Loneliness

Unheard

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Do you feel alone sometimes?  Maybe is seems that no matter how many times you say something, people just aren’t hearing you? This is not unusual, and you aren’t alone.  Often when we are grieving, we just don’t feel the strength we need to keep fighting the same battle. When this happens, we usually must keep trying until someone hears. I have a big example from my life.

Many years ago, I started having problems with my knee which was painful and swollen and a challenge to deal with. I went to different doctors, acupuncturists, massage therapists, physical therapists, and surgeons. One surgeon finally told me that I had a torn meniscus that he could repair it and I would be cured, after more physical therapy. After the surgery, he told me my meniscus was not torn but the lining of my knee looked like thick red shag carpet and that he didn’t know why it looked like that. Recovery from the surgery was tough because my whole leg swelled so much that my skin split.

Years went on with no relief. I took lots of anti-inflammatory drugs, but to little avail. I learned to not sit on the floor ever, to walk slowly, and to just put up with the pain. I always mentioned it to whatever doctor or therapist I saw. I had cortisone shots in my knee and more physical therapy, but it continued to get worse. Finally, the swelling was so bad that I could not pull pants up over my knee. I researched and found who was supposed to be the best doctor to deal with knees. He decided to drain the fluid from my swollen knee to provide relief. What he pulled from my knee was not the clear yellow synovial fluid he expected, and he sent me to a general surgeon.

The new surgeon had an MRI done that indicated lots of blood free in my knee. As I told him my history, he stopped me when I said red shag carpet.  He told me that the combination of what the MRI showed and the description I told him of the carpet, he told me that he was almost certain that I had Pigmented Villanodular Synovitis. His surgery confirmed his diagnosis. He said that hopefully that the surgery and some radiation treatment would do much to lessen the symptoms, but he wasn’t sure, and since it could lead to amputation, he sent me to an oncologist.

Fortunately, I had a dear friend who was an oncologist. He also was brilliant and loved to learn new things, so he read everything he could find that had been written on the diagnosis, which didn’t take him long because at that point, not much research has been done. He was, however, able to calculate the amount of radiation I required to deal anything left of what was left of the giant cell tumors that had resided in my knee for so long. I did the radiation, did more physical therapy, and I am much better though I still have pain and am unsteady walking.

Why did I tell you this long story? Because it took me years of reaching out for help with little results.  That often happens to people who are grieving. They most commonly try to deal with grief in isolation, not wanting others to see how broken they feel. Or they don’t feel like talking to anyone else at all. When they do come to a point where they would like to ask for help, they are unsure of where to go, so frequently they delay getting support and suffer more alone.

My advice is to keep searching. Keep asking. Eventually someone will say “I know just who you should see.” Or you will read some books dealing with grief, from self-help type books to fiction that deals with people grieving. And hopefully you will talk to friends who have also dealt or are dealing with loss.

After my first husband to die transitioned, I didn’t try much of anything. In my lonely cocoon, there was no room for someone to join me. I was lonely, but I mostly hid from anyone who could comfort me. I gradually did what my mother would have said by “pulling myself up by my bootstraps.” Though I never was for sure what that meant, I did start to take care of myself anyway I could figure.  When my second husband to die transitioned, things were so different. I had experience to help me. I had learned much about what I didn’t want to do, so I started again.

I wrote much with just me as an audience about how I was feeling and wondering what I could be doing. And I read much, every grief book I could find. And I was finding much that wasn’t helpful, but some that was. Since my writing was helping me, I started teaching my writing techniques to others who were dealing with grief and loss.  The more we talked together, the better we all felt. And I am still teaching people how to write to deal with grief.

And the unexpected gift that came to me in all this process was that I learned that just because I have had much loss in my life doesn’t mean that I have too always be sad. I learned the value of a smile shared with someone, even a stranger.  I learned that it feels good to share conversations and laugh. I learned that I could take good care of myself. And I do.

