Grief & Closure - Losing a Loved One

Today, I am publishing a piece I originally posted in April 2011 about healing the grief around the loss of a loved one. This weekend marks the four-year anniversary of my mom's transition, and this piece was written during a time when my father and I were going through some things she had stored away.  Edited since its original posting, its message still hold true for anyone experiencing grief around the loss of a loved one, and/or a miscarriage.

I dedicate this piece to a few friends who recently have lost a parent, and who currently are in the process of losing a parent.  My heart knows your grief, and the love you held/hold for your loved one.  May you find comfort in knowing you are not alone in your grief.

Yesterday during a Sunday visit with my dad, we looked through things he’d recently sorted of my mom’s stuff. He and I perused all the remaining closets, rooms, cabinets and shelves still left unchecked when in one closet I found a pillow case stuffed with something. It was my Baby Tender Love doll from my preschool-aged childhood. Her hair was matted, badly suffering cowlicks. She still wore a little blue-print onesie my mother had made for her. Other than a rip in the bottom hem and having a bad hair day, the little gal was in pretty good shape.

After I came home, I pulled Baby Tender Love out for a visit and the childhood memories came flooding back. We lived in an old dilapidated rental house on Redhill-Maxwell. As a child it seemed huge, though during a return visit as a teenager I recalled how small the rooms and yard really were. I remember playing with my dolls while sitting on the floor in the bedroom I shared with my little brother, including my Barbie, PJ and Ken dolls for which Mom also made very fashionable clothes. All those dolls and outfits were long ago pitched, though I did find my Barbie naked on a shelf. Evidently she'd been a nudist the last few decades.

As I remembered these childhood memories, I hugged Baby Tender Love close to me as if she were my baby again. The rush of memories suddenly reeled me back in time to April 1996, when I lost my own baby at eleven weeks, and with it, the dream of being a mother. Grief struck out of nowhere and tears flowed for the little baby girl I knew I carried, "Peanut." With my unborn child, there was no farewell; no funeral service or closure that signified she was gone; no opportunity to say goodbye after our short-lived relationship was over. There was only hemorrhaging through the night, labor pains and cramps as my body gave premature birth to the fetus. There was fear, uncertainty, and disconnect with the reality that I was losing my baby. The next morning was the doctor visit, outpatient surgery for a DNC, and then home to carry on in life as if none of it had ever happened, as if I'd awakened from a bad dream. I dealt with the grief off and on for several years afterward, and I truly felt peace around it, despite remembering my baby every December, the month Peanut would've been born had she gone full-term. Every year, I remember the lost dream of being a mother to what would today be a beautiful fourteen-year-old daughter.

 

 In hindsight, I realize that I never experienced closure around her loss.

 

Before mom passed, I hated funerals, and never felt comfortable being in the same room as a dead body. Yet, I recognized the event for what it was – closure for those who loved the one lost. After seven plus years of spiritual development, I understood that life as we know it in human form is simply energy transitioning into spiritual form. I initially resented the visitation, because I was tired, grieving and I didn't want to meet and greet others. Then I realized they too needed closure around the passing of a friend, neighbor, relative, coworker and acquaintance.

 

After it was said and done, I was grateful for the visitation. I learned how much Mom touched the lives of so many, and how they loved and appreciated her. It was such a gift. As for my mom’s body being on display, her funeral was the first I’d been to since stepping into my spiritual journey, and it no longer felt uncomfortable or awkward to be there. I felt gratitude for the opportunity to have been present with my mom upon her death. I was grateful for the funeral that allowed my family to have closure as we prepared to return her to Mother Earth.

 

As I held my Baby Tender Love, I strangely felt a connection I never felt with the child I lost. A physical connection that tapped right into the grief left unfinished. A connection to what it might have felt like, if only briefly, to hold my baby for the first time. I connected with that grief and felt a greater sense of closure. I was able to energetically hold my unborn baby to say goodbye as I embraced the Baby Tender Love I loved so dearly as a child.

