The second year

This post is so well written that I had to "steal" it. I can relate to so many of the things expressed here, and I couldn't have said it better myself.

THE SECOND YEAR: My Journey through year two.

Except for true acceptance, which is the last of the 5 stages of grief, the second year I have experienced to be the very hardest. As the fog and busyness (all of the 'firsts') of the first year fade, we find ourselves more alone as many have gone back to their lives and we spend more time by ourselves with our grief. We resent or are angry that it seems no one but us remember our angel. I call this the 'reality check' year as the fog has now lifted, the numbness is now gone and we see the world going on around us, but we are stuck where we are. Our child's friends are going on with their lives. Graduations, weddings, college, new jobs, having children. All of the milestones in lives that we had envisioned for our own children and we realize that they will never be a part of nor will they ever achieve. We become more panicked, if that is possible. Everything becomes permanent with all of the 'seconds' of each holiday, birthday or special events.. nothing is the same and we now know that nothing will ever be the same. Not for us, not for our child or even our family and friends... it is as if we are realizing and truly comprehending that this is truly for real and there is no going back. There is no way to fix this, there is nothing more for us to do. This is also when we realize that our futures have been forever altered and we must now recreate them anew each and everyday. Who are we if part of our identity has been taken and our futures are gone from us. This is a year of reality, a year of the most difficult and draining work for us to get thru.. It is when we must now make the hard decisions for our own sanity, to seek help for our depression and complicated grief from a professional therapist, grief group or medical doctor because we realize this is too difficult to do alone. This is the year that starts new traditions for each holiday, birthday or special day of the year. We begin to lose those around us who cannot understand us or cannot be around a grieving parent each day. We also find new friends who truly understand our journey as we reach out to them to understand our own path thru this grief. There is such a huge transition between the busy and foggy first year of numbness and pain to the second year of permanance and hard work of grief that we seem to become so much worse even though we are going forward. Please know that it is the nature of the beast as our brains fog themselves during the first year so we can function and actually do and get thru all the things we need to do for our angel.. thank goodness it does... but, when that fog lifts and the reality sets in, it feels as we have walked into a brick wall and cannot fathom that this pain or grief will ever get better. It is now when we need our faith and hope the most on this journey as we are in such a place of darkness and despair that we can no longer see the light at the end of this gut wrenching, heartache of grief. Our pain seems to control us even more than the first year, we now notice it more as it isn't letting up. But do not totally despair, as this 'acute' stage of painful grief does eventually recede and we do find ourselves onto yrs 3 and 4 in a different state of mind having survived that horrid second year of in our face, heartbroken reality. There truly is hope, there truly is light. the light is still there, we just have to keep going towards it no matter how difficult it seems.. we have survived the very worst day of our lives, we will also survive our grief. We are moms. We are the strongest beings on this earth. We may not feel so strong right now, but, if you think about how much you have endured so far, you will find your own strength. It is led by the love we have for our angel and our desire to get back to living. To learn to live with our angel by our side, to not stay stuck in this one stage of grief... we hope for better days, we beg for relief of heartache and we keep the faith that we will prevail. We can do this. We will do this no matter how hard the journey, to honor our angels lives and to honor our own place and purpose in this world we live in. There are many who love us and many who need us, and in helping others, we also help ourselves as we learn our own path from those on it that have gone before us. Listen to their wisdom. Hear their survival and their methods that helped them along their way. Use the methods that work for you, as your path is as unique as your relationship to your child is. Know that life is a journey and we must go with it or it will go on without us. We do not want to live here in this darkness, we want to find our way to the light. There will always be pain, but it will no longer control us.. there will always be times of sadness, but also times of joy. It is a balance of sorrow for our loss and happiness for our lives that we must learn to live again. No matter the tragedy, our lives are forever altered . Although this is our worst tragedy , we will get thru it also and come out stronger for having suffered thru it.. Hold on... it will come. Hold on.. it will ease. Hold on, the horrible daily pain will end... This horribble no good, very bad, gut wrenching, heart gripping, can't stand it one more minute pain.. will end... Our grief will turn to sorrow and loss.. our lives will be better and we will have created the person we will now become because of our struggles thru this terrible time.... It is hard work, but, we have never shied from hard work before and we will not do so now. We will take it one day at a time and when our grief grips us, we will embrace it, work thru it and then let it go each and every day. Grief is an emotion that we need to learn to control.. and we will. We will take hold of it and we will conquer it.. we are so much stronger than we think.. look back at how far we have already come from that first day, that first week that we thought we couldn't survive. Yet, here we are in year two.. still going forward.. still wrestling with the pain, still figuring out who we are and where we go from here. We are fighters, we are survivors, we are MOMS.... and our angels and those we love are counting on us to get thru this year and on to the next.. we can, we will, we matter, we are worth it... and here, we are never alone.. hand in hand, heart to heart we will learn from each other and we will help each other go forward.. one day , one moment at a time... Hold on moms... we got this.. Our love for our children will sustain us... Their quest for life will propel us forward.. their strength will get us thru this worst time of our lives............................ we can.. we will.. together

Feelings 101

One year ago today, I took Joana to Ann Arbor to see her oncologist for the last time.

