My mother's death, my turning fifty, my SIL's cancer, and the thought of my kids growing up and leaving has brought on a despair that I can't seem to shake. It is a cycle that tumbles around in my brain like laundry in a dryer, and so I wear black to match the dark circle under my eyes from not sleeping because I worry.
Recently someone I knew, who long ago was part of our family, discovered she had cancer. She fought and she won. I saw her a year or so ago and she looked great. The cancer returned at the end of last year, and as each day went on she gradually began losing her fight until she went into hospice and the pictures on facebook were of a person wasting away. I walked around with my cloud much darker. I felt for her two daughters and her husband. I felt for her sister. I felt for my SIL who had bonded with her over their shared fight. I felt for myself because if this could happen to her at the age of 46 well....
I have tried therapy. I have tried the various recommendations from said therapists. Depression runs in my family so I keep a close eye on my feelings. I know that right now I'm in a vulnerable position. Feelings are flowing through me at a rate greater than I can handle sometimes. I look for signs that things are okay. I'm a big believer in signs. The other night I went to bed with a heavy heart thinking about my friend in hospice and what her family was going through sitting by her bedside. I tossed and turned most of the night and slept little. When my alarm went off the next morning it came on with this song by First Aid Kit. It was just what I needed. It lifted my cloud just a tad higher.
Cindy died on Mother's Day. I didn't know it until right before I went to bed and I logged into Facebook for another reason. Bam! There it was. She was gone. I didn't sleep. The next day I walked around in a fog working hard at staying the course, putting one foot in front of the other. The thought of my mother would creep into my head and the tears would flow. Recently I feel as if for the first time ever, really, I'm missing my mom and finally grieving. These two things together really made for a darkness I wasn't sure I could come out of. Then I went to the library and happened to pick up a book that looked interesting.
The book, Lost and Found by Brooke Davis was hilarious. The first two pages had me laughing out loud. I loved it. The kid in the book was fascinating and wondrous. When I met the next two characters, two older people at the latter end of the mountain, I related. Suddenly I realized that the book was about death and living and so closely related to what I was going through. I laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard at the gym riding the bike that people stared at me. I went home and spent the rest of the day reading the book laughing and laughing. Until suddenly I was laughing so hard I was crying. And then I was sobbing. It was a release. It was my sign.
At the end of the book the author discusses her reasoning for writing the book. She lost her mother suddenly in a tragic accident. She has been fascinated with death and grieving for years now and has made a career of studying it. I related to everything she said. And suddenly I felt so much lighter. Death happens. It will happen to all of us, but living is happening right now. I have so much joy in my life that I'm going to miss out on if I keep that cloud hanging over my head. It hasn't been easy and it won't be to lighten that darkness, but I have to do it. I have to start standing up tall so that I can see out at the things that I have been missing while hiding in my funk. I have to believe in the goodness. I have to be okay with grieving for the loss of my mother and my friend and the others who are sure to follow.
Recently while reading the posts on facebook about my friend's death I spotted an invite I had been sent. It was to a baby shower for a friend of mine who lost her first pregnancy several years ago. She is expecting a girl. And it was such joyous news that I cried again. Because I had been thinking of her on Mother's Day and here she was expecting a child. And here was death and here was life. And here was me pushing onward with my signs, and my feelings, and my family, and my life. Because you gotta keep on keeping on.
Recently someone I knew, who long ago was part of our family, discovered she had cancer. She fought and she won. I saw her a year or so ago and she looked great. The cancer returned at the end of last year, and as each day went on she gradually began losing her fight until she went into hospice and the pictures on facebook were of a person wasting away. I walked around with my cloud much darker. I felt for her two daughters and her husband. I felt for her sister. I felt for my SIL who had bonded with her over their shared fight. I felt for myself because if this could happen to her at the age of 46 well....
I have tried therapy. I have tried the various recommendations from said therapists. Depression runs in my family so I keep a close eye on my feelings. I know that right now I'm in a vulnerable position. Feelings are flowing through me at a rate greater than I can handle sometimes. I look for signs that things are okay. I'm a big believer in signs. The other night I went to bed with a heavy heart thinking about my friend in hospice and what her family was going through sitting by her bedside. I tossed and turned most of the night and slept little. When my alarm went off the next morning it came on with this song by First Aid Kit. It was just what I needed. It lifted my cloud just a tad higher.
Cindy died on Mother's Day. I didn't know it until right before I went to bed and I logged into Facebook for another reason. Bam! There it was. She was gone. I didn't sleep. The next day I walked around in a fog working hard at staying the course, putting one foot in front of the other. The thought of my mother would creep into my head and the tears would flow. Recently I feel as if for the first time ever, really, I'm missing my mom and finally grieving. These two things together really made for a darkness I wasn't sure I could come out of. Then I went to the library and happened to pick up a book that looked interesting.
The book, Lost and Found by Brooke Davis was hilarious. The first two pages had me laughing out loud. I loved it. The kid in the book was fascinating and wondrous. When I met the next two characters, two older people at the latter end of the mountain, I related. Suddenly I realized that the book was about death and living and so closely related to what I was going through. I laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard at the gym riding the bike that people stared at me. I went home and spent the rest of the day reading the book laughing and laughing. Until suddenly I was laughing so hard I was crying. And then I was sobbing. It was a release. It was my sign.
At the end of the book the author discusses her reasoning for writing the book. She lost her mother suddenly in a tragic accident. She has been fascinated with death and grieving for years now and has made a career of studying it. I related to everything she said. And suddenly I felt so much lighter. Death happens. It will happen to all of us, but living is happening right now. I have so much joy in my life that I'm going to miss out on if I keep that cloud hanging over my head. It hasn't been easy and it won't be to lighten that darkness, but I have to do it. I have to start standing up tall so that I can see out at the things that I have been missing while hiding in my funk. I have to believe in the goodness. I have to be okay with grieving for the loss of my mother and my friend and the others who are sure to follow.
Recently while reading the posts on facebook about my friend's death I spotted an invite I had been sent. It was to a baby shower for a friend of mine who lost her first pregnancy several years ago. She is expecting a girl. And it was such joyous news that I cried again. Because I had been thinking of her on Mother's Day and here she was expecting a child. And here was death and here was life. And here was me pushing onward with my signs, and my feelings, and my family, and my life. Because you gotta keep on keeping on.
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