Grief part 2

I am finally getting over the first four stages of grief. Slowly but surely, things are getting easier and I don’t feel so much pain, which I am thankful for. For pretty much the whole month of May I was angry, irritable, and just grumpy. Anyone who knows me, knows that this isn’t how I usually am. I am a pretty smiley, happy, kind person, but the first half of May was awful and I got so angry at myself for being so angry.

That whole, “There are so many other mean, awful people in the world, why did Nan have to be the one to die” was very present in my mind every day.  I took out my frustration, anger, and irritability on the people closest to me. I snapped, cracked, and cried at the most random times. I had emotional breakdowns and stomped on the ground because of all the anger in me. I finally admitted that I was angry that Nan was gone. I was angry at so much about what was going on—people lying, people being unfair, people being who they are—and I didn’t like it.

I don’t reach out for comfort and support all that often—I tend to close people out and go inside, which is probably less helpful and more destructible. That’s why I was so proud of myself when I went to see a therapist because it was something I know I needed to do. I could feel myself slipping further and further into my own world, closing people off and not knowing how to deal with things.

Trying to go easy on myself and realize that this is a process is one of the hardest parts for me. I don’t like feeling upset, angry, irritated all the time, and I am just wanting it to stop. I want to be back to who I was. I know that this isn’t possible, because I will forever be changed by the loss of Nan. She was such an important person in my life since I was a teenager and I am forever thankful for what she’s done for me and her support throughout the years. She was always so proud of all of her kids, including me. I remember during my MA graduation party she came up to me, gave me a hug, and said she was so proud of me and she knew I could do it. That’s the thing with Nan, she always knew her kids were able to do anything they put their mind to, even when we doubted ourselves, she never had a doubt.

I noticed a shift in my mood when I got the  best surprise I could have gotten—my aunt and grandma flew out a few days before my birthday to surprise me. It was exactly what I needed, especially since the night before I had a total meltdown with my partner. My aunt and I have a very special relationship and I consider her one of my best friends. I hadn’t seen my grandma or my aunt in almost a year, so it was much needed and much appreciated. A special shout out to my partner for helping them coordinate it and keep it a secret. I couldn’t have been more thankful for them to be in my house. I cried, I screamed, I jumped up and down, and I hugged them so much and so hard.

Spending time with both of them and talking about the happenings of my mind, heart, and emotions really helped. Sure, the phone is easy, but something about being face-to-face is more powerful. I enjoyed every minute of them being here, and that is something that I will never forget.

Once they left, I noticed I was a bit lighter, and not so heavy and dark. My heart didn’t hurt as much and I was able to breathe a little bit easier. I went for a hike the Monday after they left, and did my most favourite trail down in Oak Creek, and the whole time I was hiking I was smiling and appreciating the beauty I was in. I thought of Nan and I hoped she was able to walk with me on the hike and be there spiritually with me, because she would have loved it. I saw so much life and remembered that everything lives and everything dies, and that’s ok. It hurts, and sucks, but it’s ok, everything will be ok.

There are days where the sadness becomes extremely strong again, but I try and not let it consume me so much. I realize that I will have good days and bad days. And when I have those bad days, I can remember the good ones and know things are going to change the next day.

Grief

I am experiencing what is commonly known as grief.

Grief (noun): keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

And then when you do a Google search for the 7 stages of grief, you get these:

1.       Shock and Denial

2.       Pain and Guilt

3.       Anger and Bargaining

4.       Depression, reflection, and loneliness

5.       The Upward Turn

6.       Reconstruction and Working Through

7.       Acceptance and Hope

When you read what the first stage of grief is, you get something similar to this: “You will probably react to learning of the loss with a numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.”