One year ago, I met our hospice nurse for the first time.

One year ago, I knew that two days later we would celebrate Joana's last birthday with us.

One year ago, I thought I still had a couple of months with Joana.


The last year went by in a fog, a daze. I think your body has the ability to protect itself from the harsh reality so you can survive.

Joana's death still feels so unreal. The finality still has not completely sunk in, and I am scared what it will be like when it does.

How, you ask? How can the death of your child feel unreal? Isn't she gone? Hasn't it been almost a year since you have seen her?

Well, I have no answers. In my mind, I know that Joana has died. And I know that she won't come back. But somehow, on a level that I can't explain, it still feels unreal. It's almost like my senses and emotions have become dull, like there is a huge buffer on them that doesn't allow me to feel....good or bad. I have to function...as a mother to my other kids, as a wife, at work...and in order to do this, I have to push my feelings and emotions far, far away.

I belong to a group on Facebook for bereaved moms, and they have week-long retreats a couple of times a year. Moms get together, talk about their kids, cry together, laugh together, and enjoy being with a group of women who know what it feels like to lose a child. It sounds like such a safe environment to start the healing process, but unfortunately, the retreats are never held during summer vacation, so I wouldn't be able to go.

Honestly, I am afraid what will happen if I allow myself to feel more. Could I get out of bed in the morning? Could I function at work? Could I be a mom to the other kids? Or would the pain and sense of loss be so overwhelming?

And how can you allow yourself to feel just enough so you don't feel numb, but not so much that you can't function? Is there a middle ground, and if so, how can you find it? And when you allow some emotions to surface, will other emotions sweep you away?

For now, I will archive those thoughts and concentrate on making it through the next two weeks. Maybe I will revisit them then.

Rough week

This has been a rough week as I am struggling with Joana's birthday coming up on the 25th. It's her first birthday that we will "celebrate" without her, and I'm not sure how I will hold it together on that day. The kids think we should have birthday cake, but I don't know if I can do that. On the one hand, I think I will feel like something is missing if we don't have cake, but on the other hand I know how incredibly hard it will be to make a cake for my daughter who is not here with us any more.

Either way, I think the day will be incredibly difficult and I am dreading it. Last year Joana was still able to open gifts with us on her "real" birthday, but only 3 days later, when we had her party, she wasn't able to any more. And 9 days after her birthday she passed away. The memories are so painful and often take my breath away. I miss her so, so much, more than words could possibly explain.

I was thinking about making a slide show with pictures of Joana in honor of her birthday, but even that turned out to be too painful. Seeing her big smile on the photos throughout the years and knowing that that smile was stolen from her leaves me so very sad and angry.

One year ago we had so many lasts, and this year is full of firsts....firsts without Joana.

A sign...or just coincidence?

I belong to a couple different groups on Facebook for grieving parents, and one of the things others often write about is that they occasionally receive signs from their deceased children. I am not sure what I believe about this, but I would absolutely LOVE it if our loved ones could - and would - send us signs and messages.

 

Today it has been exactly one year since Joana was admitted to the hospital for the last time and tomorrow it will be one year since I found out that her cancer was terminal. In addition, next week will be her first birthday that she won't spend with us and nine days after that will be her first death anniversary. This is an extremely difficult time for me, and I feel myself growing anxious and very, very angry. Angry at myself, angry at the cancer, angry at others for a myriad of reasons.

 

Tonight I had to go to a store to buy a birthday present, and when I paid for my purchase, I saw an angel on the counter. All by itself, totally out of place, not where it should be on the shelf with all the other WillowTree figurines. And not just any old angel...an angel carrying an armful of yellow flowers! Was it a sign...or just coincidence? I would love to believe that Joana placed it there specifically for me, to send me some comfort and strength for this difficult month.

 

 

 



New Name - Take Two

Last night, after renaming my blog to "Navigating Loss", I went to bed and couldn't sleep. Something was bothering me about the new name, and I knew it wasn't 100% perfect.

I thought about Joana and tried to come up with a way I could make her part of my blog title without using her name. Suddenly it hit me.... Joana LOVED yellow flowers because she said they looked so happy and I know she would like for me to someday find peace and happiness again...hence the name "Chasing yellow flowers," which I think is absolutely perfect!

