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?