Reminiscing on a Loss

The one year anniversary of my grandmother's death is approaching. I didn't realize it at first, but I think that explains the unexpected moments of weepiness I've been having this week. A year ago at this time, I was spending evenings and many days at a local nursing home, eating a lot of fast food dinners, crying and remembering with family and feeling the sadness of impending loss. I began 2013 with my grandma's death on the horizon. It was a difficult way to begin a year.

And yet, the year became one of hope, positive change, and possibilities. I'm hoping for a continuation of what's begun as 2014 rolls around.

But for tonight, I'd like to take a much needed moment and share some of my thoughts from a year ago at this time. I'm glad that I shared many of them on Facebook so I can look over them again now. So here are my previous and current thoughts.

"Some things worth mentioning: my grandma's health is failing quite dramatically. It's likely not long that she'll be with us. I'm having a difficult time processing the new year (newness, hope, openness, possibilities) with the inevitable loss of a loved one. I am still finding hope in my ever-present search for gratitude. I feel blessed being surrounded by family, sharing my life with my loving husband, when joining in laughter with friends, and receiving a kind and meaningful gift from a coworker. So far, a pensive 2013." Although this year clearly started out with difficulty, I'm thankful that I still made time for uncovering gratitude. I wish I had written down what the thoughtful gift was because I truly can't remember it. But I do remember feeling like care and compassion was coming at my family from all sides.

"Thank you all for your love and support. My grandma died peacefully earlier tonight. We feel very loved and cared for." I remember sharing this very soon after she died. I also remember that though I needed to share it with my friends, that it was too soon for some of my family to have everyone know. I became more conscious of sharing statuses that affected so many others.

"Wow. So many visitors and so much food at my mom's house. Wonderful to have so many loving and caring people in our world. Thank you!!" It was overwhelming. I'm a caregiver by career and my mom one by nature. We both had to step aside and allow ourselves to be loved, supported, and held up when we're used to doing that for others. Our helpless vulnerability became an opportunity to be recipients of love.

"On the night my grandma died, I sang old hymns to her. Then later my mom asked if I could say a prayer for her. She realized that a pastor had been out to visit with the family, but hadn't actually said a prayer with grandma. It was an emotional and touching moment to be able to pray for my grandma with my mom, my aunt, and my husband. She died less than an hour later. I will hold this as a treasured memory and I wanted to share it with my Facebook family." Of all my memories from a year ago, this is one of the most difficult for me to remember. It was so sacred; so beyond the mundane. It moves me to tears even now because it was a rare moment when all my "selves" combined. My Chaplain-self and my granddaughter/daughter/wife/niece-self joined to provide a spiritual need. I don't know if my grandma heard me singing to her. But my family did. And we held hands and cried together and felt deep feelings together. This is the moment I have been needing to remember, but it's also the one I've been dreading because of the depth of emotion stirred by remembering.

"Working on the draft for my grandma's service. Another way being a Hospice Chaplain has helped me. My brother and cousin are working on the words they want to read. I'm going to try to sing and read the letter to my grandma I wrote in my last blog. It'll be hard for all of us, but hopefully cathartic too." It was not my original intention to draft the service. But the process turned out to be very healing for me. And I did make it through both singing and speaking. I remember being much more nervous about the singing, because so many of my family members didn't even know I could sing. But in the end, speaking my own words was the much more trying task than singing those written by someone else. I remember having to take a moment, breathe through the knot in my throat, and continue on. After the service, I overheard one of my cousins talking on the phone to someone. He said the service was so sad! By his tone, however, he meant it as a compliment because he, and many others, thought that three of the grandchildren participating was very special. I think we would have made my grandma proud.

"We made it through my grandma's funeral service. It was beautiful and personal. So many family and friends gathered from all over the place! Thank you so much to everyone who came. You surrounded us all in love. Now we're spending time with family and enjoying great memories and yummy food." The same week as my grandma's service, I attended the funeral of a Roman Catholic patient of mine. My patient's service was almost entirely scripted from a Roman Catholic worship book. I think it was meaningful for the family, but the five minutes or so spent actually talking about the patient didn't feel like enough for me. I'm proud of the approach and time given to my grandma's service. It was certainly what we needed it to be.

"Thank you everyone for all the love and support. And especially thank you to Kody Kinsley, Kt Cassady, Robin Buzzeo, and Tracy Hawkins for the texts and calls. It's been wonderful to feel so loved." And I certainly did feel loved every day. I have some of the most wonderful friends ever. It's a gift to have them and another gift to be so aware of how deeply blessed I am. It's also wonderful that these friends are enduring souls in my life. They, along with Dan, have been sources of inspiration, laughter, support, silliness, and hope.

