~Page Two~
stomach, gutted. SOme might critcize and say I am not
"letting go." From an intellectual perspective, they may
even be correct. But I am not referencing my intellect
but a much deeper place where time and space do not
heed human boundaries. This is a place where most
people choose not to visit, let alone dwell for a month
that have now extended into years. Simon and I both
are both down here. Periodically one of the other
rails against the confines but then falls back exhausted.
Quite simply, like it or not, we need to be here in the
valley of the shadow, the dark night of the soul. It is
where our healing will take place -- through quiet
inactivity, conscious and unconscious contemplation,
boredom even. In a society that values "doing," it is
a very hard place to be without feeling defensive or,
worse, in need of "help." But there it is. At a deep
level, I do trust that our souls will again experience
the joy and peace but only if we pay attention to what
they are trying to tell us. Rest. Be Quiet. Honor your
soul's voice. Treat yourself with loving kindness,
honesty, and gentleness. Above all, trust. At a deep
level, it will be okay.
chosing to stay in the place of despair out of a sense of guilt and self punishment,
I write:
I know they both speak to me out of love. Their benevolent
intent is not the issue. Certainly, I have to admit to the partial
truth to their assumption -- I do at times feel that I don't have
the right to be happy if Rach didn't get to have her life. No
parent on earth who has lost a child doesn't entertain such thoughts from time to time. More of the time, though, I feel
I am engaged in a battle for my life. It is a battle of the soul. I
cannot avoid it, circumvent it or shorten it. It must be gone
through. In Mariann Burke's book, Advent and Psychic Birth ,
she references this soul journey in a way that resonates profoundly with my experience: In the wilderness our fear gives
way to sadness and our sadness to anger. We need our anger, for
it helps us to find our way. The wilderness journey is by far the
longest stage in the way of rebirth. Jung tells us that there is no
clear way, the way is made up of fateful detours and wrong
turnings." Of course, such a journey is extremely exhausting and
altogether terrifing. Is it worth it? Am I deluding myself to
believe I am strong enough to continue? Would it be easier to
take medication, blunt the pain, ease the suffering? If that were
my goal, then the answer is clear. However, my belief is that only
through suffering will my soul be anchored in true hope and peace
with God.
February 21, 1997
Today I felt a need to look at the photo albums but I don't. I am
afraid that I cannot take the pain such a task will inevitably bring.
Still, part of me know that until I do this, I prevent myself from
moving forward. It is another step in the process of -- what exactly -- acceptance? Somehow I cannot say the word. I will
never accept this but I am learning to believe it. Such a subtle
difference but an important one. To live with this reality, to
endure it, to know absolutely that nothing one can do or say will
ever change the horror -- the demands a mental and spiritual
knowing beyond explanation and certainly beyond acceptance. It
is a deep, cell-felt gouge in one's very essence, a rending of every
pore torn from the "before" to the "now". As Elie Wiesel correctly, words are simply to impoverished to illuminate the truth. Words, Art, Music. These are our human tools with which
generations have attempted to communicate our anguish and our
joy and to diminish our sense of aloneness. Thus, as inadequate as my words feel, they are my best voice. I move slowly forward,
inching along. Maybe tomorrow I can look at the albums.
With eloquence and raw poignancy she expresses to the reader the true depth and agony that grief
entails. Anyone who has experienced a significant loss would undoubtedly agree.
Dean advocates that frief isn't about getting your life pulled back together, she emphasizes that true
healing comes with healing ones soul. It is true as she indicates in her book, many people choose not
to go to that place of contemplation and healing of the soul. In my own experience of having gone to
that place many times it is certainly my belief that while in life we have many experiences that season our soul, no event can match the seasoning of the soul as the loss of someone dear to us. Nothing changes us world and shifts the foundations of our lives more than the death of someone who means the world to us.
The new thinking among grief theorists certainly seems to be going in a direction based more on reality of grief than the misunderstood and cumbersome schools of thought as previously seen and still entrenched in this western society. So deeply engrained is the thought that so long as you don't talk about the deceased, keep busy, get on with your life, you will "get over it."