Learning all this has allowed me to smile again regularly and to reach out to help anyone I can along the way. My intention it to provide comfort support, love, and happiness to anyone I touch who is dealing with grief. I am here to help you.

 

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief  by clicking here at Amazon.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.

 

Going it Alone

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In an online meeting I was attending this morning, we were introducing ourselves, and when I told them about my book, they all wanted to talk about their grief. Most of the group expressed how they hadn’t really dealt with their grief because it was hard for them to talk about. They said things like they didn’t think other people would want to hear about, or they didn’t want to bring other people down, or that they didn’t want to deal with the sadness that comes to them when they do talk about their grief.  They also pointed out that they knew people grieving over losses other than grief.

Right now, it seems like we all are dealing with some form of grief whether it is from the loss of a loved one or the loss of a job, a home, an income, a pet, or anything important to our lives. And most of us just deal with our grief on our own then wonder why we are having a hard time.

When grieving, people tend to withdraw from other people to avoid the sadness, the crushing pain, or the reactions they get when they mention it. Does this sound like you or someone you know? With my own grief, I tended to keep to myself for the first couple of months. I just didn’t want to talk to anyone. And I didn’t want to listen to anyone either. Hearing them talk about anything other than my loss was difficult to deal with.  How could they care about what to fix for dinner or a new purchase they made?

Eventually I got to a point where I did want to talk or listen, but by then I needed to connect with people again. I tried to find groups on social media that I could join and be able to communicate, but I discovered so much sadness. At first, I was replying to every devastating story I read, and in the process, I seemed to be absorbing that sadness. I would stop writing when I was in tears. I realized that doing this wasn’t helping anyone.  The people who were writing the stories just needed to tell their stories and weren’t prepared to listen to a response. I assumed that because I never received a response from anyone I wrote to.

Eventually I decided to find new friends and I created a Meet Up group and invited people to join me to write about what we were grieving.  This worked. Meeting face to face we were all able to share and respond to each other. We all realized how much we needed to share our stories.  By meeting with this new group, I became more comfortable in reaching out to my friends, and they responded. I think they always wanted to but weren’t sure what to say. My reaching out to them broke the ice and we easily fell back into the relationships we had before my loss. And, when they were ready, they talked to me about how the loss affected them, too.

If you feel stuck now, don’t despair. People still love you. New people will love you, too. When you are ready, open your heart and allow people back in.

 

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief  by clicking here at Amazon.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.

Losing a Loved One Before Death

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Mom drove from her house an hour away to be with us on Thanksgiving. We had a pleasant weekend and even went shopping because she wanted to buy an electric blanket. She got so cold at night.  She drove herself home Sunday evening. On Tuesday I got a call from the business I owned that was on the same property as mom’s house. She always played Bridge on Tuesday mornings with the same three friends she had since they were all newlyweds. Her friends had called the company when she didn’t show up for Bridge. My staff checked on her and found her on the floor by her bed. She was alive but had fallen Sunday evening when she was trying to put the blanket on her bed. She was disoriented and dehydrated, so they took her to the hospital.

I drove up to the hospital right away.  The doctors said they didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her, but she needed not to be alone when they discharged her a two days later.  I stayed with her for a couple of weeks while she was seeing her doctor and having tests, then took her home with me. I called the doctor’s office because we had been waiting weeks for results.   The nurse said the doctor had been busy, but I insisted on speaking to him. It turned out he was getting into his car to leave on vacation, but he took my call. He told me she had a brain tumor, it wasn’t cancer, it was inoperable, and he couldn’t talk to her until after his vacation.

My mother watched me on the phone with him and asked what he said, so I told her.  We held each other and cried. After that, I was amazed at what happened.  My dad had died a few years before, and she stopped smiling.  After I told her this news, she started to smile again. She was happy that she didn’t have to live without him anymore. She lived eight more months.

