by Allison Moore | Sep 28, 2016 | Day by Day |
“I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.”
“For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?
How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Everyone says Grief comes in waves. You can be very good for a few days straight, then suddenly you find yourself knocked on your head, flailing underwater, gasping for air. And then that goes too, in its own time. It’s shocking how quickly the feelings can change too. I was doing great all weekend, I was with friends, there were almost blissful moments of random memory rushing to the surface. I let it all happen, I tried to enjoy. And then, without warning, comes the crash. And I just want to sleep and cry. I get up again for the kids though, when its’ time to fetch them. And they help me see my vague purpose again, they give me a job to do, someone to worry over (trying not to, but sometimes I do.)
Someone mentioned beside the grief, that there could be a bit of PTSD going on, in the sense that after operating on such a traumatic level, outside of our default capabilities, we now are having a hard time transitioning to the land of the living. We have to become different people than we were during that time, and we are just at the beginning of that process. But we are also finally allowed to grieve what we couldn’t as long as Vernon was with us. As much as we tried to be realistic, we still held hope within our hearts that somehow he would somehow get better. Maki has said that he doesn’t ‘feel like himself’ sometimes. I think I know what he means. He said he could relate to this quote:
“There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
But then, it passes…at least for me. I believe for the kids too…especially Justine, who is easiest for me to read. It’s hard to watch the kids have to deal with this, but then…I always think: “I know so many people who lost their parents when they were young. They still became confident, well-adjusted adults, for the most part. I know people who have lost their spouses: some remarried, some did not. They still found their way in the world and found their way joyfully, despite the pain of loss they may often still feel. Sometimes I get very angry, but I don’t feel entitled to have him alive with us. (Maybe because we already let him go somewhat over the past couple of years?) I’m understanding this death thing is really a part of life, no one escapes it. It happens to be our family’s turn to deal with it. It sucks though.
Today, after writing this piece, I will get back to the pile of envelopes and bills to sort out. It’s been sitting there for weeks, I just keep shuffling it into different piles. Today, I moved it all the living-room from the office, in order to clear out a work space for Maki. If it weren’t for him, that pile would keep growing. But the fact is: I’ve moved it! Progress! We’re getting somewhere. I’m doing really well this morning, feeling focused, energized. I better get done what I can before the next wave of surprise emotion hits and I won’t be able to anything except look after the kids.
by Allison Moore | Sep 26, 2016 | Day by Day |
Vernon. You told me how you wanted to raise these kids. I didn’t always agree with you. But now I’m now I’m on my own trying to do it both our ways. I was doing fine until you keep showing up in my mind. Now I keep doing it your way, despite what I intended. No fair.
by Allison Moore | Sep 23, 2016 | Day by Day |
I got a surprise letter through FaceBook this morning which really touched me. I remember this person, as I spoke with her many times. She was one of the ambulance staff that took Vernon to dialysis five times a week over the course of two years.
Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Jenifer, one of the EMT’s that used to take Vernon to dialysis. I just found out about Vernon’s passing & wanted to reach out to you & tell you that I’m terribly sorry for your loss & your children’s loss. I never got the chance to tell you but you inspire me in so many ways. The way you stayed at Vernon’s side & the love that you have for him is amazing. There were times were I would go to the bathroom & cry after dropping him off because it broke my heart to see how much you love him & how hard seeing him in that state was for you. You are the definition of an amazing wife & a beautiful soul. God bless you & your family, & may he give you the strength to overcome this.
I was moved by her letter, of course, as these medical assistants filled up all the important ensemble roles of our Play. But then we only tend to stay in touch with the main characters, the people we actually know well, and all the others can fade to the background when the bows are made. But these background people are the ones that make the world turn, especially in Vernon’s case, as he could do nothing by himself. Of course I knew they cared in the moment, but its a treat to actually hear that these people remember him fondly. They were such an important part of our lives, the unsung ones.
I sent the letter to my friend Sandy, just to give help give it some wings. She wrote back:
Thank you for sending this to me. It makes me actually weep. I know I have lots of tears stuffed and stuck down. And this releases some. Allison, we all have been watching ( and participating) in an extraordinary love story. And love stories usually have tears. Beautiful words from Jenifer. And so true.
And Allison. You sometimes ask, “Where is God? Is He even there? ” He was there. Inside you. As you were being His hands and feet and love to Vernon. No, He didn’t say ‘Yes’ to miraculously healing Vernon. But He demonstrated His love and power through you. And the children. And the Logies, Ketcham’s, Hendrix’s, Adams’, your parents, Joe. Others watched and saw the face of God. They saw love in action. His power and love to do what was given to Vernon.
Vernon left the imprints of his fonts behind. And he left he imprint of love.