I went to my new therapist on Wednesday and told her what was currently happening in my life that made me come to see her. When I explained to her the situation with Nan and the overwhelming sense of emotions, she was shocked. She looked at me and said, “You are very aware. Usually when a tragedy like this happens, one gets at least a month to feel numb. But you’ve been just feeling everything.” Yes, yes I have, which is why it was so important for me to take the step to see a therapist. Essentially, I completely bypassed stage 1 and went to stage 2, 3, and 4. My therapist actually said it was unfortunate that I skipped step 1 in some way because I didn’t get a break from my emotions. But, she did say that in the long run, sometimes feeling everything from the very beginning makes it easier to move on.

I also have no energy to be social. What I know about myself is that when tragedy strikes, I want to be left alone. I want to go into my turtle shell and just be by myself. I spent a good week not really talking to anyone but my partner and person. I just couldn’t deal with other people’s emotions, on top of my overflowing ones. I can’t deal when people cry or get upset, because I have too much pain inside myself. I can’t feel sorry for other people, because I feel sorry for myself and Nan’s family, which in turn are my family. I am starting to break out into the social scene, but when you are exhausted after working and just want to put on your pajamas and call it a day, it’s hard to be social.

There are days where the pain is so strong that I can’t move—I can hardly even take a full breath because of all the pain. The second stage of grief is full and strong in my whole body. “As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it, or escape from it with alcohol or drugs. You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn’t do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary.”

I have been saying, ever since this has happened, that my heart hurts. The other night I had a dream that I had open heart surgery, in which my heart was replaced with a new one. I’d like to think it was Nan communicating with me through my dream. Saying what, I am not sure, but it is a nice thought to have. I haven’t been drinking or doing drugs, in fact I am doing the complete opposite—I am feeling EVERY THING. To the point where it makes it impossible to get out of bed, get dressed, eat, or smile sometimes.

Stage 3 hasn’t been too hard on me. But, maybe it’s because I am not really in it. “Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. You may rail against fate, questioning ‘Why me?’” I have definitely been getting angry, but not necessarily at people. I get frustrated easily, I am vulnerable, and crabby sometimes. I don’t lash out at people, but I do notice that people irritate me a bit more. Especially people who keep telling me, “I know what you’re going through.” That is by far the WORST thing you could be telling me right now. Because honestly, you have NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH. Sure, you may have lost someone close to you, and that is awful. But you don’t know what I am feeling. You don’t know what is going through my head. You don’t know what it’s like to have someone you love and considered your surrogate mom to have an aneurism pop in their head randomly and kill them instantly. You just don’t know, so please don’t tell me that.

Stage 4 has been VERY present in my life. “Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be “talked out of it” by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving. During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.” Yep, like I mentioned earlier, I am isolating myself. I need to. None of my friends have mentioned the first part of this stage, but I am in a constant period of sadness and depression. There feels like there is something missing in me now that Nan is gone. It is hard to look around this beautiful town of mine and know I will never see her again. I know her spirit will be with me forever, but it doesn’t take away the pain of knowing that I won’t see that beautiful, cheery face of hers again. Or hug her. Or hear her beautiful witchy laugh.

It’s all been a new process for me, that at times is so overwhelming I can’t move. I had to take a day off work last week because I was completely debilitated with sadness. I sat on my couch the entire day, only getting up to get water or use the loo. Other than that, I stayed exactly where I was for at least 10 hours.

I am avoiding large crowds and hanging out with more than 5 people at a time because I get too overwhelmed and have a panic attack. I get sensory overload REALLY easy at the moment, so I just don’t put myself in a situation where I will feel that, if I can. I am heading to Phoenix today for a two day meeting starting tomorrow, where it will be my first time dealing with a large crowd. There will be at least 50 people there, and that’s a little horrifying. And exhausting because I am the meeting manager. Of course I don’t want to tell people to understand why I am a little slow or a little spacey, because I just don’t want the pity party.

One day at a time. Sometimes one second at a time is all I am capable of.

March 14 and 15, 2014.

2014 has been a rough year so far. Like really rough. I don’t think I have experienced such a rough year before. I know I am starting my Saturn return, I know the year of the Horse tends to be a powerful one, but the amount of stuff that keeps happening in my life is overwhelming. So overwhelming that I just can’t deal with it on my own anymore. So, after a 5 year hiatus from therapy, I have my first appointment today with a new doctor. A woman is a friend to mindfulness meditation and tries to figure out and solve problems in a holistic approach.

