Remembering 9-11-01: Grief and Memory

If, as a culture, we don’t bear witness to grief, the burden of loss is placed entirely upon the bereaved, while the rest of us avert our eyes and wait for those in mourning to stop being sad, to let go, to move on, to cheer up. And if they don’t — if they have loved too deeply, if they do wake each morning thinking, I cannot continue to live — well, then we pathologize their pain; we call their suffering a disease.  We do not help them: we tell them that they need to get help.

~ Cheryl Strayed

In September, I’m participating in the Sapphire Even Day Blogging Challenge and the Two Pages-A-Day Writing Challenge. 

H

ow quickly we forget.

It’s a defense mechanism, really.  If we remained in the same exact state of grief as when our loved ones first left us, we would probably go blind from crying. 

So the gaping hole left in our lives by the loss scars over, and we continue living our lives.  Scars are proof of a life well lived and heart well loved.  And it’s natural to begin to see them through a haze ~ not quite being able to remember the exact colour of their eyes, or the way their laugh filled a room.  It doesn’t mean we have forgotten them, but that we’ve forgotten the first stabbing pain of loss. 

We have finally integrated their leaving into our living.

Image Credit: Visit icandothings.com

It’s been twelve years since that horrific day in September.  To be honest, I can remember that I felt horrified and sad and shaken mostly because I journaled about it ~ capturing the moment and the emotion in pen and ink.  And because there are pictures that spark my memory.

Not because I still feel the same.  And not because that day is always in the forefront of my memory banks.

It is the way of grief.  To help us cope with the initial loss, the shock of never seeing our loved ones again.  And hopefully, once we’ve been touched by the hand of Death, we can remember to live life without fear and without regret.  Because we never know when or how the end will come.

It’s what our loved ones would say if we could hear them now.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

How do you cope with the loss of a loved one?  Do you find that the pain eases a little each year?  Are you afraid of forgetting them?

The La Belle Daybook: The Write Opportunity

One half of knowing what you want is knowing what you must give up before you get it. 
~ Sidney Howard

S

ometimes it’s just good to put things down in black and white.

It can be humbling: Do I really think like that?!

It can be an A-ha! Experience: That doesn’t sound right.  Let’s try this instead…

It can hold us accountable to others: I said I would get that to you by Monday?  Oops…

And accountable to ourselves: If I’m ever going to buy a house, I need to map out a budget now!

When I first started writing these Daybook posts, I saw them more as a public To Do List, dull to mildly interesting; a way to fill my little corner of empty cyber space; a no-brainer way to make sure I blog for all thirty days of the Blogathon.

But now that I have been writing and posting eight days in a row, I realize that the Daybook is an opportunity to re-center myself and make sure my goals for the week (writing and otherwise) are on track.

And of course, writing begets writing. So it’s another chance to work the writing muscle.

Outside my window...a beautiful day.  That Andrea chick was really annoying Friday and Saturday ~ I thought for sure my tommy toe plants were going to drown!  Now maybe they can dry out a little.

I am thinking...about my friend Petey, who just lost her husband.  They were so made for each other; it’s difficult to realize he won’t be there next time I visit her and the babies.

My desk

I am thankful...for my hands.  Specifically my fingers.  Without them, I wouldn’t be able to write, especially personal letters.

In the kitchen...is a pan of maple sausage gravy (I told you I was vegan except for the meat!) and gluten-free sour cherry tarts.  Wow, did they turn out fabulous!  (Actually, they were so good, there’s only one left.)

I am wearing...a sweater.  Again, this Andrea chick!  Although I shouldn’t complain; cool temps in June in Virginia is a nice break.

I am creating...notecards.  I’ll share pictures once I finish.

I am going...going, gone! (Ha!)

I am wondering...why I say yes to creative projects when I really want to say no.  They usually turn out great, but I end up overwhelmed, worn out, and drained.  Need to work on that.