Grief is a process, ongoing and in many phases. Rushing grief is unproductive; denying grief only feeds its strength into volcanic releases. I've dealt with the loss of my unborn baby, and now this grief feels complete.

Thank you Mom for hanging on to Baby Tender Love for me. And thank you Baby Tender Love for allowing me to say the goodbye I never had the chance to say fifteen years ago.

A Strong Woman

A Strong Woman. Many have different ideas or definitions about what a strong woman is in today's world. Strength is defined in many different ways: Muscle. Attitude. Status. Religious. Sense of Self. All elude to strength but offer different examples of how strength is demonstrated. Muscle strength is physical; a man or a woman can feel strong if he or she can physically overpower another, be it in an abusive relationship or in sports situation. Attitudinal strength may reflect a self-righteous “in your face” attitude, or a snobby condescending demeanor. Status strength reflects a variety of examples, including economic, financial, career position, even social position. Some feel having more of something - material things, money, influence, or friends in your corner - gives one position of strength to influence over another person or situation. There's religious strength, in which some with their belief doctrine of choice strong arm others into their way of thinking in the name of God, be it through pious judgment, having an “in” with God, or a pious righteousness that God's sword will "right" a situation. And finally, there's the Sense of Self – a concept many give little consideration.

The Sense of Self is an inner knowing of one's personal truth - who she is through and through. She knows her history, her role and responsibility in it, her strengths, her values, her human weaknesses. One recognizes the need to maintenance her sense of self through self-reflection, and is honest in this task, feeling no need to pretend to be someone she isn't. Her heart is open, unconditional, loving, and forgiving. A sense of self is strong because it's light – holding no resentment, no grudges, no self-pity. A strong sense of self affords comfort in one's own skin, flaws and all, and doesn't need to mask anything or be something she's not. A strong sense of self needs nothing outside of itself to feel valued or worthy; she meets her own needs, knows self-love, self-respect, and self-confidence without any outside validation.

The above quote about “A Strong Woman” describes a woman with a strong sense of self. Her principles are clear, those to which she holds herself without expectation of anyone and everyone to follow suit. A strong woman is honest with her emotions and about her own feelings, owning them rather than placing blame on others for experiencing them. With a strong sense of self, a woman opens her heart to healing, accepting responsibility for all her choices made in the past, forgiving herself and all others involved. With this healing, she is capable of feeling deeper love for and acceptance of others, no matter their personal choices or how they show up in her life. Through the healing of past experiences, she gleans wisdom, and when Life throws a curve ball, she digs into the wisdom held in her Sense of Self to find what she needs to manage her way through it towards love, forgiveness and peace again.

A strong woman passionately loves all, standing strong on behalf of those she loves and for herself in the strength of personal empowerment rather than in the overpowering of another. A strong woman's strength is quiet, internal, not the the swing of a sword, the cut of one's tongue or the stepping on or over another. Her inner strength is spiritual, as well as practical. Her strength is soft in its quiet presence within, but strong in its effectiveness. That inner strength allows her heart to open wide and love generously, freely, and deeply. When another attempts to hurt her, this same heart reconciles within itself, forgives, and loves anyway, but now standing stronger in her personal power. Strength is knowing one's own feelings and freely sharing them with others and with herself from the place of "I feel", fearlessly, honestly, genuinely to express one's truth, rather than from the place of "you make me" to hurt, blame, manipulate or coerce another.

Strength is indeed an essence within, a knowing of one self, an empowered sense of self. The Sense of Self takes time to develop; in many ways, it involves a rennovation, a tearing down and a rebuilding if one has suffered many years of heartaches, heartbreaks, carries unresolved grudges and resentments, or is consumed with anger and bitterness. This rebuilding shifts the outwardly swing of the sword, the slaying with words, the explosion of emotion as power to the quieter inner power of knowing, self-confidence, and solidified foundation of truth built with the bricks of values, character traits, principles and standards that support and reflects one's personal presentation of Self in the world.

A strong woman is one who feels deeply and loves fiercely. Her tears flow just as abundantly as does her laughter. A strong woman is soft and powerful. She is practical and spiritual. A strong woman in her essence is a gift to the world.

