Burnout for Christmas

 

[A gift for my angel; source]

When Alli died, I threw myself into work and anything I could do to avoid thinking. Come the holidays, I jumped into as much service as I could think of. We wrote down the nice things we did for other people and put them in a bottle. On Christmas morning, we read back over the service projects we did as a gift to my angel. 

[Observing what remained of my holiday spirit; source]

Last year, on sleeping medication that did not do me any favors for a year and a half, I crashed and burned out. I got sleep but lost my fire. I didn't have it in me to much enjoy the holidays, let alone help others do so. The fact that the economy turned my income from comfortable to surviving did not help matters. But we still managed to squeeze a few things in, still did a few things to help others. 

[The results of recovering my fire.]

I got off those meds and onto some that left me able to sleep and with enough ambition to work on jump-starting my writing career. I spent the late summer and fall writing and churning out books and putting them on Amazon, including the first in my novels for kids (Doomimals Book 1) as well as helping my boy get the first of his books out (Misadventures of the Just Us Chickens). We've sold some but are working on figuring out how to advertise. And now, I'm back to burnout between all the writing, a full-time job, and a part-time job. 

[Looking through the boughs darkly.]

The holiday used to be so hard because I felt the gaping hole where my youngest child ought to be. Songs about babies, pregnancy, and angels didn't help. Now, it's the burnout, two years running. Burnout is hard over the holidays because everything feels harder. The year has flown by so fast that it doesn't feel like we ought to be doing this all over again. I've slogged through the season so far, not deeply mourning but not excited about the little things. It doesn't help that others in my house feel the same. So, it's with a sense of duty and guilt that I still push myself to do something. I decorated the tree minimally because I was doing it alone. Wrapping is no longer a joy, so I trot out the tired, wrinkled gift bags and shove things in, sans Christmas music. 

[True meaning; source]

I'm trying to ignite that holiday spirit by reminding myself of the true meaning, the birth of the Savior. I've been listening to Christmas music, but only the stuff that won't automatically feel stale. Which is hard to find sometimes. Hint: shopping in stores doesn't do it. Pentatonix continually produces more unique versions and styles. The Tabernacle Choir often teams with fun performers like Muppets. Josh Groban makes me happy. Lindsey Sterling and Jackie Evancho are on the playlist for today. I'll be focusing on spiritual Christmas and spiritual songs and messages today. They help to bring in the Spirit and also the true spirit of Christmas. I'm still looking for service ideas on a budget. I know that will help, too, because nothing brings the Spirit faster than helping others. Feel free to share what helps you enjoy the holidays. Maybe something you say will help. I'll survive the holiday. I'd just like to survive it with a smile and maybe some memories that will last. 

Someone Else's Angelversary

[We miss you, Gillaire.]

Three years ago, toward the end of October, my friend died of COVID. I'm fairly certain I blogged about it then. The other day, I realized we were coming upon her angelversary. My heart bled for her other friends and family, those who love and remember her fondly. She was so young, a little younger than I am now. She had always seemed so strong and resilient. She went through so much, including the loss of both of her beloved parents, legal trouble, housing situations, and so much more. It seemed like she would always be around. 

[How I met Gillaire.]

Just under two decades ago, I went into my master's program and was embraced with open arms to a group of friends, including the man who would become my husband. At the heart of that group of friends was Gillaire. She was a firecracker, full of zest for life and love. She loved everyone around her. Other people came and went from that group, but Gillaire was always a constant. 

[Cali and Gillaire, a matched set.]

Then, that group of friends moved onto other locations. We stayed in touch as much as we could. Gillaire even came to live with us a couple of times when she wasn't able to find somewhere else. She made our times together fun. That second time she stayed with us, she brought with her a dog for whom she lived. During that time, we worked together on a picture book, "Cali the Silly Frenchie Goes for a Walk." The stunning photography in it was hers. She loved photography, and this book showcased that. As her angelversary crept up on us, I redid that book so as to showcase her photography better. For a few days, you can see a copy for free if you click that link. We had also planned to put together more Cali books but never did. With the permission of her sister, I also put together a set of three books, including the one above, all about Cali, Cali the Silly Frenchie Collection. That, too, is free for now. Afterward, any proceeds will be offered to her sister. 