"I find that 'firsts' after someone dies are significant and sad. Even though it's been several weeks, I'm still seeing some people for the first time since my grandma died. They ask about her, I share, then I have to shed some tears to recover from another 'first.'" This post was brought on by someone at my work. We work for the same company, but not very closely. We ran into each other in the office and she very kindly asked, "How's your grandma?" It was at a time when I finally thought everyone knew she had died, so the question knocked the wind out of me and brought me up short for a moment. I had to go back to my desk and cry for a bit until I was able to temper my emotions.

"Making my grandma's soup tonight. Turns out my mom had the same idea and she made it tonight too!" We were surprised when we did this! I felt connected to my mom that we both thought to honor her mom the same night in the same way.

Here are some other ways my grandma was honored and remembered:

Right after Christmas, and right before grandma died, I printed a copy of the group photo of our family on my grandma's 87th birthday. I didn't know at the time quite how soon she was going to die, so these photos became extra special and well-timed.

My mom and I shared a special day together celebrating Mother's Day - her first since her mom died. We got dressed up and went to the Wilmington Tea Room. Without planning ahead, we wore our matching dogwood necklaces. Hers belonged to her mom. I found mine in the NC mountains very likely made by the same designer. Now, when we get together for mother-daughter dates, we often wear them.

Most recently, I made special ornaments for Christmas for my mom and aunt. Below are photos of my mom and aunt opening their gift and then a closer photo of the ornaments themselves.

We've made it through many firsts this year. I'm hopeful about 2014. And I'm grateful for all the love I have in my life. If you've made it to the end of my blog, thank you so much for sticking with me. Please feel free to leave me comments and thoughts.

With love,

Kelley

Further Connection and a Homily in Progress

So...

I wrote about my friend who proposed an intentional covenant of connection via weekly emails and monthly snail mail. So far, it's absolutely wonderful. To know that my emails will be read with care and responded to is so healing. Many times, I've tried to email, text, or call people in my world but haven't heard back from them. There's only so long that that kind of one-sided connection can last before it fizzles.

My friend said my enthusiastic response to her proposal gave her the confidence to make communication offers with other people. She has three more people who she'll be trying to stay in touch with in similar ways. With her encouragement, I decided to be brave and invite two of my other friends into the circle of connection.

So here's what I'll be doing!

With Tracy (the originator of this fantastic idea): I'll be receiving emails from her on Tuesdays and responding to them on Wednesdays. In addition, I'll be sending her a piece of real mail at least once a month.

With Kody: I'll be emailing him on Sundays. He's asked for two days of response time, so I'll be hearing back from him by Tuesdays. He also agreed to snail mail at least once a month and counter-proposed occasional packages as well!

With Kt: She liked the idea too, but said she writes enough emails in her life and would like to become...wait for it...actual pen pals, writing real mail to each other, trying for once a week.

So there you have it! The ways in which I hope to continue to be connected to my incredible friends. Now, I'd like to be intentional about spending time with Dan locally. Perhaps a guaranteed once a week walk? Away from anything with a screen to drag our attention away from each other.

Exciting.

On another note, I'm currently at a coffee shop getting my writing juices flowing with this blog because Sunday is my annual hospice memorial service. This is my once a year event where I invite everyone who has lost a loved one on our care for the past year to a memorial service that I have planned and facilitate. I think the event will be welcoming and hopefully healing for people. I have a local high school ensemble chorus who will be coming to share music with us. Dan's running the sound. My mom and Dan's mom are catering for the 2nd year in a row. The order of service has been printed beautifully thanks to one of my co-workers. I've received RSVPs to make me feel calmer about all the effort going into this event. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, which is excellent considering last year it POURED the day of.

Only thing left?

My homily.

It's also what was last minute for me last year. Damn procrastinating personality! It's just very difficult to write a homily that encompasses so many different people, both our deceased patients and their families. When I'm asked to do a service for a particular person, it's nice because I can focus on THEM. I can get personal stories, ask families what they want to have included, make the songs and words intentionally reflect particular people.  But for dozens of different people and the staff that take care of them...much more difficult.

I want to focus on universal themes of loss and the trauma of death. Because frankly, death disrupts our lives. We're going along, living our day-to-day, then boom! Someone we love dies. And the truth of it is, no matter how many people tell you "It's going to be ok." there is, at least for a moment, a time where it doesn't feel that way. We live in a very death-denying society. With the transition of deaths to hospitals and nursing homes, (which are viable options, don't get me wrong) the feeling of someone dying has turned from being personal and family-oriented to stranger and machine-oriented. Hospice is trying to open up the possibility of people having the choice to die in their homes, surrounded by family, and photos, and memories, and love. In a personal way.