There is no getting over grief, the person who has made that transition is deeply missed, never forgotten by those left on this earth who knew and loved the one who has passed. Why would anyone want to forget their loved ones.? What possible benefit can be derived by in essence sweeping under the rug the name, the feelings and thoughts of those we loved even though they are no longer a part our earth bound journey?
At the risk of repeating myself from another portion of this website I must say that while my mother taught me so much while she was alive, she has taught me so much in death as well. Yes in death she taught me so much.
Through watching her take her last breath and feeling the presence of such profound peace in that
room her transition certainly taught me that I no longer fear death.
One of the other things I learned was the strong conncection a mother and a daughter can have. Somehow my mother let me know it was time to go home and that she wanted me there with her and her other children when she made that transition. It is said that hearing is the last of the human
senses to shut down in the transition of this earthly journey to the life beyond. I truly believe that
given my experience with my mother and what I said to her in the few quiet moments of time we had alone, together. Within less then two hours oof my sitting alone with her, talking to her, she made her transition.
There is no doubt in my mind that her suffering ended themoment she went to what I now call the Other Side. Nor is there any doubt that not only does her legacy and memory live on in me and her other children, but we all carry her in us. There certainly have been times in these last 3 and a half years tht I know without hesitation that my mother is watching over me. And that most assuredly is comforting.
My mother's death has certainly seasoned my soul more deeply then I ever thought possible or experinced before. The bond a mother has with her children is definately sacred and with a daughter that much more unique. I believe the loss of a mother is like a rite of passage of some sort for any daughter.
Celine Dion sings in a song, "Goodbyes - there is no other love like a mother's love for her child."
Couldn't have said it better myself, our mothers are the people who carried each one of us for 9 months, gave us life as we know it, fed us, clothed us, nursed us when we were sick, nursed the scrapped knees and broken hearts. For daughters it is their mother they turn to when they have the inevitable questions, "How do I cook this?" or for the daughter who also bore a child it is their mothers who can avail reassurances of all the little questions and insecurities a new mother has.
The is no other bond like that of a mother. You only ever have one mother and when the one person you've known since the day you took your first breath takes their last breath it is a loss and grief that is inmeasurable.
Each loss that each of us experiences is unique. No two losses are the same because no two relationships are the same. In the time that has past since my mother her transition and others I have known in my life have also made their transitions the one reoccuring theme that arises from people who are well meaning and care, still manage to for lack of a better word, rub salt into a wound that is still very raw.
I can't count anymore how many times it has been put to me, "Get over it, get on with it, it's time to move on." And admitteldy I've ranted and railed in my journal what I didn't have the courage to say in response at the moment people have conveyed those very words to me, words that I put in my journal, yes, and am willing to share here.
Dec. 6, 2003
........When the facilitator read the piece from that book I knew I had to have it.
Amazing that there is actually new thinking in this world in respects to grief, loss
and continuing on in life. Finally an author speaking to what I feel. I refuse to live
that old societal mentality of never speaking a deceased person's name, and I
equally refuse to sweep my love, my memories, and their memories under the rug
just because someone thinks I am dealing with this wrong. Who's f'ing standards
do they think I should live by? Who says that after 3 and half years since Mum made
her transition tht I am wrong, that I am not living. Where the hell do they get off
telling me I'm living with the dead, they didn't lose my mother, I did. Along with my
siblings and the other spirits in that room I watched my mother take her last breath,
It wasn't their mother, these people who tell me I am wrong, judged me, some of them
still have their mothers in their lives in the physical sense. And not only that who the
hell set a time clock on all of this. I am so sick and tired of justifing myself when it
comes to my grief. Who made these people such experts on my grief, my feelings and
my love for the ones who have crossed over? Screw em all, they know nothing, not yet.
And some of them, when the day comes that they will experience first hand the loss of
a mother and the loss of a partner too, then they will know. But I guess I won't be
there to hold their hand, they have lost my friendship.
Dec. 12, 2003
It never fails, that watching Crossing Over with John Edward will evoke some thoughts,
or writing from me. I grabbed a pen and started trying to write what was floating in the
brain waves. I asked myself, why can't people, who indicate that I am doing this wrong
or that they are concerned, see that I am healing. Why do they see it in terms of me
being supposedly stuff or obsessed in grief? What is it they think I am doing wrong?
I am trying to follow my heart.
