The Purge

It’s been 3 years since my parents died.  It took two years to finally settle their estate (thank you COVID). It’s been almost a year since I have looked at any of their documents. All their paperwork has been hiding out in the attic. It’s a few plastic bins that include years of personal documents. One big bin holds their historical stories, my dad’s World War II papers, my mom’s baby book, pictures, memories.

I decided a few weeks back that it was time to start going through the bins. It was time to purge, and I felt strong enough emotionally to start the process. Before we go any further, you need to know that I am a sentimental fool, I hold onto everything. I attach an emotion to an object. I can’t let things go. I have a whole bin just dedicated to my daughter’s baby clothes. I knew this purging process was not going to be easy. So, I thought I would start with the financial papers and years of accumulated bills, insurance papers and bank reports. I pulled the bin down from the attic and started a fire in the file pit. I was going to purge with a bang.

I opened the lid thinking it would be an easy process of just dropping it all into the pit of fire. Boy was I wrong….

Right on top were all the sympathy cards for when my parents died. I couldn’t get rid of them because I never read them. When my parents died, I opened the envelops but never read the cards. There they sat waiting for me. Deep breath, open first card….wow! For all you who are reading this and sent a card, thank you. Many of you shared a memory of my mom or dad that made me smile through the tears. It was an emotional time of remembering the pain of loss. The cards brought comfort, even 3 years later. Next out of the bin was the funeral sign in book. I looked through that and was reminded of the impact my parents had on their community. People came to pay respects to two people who in some way touched their lives. It was incredibly beautiful. I decided to keep the sign in book. What I will do with it in the future is uncertain, but I needed to hold onto it.

Next came the financial paperwork. I was flooded with memories of dad handing over his check book and how he trusted that I would meticulously balance his check book every month. Sorry dad, I failed you on balancing that checkbook! I loved seeing his handwriting. Next were all their medical documents. My mother was meticulous with keeping medical documents. She wrote down every medication she and my dad ever used. Many of the files contained legal issues that they addressed over the years, retirement documents and insurance information. Items that my parents kept in safekeeping in case anything happened. It felt good to purge the paperwork, but hard too because it seems so final.

We keep things because we find them important. When someone we love dies, we eventually have to go through the stuff.  I felt sad seeing a lifetime of stuff be disposed of it seems as if I was disregarding their life work by throwing it away. I still find it hard to shake that emotion. This past weekend, my brothers and I met up for some ice cream and family time. My brother wanted us to look through some of the items he had held onto when we cleaned out our parents’ apartment before they transitioned to the next care level. His box was full of wonderous treasures. In fact, we discovered a family secret that neither of my brothers knew, just because we read the family history that my father wrote down.

I reflected on that family history and realized that our kids don’t even know where our family came from. My great great grandmother was alive during the Civil War!  Our father wrote it all down, we have this beautiful gift of history that somehow, we need to figure out how to share with our family, so we don’t lose our roots.  I believe that is the biggest challenge of our generation, what to purge, what to save and what to share.

Have you gone through the purge? If so, what did you find most impactful during that time? Did you find out things about your family that you never knew before? Are you still waiting for the right time?

I remember as a young girl going to my best friend Kim’s house. Kim’s dad died suddenly when she was 7 years old. Her mother was not able to release her father’s clothing from the closet until we were almost adults. I found it intriguing as a young person to still see his clothing hanging in the closet. In this modern time, we have so many ways to preserve items of clothing such as making pillows and teddy bears out of clothing. We can take ties and make quilts, we can melt down a wedding band and make it into a wearable piece of art. Have you found a way to still hold onto clothing items without keeping them locked in a closet?

Grief has no logic. That is what I have determined through this journey.

Hello fellow grievers, it’s been a while since I last did a blog. Where have I been all this time? Well gang, I was studying for a huge licensure exam. I took that exam a few weeks back and passed! Soooo now that the studying is done, I have a little more time on my hands. Truth be told, it kinda felt nice to be so busy that I didn’t have time to think about grief. One has to wonder about the meaning of that. Its learning the fine balance of not dwelling in the grief and moving forward with the grief by my side.