The Pricetag for Freedom

There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout: This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love. I am a whole complex package. Take me, or leave me. . . .Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. ~Stacy Charter

The above statements resonate with me because I've had to stand up in my life and say, "Enough is enough, I am not doing this anymore! I'm not tolerating verbal, emotional or societal abuse because I choose to be who I am, live my life according to my values, and believe in what I deserve in genuine relationships and a genuine life."

Where are you fitting into someone's mold? How are you negotiating who you are in exchange for material goods, security and comfort, or for love and acceptance?

I started standing up for myself in 2003. I was involved in an emotionally and verbally abusive relationship with a man who was controlling, critical, and angry. When I expressed how I felt, I was shut down, my words taken out of context, manipulated into statements of attack against him when what I expressed were my feelings. My world was a life in which I lived walking on eggshells, never certain how anything I said would be interpreted. In this “loving” relationship, I had to be someone I wasn't; be who he expected me to be, everything from how I washed fruits and vegetables to how I addressed his displeasure about work or family or social issues. I was expected to agree with everything he said, without question, without looking at any of it from the others' point of view. If I did express my thoughts that differed from his own personal perspective or opinion, I was against him, nonsupporting, and failing him as his mate.

It took a while to realize I was not living my life from a place of personal power. Chris Michaels, author of Your Soul's Assignment says, “We all reach that point of authority in our lives – that place where we can no longer stand pretending to be something we're not just to please other people. That is the point of power in our lives – a personal declaration of independence. It's also the point in life where. . . we become less tolerant of others whose only interest is to make us feel bad and wrong.”

I eventually found the courage to leave this relationship. It was a three-year road towards freedom, for my ex continually reappeared, clinging to our connection with humbled apologies and proclamations of true change. His actions showed otherwise as his resentment and the anger festering beneath this facade of humility surfaced quickly. He refused to leave me alone because he was angry: at me for daring to stand up to himself; at himself and his choices leading to the demise of our relationship; at those closest to him in his life who betrayed him, hurt him, caused him pain. I finally freed myself from being a target of blame for his unhappiness. And only until he healed past betrayals, grievances and disappointments would he find the inner peace which he sought in making anyone who challenged his maltreatment and behavior miserable. He felt better about himself by devaluing and demeaning me, which is what bullies do when they are unhappy or insecure. Bullying is abuse in the form of picking on others, bad-mouthing others. Bullies secure sympathy from others, often placing the blame on another for whatever misery they experienced in their life. My ex-boyfriend drew me into this web with stories of his ex-wife cheating on him, how his alcoholic parents abused him verbally and never showed love for him; how co-workers did him wrong, etc. I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. In addition to learning how to stand up for my life, I also learned there are two sides to every story.

I feel empathy for my ex-boyfriend, and the road he's traveled, but I don't deserve being his punching bag as a cure or relief from his own miserable life. Just as I have the personal power to make choices that create a better life experience for me, so does he; so does anyone. He eventually got help, and like most people who have a few months of counseling, he believed he was “changed.” This experience in 2003 launched me on an eight-year journey that continues of healing, forgiveness, and rediscovering who I am and my God-given gift of personal and spiritual power. When I let anyone dictate to me who I am, how I should show up and be, what choices I should or shouldn't be making, or how I should live my life, I hand over my personal power to another human being. I cannot control anyone's choices or actions in his or her own life, or even towards me. I can take action to stand up for myself, and walk away on the high road, head held high knowing I do so from a place of authentic truth as a Light of God. My value doesn't come from other people's opinions of me, but rather it comes directly from my connection to God. This holds true for everyone.

It isn't always easy; I lose my footing, I stumble and I fall on occasion. But, when I pick myself up, I understand what tripped me, and I resolve to walk again, more firmly entrenched in God's love for myself, and especially for those who attempt to push me down. We all have our own paths to walk, and we walk them in our own time, at our own pace. I am only responsible for how I show up in my journey's path, and upon crossing the paths of others along the way.