[Remembering Gillaire.]

I made a point to get a copy of it to both her sister and her beloved roommate. I was most of all thinking of them as I put these together, as well as of all the people who loved her. It seemed like the only thing I could do to pay tribute to my friend who was so steady and so loyal to everyone who loved her, plus this blog. There were so many. So many who feel her loss even these three years later. Shen she left us, she left a hole in all of our lives. I know she's back with her parents. I know she'll hold Cali again. In the meantime, Cali happily stays with that beloved roommate and seems happy. I'm so thankful I got to have Gillaire in my life. If you know her, feel free to comment here to remember her. 

Mourning for Something besides Death

[Sisters and Friends; source]

My sister and I used to be good friends. We went through so much together. I was kind of a mother figure when I was a teenager since my parents mostly left the seven of us to raise each other. I helped her get back into church when she was feeling lost as an older teen. We became good friends when we were roommates in a house full of young women. 

[My Niece; source]

I was in the room for the birth of her firstborn. She came to stay with me when one of my kids was born. Her daughter became my daughter's best friend, and they would look forward to visits when they would come here, or we would go to Wyoming. 

[Bending over Backward to Help Family; source]

Then, they moved to the area. We bought a trailer for them to live in while we worked to find land for them to build a house. We visited each other frequently and watched each others' kids. We'd have holidays together. We were close, or I thought. 

[When a Gift Becomes a Nightmare; source]

Then, we built them a house to buy from us. That's when things went downhill, from a friendship to a usership. And that was the beginning of the end. After a dramatic and traumatic last year or so, we don't even talk anymore. My child has lost a friend. I have lost one of my best friends, a steady friend from the time I was seven. Plus, I was close to all three of her kids. Now, they have been trained to want nothing to do with me. I alluded to this last year. At the time, I talked about how she nuked her family, called in the officials, and that things had just begun. Now, those things are pretty much over, and it's more or less torn our clan apart. And it still hurts. 

[Mourning; source]

Any loss can be hard. Whether or not it involves death, it can still lead to legitimate mourning. A loss like this sticks with you, changes you, changes your conception of self. Sometimes, people find it liberating to simply hear that their loss is a kind of grief. That they can mourn for their loss. Anyone who has had a major loss should be respected and not dismissed. It can be the loss of a friend, a family member, a home, even a set of expectations. It's a loss that rocks your world and makes you rethink everything. It makes everything harder. For instance, I like to help people, but it's hard to want to do so when helping can result in loss. Every time someone comes to me to ask for help, this loss comes to mind and makes me hesitate. And this loss reminds me of losses from the past. 

[Seeking Peace; source]

Loss of whatever sort is hard. But there is peace. We can find peace in other people, in friendship, in therapy, in meditation. I have frequently sought peace in faith, through prayer and scripture study. I know true peace comes from the Lord. Just let yourself grieve a loss like this. Don't force yourself or anyone else into a certain definition or time limit. Just give yourself and others time and space to work through their loss. I'd love to hear your stories of loss below. 

What not to Say to a Griever

 

[Don't stick your foot in it. Source]

It's easy to stick your foot in it with someone who is a fresh mourner, someone who just lost a loved one. Fresh grief is raw and painful. It may be numb as well. It can have any number of effects, many of them unpredictable and uncontrollable. It is what it is, and it is not easy to deal with. But there are certain things I'd recommend those who want to reach out to a griever not do. One is to ignore the grief, pretend no loss has happened or to treat the griever like the plague. A lot of people do either of these because grief is uncomfortable for all parties. The main thing to remember is that if you're there for the person, not for you. It should not be about you. That means you can express empathy but never say you understand. Everyone's grief is different. I can't even pretend to understand my husband's grief, and he's there with me all the time with the same losses. 

