|
Of all days yesterday is one where I usually am silent...Strike you as odd? Mayhaps it should, mayhaps it shouldn't. We've all heard mention of the "five stages of grief": Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, & Acceptance. But what happens when you resist them? (Let me also comment on the fact that resistance, anger, and grief have been coming up A LOT on the blog...thank you Saturn Return...) In 1965 my mother was born. In 1985 I was. In 2005, 4 months (& 1 day) from this date, she died. I cannot put into words the amount of grief I felt. Looking back I still don't know how to process it, and I know as well as you who has gone through the loss of a parent, that there is really nothing that you can say. I remember the night. It was long before I had been considering any kind of work like I do now. I was in college full time to be a Forensic Science and Anthropology double major, I was minoring in Russian. I worked full time overnight in a long-term care facility as a CNA. It was a Friday, it was my night off, I was going to sleep and my phone rings. Irritated, tired, wondering who was calling me at such a late hour I saw it was my mother's third husband. Let me just say, I had no intention of answering the phone. I couldn't stand the man and I avoided him whenever possible. But he left a message. He wasn't the type of leave messages, and I was curious enough to listen to it to see what he could have possibly wanted. You need to come home. I was in a state of utter indignation. I couldn't stand him, who did he think he was, was he so daft to think I would get up on my one night off that I would drive 5.5 hours for any reason? I called, he answered, I asked what in the world was he talking about. He repeated his message. Why I demanded. ... Your mother's dead. *several heartbeats later* It was a blur, I don't remember much but that I dropped the phone. My fiance of the time sat and held me, having listened by my side to the whole exchange. I can't remember if I cried or not. I know I didn't believe it. I thought it was some sick joke, it had to be. I grabbed my keys, phone, charger, cigarettes, and purse. He offered to drive (thankfully so, I think I would have killed us because I was that out of it.) After that, it was numbness. I didn't handle the arrangements, I spoke briefly at her funeral reading a poem I'd written and that was it.  Original Image: "Loneliness" by Unplugged (Flickr); Poem: "Saying Goodbye" by Gaea Lacuna I don't remember crying much, I don't recall feeling sad. At least not until I read something disturbing in a journal I found of hers. A dream journal she'd had for years that had only one entry in it, but no real writing. She'd had it for several years and merely dated it and never written a single thought down. The poignant sadness of it struck me heartily. But all of that pales in comparison to the feelings I've felt since. While all of those reactions are to a degree of normal I have had other ones plague me with a degree of virulence of a bad infection. Since her death so many secrets came out, the truth about what happened between my father and her (not the story she painted to me), her reasoning for being distant from me as I was finishing up high school (I felt like she was abandoning me), what she really thought of my accomplishments (and why she didn't tell me), most hauntingly I learned some of her last words (to a local girl I'd gone to high school with), "At least when I'm dead I won't have to get him cigarettes anymore." As a result I've had a mix of hate and loss. I have often said that if she was still alive, knowing what I know, I don't think I'd be able to talk to her. But I know that the only reason I know what I do is because she's gone. Those had all been secrets for years and they'd have remained that way. In all these years since I hadn't dealt with her death. It perhaps has helped that I am rather detached from death and always have been. The fact that I view it as a doorway rather than a finality makes a difference. I recognize that particularly when someone's quality of life is that bad that it can be a blessing to not feel the physical agony anymore. Its a sweet morbid peace of rest from the troubles and worries of living. But as I idly walk through my Saturn Return, it peaking just the today, my thoughts turn to this. Is this maybe part of the great change I will be making? This transit is about change, shedding the old, letting go of what hasn't worked and growing into adulthood fully. You get to reflect and move on, but it can feel difficult and if you try to hold on it'll feel like you're being torn asunder. But that's what any transformation is about. You never come out the same as you went in, but you're always the better for it. Over the years I've avoided dealing with it, I've pushed it aside to do other things and its crippled me emotionally and furthered some other issues I've had. Its caused me to lash out as if it was done to me, even though I'm the one still alive, still going strong. This suggestion has been made to me before and I've agreed to its possible usefulness, but I've ignored it in action. A dear sweet Libra Sun/Gemini Moon suggested to me that I should make new memories. This also brings to mind the practice Danielle LaPorte suggests when you're feeling something that isn't in line with your Core Desired Feelings, "STOP, I don't want to feel this way. I want to feel <insert Core Desired Feeling here>." Its a beautiful and simple practice. STOP, I don't want feel this way. And as I discussed with friend & healer Mary Ann Holley of Heaven on Earth Silks, to feel love you have to give love and sharing is caring! So my recent practices have involved giving love to everyone that I can, most especially those who I feel have "wronged" or hurt me, even if it is just a silent prayer and thank you for the lesson they served in my life! In the comments below share with me... *How have you handled grief/anger? *What is your Core Desired Feeling for the day? Related Reading...
       
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
RSS Feed