Back in March I went to the beach with a good friend of mine. As typical, when I am at the beach, I walk along the water and allow the sights and sounds to cleanse and calm my overactive mind. Once that occurs, I can focus on my feelings and many times, great ideas come forward. I had my phone with me when these ideas started and buzzing around, so I used the voice to text feature on my phone, thinking it would capture my thoughts much quicker than trying to type them in. Once I spoke my magnificent ideas into the note aspect of my phone, I put the phone in my pocket and walked on.

I finally pulled up my notes from that day on the beach and found that my phone didn’t quite capture my brilliant words as I had imagined it would. I had a jumbled mess of words and sentences that trigger a thought, but I just can’t seem to remember the idea of why I felt it was so important and profound at the time.

The idea that came so strongly to me that morning was grief and logic. Grief doesn’t take a logical road in my mind.  Elizabeth Kubler Ross was an author that put grief into stages. She wrote books about the stages of grief and those books impacted the treatment of grief for behavioral health providers. In fact, in the DSM 5, prolonged grief is now a disorder. It’s defined as persistent longing or yearning and/or preoccupation with the deceased accompanied by at least 3 of 8 symptoms that include disbelief, intense emotion pain, feeling identity confusion, avoidance of reminders of the loss, feelings of numbness, intense loneliness, meaninglessness or difficulty engaging in on-going life.  Wow! Well sign me up for counseling right away. What’s normal? What’s complicated? How do we study it? Elizabeth Kubler Ross’s stages of grief are often referenced when people assume you are not going through the stages in a timely manner. Who defines the timeline of grief? Companies in the USA only allow you 3 days for an immediate family member and 1 day for a distant family member, and oh hey, your best friend dies, good luck on getting any time off. If it takes more than a month to get the acceptance part of grief, do you need mental health help?

This is what happens when people try to be logical with grief. Again, I reference back to those statements that people make to “silver line” your rain cloud.  My personal favorite logical statement is: “Crystal, you know your mother would never have wanted to live the way she was living” NO SHIT, really? She didn’t want to live that way? Wow that is profound, thank you for telling me exactly what my mother would have wanted. All my heart at that time was focused on the loss of her physical body. The logical side of my mind knows that my mother never wanted to live that way, but my heart was breaking at the loss of my mother. My loss of identity as her daughter, my loss of my role as a caregiver.  Three years later, I still struggle with the loss of identity. Does that mean my grief is persistent? My sister-in-law who has done counseling for many years really started me down the process of understanding my grief. You see, I was trying to be logical with my grief, I was trying to do everything to avoid the emotional aspect of my grief. She encouraged me to feel the grief. To sit in it and to stop rationalizing it. She reminded me that I was loved and talked me through some of my lowest points. She reminded me that I was different than my brothers when it came to grieving. I was the caregiver, and I had to hold it together so that my parents could get the care they needed. While everyone else in my family were grieving even before my parents died, I couldn’t do that. I’m at a different part of my grief then my family. I’m on my own journey. I find most days, I’m doing ok, then something triggers a sucker punch to the gut and I lose it all over again. I would get mad at myself, the logical brain would try to be stoic and positive. The emotional side wants to scream and yell and cry and curl up and sleep for days until the feeling passes.

I recently read a really good book by Patti Callahan called Surviving Savannah (non-fiction). There was a statement that spoke so loudly to me. The statement was: “How do you survive the surviving”. How do we survive being the ones left behind? This simple statement has been stuck in my head and I can’t seem to walk away from it. I have been asking myself this question a lot lately, “how am I surviving the surviving?”  I do know the surviving has changed me. I’m not the same person I was on May 3rd as I was on May 4th, or on Aug 14th or November 29th. That person is gone. She’s been replaced with a much more sensitive and cautious person. A fearful person if I must be truthful. A quieter, more introspective person, a person afraid to allow others to get close for fear of loss. A person who is no longer vested in making new friendships, for fear they will only lead to more loss. My best friend not only died, but I lost people simply because they couldn’t stick around in the grief. They didn’t like who I became, or they just didn’t want to talk about my sadness. They don’t like how I am surviving.  I know for those who have stuck around, they tell me they hate seeing me hurt. I say they hate not being able to fix it for me. I can tell you that I am no where near those linear stages of grief that Elizabeth Kubler Ross discusses. I’m probably in the persistent prolonged grief stage, but yet I don’t feel dysfunctional because I’m still surviving the surviving. How are you surviving?