Observing the changes in her mental state was challenging and fascinating at the same time. Sometimes she was there mentally, and sometimes she wasn’t. She ranged from carrying on conversations with me to having conversations out loud with people who had been gone for years, not noticing that I was there. I did have to watch her closely for her safety. We had a swimming pool she was fascinated with, so we had to keep the doors locked. One time she found an unlocked door and went running down the street laughing and seeming happy to be free, but terrifying to me as I chased her.

I was with her when she died. She had stopped eating and had lost so much weight that she was almost unrecognizable. I felt such a peace in the room when she left. Her sister was in the other room. Her sister had planned for me to be the one to manage her affairs if she couldn’t, and not long after this, her sister was diagnosed with the same type of brain tumor, and I got to go through the whole process over again.  Aunt Ila didn’t recognize me and didn’t know where she was, but she did talk about her younger years, so that’s where our conversations took place. I was grateful that she had asked me to help her so that I was prepared when the time came.

What I learned from these experiences is getting frustrated doesn’t help. I always let them both know that they were loved and taken care of. I missed them much before they were no longer physically there. And I learned the grace, comfort, and beauty of loving unconditionally. If you find yourself in a similar situation, be sure to take good care of yourself which is something we tend to forget when we are in the caretaker role.

Sending you much love on your journey–

 

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief  by clicking here at Amazon.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Can grief break your heart?

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Grief actually does have physical effects on your body which can be severe. Have you had your heart race through the night leaving you exhausted when you wake in the morning? Has your whole body ached? Do you barely have enough energy to get around? Have you had unexplained headaches? Has eating become a challenge, or does just the thought of eating make you nauseas? Is your blood pressure high? All of these symptoms are common especially in early grief.

Studies have shown physical reactions your body can have to grief, each of them causing lots of symptoms. Inflammation is your body’s attempt to dealing with things that harm it. When your body gets inflamed during grief, it can worsen health issues you are already dealing with or it can cause new ones.  This inflammation can affect your immune system which can lead to infections. You may develop high blood pressure or a racing pulse. All of these issues require medical attention. They may lead to PTSD, which my doctor told me I was dealing with. Or they may lead to something called Broken Heart Syndrome where intense stress leads to your heart becoming physically weak.

The message here is to take care of yourself. Here are a few things you can do.

  • Eat wisely. I know eating may be the last thing on your mind, but your body needs the strength and energy food provides. For me, I had a really hard time eating at all and lost much weight after each husband died. This led to low energy. I have also known many widows who gained lots of weight, using food as a comfort. This also doesn’t you’re your energy level and can lead to many other physical problems. The key here is good choices both in what you eat and the amount of what you eat.
  • Move your body. Exercise is likely to be the last thing on your mind, but just sitting can be deadly. Do something you really like. Walking, swimming, dancing, and running are all good. As is yoga, Tai Chi, and Qigong. There are lots of good videos online that you can watch and move along with.
  • Sleep can be tricky in grief. Often you either want to not stop sleeping or get out of bed, or you can’t seem to fall asleep no matter what you do. Figure out what works best for you and aim for 8 hours of sleep for every 24. I couldn’t sleep for a long while after Jacques died and finally got a prescription from my doctor. I ended up taking it way too long, not realizing that was a problem. Stopping taking it was hard at that point, but I did. Please be careful if you do try taking something. And be sure to be clear with your doctor how long you should take it.
  • Talk to someone. And talk about whatever you want to whether it be the story of your loved one’s transition or the flowers in your garden. Talking can be hard, but it can help so much to get things out instead of bottling them up inside. If you don’t feel like talking to a person, write. Write and email, text, or letter. Or write in your journal. Expressing what you are feeling helps take the pressure off. And don’t hesitate to go to a counselor if you feel you want to. Or you can join a grief group like the private ones I offer online where you can meet new friends virtually.

