Hello and Welcome to my First Blog!
Introduction. I have been reading about how to start a blog and I think I failed in Rule #1. One author said that the first thing you need to do is to find your niche. My problem all of my life is that I have been a generalist; I have never been a specialist. I have always been drawn to broad knowledge, not necessarily narrow and deep knowledge. I have never had one niche, and I doubt that I ever will. It is just the way I am wired.
So, my non-niche niche…I am 62-year-old white American women who has lived a good life. I recently retired from a profession that required a lot of writing. The problem is that I still have a lot to say. I have an education, resources, a great family and good friends. I have passions that come from my experiences – love and loss, caring for family and friends in need, healthcare, and speaking out against injustices I see. I invite discussions on my blogs. I want to connect with others who are in this phase of life. I don’t know what to call this phase, but I think that things happen during the 7th decade of life that are shared experiences—loss, caregiving, giving back to others and communities. We can learn from each other. I only ask that you be civil to one another. I will not allow profanity and name-calling on my site. I value honesty, truth, compassion, and integrity. I am deeply concerned about the divisions in our country and I am looking for ways to stimulate dialogue, understanding and inclusiveness. We have forgotten how to listen to each other. We have forgotten how to be nice. We have forgotten how to compromise.
I call this site gailscircle as a nod to my late Grandma who belonged to various church circles. I heard about circles all during my childhood but quite frankly I am not sure what she did at them besides socialize and have potluck luncheons that always included jello salads. From what I could tell, the key to a good circle was social interactions with other like-minded women. While Grandma’s circles were composed mostly of women like her (women, Caucasian, Methodist, of a certain age, middle class) I welcome diversity. I don’t care what gender, sexual orientation, or color you are. If you are interested in the topics, post with civility and compassion, please join in the conversations. As an aside, I view social media as an adjunct to in-person interaction, but perhaps the virtual circle I am creating will help to stimulate in-person circles.
So, my first blog is on loss and grief…and how a metaphor helps me to cope with the most devastating loss of my life.
My Story. Two years ago, after 30 years of a happy marriage, my husband died of surgical complications. He suffered from an aggressive form of Parkinson’s Disease for five years. He was very debilitated when he had surgery. Six months after Terry’s dearth I finally screwed up the courage to attend a support group hosted by the local hospice. (Terry received his final care from this hospice.) One of the most important things I learned at a support group meeting is that grief is like waves of the ocean. At first, the waves are very high and frequent. They knock you over before you can catch your breath. Right after Terry died, I felt like this. I could not focus, I could not think, I could not interact, I could not function. I remember the first few days. As it happened we were expecting a hurricane to hit our community. For three days I sat in a reclining chair in the living room and life went on very busily around me. My sons fastened window coverings and secured things outside, my friend cooked everything that could spoil if we lost power, my son made sure the generator was in good order, everyone put water in containers and made sure flashlights worked, all while three dogs of family who were staying with me buzzed around me at full speed. A couple of weeks later I finally dragged myself to work and went through the motions of life, but I felt like I was drowning in grief. I could not get a foothold on the ocean floor. Waves of grief came over me one after another and they were high.
As I continued to go through the motions of life, over time the waves of grief lessened in height and frequency. Little by little, between waves I was getting my bearings. My friends and family helped me to have reprieves from the waves. They loved me. They buoyed me up. They took me places. They visited. The thing about grief waves, though, is that over time sometimes you forget about them because they are so infrequent. Then, bam! Out of nowhere, unexpected, just when you think you are doing well, a huge wave knocks you over. It takes your breath away, and in the void, you miss your loved one in a gut-wrenching way all over again.
A huge wave knocked me over last week and it came from nowhere. I was at my close friend’s house for dinner and things were going well. We were all having a great time. We talked, we laughed, and we ate dinner together. Then, my friend and her husband began to reminisce about the camping trips they took when their kids were young. They told stories, shared memories, laughed about situations, and relished in their shared experiences. I felt like I was an observer standing outside of the situation. I was suspended in a huge void. Then the tsunami struck. Emotions hit me and they shook my being. I realized that I cannot ever share stories of my past with Terry again. I cannot connect with him over shared experiences. I felt hollow. I felt terrible, but I did recognize the experience as a huge wave, so I let it wash over me. In a few moments the wave passed, I got up and I got back in the conversation with my friends. I truly felt glad that my friends had each other and shared a special history. I enjoyed their conversation.
Over the next few days as I reflected on this last tsunami, I realized that my job is to lay down new memories. I am not sure where I am headed, but I remain more hopeful than ever. With my retirement I have the opportunity to write my new history. I will never forget my history with Terry because it is a part of me. I will pass Terry stories on to my children, but I have the opportunity to write the story of the rest of my life, however long that will be.
