to call "shugar dye-a-BEET-us") I've been monitoring my blood sugars ever since this morning, so I can show my log book to the doctor on Thursday. He'll have the results of my second A1C (blood glucose, fasting) test, which he needs to confirm the diagnosis. He and I both expect it to be around the same as the last one, so yes, unofficially it's diabetes mellitus (the medical term.)

Then we'll talk about treatment (probably pills) and he'll probably refer me to a nutritionist. I've already made adjustments in timing, portion control and content of my meals and snacks. (Been doing a LOT of reading at the Canadian Diabetes Association site and at the Mayo Clinic site).

People are going to ask me if I'm okay - that's natural. The truth is, I haven't been okay.  The last 8 months has been simply awful: no energy, lots of fatigue, thirsty all the time, and ravenously hungry ... really irritable before meals and falling asleep while studying - and elsewhere. I just thought it was stress. Well, it WAS stress in a way, because prolonged, intense stress can raise blood sugar - but there are also other contributing factors, of which I have three: a family history (my dad's mother), a personal history of gestational diabetes, and morbid obesity. I get it that people will be worried about me and wonder what this means for my health.

 

Photo "Bowl Of Muesli For Breakfast With Fruits"
courtesy of Serge Bertasius at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

But for the most part, for me, the diagnosis of diabetes comes as a huge relief.  Finally, there's an explanation for how I've been feeling. Finally, I know what to do about it AND I am motivated to do so.  And best of all, my entire nuclear family is on board with getting more active and eating better (in fact, they are looking forward to it!) - talk about moral support! 

 

Having diabetes forces me to look after myself, not to skip meals, not to snack on empty calories, and not to sit in my chair and think of excuses why I should stay there.  Wow.  Not to lose weight (although if that happens - bonus!) but to keep my sugars under control so that I don't end up with heart disease and kidney problems.  

 

I even heard my husband say to me last week (echoing my own secret thoughts), "You know, honey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise."  It surprises me to say that I think he is right!  I can say that I have been scouring diabetes websites, looking at food lists, poring over supermarket flyers, thinking about meal planning, and getting my head around being more active and just making that part of my every-day routine.  

 

I have spent the last seven years trying to take care of my emotional self, and I have been growing in that respect more and more; now, it is time to take care of my physical self. I'm on the road again. Hopefully the skies will be sunny and the breeze warm.

Flowers and Hearts

We're coming up on one of the hardest times of year for me - Mothers Day. It's difficult to wade through the messages everywhere that all mothers are saintly. Some just ... aren't ... No matter what anyone else believes, nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors ... except the ones behind those doors. Some kinds of memories can sour the pleasures of the present.

And of course, the annual event (and its hype) is also a reminder of one of my children who is not here anymore to wish me a happy Mothers Day. . . that kind of pain never goes away, but is more keenly felt on the 2nd Sunday in May.

For those of you who are fortunate enough to have had a wonderful mother, I am glad that you did. If your wonderful mother is still living, be sure to tell her - and show her (not just one day a year) - that you love and appreciate her. That means a lot more than gushy words in a card, pretty flowers or corsages, and chocolates once a year.

If your wonderful mother has passed away at any time (and especially recently) - I grieve with you for having lost someone very special in your life.

And if (like me) how you feel about your mom is "complicated" and you have mixed feelings (at best) about Mother's Day - and especially IF you are a mother with that kind of background ... might I offer my perspective?  I have learned through trial and error (mostly error) that the best way to survive the last week of April and the first half of May (with all the advertising campaigns capitalizing on guilt and shame) is to focus on the present and BE a good mom all year round. 

A good mom is one whose children feel safe to be themselves around her.
 

Photo "Dandelions" courtesy of sattva at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Now" is important.  Now matters. Continue breaking the cycle of bad parenting, abuse, and/or neglect. Treat your children - no matter how young - like the real people they are, not just as miniature extensions of yourself. Don't set them up to be laughed at - and NEVER laugh at them or call them names, or dismiss their "little feelings" (there is NOTHING "little" about feelings) as "cute" just because the reason for their distress seems minor to you. 