Amy Davis offers this great advice: “Lean into it. You only get to grieve your loved one once. Don’t spend the whole time trying to distract yourself or push it down. It does go away eventually, and you will miss feeling that connected to that person again. And if you feel like your whole life has fallen apart, that’s fine! It totally has. Now you get to decide how to put yourself back together. Be creative. There’s new life to be lived all around you.”

As I always say, live in the moment. Focus only on what you are dealing with in any moment. And be sure to love yourself in the process.

Anticipatory Grief: The In Between

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Everything seems to be up in the air. Each morning when I wake up, I question what will happen now.  Questions fill my thoughts about all the people getting sick and maybe dying in the pandemic, people demonstrating because of people dying at the hands of the law enforcement who is supposed to protect us, and people dying who do not have access to adequate medical care because of the pandemic. And on top of that, the people I know who are dying right now are because of cancer. In all these instances, we as a culture right now are dealing with Anticipatory Grief. What does that mean, and what can we do?

Anticipatory grief comes before a death or a great loss. When you discover that someone you love has been given a terminal diagnosis, that anticipatory grief starts right then. Anticipatory grief can also occur when you just think of something that may happen. My dear Black friend who has four sons has bouts of anticipatory grief when she just hears about George Floyd or Elijah McClain or Rayshard Brooks, or way too many more Black men killed by police. Or it may happen when you look in your elderly mother’s eyes and you wonder how much longer she will be with you.

When you deal with anticipatory grief, you are likely to have a constantly shifting range of feelings which keep you off balance so that you never quite know what is actually happening. Before Ron died, he lost 37 pounds in one week and became very weak, yet when I looked at him, I saw the handsome strong man I had always loved.  I was shocked later when I saw a picture of him taken at that time which showed a weak, emaciated man, not my Ron. We tend to see what our hearts want to see. I dealt with my anticipatory grief by staying so busy with his care that I didn’t allow myself to think that soon I would no longer have those tasks to keep me busy. I vacillated between holding on and letting go.

One thing that is certain is that more grief will enter your life. The experience you are having now may help you prepare for it, or it may have the opposite effect of terrifying you at the thought of having that experience again. Recognizing when grief may be coming can allow you to start deal with it before the situation is acute. The most important two things to deal with at this time are spending the best quality time possible with your loved one and take the best possible care of you.

Ron and I did very well by always focusing on the present moment. We would talk or meditate or just sit together.  He was given a book for his birthday a month before he died. He really wanted to read it, but his eyes just didn’t work very well, so I read the whole book to him. That time together was so precious. Take time to say everything you want to say, ask everything you want to know, forgive anything that is left hanging, and be sure you know your loved one’s wishes about everything important.

Take very good care of your physical and emotional health. Seek out others in similar situations and hear their stories. Often, we think we are the only one to experience something like this and that no one understands how we feel, yet that’s not the truth. Your experience is unique to you, but there are lots of people out there with similar experiences you can learn from. Join Facebook Groups or Death Cafes or support groups. Read good books or blogs. Be sure to bathe. I remember one time Ron insisted that I take a shower. I was shocked at the moment, then realized that I really did need to. That I needed to pay attention to me. I also would forget to eat, and I had two bad falls that slowed me down because I was just moving too fast. Take a deep, hard look at yourself and discover what is most important to you and focus on that.

You also can help others whom you see entering this territory. Just letting someone know that they have your support and that you are looking out for them can give them so much comfort.

Together we form a family of love, care, and support for each other. In these shifting times, let us focus together on how we ca help more, give more, learn more, and love more. I love you, my friend.

My Mother’s Grief

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My Mom and Dad were married for 54 years. They were 18 when they got married in a small California town during the Depression. They spent their time together until Daddy got drafted into World War II.  When he came home, they were closer than ever. They spent years together active in the Veterans of Foreign Wars, including Daddy being in leadership in the State of California including being State Commander. This required visits all over California, and they drove everywhere they went. On so many long trips, they saw many accidents on the road, and Mom would report them to me in detail, always saying that she knew that she and Daddy would someday be in one of those accidents and die together on the road. I hated when she said that, but I knew that she said it out of deep love. She couldn’t imagine living without him.