Discussion: The wave metaphor has been very helpful for me in understanding and normalizing my grief experiences. Others may use different metaphors that work better for them than the wave works for me. I have always loved the water and swimming, so maybe ocean waves felt comfortable to me. Whatever the metaphor, they help us make sense of our experiences, ourselves, our relationships, and our places in the world. Metaphors help us to talk to others about our experiences, especially the experiences that we keep hidden, like loss and grief.
Question: How has a metaphor helped you to cope with a loss in your life?
#loss #grief #socialcircle
Gail, I really like the wave metaphor. I have experienced feeling swamped, hit unaware. Maybe a rip tide. In the months after my mother died, I could be driving down the interstate and suddenly I was in tears. I haven’t lost a spouse but I can only imagine that will be so much harder. During my child-bearing years, I would suddenly be hit by deep depression and finally realize that it centered around the due date of one of the babies I miscarried. Identifying the source helped. I stuck with it and was finally blessed with my two daughters. Years later I realized that had it not been for the miscarriages, I would not have these two children. Finally the losses lost some of the sting.
I’m not sure I’ve responded directly to your question, but those are the thoughts it triggered. I am really looking forward to more of your blog
Thank you, Natalie, for your thoughtful comments. I appreciate your sharing such personal thoughts. One thing I have learned about grief is that it is a highly personal and unique experience, which I think makes it hard to talk about. Miscarriage is a unique kind of loss, too. My experience was similar in that over time, I realized I would not have had my #2 son if it weren’t for a miscarriage. Again, thank you for your post.
Your wave metaphor is beautiful and very moving. I am often surprised by my ongoing way of coping with the deaths of my mother, my brother, and my sister. It is as though they are still here. It’s not denial, but rather reassurance. It’s hard to explain, but it is quite comforting. I frequently refer to them in the present. As she aged, my Mom would say “I used to be a nurse” and I would always correct her and say, “well, you are STILL a nurse and you always will be”. She has been gone for 4 years now, yet when I’m in a clothing store and see something I know she would like, I pick it up and think how cute it would look on her. And then I remind myself that she is not here, but not before the joy of feeling her presence at that moment. The same thing happens with my brother, who passed away 2 years ago. He is (ok, was) an expert with dogs and their behavior. If I have a question about our dogs, I pick up the phone to call him, and then remind myself that he isn’t available, but again, feeling his presence. My sister in law told me she dreamt about him and was having a conversation about his new holy dwelling. He said it was great. Then she asked him if he’d met God and he said, “no, he’s WAY too busy”. We laughed until we cried because that is his essence, always pragmatic and honest. So, while I don’t have a metaphor, I guess I cope in my own way. I must say that I laugh out loud frequently when this happens. I share it with whomever I might be with at the moment, and they say, “oh, I’m so sorry”, but it really isn’t sad to me. Thanks to all of you who share your stories, and thanks to Gail for creating this forum!
Gail, your metaphor is beautiful and very moving. It resonates with me very much . Thank you.
My grief and loss over my parents deaths, occurred several decades ago. Over the decades, I developed a sense of peace. I continue to feel their presence and still talk to them regularly. They live on in me and will as long as I am alive.
Regarding circles:
We create circles in our lives all the time. Women circles especially keep me afloat. I created a book club with women in a previous locality.
During my master’s in holistic nursing I came across two books you might find of interest (though you may well have read them already). The Millionth Circle by Jean Shinoda Bolen and Calling the Circle: The First and Future Culture. The idea being extrapolated from The Hundredth Monkey theory.
Thank you Gail for starting this Circle. May we all add to the critical number of people, to change how they/we think and behave in these divisive times.
There was a spot on the highway that I told myself either, suck it up or let it go. During Dad’s end stage life. I had forgotten that, until reading of the circle today. (healing!) Gail, thank you for opening this forum. Looking forward to seeing if Mom is open to relating also.
You are very welcome. Thank you for the comment. I like that spot on the highway of suck it up or let it go! My three favorite affirmations are: Life is good. Be happy now. Life is short.
I lossed my husband almost 2years ago come Christmas. I cry so easy, wondering if I made the right life decisions, his cancer had come back, his bones were brittle, he fell, brokehis neck within 3 hours he was totally paralyzed from neck down. He lasted six days. I was in shock. He would ask me questions that I didnt want to answer. Sometimes I cry, people dont understand and I can’t explain seems like this morning, I love him, and I am sad. Everywhere I look he there, I am crying now, I miss him so much, who would have thought:-(?
Thank you for your comment, Jeanette. I am very sorry for you loss. I am not a counselor, but I can tell you that I found a hospice bereavement support group helpful. It’s not for everyone, but for me it was absolutely essential that I talk to others who had had significant losses. You can probably Google grief support groups in your area or call the local hospice.