Respect their boundaries. Take their side. Celebrate their accomplishments. Go to bat for them when they are treated unfairly.  Say please and thank you to your children, and MEAN it. Say you're sorry to their face (and MEAN it) when you mess up. Teach them basic housekeeping and cooking techniques, do these tasks together, and teach them the joy of helping others for its own sake, not to avoid punishment or gain a material reward.  They will remember for the rest of their lives the way you treat them when they are little.  They will also remember how you treat others who have little or no power, and when they grow up, they will most likely treat others the same way.

And when the day comes (whether they're three or sixty-three) when they want to honour you for being that good Mom - and they will - don't rob them of that joy.  Smile and say thank you.  Even if all they bring you is dandelions, if it comes from the heart, see the heart behind it, look them in the eyes with all the love you have inside, and say thank you.

"The cost of sharing your life with someone worth missing"*

*  - I am indebted to John Pavlovitz for the quote used as my title - read his original article, entitled "The Day I'll Finally Stop Grieving"  here 
If the link does not work, just copy and paste the following address into your web browser's address bar:  http://johnpavlovitz.com/2015/10/31/the-day-ill-finally-stop-grieving/   

 Once deep grief has touched your life, you are never the same again.  You don't "get over it."  It becomes part of you, just like your glasses (you don't always notice them on your face but they are always there)  - always beneath the surface - affecting you to one degree or another.

At first, it is all you can feel.  Wave upon wave upon wave of pain, sadness, anger, anguish, and love - yes, love - for without love there would be no pain, no sadness.  Those waves can last for weeks, even months, with no letup.  Every moment hurts. The pain is intense, indescribable, searing.  Sometimes it feels like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. It literally physically hurts.  You lose sleep.  You re-experience the trauma of the loss, over and over again. It's all you can think about. Everything you see, everywhere you go, every person you meet is somehow a reminder. 

It's not like every single moment is like that.  There are oases, respites or breaks from the suffering, however fleeting they may be.  But at first, there is no respite. 

After a while, there may be breaks from the relentless onslaught.  I truly believe that humans were never created or designed to experience loss of this kind.  We are eternal beings; separation is not something we were meant to cope with. That being said, the mind can only bear so much before it creates breaks - even minor ones - rays of light piercing the gloom. Life has a way of forcing you to pay attention to it ... even if that paying attention is putting one foot in front of the other, looking after someone else, doing household chores, paying the bills, playing music, or exercising ... or something else. And in the midst of that, inexplicably, there can be moments (however fleeting) where you can forget about the loss. For a while.

Sometimes you can laugh.  I mean, really belly-laugh!  (Part of you feels guilty perhaps, but you DO laugh.) Sometimes (and as time goes on, those sometimes become most-of-the-time) you can enjoy the little things you always did. 

Our belle Arielle (1992-2013) ... in 2012

But there is no escaping that loss.  It's there all the time. The expression "time heals all wounds" is not true.  Time might distance you from the intense, constant pain - but there will always be that pain, and at any time (and you never know what will set it off or when) it can flare to be just as bad as the first day, catch you off guard when it does, and leave you breathless and shaking when the wave passes over you. 

Queen Elizabeth II once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love."  I would add that the more intense the love, and the more invested in the other person's well-being you are, the more intense the grief will be when that person is gone from you.  

I'm not saying you won't remember something that they said and laugh along with the memory. Those times will come, and they are precious when they do.  That's all part of the grieving process too.  Even with that happy memory there will be a pang, though, that inescapable fact of their absence.  It becomes part of your "new normal" ... which is essentially learning to live with missing them.

I know all the platitudes people give you to try to make you feel better (and that could be because they are uncomfortable with how deep your suffering is). You know the platitudes I mean: that your loved one is in a better place, or that God needed another angel (I want to punch people who say that!), yada yada.  The fact remains that the person is gone and you can't get them back - so you have to live the rest of your whole life without them.  You don't stop missing them. You don't stop loving them. And that is as it should be.  You'd be a pretty heartless and unfeeling person if you just "got over it."