I am reading...The Nature Principle by Richard Louv and Obsession by Jennifer Armentrout

I am hoping...to  help a friend plant her garden this coming Saturday.  I love spreading the green love around!

I am looking forward to...the Gatsby Dance on June 22!

I am learning…as I go.

Around the house...are piles of hats and hat boxes.  Time to organize ~ there are more coming this week!

I am pondering...what to say to a certain someone this week.

A favorite quote for today...see above.

One of my favorite things...are rainy days with no set plans. Guess I got my wish!

A few plans for the rest of the week:

1. Write in my journal at least 3 days

2. Finish up to Chapter 3 in Man’s Search for Meaning

3. Stake my tomatoes and cucumbers plants

A peek into a typical day...document drafting and document editing.  And if I’m lucky, my friend Diane will be eating fried chicken on the train ride home.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What do you use your Daybook for?

I'm Dreaming of a Dysfunctional Christmas

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth;
that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away,
back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!
~ Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers, 1836

One of the “delusions of our childish days” is that everything will remain the same: we will always have snow on Christmas morning, there will always be a freshly cut pine to decorate, the fire will always be lit, the ham will always be coming right out of the oven when we walk through the door and no one ages ~ the entire family will always gather together this time of year.

Then one day you realize that your parents have more white in their hair then you remember [and you have a few strands yourself!]. Your siblings cannot make it for Christmas because they live too far away or they have to work the next day. The Christmas tree is plastic because your father is frail and your mother is too tired. Christmas dinner has to be hosted in the city because your tired mother is terrified of being snowed in with your frail father with no way to get to the hospital in case of an emergency. And it hits you how precious and limited our time together is.

When I first began writing this post, I thought “what a strange time of the year to be meditating on grief and loss and the blues!” But given the huge burden that so many carry around during the holidays, it’s not so strange at all. No family is picture perfect ~ most are dysfunctional, if not downright psychotic! Yet a good many of us spend three hundred and forty-one days of the year either ignoring or denying that fact. Something inside of us hungers for the security and comfort of unconditional love and the warmth of human contact. The hunger is there all year long, lying dormant, controlled or suppressed. But it becomes unbearable during those twenty-four days in December leading up to Christmas Day ~ the season of unconditional love and family.

Grief is an awkward and ungainly emotion, no matter what time of year it is. And somehow our society has this mistaken notion that grief is related only to death. But there are many types of death and loss: the death of a relationship; of hopes and dreams; the loss of a job; the loss of normalcy; even the death of denial [which though painful, is healthy].

The family member of a dear friend of mine was a tragic accident a couple of months ago. He ended up losing part of his right leg. The family is now dealing with rounds of surgeries, decisions about long term care. And my friend is grief-stricken. She is mourning the loss of a normal life for her family and possibly herself. She is mourning the loss of a traditional family Christmas. Instead, they will be celebrating Christmas in the rehab hospital. And it’s all very well to say what a great miracle it is that he’s alive, etc, etc. There is still a loss to be mourned!

One of the biggest complaints of the grief stricken is that friends and family act strained around them, don't bring up the cause of the grief for fear of giving offense or making the grief worse, and some ignore them completely out of awkwardness. When one is grieving, just be there. Even if you do nothing but sit in silence with your friend, they understand and feel your care and concern.

Sometimes we get caught up in our Christmas dramas. We forget that one of the surest ways to assuage our own hunger for unconditional love is to feed someone else’s. [Therapy is another way, but more on that in a later post!] So in the midst of my grief that this might be my father’s last Christmas [although I pray it is not!], and my pique at not spending Christmas in the country with the entire family, I am going to see my friend. We will bake cookies, decorate a tree and hopefully bring some sanity to her insane world of doctors and rehab and family dysfunction. If there is one thing I have learned this year it is that unconditional love is the gift that eventually gets returned. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

May your Christmas be filled with joy, peace and unconditional love!
~ Mikaela