On the Sunday before Veteran’s Day in 1989, Daddy was the keynote speaker at the big community event held annually to honor all the Veterans from our town. Much beloved, he had a warm reception to his talk. The next evening, Mom called to say Daddy had been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but they told her to go home and get some rest and to visit him in the morning.  I assured her that I would join her in the morning as I lived an hour away.  An hour later, she called to tell me that he had died.

I don’t think we are ever really ready for a death, but when it comes so suddenly, it is a shock. The rest of the week what a big celebration of his life and service. Porterville always has had a tradition of patriotism which included a huge parade and Band-o-Rama on Veterans day every year.  Mom and Dad had been in charge of that parade for many years. This year, the parade was done in Daddy’s honor. They had a beautiful old convertible with a black wreath at the start of the parade representing him not being there for the first time in so many years. Then he was honored again at the Band-O-Rama as the town’s best loved veteran.

Mom held up well during that week, or so we thought.  As I reflect, she hardly spoke at all, and I didn’t see her crying.  I went with her to make the funeral arrangements, and she was pretty silent there, too, so I did most of the talking.  The service was amazing. I have never seen so many people at a service. They had taps and a 21-gun salute at the graveside, and Mom was silent.

I had to leave at the end of the week.  I hated leaving her alone, but I had to go back to work and my family.  We stayed in touch and I stepped in to help with the Ambulance business she and Daddy owned together. She still didn’t talk much. She did play bridge every week with the same group she had played with since they all first got married. And she went to church sometimes. But I knew she spent much time alone. My daughter wanted a picture of the three of us taken for her birthday, and when I saw the proofs of all the shots from the photo studio, I realized that mom wasn’t smiling. And I also realized she hadn’t smiled at all since Daddy died.

Five years after Daddy’s death, I got a call that mom had been taken to the hospital. She had spent Thanksgiving with us and drove an hour to go home a couple of days later.  We had been shopping and she bought a new electric blanket. After she got home, she tried to put the blanket on her bed that Sunday evening and fell. This was before the time of cell phones and medical alerts. When she didn’t show up for bridge, her friends called her company and they went to check on here and found her on the floor badly dehydrated. Nothing was broken, but she just didn’t have the will to get up.

When she recovered enough to go home, I told her she had a choice to make. She could stay in her home with someone to stay with her all the time. She could stay with me. Or we could find a place for her at a facility for elders. She decided to come home with me. I enjoyed having her with me. We were able to have good talks sometimes. And she loved my husband who could get her to smile. And my daughter could get her to smile on occasion too. Then we discovered that she had an inoperable brain tumor. And because her doctor told me the diagnosis on the phone on his way to his vacation, I had to tell her. We held each other and cried a long time.

Then a miracle happened. Her smile came back on a regular basis. And she laughed. Jacques could get her laughing easily every day. He loved to laugh and she laughed with him. Then she decided that it was time for her to move back home. I arranged for people to stay with her and drove to see her and take care of things a few times a week. She finally was at peace because she knew the time was short until as she believed, she would be with Daddy and her mother again.

Reflecting now, I wish I could have done something more to bring her joy. She had visits from her minister and friends and her sister, but she just wasn’t happy living without Daddy. She is a big part of my inspiration to do the work I do now, helping others to deal with their grief in a way that will lead them to find joy and happiness in their lives. If you see yourself in my mother, please reach out. Know that you can have peace and joy in your life again. And if you see yourself in me as I dealt with my mother, do something about it.  I realize now that I was not dealing with my own grief and become tangled in the overwhelming busyness of trying to take care of everyone else. Spend time with loved ones. Find things to do that bring you joy. And most of all, take care of and love yourself.