PS Jenifer’s name was changed. But the rest of the story is real.
by Allison Moore | Sep 22, 2016 | Day by Day |
Death is one of the main things in life that connects us all. It is a major part of life—we know that but we don’t like to expect or accept it in our culture. It’s inevitable—we all have that in common. Sometimes I imagine we are all in a long metaphysical queue (like at the grocery store, just waiting our turn…which will come eventually, but not no time soon. Suddenly a new clerk opens the next register and someone in the middle or even back of the line, suddenly is called to be first. And off they go when you least expected it. Its especially distressing to everyone in the waiting queue when we watch someone young get called up ahead of us. Or if it’s someone we love a lot.
There a small painting on my living room wall. I did it sometime after Vernon and I returned from our Venice honeymoon in 2016. I have been looking at it lately, wondering if its time to take it down, whether I should reorganize the artwork. At any rate, I think it matches the poem I am about to share (from a book someone gave me at Vernon’s memorial service—thanks Yuki!) I hope others who have lost their loved ones can gather comfort and hope from the words.
On The Death Of The Beloved
— John O’Donohue
Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.
Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.
The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.
Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.
Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.
We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.
Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul’s gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.
Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.
When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.
May you continue to inspire us:
To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.
by Allison Moore | Sep 20, 2016 | Day by Day |
“I try not to worry about the future – so I take each day just one anxiety attack at a time.”— Tom Wilson
Let’s talk about anxiety, shall we?
When I’m not busy DOING something, or actively taking care of the kids, I find my breathing can suddenly change, my heart rate goes up, and if I don’t start moving immediately, the tears come or I just feel unhinged.
My beloved sister-in-law called me while I was shopping in Costco yesterday, and all was fine until she mentioned planning something fun in the future. Suddenly the tears welled up. I left the cart and started walking so no one would notice. Next thing I knew, I was lost in that massive warehouse and couldn’t remember what I was shopping for, let alone where my cart was. I’ve taken other phone calls, and there haven’t been those problems. She was being perfectly lovely and supportive as always. Why should I get a panic attack then?
Today, I dropped off my car at the mechanic. For some reason, I couldn’t just tell him I had a flat tire. I opened my mouth to explain but could feel my breathing start to change, and the tears came. I felt so embarrassed, standing in the middle of that office with a man who was somewhat shocked and slightly uncomfortable. I thought: Do I always look this crazy to these people?
It hasn’t just started. It began while Vernon was in hospice. Everything was so intense. I would go go go, until suddenly the wrong stranger crossed my path or there would be a mixup in the nursing staff or a friend would offer something I couldn’t process in the moment. Then it would pass, though I’d be embarrassed of the out-of-control-ness of my emotions. I was told not to worry about it, to give myself grace. But it was new to me. And I didn’t like the frequency (and unexpectedness) in which it came.
I was fine going to the Back to School night at the High School two weeks ago—I handled it for nearly two hours, meeting all Maki’s teachers, without a stitch. But the next week was Parent’s Night at Justine’s school. Suddenly the sight of all those adults folded into tiny seats at tiny desks threw me into sudden panic and I had to turn around. Why then? Why sometimes—not other times? People say that this is a common symptom of grieving, and is to be expected.
But the problem is, Anxiety comes when you least expect it. I don’t have to be thinking about Vernon or a specific memory. In fact, I don’t have to be thinking about anything at all when it hits. It’s just a weird physical reaction to this new stage of life I guess. A different kind of un-knowing. My girlfriend who recently lost both her parents in the course of a year, and then her husband’s mother the next year told me she learned one thing about grief through all this: everybody goes through it differently.
Exercise helps! Last week I had a few down days and filled them with exercise as much as I could. My muscles got sore, but I didn’t feel anxious….at least not while I was moving! So when I was with friends in LA last weekend, they gave me plenty of opportunities to walk if the feeling came. I have also started volunteering once a week as a room mom in Justine’s class. Weirdly, going into that very different world of elementary school and doing phonics pages with the kids or laminating in the office is grounding in it’s own way.
When someone asks me what I plan to do next, the first thing that comes to mind is this: learn how to be a mom to a Tenth Grader and a First Grader. Re-learn how to cook and have normal mealtimes. Help with more homework, read more with Justine. These things aren’t coming as easily as I remembered them being before summer. I think we all feel slightly different now, but each in a way we can’t explain to each other. We don’t even understand it ourselves. I expect we are still in the portal of change, and this won’t be how it feels forever.
PS For a period, I was able to go off my anti-depressants, which seems ironic, as it was during the very stressful time of trying to help Vernon. Perhaps the sense of busy-ness and purpose helped lift me out of that natural-to-me behavior. It looks like I’ll be on them again…at least for awhile and for different reasons.