[Just don't: Source]

There are things one should just never say, though you may have the best of intentions doing so. Anything that starts with, "You think you have it bad" is a bad idea. Comparing any aspect of your pain with any aspect of theirs demeans and minimizes what they're feeling. Please, I beg of you, just don't. Anything after, "Well, at least . . " is almost as bad. I don't care if you're saying, "At least you'll see her again in heaven" or "At least you know you have an angel watching over you." It may all be true, but in saying this, you're telling them they don't have a right to feel pain. Their arms are empty NOW. It hurts NOW. Telling someone how they should feel or that they have no legitimate right to feel like they do now or in the future only hurts them more. Furthermore, Never put a timeline or expectation on grief. Wondering why they're not over it already can do just that. Mostly, these feel like an unconscious desire to silence.

[Questions that hurt. Source]

 

"How are you?" feels like an obvious and instinctive thing to say, but it practically demands the scripted answer, "I'm fine." This once again makes you the one getting comforted. If they say they're fine, you can feel better about them and not worry about them anymore. Even if they say it, what they might mean is, "I'm dying inside, but I don't trust you enough to tell you about it." They may appreciate the thought, but you can't bank on it. Just be there for them. If they trust you enough to tell you how they feel, there's a good chance they will do so. They just need you to reach out and be there. 

[Just be there; source]

If they're a hugger, a hug a shoulder touch, or any other contact can often help. But not everyone wants to be touched. Not everyone wants or needs any one thing. However, most people want to know you're there, that you're open to whatever they need from you, and that you are there for them, not for you. Empathy is a lovely thing, as long as you're not focusing on your losses but simply showing that you have some comprehension of what it is to grieve. Praying for people can help. Sometimes, they may actually feel the comfort that comes from your prayers. Above all, just be there for them. Communicate that you care, that you're open to what they need from you. Every griever is different and has different needs. 

Tell me in the comments how you offer comfort to a fellow griever or someone who you have seen in pain. 

Reminders of Mortality

 

[Cancer-source]

A woman I know, Tami Wickham, died of cancer, leaving behind her daughter and husband. I've seen her around for most of the last 13 years, including before I moved to my current home. I was never close with her, so I mourn for others, not for me. She found out about the cancer one month and was gone the next. I was working during the funeral, so I didn't make it. But I wanted to, if only to support others. I don't like funerals because of too many of my family's at once. It has become a trigger. But I would have gone if I could have. 

[Mourning-source]

Meanwhile, I visited a friend who was deeply mourning this lady. She felt the loss deeply because she truly knows the family. It feels like I've missed an opportunity by not trying hard to reach out, even when I knew death was coming. This friend of mine wept for the family who lost their loved one and also for the loss of her friend. Today, I have been surrounded by mourners. It makes me sad, but I still feel untouched. The fact that I don't feel it makes me realize I truly missed out on a real friend. 

[Loss-source]

Things like this remind me that today is all we have. We hope there will be a tomorrow, but there may not be for us and everyone we know and love. It's a cliche, but it's still true that tomorrow is not promised. Life seems so much more fragile when you've gotten beyond the fiction of "It couldn't happen to me." Loss can happen to any of us at any time. 

Even faith isn't an impenetrable shield. It means we trust God to guide us and help us in our lives, no matter what happens to us. He's not a light switch that stops the darkness from hitting us. It means we know He'll be there for us in the storm, not that there will be no storm. He's an umbrella that shields our hearts from the worst of the pain and comforts us when things are at their darkest. I'm thankful to have faith and hope in eternity. But I also know pain is part of life. And sometimes, it's part of the plan for us, part of what we need to help us grow into the person we need to be. I know it was part of mine. And I've grown a lot through the process, for which I'm grateful. 