 

March 14^th will be a day that I always remember. My surrogate mom had a massive aneurism pop in her head on March 14^th and died instantly. We kept her on life support until her daughter (my best friend) was able to fly from Medford, OR to Flagstaff. I haven’t seen my person in almost two and a half years, and I was so worried about seeing her. Especially under these circumstances and knowing that her and Nan were so very close and talked almost every night. When she called me to tell me her mom had a stroke, I didn’t think it was a big deal, but then when I went to the hospital on Friday afternoon, I knew it was a much bigger deal than what she knew/said. No one wanted to tell S what was going on, since she had to fly all the way back home.

Walking into that room, I just knew she wasn’t there. Even though she looked like she was sleeping, it didn’t look or feel like her. When I first walked in, her brain pressure was at a 15, while my brain, your brain, most people’s brains are at a 2 or 3 in regards to pressure. It stayed pretty high all that day, most of the night, with it finally getting to 2 or 3 Saturday afternoon. But, once anyone started moving her or touching her, it would go back up to 7 or 10.

One of the most difficult parts was that because she was on life support, her chest was moving, her feet were moving, she was warm, and just looked like she was sleeping. I kept trying to remind myself that she was gone and that she had been gone as soon as the aneurism popped in her head, but it didn’t look like she was gone. It just looked like she was sleeping.

S came in around 12.30 Saturday morning. Roger, her brother, uncle, and myself were all standing there waiting for her at the front of the ICU. We pulled her into a different room so that the nurses and all of us could talk to her and let her know that she needed to remain calm while she went to visit mom. It was really rough sitting with her and telling her this news. I cried a lot, she cried a lot, hell we all cried a lot. It was THE hardest thing to keep from my best friend, my person, my sister.  She calmed herself down once the nurses said they would have to sedate her if she couldn’t keep it together, and then we all walked in with her to see her mom.

The two of us stayed there all night (really, morning). I sent my partner home to get some good sleep. He came back at 7.30 in the morning with tea, yogurt, and granola. He is such a wonderfully good man. Through this whole experience really, even almost three weeks after the fact, he’s been so good to me and so supportive.

Nan was on life support for the whole day on Saturday as they got a donor team together, did the tests for donor transplant, and got the word from the neurosurgeon that she was in fact brain dead and not coming back to us. Apparently, if there is marijuana in your system when they do a brain scan, little sparks show up in your brain still, so neurosurgeons can’t actually call you brain dead because, according to the scan, there still is activity in your brain. I never knew that, so that was a bit of a shock. But like I said, the neurosurgeon did all the tests that they do and there was no sign of life.

After that, they started taking vials of Nan’s blood to start doing the testing for organ donation. We all went home again for a few hours, got some sleep, ate some food, and showed up at the hospital at 7. We all agreed that 9 pm would be the time they would start getting her prepped for surgery. We all sat there silently, crying, supporting each other, and just saying our last goodbyes. The donor coordinator came in around 8.15 and we all held hands and had a moment of silence. Then each of us said our goodbyes, and they prepped her for transport to go down to surgery.

I very much believe in souls and I know that she has moved on to a place with no pain and is starting her new journey. And one of the most interesting things being there in the hospital was seeing how Nan reacted to people. When people got too loud or touched her too much, or moved her, her blood pressure would sky rocket. And for a while there on Saturday, it was a constant alarm. I like to think she was telling us that she was ready to go. She was calm the whole night S and I were in the hospital room, and I find comfort in that—that she was spending her last night with her daughter and no alarms sounded, and she was happy.

The following Saturday we had Nan’s remembrance circle, and it was so perfectly Nan. I can’t imagine a better way to send her off and for everyone to say their last goodbyes.

It’s been a struggle, and I will talk about it more soon, but I wanted to mostly get the story out, say what happened to so that people who were not involved in it personally know.