Grief and red hot anger

I’m angry.  I am so mad that sometimes it takes all my self-control to not physically hit a wall, or not scream terrible things at other people so they can feel my pain. This hot red fire usually follows a time where I hit the bottom of my grief, where I have spent a few days feeling sad, crying, and just a general leave me alone attitude. It seems after that, I get mad, just hateful mad.  Lately, I have been going along so well that I started to believe that I was getting a handle on this grief thing. This bout of anger was bad. I have been asking myself why am I getting so angry? I have been doing a much better job with boundary work, I have been cutting toxicity out of my life, I have been more focused on self-care and healthcare, so where did this red-hot fire come from?

It all started after spending a few days of feeling the downward pull of grief. I cried more in those few days then I have in a while. I truly mourned the emptiness that comes from being parentless. I had some personal things going on and all I wanted to do was reach out to my mom and get her insight. When I realized that I couldn’t call her, I wanted to call Kim and talk it out, but I couldn’t do that. I grieved my role loss. I am no longer a daughter and I am no longer a best friend to Kim, and it sucker punched me. I have no role. My daughter is turning into this beautiful young independent woman and she doesn’t need me like she use to, so I am grieving the change in our relationship. Everything that I used to know as a daughter, mother and best friend isn’t there anymore. It’s different and I’m a mess about it. The night I really cried, I reached out to my mom and asked her to come visit me in my dream that night. Just a small visit so that I knew she was there, I just really needed her, I needed my mom. She didn’t show, and I was pissed.  Red hot anger.

The anger was raging toward my mom for not showing up and I wanted everyone around me to feel my anger. I was exhausted from the sheer strength it took just to be kind. I keep getting angry at myself for not being logical. Why can’t I be more logical and less emotional? Why do I have to feel so hard? I’m struggling with friendships, especially those friends who still have their mothers.  We have such little time with each other, and that time should be sacred. Some days I work so hard to not travel down the “if I had only…” road.  I find myself wishing for more time every day, even to the point that every night I want mom, dad, Kim to visit me and remind me of who I am again. I feel like a orphan.  

My dad visits my dreams every so often, he always seems to come when he feels that I need him. When I had COVID, he came one night and hugged me so hard it felt real. I think to myself, why does he come and not mom? Is it because I wasn’t there when he died, and I feel extreme guilt for letting him die without family with him? Is he trying to reassure me he’s ok? Because I sat with mom when she took her last breath, was she able to safely cross over without looking back? My mind races with these thoughts. They race constantly, so it’s no surprise that I am tired at night. As my thoughts race, my rage intensifies. I just want to see my mom one more time, I want to hear her voice and feel her guidance.

Could this really be about not knowing who I am? Have I always looked to my mom and Kim for my identity? How could I not look to them, they were strong powerful women. Women of faith, women who spoke up and defended others. I wanted to be like both of them. Now that they are gone, I must force myself to look inside and determine who I really am, what I really stand for, without their direct guidance or influence. Maybe my anger is because I don’t want to do it without them…

My daughter and I spent some extra time together this past week. I was telling her about my anger toward my mom. I was explaining that I feel abandoned by her, that she won’t come see me and comfort me when I ask her to. My daughter said, maybe she comforts you in other ways. I asked her how she knows mom is around her. She said simply, “the birds”.

On this day of my mother’s birthday and International Women’s day, I can’t help but not be grateful for the strong women who influenced my life. In reality, I know I’m not alone, I know I am blessed with my friends, and family, but it’s times like this that I miss the comfort of my mother, the ease of conversation with Kim. I grieve that part of my life so very much and I feel such anger that its gone. I want to feel my mom’s presence, see her face, hear her voice.  On my walk today, I spotted a beautiful little chickadee, and she was singing a gorgeous song. My thought went immediately to my mom, she loved the chickadee and she had a voice of an angle. I thought of what my daughter said when I asked her how she knew mom was close…the birds. I took comfort in that moment as I stood, watched, and listened the to the song of the chickadee. Happy birthday Momma.