Grieving

So I have now begun to move through this thing they call a cycle of grief. And because each loss is unique, each person experiences it differently, so they say. At first, just a numb fog. Then lots of emotions, all the time. Each day is unpredictable. But what has impacted me the most is how terribly ill equipped most people are for being with someone who is grieving. Oh sure, the first couple of weeks people expect you to cry, and they put their arms around you and listen to you. But then, suddenly, people think you should be all better now. And they begin to try to cheer you up. They say things that are completely insensitive, like, “Are you all better now?” or “Look at the bright side.” What? OK, my dog didn’t just die, it was my Mother. Or they say nothing. Do nothing. Avoid the topic. That’s harder to take. It was my Mother. It’s me. It’s my Dad. We deserve acknowledgement, validation that it’s OK to feel this loss. It’s easier for me to avoid people than feel the pressure to be OK when I am not, or worse, to be alone in the crowd. The real truth is: people are ready to stop listening long before you are ready to stop talking…

TERRIBLE NEWS

Two weeks ago I lost my Mother. Not lost really; she died. Passed away, lost, no longer with us; all nice ways to say a terrible thing: she is gone, suddenly, without any warning. Gone.

Usually writing has a cathartic effect on me. But I can’t even write about this. Not this. It’s too soon, too awful, too raw.

Two days ago, I cut my hand. One of those deep, jagged kind of cuts that just won’t stop bleeding. Then I thought this is how it is with my Mother. People want to give me advice or encouragement to help me cope, or heal. But I can’t do that. Like my cut, I cannot begin to tend to the wound, until it stops bleeding. Something I have no control over. It’s not ready. I can only apply pressure, but it continues to bleed. Each morning when I wake, I think “could it be…?” No, then I remember: it’s not a dream; it is real.

The bleeding finally stops in my cut and I began to tend to it, change the dressing twice daily. Wash it gently, apply peroxide, a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, a clean bandage, and then wrap securely. It starts to look better. The healing begins. Over time it will mend, leaving a jagged mark in its wake. A cut like that never repairs itself invisibly. The scar is forever. Just like my Mom. I’ll never be the same.

Valentine's Day

So today is Valentine's Day. My husband and I have a pact not to celebrate these holidays. In fact, I consider it a gift to both of us, as men often struggle with how to handle these days, and then the women get disappointed unnecessarily, as a perfectly loving man can still fall on his face when it comes to picking out the ideal gift. I think the forced "opportunity" to express their love ends up stressing them out and thus backfiring in the end anyway.

But I am lucky. I have a husband that stays home on Wednesday afternoons so I can go shopping, have lunch with a friend, or go to the doctor (alone). I can wear real clothes that I don't have to worry about getting dribbles on during these trips, and it is glorious. For that, I don't need a holiday...I am grateful everyday.

Let's get started

I named my blog "Life is Funny" because there seems to be no end of humor (or at least irony) in my life. Plus I really enjoy writing and it often ends up being in a style of satire, as I have a hard edge after years of working in social services, so here goes. My kids have been sick for about 10 days. Toward the end of my sequester, I have begun to feel as if I could have a nervous breakdown, however, we have all managed not to do or say anything regrettable during our time of togetherness. Today I got to vacuum (yes, you read it right, after a long quarantine I actually felt privileged to do some housework). The kids have a pretty good sense from their father and me about work vs. playtime. They know that when I am doing my chores (usually the hour during Sesame Street) that I am unavailable for play, although I am always on retainer for potty trips or drinks of water. Today I might have spent too much time paying attention to Dr. Phil because my chores spilled over into the time after morning TV that I try to make myself available to them for activities like play-doh, puzzles, or games. I noticed that while I vacuumed, the kids (not liking the noise) went into my daughter's bedroom, closed the door, and played independently. This could end up being a bad trend for me, as I am very tempted to turn on the vacuum and sneak into the closet for a private phone call to a friend. The thought of an uninterrupted girl chat is enticing.

2021 Postscript…I named my blog Life is Funny because at that time in my life there was much joy and laughter, especially with having young children and all the antics they bring into a household!  There has been a lot of joy and laughter in my life but unfortunately, there was also a lot of suffering and difficulty after starting this blog and thus many of the topics were quite serious. Joy is not something to be found, but something to be created and experienced even when life doesn’t supply it through circumstance. Laughter in the face of suffering, if it can be found, is a salve that heals. A truly joyful person understands that happiness is not found within a momentary condition but through a connection to the spiritual, which transcends the temporal and fleeting events of this life, especially the suffering, and connects us to the eternal and everlasting, and fills us with hope for that which comes.  Life is hard, and it is suffering, but it is also ironic and funny, depending on our perspective.