The Wild and Wonderful Ways of Grief

Something weird happened to me about a month ago. I had a dream about Freddie Mercury. Now to stop my groaning friends that might be reading this blog and have tired of my recent glut of all things Freddie, I am not going to do into a long examination of my love and affection for the Mercurial One. I just want to show how the most odd things can bring you through the wilds of grief. Not odd in itself that I should have a dream about him. I have always found him fascinating, egnimatic, and just plain wonderful. But the intimacy of the dream and the timing were what took me by surpise.

  The dream, as I came to find out many days later, was less about him and more about me. As most people know Freddie died of aids in 1991. A disease with degnerative qualities, that causes other diseases, it made me think long and hard again about the loss of my Mom as we round the corner to year 4 since she died. Not so much that she DID die, but how she died. It was quite a horrible way to go, and I don't wish it on anyone. But walking the road down the death of Queen's frontman, examining his life and his lack of connection to people, his sometimes ebullient joy at just living, and his shaking the hand of finality has made me examine my own walk I made with my Mom.

Mom loved life. Always did. She lived life with such joy, trying to wring every little bit of it out for herself. A sickly child who became a sick young adult, she never expected to make old bones. So she never did anything half way. From pushing me to try all sorts of things, to decorating her house for Christmas bigger and better than anyone else, to making sure my wedding was Better Homes and Gardens worthy, Karen K. Kirby-Jones sucked the marrow out of life in a way that I wish I could sometimes.

  So, I should not have found it surprising that she made it through Cancer, Heart Disease, and a slew of brushes with death, only to die of one of the most rare degenerative diseases out there. 90% of people I meet have never heard of the disease she died of. That was "so" Mom. The doctors couldn't even agree on what she had and all of them said she was probably suffering from two diseases. Really? Only my Mom could be that different and special. Not a great way to be special, but it exhibited a point that I am making here. Walking down the road to your final reward isn't always pretty or easy. Sometimes people die gently in their sleep. Some, struggle with heaving horrible gasping breaths. But in the end, we all die. Each of us has a decision to make. How will we live on the road to eternity?

   Don't get me wrong, death is horrible and I'm not making light of it here. But what I am saying is that while we are living, we need to remember that life is fleeting and death even more monumentous than birth. We can die badly or we can die well. Even though the last days of my Mom's life were tragic and hard, she fought the good fight--and for that, I will always remember those days as the hardest but the most meaningful of my own life up to this point. My Mom would have agreed with Freddie. My smile may be fading, my make-up may be flaking, but my smile still stays on. The show must go on, my dears. Make it a good one.

The Day after Thanksgiving-Year 3

The day after Thanksgiving brings forth pictures of Black Friday, sales, the start of the Christmas season. When I was little, we always put up the Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. A tradition I haven't always kept. Usually, due to work, other times, just because I didn't feel like it. I spent yesterday with my extended family. I haven't done that in a couple of years. There aren't as many of us around as there once was. The older ones have died off, or are in nursing homes. The ones that are considered the "older" generation now were there, minus my Mom of course and another uncle who had passed this year. There aren't that many kids either. The "kids" which I used to be one of were mostly there. Their kids now are in college, or out in the world themselves. They haven't gotten to the age yet to have little ones. We watched home movies. I thought it would be a good idea to sit and enjoy a walk down memory lane. Most everyone enjoyed it, but it left me feeling more depressed than I thought I would. The whole lead up to the holiday has been tough on me this year. It's weird, but it has on my dad too. I didn't know this, of course, till a few weeks ago. It's odd how our emotions are in sync, even when we don't discuss it. Decided not to put a Christmas tree up this year. Everybody understands of course, but when I say I am not doing the present thing this year either, I get the odd looks. Don't get me wrong. I like buying gifts for people and enjoying the bacchanalia that is the Christmas season as much as the next person. Just not this year. One, money is tight, as it is for everyone, and two, I just don't have it in me. My Dad is fine, my kitty is fine, husband is fine, I am fine. Job is ok. Other than some financial stress, life is ok. This year, I see my Mom's face in every Christmas light, in every piece of holly or wreath. It's just plain hard. I guess people don't know how to act around those who decide they want to wear sackcloth an ashes at a joyous time of year. I have grieved these past 3 years, its true. But I have put off my grief to be the "glue" for a lot of people. My glue is cracked and flaking. I need to deal with some of my issues. Maybe it will turn around for me in a few days. Maybe not. Either way, I intend to let it run its course..

Walking the Walk

Have you ever been talking to someone and you think, "This person has no clue what I'm going through and no idea what they are talking about." 

I imagine you probably thought it and didn't say it, but it still bothered you anyway. 

My little post today is about walking the walk, not just talking the talk.  To preface, someone doesn't have to have gone through exactly what you are going through to give you advice or to give you comfort.  But to give the cliched, "I know exactly what you must be going through"  line is stupid.  Don't say that to anyone.  Ever.   Nobody knows exactly what a person is going through, because you aren't them.  Don't offer advice to people when they don't ask for it and don't be syrupy sweet with them.    Sorry for the rant.   Now on to my subject.

One of the most off-putting things a person can do around someone that is grieving, sad, or going through a tough patch is to offer advice about it and not do it themselves.  Raising hand::::  Yeah, I've done it.  It drives me crazy when other people do it, so I need to walk the walk.  Can you tell that this is more for me than the reader?  When I tell someone not to stress, I need to not stress about the same exact thing.  When I tell someone to trust in God, I need to do it too.  When I tell someone not to gossip, judge or do any other myriad of things I might say to someone, I need to not do it either. 