How has loss touched your life? I'd love to hear from you. 

Quiet Spaces

[Finding Peace: source]

 Quiet spaces can be a blessing or a curse when you're in mourning. They can give you a chance to reflect on your loved ones, including the ones you're mourning. They can give you a chance to dwell on your blessings and joys. Sometimes, they can be your survival when the noises around you are loud with voices that aren't helpful, with questions or phrases that hurt you more than help you like when people are trying to tell you how to mourn or asking why you aren't over it yet. Or even asking how you are when the speaker doesn't want to hear the real answer. Quiet spaces can allow you to reflect, to meditate, to find peace.

[Alone in the Darkness: source]

But also, that reflection can also lead you to very dark places. People in pain can get self-destructive or filled with a maelstrom of painful feelings. Quiet spaces or even loud ones can feel painful when all you have are the curves of your emotional roller coaster taking you in and out of anger, pain, loss. Triggers are very real, thoughts, sounds, items, anything that triggers another loop on that roller coaster of grief. And when you're sitting in your quiet spaces, those loops can be overwhelming. With no one to hug you to help you hold your pieces in, no one to listen to your pain, these quiet spaces can be hard. If the person you lost is the only person who was there to listen to your pain, like a significant other or close friend or sibling or parent, these quiet spaces can echo particularly loudly. 

[Balancing Silences and Comforting Voices.]

When I was in the depth of mourning, I found it helpful to seek out quiet spaces but also to find a break from those quiet spaces. I sought those voices that supported me, the ones I could trust. I sought the voices, including the spiritual and internal ones, that brought me peace. I'd pray our read scriptures that brought peace inside my heart. That isn't a solution for everyone. Sometimes, finding a mourning support, counseling, or other group can provide that comfort. I found I needed a balance between quiet spaces and comforting voices. Ponder where you have quiet spaces when you need them and where you can find voices to help you survive the pain when those silences become too loud or agonizing. 

Flew by Fast

[The calendar: source]

This is the first time I didn't realize it WAS the angelversary. We planned a three-day trip as I said last blog to keep us busy and not thinking about the significance of the day. It worked better than I ever imagined. I hadn't been looking at either date or calendar and was quite positive the day was on Friday. I steeled myself for that day, ready to suffer it in silence. 

[Dino Museum: source]

Then, after the busiest day of the trip I found out the date. We'd filled the day with sleeping in a cabin that was also a bed and breakfast, a trip to a museum with Leonardo Da Vinci and dinosaur exhibits, wandering the tiny town of Virginia City, an exhibit in memory of the Vigilantes of Montana, who brought justice to murderous outlaws, including a sheriff, and then dinner and back to the cabin with a hot tub to hang out with our boy. It was in the hot tub at the end of the day that I found out that I'd already passed through the angelversary. 

[From her baby book.]

Usually, I spend days watching the date come. Then, we go on a trip, which I spend wincing as I ignore with little success what day it is. At some point in the day, we share pictures of our baby, and I break down. These are the consistent events that happen every time. I forgot the baby book, and I was in so much shock that I'd gotten the date wrong that I didn't have time to react. In some ways, it feels like I betrayed her that I missed these traditions. 

[Before he lost her to cancer]

But the next day, on the way home, I felt like some of that meaning inserted itself. I mentioned my pain and felt the beginnings of a breakdown. But then, my brother-in-law, who we took with us to hang out with his brother, broke down over his relatively recent loss of his beloved wife to cancer. It became an opportunity to mourn with one who is still mourning, two years later. His loss is fresh and still paralyzes him, leaves him feeling empty and lost. Mine is thirteen years old and leaves me the wisdom to listen instead of insert myself into his moment to just feel. It was good to mourn together. 

[Being there for someone else. Source]

I still feel a breakdown and the baby book in the very near future. But I know I won't suffer it alone. My husband and kids will be there to mourn with me now the kids are older and able to put their arms around me. It helps buffer the pain to have someone's arms around me for my pain, and it helps for me to have arms I can offer to someone else. 