When someone dies in our culture, who is not a celebrity, I find that there is a stressful push to "be ok now!" We try to get back to "normal" as quickly as possible. At my HOSPICE job, it's written into the policy that employees receive "up to three days" of bereavement time at the death of a close loved one. And "close" only counts for parents, grandparents, and siblings. Really? Three days? Yeah, right. I think this is especially bogus when the person who we've lost because the sun of our universe...illness causing them to be the center of our world perhaps under very difficult circumstance and for an extended period of time.

While I want to acknowledge and make a sacred space for the losses, and the aching holes left behind, I also want to spend a good bit of time talking about love. There's a Forrest Church quote that I adore. It will be read by the hospice social worker before I homilize. I want this quote read at my own Memorial Service hopefully MANY years from now.

By the Reverend Forrest Church who was, before his passing, a Unitarian Universalist Minister:

"Every time we commit ourselves, every time we share ourselves with another...we risk so very much. We risk disappointment...we risk the enormous pain of loss. If we try to protect ourselves from suffering, we shall manage only to subdue the very thing that makes our lives worth living. Though we can, by a refusal to love, protect ourselves from the risk of losing what or whom we love, the irony is, by refusing to love we will have nothing left that is really worth protecting."

In other words, the only way we can avoid the pain of grief is also by avoiding the joy of love.
And I, for one, do not believe that my life would be worth a lick of beans, as they say here in the south, if I didn't have people to love and who loved me. My ideas about god change and evolve over the years, but one thing I have been consistent on believing is that there is evidence of divine love present in the love of my family and my friends. They are the embodiment of sacred connection, hope, and love. Without them, I feel depressed and disconnected. I feel like there is nothing worthwhile. But with them I feel full and whole. I soar and can expand to a fuller potential. I can make a difference in the world because of their love.

And when I lose someone I love, then their memory, and even my guilt and regrets, spark within me a desire to live better. To love more. To tell the people I care about how grateful I am for them. Each life, and even each death, alters my life perspective. They turn the course of my life path, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.

Each of the people coming to the service on Sunday has been affected by death in the past year. More than anything I want their losses to be acknowledged and for them to feel cared for and safe. And I want for them to eat delicious food, because I fully believe there is something ancient and wonderful about sharing a meal with people.

Well this blog certainly has gotten my writing juices flowing just like I'd hoped! I've even been going back and forth from my homily writing while typing it. Now, I plan to focus more exclusively on my homily, praying that something loving and comforting will result.

If you have any thoughts please leave me a comment. Otherwise, until next time!

Blessings,
Kelley

Heartbreak

I'm going to share something that I'm only just coming to terms with. It's scary to share something so personal, especially in so public a forum, but I don't really know who reads my blog anyhow. And I think that's what is helping me continue to type.

Last Fall, I had a miscarriage. It was easy to be in denial that it happened and even now it doesn't feel fully real. Here's why. I never got it confirmed by my doctor. I had positive pregnancy tests at home. I was going to the doctor for other reasons and when I asked for a test there, but they somehow overlooked running it. And by the time I realized that, my tests had started to be negative at home.

For those that know me, you know that I have wanted to be a mom for years. I've come to think in terms of a "veil of motherhood." A barrier I have yet to cross. An inner circle of womanhood of which I long to be a part. With each new announcement of a friend or family member's pregnancy, I fight an internal battle. I want to be happy for whoever it is, but my heart breaks that much more. This past Mother's Day, I did the math at how far along I could have been in my pregnancy and it was so tremendously painful.

I have known others who have had miscarriages. And I have read about how many woman have them and don't even realize it. Somewhere I read it was called "the silent grief" because it's not talked about. I always told myself naively that I would talk about it if it ever happened to me. But when it happened, I only told my husband. I didn't even tell my mom, the other person I'm so close to, until a month ago...nearly 6 months after. I didn't want the sympathy. I didn't want the sorrow. I didn't want the reality to sink in. If I didn't share it, it could continue to be unreal.

But this has become a part of me. It's become a part of my story. And it has broken my heart. But I'm healing. And I'm becoming healthier so that hopefully when I carry a child in the future, my body will be better prepared to nurture and sustain life. A friend of mine recently shared this thought: "...to identify people as parents from the moment of conception." There was something so precious about considering myself a parent, if even for a few brief weeks. I feel like being a parent is a dormant side of myself. It's growing and yearning to come to the forefront. And perhaps someday it will come to fruition.

Thus endeth the most intimate blog I've ever written.