Lastly, here’s Nan’s obituary: http://azdailysun.com/news/local/obituaries/nan-falvo-rankin/article_0cbfcfa4-aeea-11e3-83b8-0019bb2963f4.html

Forever in our hearts.

And then comes a curve ball

I just had a dear, dear friend diagnosed with breast cancer, and part of me was shocked that this disease could happen to anyone that I held close. Maybe it is my lack of experience with the disease, as I haven’t had anyone really close to me what has had it. Maybe it is my hopes and dreams that every being that is in my life will be healthy and live a long life.  Regardless of my hopes and dreams, I was faced with the reality that people get sick, that people I love and care about get sick, and that’s part of this wonderful journey of life.

I didn’t cry, I didn’t panic, and I just let it sit in my being and welcomed whatever it was I was feeling. I can’t say that I was in denial, because I wasn’t (and still am not), but I wasn’t reacting to it. I was accepting it. Which, is a new experience for me. A year ago I would have reacted and freaked out and probably made her freak out and cry. But I didn’t. I just let it sink in. I looked into her eyes and her listened to her every word. I offered a smile, and I hope love across the table. I don’t think this would have been possible if I wasn’t practicing meditation—I am a worry wort and I used to jump to the worst case scenarios as fast as possible, but I haven’t been doing that lately. And I think it’s because of the Buddhists teachings I hear on a regular basis, the work I’ve done in myself, the awareness I am gaining from it all.

Instead, I offered love, compassion, and laughter. I cracked jokes, I told her she was going to be fine, that we just gotta take things one step at a time, and that whatever happens will happen. It doesn’t sound wise, and I am sure most people said similar things, but I said it with 100% faith. I said it with my whole being and I knew, that no matter what, this journey would be one of learning, love, faith, laughter (of course), and appreciation.

We’ll see where this journey goes… that’s all I can do.

Hello, 2014! You're looking awesome!

It’s 2014 and I am so excited for this year. I don’t know what is going to happen, nor do I want to. I just hope that some of the things I want to do work out, and I want to be able to enjoy every minute I can.

 

I was sitting at work yesterday, and all of a sudden, I was shocked. Shocked by how old I truly am. I kept thinking, “Am I really only 27?! That can’t be right…” and I started counting up the years, and yep, it’s true. I am a mere 27 year old.

I don’t feel 27, which is the confusing part. Maybe it’s because I’ve finished school and thankfully landed a full-time permanent position a short 6 months after I graduated with my M.A. Or maybe it’s because I have a partner that I enjoy so much it makes my heart so full I feel like it is going to explode. Or maybe it is because I am an old soul, who has lived many lives and lifetimes and it’s finally catching up with me.

January 10^th, my partner and I will be “celebrating” our three year anniversary. THREE YEARS! I use quotation marks around celebrating, because we don’t really celebrate. I usually give him a goofy card and just load him up with hugs and kisses and thank yous, and how thankful I am for him. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and most definitely the healthiest. But what’s so interesting to me, and I am sure other people would agree, is that it doesn’t seem like three years. In both ways—of I can’t believe how short of amount of time that is, and because I feel like we’ve been together for forever. None of this, of course in a bad way, but I feel like it’s been so much longer than it actually is.

I knew from the very first day I met my partner, in this life, that I had met him numerous times in past lives. We automatically clicked, and were drawn to each other. My partner is Mr. Obscure (that’s what I call him sometimes), because he can be quite challenging to get to know. It’s that Scorpio inside him. But for some reason, it didn’t seem to take too much to get to know him, because we had met before.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, as I try and do my best every day of the year, but I do hope I can spend more time writing, living, loving, and being thankful. Sometimes I get greedy—we all can—and I have to remember that I am only 27 years old and have accomplished so much. And I need to realize that things take time, and that I shouldn’t rush. I am going to try and live more in the moment and be thankful of what’s in that moment, since you never know when you stop getting moments.

I hope everyone had a happy holiday season and are doing what you love, or at least trying to get there.