The death date sneaks up on us

[Travel: source]

In just under two weeks, we'll be leaving town, as usual, to avoid being home on my baby's angelversary. We do this every year, choosing a new place to be other than home. It gives us something to look forward to, something to celebrate. But it also distracts from the pain of remembering she would have been 13 this month. 

[Yellowstone: source]

Some years, we've gone just on quick, local road trips. Some years, it will be an overnighter. We've been to Yellowstone, Craters of the Moon, Lava Hotsprings, last year, a small, local ghost town, and so many places, anywhere that is not here, dwelling in our own heads. I highly recommend it. It gives a chance to celebrate togetherness rather than to focus on being apart. 

[Ghost Town: Source]

This year, we're going back to major ghost towns, including Virginia City, Montana, and a dinosaur museum now that both kids like dinosaurs. My husband is all about Westerns and particularly the Vigilantes of Montana, a group of men who got tired of the sheriff and others ransacking and murdering with no limits and no law stopping them, the very definition of the Wild West. The vigilantes took out the murderers themselves. It's a dark story of heroism few know, which is one reason my husband likes to go there. Research for a movie he'd like to make one day. Meanwhile, child 2.0 has developed a love for small towns, particularly ghost towns. So off we go. 

[Anywhere but Home: Source]

Last we went there, we had two littles, one of which found the big, empty buildings scary. Now, that child is the one leading the way. I'm game. Anything to be anywhere but home. It's also likely to be the only vacation of any sort we'll be able to swing this year. It's all good. I'm just happy to be far away, busy and outside my own head, so I don't have to ponder the nastiest day of the year, the reminder of a pain most people will never understand. Thankfully. 

Feeling a Kinship

 

[Celebrity; source]

I'm not one to be excited about celebrity. Yeah, I see them, know about them like anyone else. I have my favorites. But I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. But when I hear about a celebrity losing a child or being a member of The Empty Arms Club, someone who has lost a child, I immediately feel a sense of kinship with them. It doesn't matter who they are, whether they be a massive Hollywood celebrity or a minor singer. I immediately feel empathy and a connection with them because of the loss of my baby. 

[Death, the great equilizer; source]

Loss seems to be the great equilizer. We, as humans, are so different in so may ways, with money, position in society, careers, health, gender, race, etc. But when loss hits, we all experience much of the same pain, many of the same emotions, much of the same grief. Everyone experiences loss differently and deals with mourning in an individual way. But there are definitely similarities. 

[Grief; source]

I'm not a believer in the "Five Stages of Grief" because there's nothing stage-like or predictable about how grief hits. Based on my experience, we can be hit with anger, numbness, etc. in rapid succession or even all at once at the same time. From what I understand, there's no real scientific evidence that these stages have any basis in truth. When I first heard them after I lost Alli, I held to them like a lifeline, found comfort in them because I knew once I hit that end stage, the pain would be over. But I can find peace a joy briefly then be launched back into the maelstrom. From what I've seen in others, I'm not alone. Grief is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and life-changing. no matter who you are and how you experience it. 

[Reaching out; source]

Grief builds a connection between humans. It can be very isolating, but it can also teach us to be more understanding of others' experiences if we let it. We can feel a connection with anyone else over our pain and our loss. The question is what are we going to do about it? Are we going to allow that empathy to teach us how to reach beyond ourselves to others who have lost?

Easter

[Not enough baskets: source]

 It's on a holiday like today you notice who is missing. You look over the two dozen eggs and two Easter baskets and wish there were three of each. You'd pay any price to fill that last spot and have it mean something more than an empty gesture. 

[The empty space where her basket ought to be: Source]

It's not that the coming of the holiday messes with my mind and heart, not like the coming of the holiday season. I don't dread it like I do her birthday or angelversary. I often don't even miss that third basket. But today, it's there like a shadow of emptiness. 