So the next time (or any time) someone says to you, "You know, it's been ten months, (or ten years, or twenty years) since you lost so-and-so, isn't it about time you moved on?" ... you can know that this person has never lost someone that close.  And you can be grateful that they haven't experienced the kind of pain you have felt.  Nor would you wish that upon them, truth be told. Besides, missing your loved one is definitely not "not moving on."  It is holding them in your heart. It is honouring them the only way you have left - by NOT forgetting them.

The experience of missing them sucks, yes.  Grief is not pleasant.  However - as John (whom I quoted at the beginning of my post) said, grief is "the cost of sharing your life with someone worth missing." It is by far the highest price to pay and still remain alive, but hear me: it should never be anything to be ashamed of, or to be shamed for. Take it from someone who knows. 

Never again

“Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.”

– Terry Pratchett

When we think of the atrocities of WWII - the concentration camps, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the internment camps where Japanese North Americans were imprisoned - two words come to mind: NEVER AGAIN. I was reading yesterday of an atrocity that spanned several decades in our own country, in the words of those who had survived it: the First Nations people. In the residential school system, generations of First Nations children were ripped from their parents (some of them without the parents' knowledge or consent, some at the threat of their parents going to jail) and treated shamefully, in an effort to assimilate them ... to make them into white people.

What if some military or political power were to give police the authority to come into your home, take you and the things you hold dear from it, and give you to prison wardens who stripped you down, called you filthy, washed your hair with kerosene, shaved your head, took your clothes and gave you ill-fitting shoes, burned all of your sports equipment, took your phone, your musical instruments, your credit cards, your jewelry, everything that distinguished you as a person, gave you a number and called you by nothing but that number, fed you substandard food and made you eat it, and beat you if you spoke your mother tongue? What if this went on for years before you were allowed to return to your family? The equivalent of that is only the beginning of what happened to these wonderful, peaceful people.

Reading the accounts of what happened in the victims' own words powerfully reminded me of reading Viktor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning (you can look it up and read it free online) where he described what he went through in the Nazi death camps upon arrival, and then on a daily basis.  He spoke for millions who could not, whose voices were silenced.  He helped to expose the atrocities motivated by fear and hatred.

Isn't that what racism is: fear and hatred gone wild?  That it happened here ... that the spirits of those children were sucked out of them - their way of life and even their own language called demonic - this is Canada's shame. 

I'm sorry, folks, but an official apology from the government, nearly a hundred years after the fact, just does not make up for the thousands of lives, families and communities that were destroyed, the very fabric of their way of life (family, connection with nature, traditions) unraveled.  It does not give the stolen spirits of those people back to them.  It does not restore their lost heritage, nor the way of life they were brainwashed into rejecting. 

 

Photo "Dreamcatcher" courtesy
of Serge Bertasius Photography at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The nightmare isn't over for First Nations people just because some white man in a three-piece suit said, "Sorry." The way we silence the monsters is to let people know how horrific those attitudes are: the ones that led to daily spiritual and cultural atrocities. The attitude that "white makes right." The attitude that "Christian values are the only ones worth espousing" and "these people are savages."  And oh, my favourite (not): "It's for their own good." It was wrong. It was wrong then and it's still wrong now.

There, I've said it.  I'm a white, Christian, "civilized" (whatever that means) person and I KNOW that what happened was wrong.  I KNOW that every day for multiple generations, there are adults who wake in cold sweats from nightmares about "that place." There are grown men who question every move they make: am I allowed to sit here, am I allowed to go to that place, am I allowed to talk to this person?

Knowledge is power.  I freely admit that I was ignorant.  I didn't know that I didn't know.  And although it was painful, I had to educate myself.  I went to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada website and I started reading one of the many documents available there  (link).  I confess that I was only able to get through half of it - it was very emotional for me.  The language is easy enough to understand, but the stories themselves - first of how life used to be, and then of how life changed forever - broke my heart. 

Perhaps the reason that some Canadians have a hard time with immigrants coming into our country is because our own ancestors carried out the very thing that they fear the newcomers will do: destroy our way of life, take over our land and make us into second-class citizens.  The difference is that we whites hold a position of privilege ... and we therefore have a responsibility to use our power for good.  Not evil.

Never again.