What does the first paragraph have to do with the second?  Sometimes people offer advice, comfort, or false platitudes to people that have lost a loved one, have a disease, have lost their job, or are just plagued by stress and anxiety and A)have never experienced anything even close to what you are going through  B) wouldn't follow the advice they are giving if there was a gun held to their head or C)Both.

For readers of my blog, you know I lost my mother about three years ago.  Now most people, unless you are very young or just plain fortunate, have lost somebody close to you.  But everyone is different.  You may not have been in the same situation or had the same exact thing happen to you the same exact way.  The way people die or deal with death is as different as we are as people.  Remember that. 

Also, if I catch you saying I know exactly what you are going through, I might have to do something physical.  After all , it will be for your own good. 

Marking the Day

Birthday's means different things to different people.  To some folks birthdays are THE day.  They are the one day of the year that is just about that person.  To others, its just another day.  For some, its a milestone to be achieved or even endured.

For me, my own birthday has meant all of these things and more.  I am the only child of an only child.  I have a brother and a sister, but not from my Mother, and my Mother had siblings, but not from the same Father.  So, though we had siblings, we were still only children.   For each of us, it meant starkly different things.  In the beginning it was similar, though.  We were both well loved, youngest children, who were given as much as our parents could offer us.  In my Mom's case, that wasn't much, but she was loved.  But as we grew older we took starkly different paths.  Both of us were shy children.  I can hear those that know me laughing, but it was true.  My Mom was not encouraged out of her shyness, but allowed to become more reclusive as a child and even into teen years.  I, spurred on by a mother who wasn't going to allow that to happen again, was pushed to do things, even things I didn't like.  She would say, "Just try it, if you don't like it you can quit."

So I did 4-H, Brownies, played volleyball, basketball, took horseback riding lessons, did competition rollerskating, raised rabbits, choir, band, the list goes on.  Sports were not my thing, of course, but that is a story for another time. 

The point of all of this is, that my Mom made my life special, every day, not just on my birthday.  She pushed me to do things and broke me out of my shell.  Do I still have moments of shyness, even now?  Sure I do.  But that confident woman she she striding across a room at a networking event and giving a firm hand shake to a perfect stranger, an executive, or even the Mayor of Muncie, didn't just pop out of the womb that way. 

So tomorrow, as I celebrate my birthday and this weekend as I think on Mother's Day, I will consider how two only children changed their lives, with the grace of God and became more than we thought we ever could be.

Marking the day and Marking the time. 

Holy Week-2012

Another year and another Holy Week is here.   If you read my blog at all, you will know that last year was very difficult for me.   That is because Easter always falls a few days before my Mother's Birthday, as Mother's day falls a few days or ON my birthday.  So spring is always bitter sweet for me. 

This year, it isn't that bad.  Has it occurred to me about the time of the year?  Yes, of course.  However, it just doesn't seem to bother me as much this year as it did last year.  Mom has been gone 3 years this coming November.  So this is the third easter without her.  However, I plan to spend it with as much family as I can.  My Aunt Una, a spry 96 will be spending the day with me, my husband and my father.  It will be a good day and a memory maker.

Holy week isn't about me though.  It isn't about easter bunnies and peeps either-though those are fun too. 

I had a dream last night about Jesus.  No, really.  Bear with me.  

  I was in a house that I used to live in and we were needing a exorcism.  (Yeah, don't ask me where this came from.)  A pastor I know was performing the exorcism.  Just a point of order, Baptists don't exorcisms as a rule.  But moving on.  I was talking to the pastor as he was cleansing the house and I said the only thing they are afraid of is the Risen Christ.  He agreed.  So we started invoking the name of Jesus and guess what...well, He sort of appeared.  We were suddenly outside the house and all these people appeared on the hillside with us and we started following Him where he was going.  I fell into step with Him and we started chatting about this and that.  Actually it was very comfortable like I was catching up with an old friend I hadn't seen in awhile.  I asked Him why he was here and He said, because you wanted me to be here.  I found this interesting but said nothing.  We went into a house on the hill (dreams aren't easy to explain) and someone came up and grabbed his hands to look if there were holes in his palms.  I gave this person a dirty look and He said it was ok, He held out his other hand and pulled a large wood piece out (looked like a splinter) and he sort of  sucked in his breath like we do when we rip a piece of skin off our leg or something.  He grimaced.  I felt my heart drop into my feet and I said, "oh I'm sorry."  he sort of nodded like you do when someone is just being nice and I caught his eyes and said, "No, I'm REALLY, really sorry. (me meaning in my heart, I'm really sorry you had to do what you did...because of me)"  He nodded and smiled and said "I know..." again, this time with feeling, but a warm smile a friend would give you.  A smile that elicited the inclination to hug someone.   

This dream left a huge impression on me.  And yes I really did dream this and I didn't exaggerate.  Actually there are parts of it that I didn't even share.    I'm sure a dream person would have a field day with this, but most Christians will find it endearing and not just a little bit convicting.

I feel like I was close to Christ.  We were friends, and it was very comfortable.  I pray that my Holy Week is like this.  Spending time with my Lord and buddy.

I hope its like this for you too.