Sometimes, moving forward means leaving others behind, even when we love them deeply. Leaving behind my ex-boyfriend, and others since then, doesn't mean I stopped loving them. They hold a special place in my heart and in my memory. They are wrapped with love and hope that one day they recognize their own personal power to stand more brightly in the Light of God to live a life of spiritual authenticity.

Our Grief and Closure

Yesterday during a Sunday visit with my dad, we looked at the things he’d recently sorted of my mom’s stuff. He and I perused all the remaining closets, rooms, cabinets and shelves still left to address when in one closet I found a pillow case stuffed with something. It was my Baby Tender Love doll from my preschool-aged childhood! Her hair was matted, badly suffering cowlicks. She still wore a little blue-print “onesie” gown that my mother had made for her (one of several little outfits). Other than a rip in the bottom hem and having a bad hair day, the little gal is in pretty good shape.

After I came home, I pulled Baby Tender Love out for a visit and the childhood memories came flooding back. We lived in an old dilapidated rental house on Redhill-Maxwell. As a child it seemed huge, though I remembered during a return visit as a teenager how small the rooms and yard really were. I remember playing with my dolls while sitting on the floor in the bedroom that I shared with my little brother, including my Barbie, PJ and Ken dolls for which Mom also made very fashionable clothes. I suppose all those outfits were pitched, though I did see a naked Barbie on a shelf. Evidently she's been a Nudist the last few decades.

As I remembered these memories, I hugged Baby Tender Love close to me as if she were my baby again. The rush of memories suddenly flashed forward to April 1996 when I lost my own baby at eleven weeks, and with it, the dream of being a mother. Grief struck out of nowhere and tears flowed for the little baby girl (my intuitive sense) I carried and called "Peanut." In hindsight, I now realize that I never experienced closure around this loss.

Before mom passed, I abhorred funerals. I never felt comfortable being in the same room as a dead body. Yet, I also recognized the event for what it was – closure for those who loved the one lost. When mom died, my experience was different. After seven plus years of spiritual development, and understanding life as we know it in human form is simply energy transitioning into spiritual form, I felt differently about funerals. I initially resented the visitation, because I was tired, grieving and I didn't want to meet and greet others. But I soon realized they also needed closure to deal with the passing of a friend, neighbor, relative, coworker and an acquaintance. After it was said and done, I was grateful for the visitation because I learned how much Mom impacted the lives of so many, and how they loved and appreciated her. It was such a gift.

As for my mom’s body being on display, her funeral was the first I’d been to since stepping into my spiritual journey. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward at all. I felt gratitude for the opportunity to have been present with my mom upon her death, and for the funeral that allowed my family and me to have closure through the final farewell as we prepared to return her to Mother Earth.

With my unborn child, there was no farewell; no funeral service or closure that signified she was gone; no opportunity to say “goodbye” after our short-lived relationship was over. There was only hemorrhaging through the night, labor pains and cramps as my body gave premature birth to the fetus. There was fear, uncertainty, and disconnect with the reality that I was losing my baby. The next morning was the doctor visit, then outpatient surgery for a DNC, then home to carry on as if none of it had ever happened. As if I’d awaken from a bad dream. I’d dealt with the grief off and on for several years afterward, and truly feel peace around it, despite the annual reminder of the lost dream of my being a mother to what would be a beautiful fourteen-year-old today. I think of “Peanut” every December, the month that would’ve been her birthday had she gone full-term.

Last evening as I held that baby doll, I strangely felt a connection I never felt with the child I lost. A physical connection that tapped right into grief left unfinished. A connection to what it might have felt like to hold my baby for the first time, if only briefly. I connected with that grief and felt a greater sense of closure. I was able to “hold” energetically my unborn baby to say “goodbye” as I embraced the Baby Tender Love that I loved so dearly as a child.

Grief is a process, ongoing and in many phases. Rushing grief is unproductive; denying grief only feeds its strength into volcanic releases. I've dealt with the loss of my unborn baby. Now this grief feels complete. Thanks Mom for hanging on to Baby Tender Love for me. And thank you Baby Tender Love for allowing me to say the goodbye I never had the chance to say fifteen years ago.