[The true meaning of Easter: source]

It's because of my loss(es) I'm thankful for the meaning of Easter, that it reminds us that the Lord suffered and died for my pain and yours, so He would understand our pain and overcome death and hell for us. It's for that reason I can survive every day, knowing I will hold her again, that we'll be a complete family, together forever, one day. I don't know how I would make it through this loss without that knowledge. It doesn't make it easy. But it does make it survivable. 

Survived My Angel's Birthday

[A very unmerry birthday. Source.]

Every birthday for my angel is hard. She would have been 13 as of the 2nd of this month. She would have been a teenager. For some reason, when it hit, it was a gut punch this year. I got weepy a day or two in advance as I hit a song or an image of a baby. Just the usual triggers. One song popped up on my FaceBook that struck me hard. It's not my genre of music, but I had to listen to it multiple times. 

[Staying Busy, a Valid Strategy-source]

On her actual birthday, I was so busy most of the day that I didn't have the time to think about what day it was. Every time it crept up on my consciousness, I focused on the work I had to do. But as the night crept on, I felt the night creeping on. Nights are often hardest. 

[No Texts-Source]

My sister has been coming over every year for five years to be part of Alli's birthday. It felt harder than usual because she's no longer in the area. After what happened last year, I didn't get so much as a FaceBook message or a text, and I felt that. The isolation felt particularly painful. 

[Her pictures.]

Then, that night, my friend, who is now my neighbor, showed up with her kids that night. They listened as I shared with my family the Alli baby book. As the pictures drew to the images of my baby's waxy face in her coffin, she held me when I sobbed. And I sobbed hard, a lot. Maybe in part because this 30-year friendship of ours has grown into more of a sisterhood. Her arms felt so supportive and kind. My husband and child are always there and know the story. They are there for me. But it feels different when I share it with outsiders. We ended the night on angel food cake and games. I was able to smile by the end of the night. 

[Support System-source]

There's a lot of power in a supportive set of arms holding you, supporting you when things get hard. Because I now have this best friend next door, I feel like I have more arms to hold me when times get hard. I'm so thankful for my support system. I hope those who are suffering can find one, too. And if it's not your turn to suffer, I hope you're there for those whose turn it is. 

Mourning in Many Flavors

[Moving--source]

My best buddy of 30 years moved near me recently with her children. It's been fun. But it's also been hard to watch her whole family go through mourning. They probably haven't thought of it as such because of society's very narrow view of mourning. Most people think of mourning as coping with death, their own impending death or someone else's, often coping a death that has already passed. 

[Flavors of Mourning--source]

But there are so many other flavors of mourning and grief. If your expectations and hopes are yanked from you, your life as you know it fundamentally changed (by choice or otherwise), you will often go through a grieving process. You still have to process the changes, which often comes with deep pain. But because the people around you don't see it, many times, you feel like you're feeling wrong, that you are suffering for no reason. Anyone who has undergone loss deserves acknowledgment and empathy if they need it. 

[Joy Shatters-source]

My buddy's marriage is on the rocks. She had expectations of a future together, and she's facing loss of her expectations and hopes. Her kids, meanwhile, are reeling with the loss of their friends, their comfortable life, their home of 13 years, their peace, nearness to their father. But the situation is such that none of them really have a choice. And that's hard. One of them embraces and celebrates the change. This, too, is a valid response. But the others are struggling more. All they knew before is just cut off. And there is a deep sense of mourning for all that was. 

[Support-source]

What can I do? It's not my loss. Really, it's a gain because we've been strategizing on how to live closer together most of the years we've known each other. But I can feel their pain, show empathy. When I was younger, we moved a lot. I have nothing but empathy for this kind of loss of everything, all friends, all comfort from before. I can be their friend while they seek new friends. I can be there for them and pray for them. There's always something an outsider can do for those who have lost.