I was so excited to get home from school today to work on my new blog look, and I like the way it turned out. Hopefully this will be a comforting place for me where I can reflect, write, and find some much needed peace.

And I promise that I won't change the name again!

New Name!

I have been contemplating renaming my blog for a while now and tonight I took the plunge.

"Fit after Loss" was a great name when I thought my blog would be primarily about my journey to becoming a fit and healthy bereaved mom. But I quickly realized that there is so much more to write about, so many thoughts I would like to get down on paper (or the screen), so many things I would like to say that didn't fit the "Fit after Loss" name.

So tonight I decided to rename my blog to "Navigating My Way Through Loss". I am writing this blog for myself, but you are more than welcome to accompany me on my journey. It will be honest and straight forward, and maybe it will help you understand me a bit better. I am not one to talk about my feelings much, but writing is therapeutic for me and helps me sort out my jumbled emotions.

For now, I will blog here but I will stay quiet on Facebook as I have noticed that it has caused me lots of anxiety and always leaves me with an empty feeling, a feeling of loneliness and sadness.

For tonight I will close with an excerpt from a website I found and that really spoke to me. It is called "Grief, Loss and Insidious Loneliness." I had never heard the term insidious loneliness, but I can relate 100%.

One of the most painful aspects of the grieving process can be loneliness. We expect to be sad, but the feeling of loneliness has its own and subtly different kind of pain. It can be unsettling and scary. What you need to know is that you are not alone in feeling these feelings. They are quite common in women.

I hope that just knowing that will help you to feel a little less lonely.

It makes perfect sense to feel lonely at times. The one who you loved so much and the one who loved you so much is gone. It is an awful feeling. You yearn for him. You want her back. You miss him. You need her. And he is not there. She is not there. It’s not fair, it’s wrong, and yet it’s the truth you are living. This is normal. And natural. It comes with the territory. You will be lonely for the person you lost.

Loneliness is part of your journey.

But there is another kind of loneliness that no one really talks about. I call it “insidious loneliness.” Insidious loneliness is the kind of loneliness that makes you feel like you are alone in the world. It’s the sensation of walking through your life, within your life and around your life without actually being part of your life. It’s the odd experience of seeing people laughing and thinking “How can they be happy? Don’t they know that my daughter is gone?”

Other people don’t even have to be laughing or smiling for you to experience this confusion. They could just be living their lives. But you’re not. You’re disconnected from them and disconnected even from your own feeling of being engaged in life.

Insidious loneliness is slowly and subtly harmful and doesn’t serve any good purpose…for you, for your grieving process, or for anyone else.

Insidious loneliness occurs because we think (it may or may not be true) that no one really gets how much we are suffering. Most women I know are pleasers – we like making other people happy. While we are grieving, we sometimes look and act like we’re fine. We do this without trying or sometimes we know we’re hurting and we put on the happy face. Some may even comment about how well we’re handling our loss. We may even smile and agree, but inside we know the truth. It hurts and it’s awful.

The thing that seems to help the most with insidious loneliness is telling your truth to someone. I’m talking about the real truth about what is actually going on with your grieving process.

Find one fabulous, kind, loving, nonjudgmental, smart, understanding person and tell that person your truth. Find someone who knows you and who accepts you for the wonderful person that you are. Tell them how lonely you feel. Tell them how disconnected you feel. Tell them how lost you feel.

Don’t assume they already know. Chances are, you’re probably doing a good job hiding it.

If you don’t feel like there is anyone else in your life that you can safely tell these things to, or if you don’t want to burden them, then think about finding a professional grief counselor. Most of them understand the loneliness you are feeling and can help you work through it.

Having at least one person on the planet that knows – that really knows – what you’re going through can relieve you of your insidious loneliness.

Inadequate

For the last couple of weeks I have felt really awkward and inadequate about this blog, and have even tossed around the idea of abandoning it. Why? Simple. How can I possible write about getting fit and in shape when I struggle each and every day with it? When I have days where I plain don't care? When I feel like I am on a slippery slope that's tilted backwards and I can't stop myself from sliding down?

The last two weeks have been tough. Tougher than the other 45 weeks since Joana's death. Is it because the anniversaries are coming up? Is it because reality is setting in that she will never come back? Is it because the fear that something will happen to my other kids is too overwhelming? Or is it simply because a person can only take so much longing for someone before they start to feel physically sick from the big void they carry around?

I started this blog with the intention of concentrating on getting fit and well. But right now I am unable to focus on that....at least the physical aspect of getting well. I feel like I need to get in a better spot mentally before I can focus on the rest again.

And that's where I am stuck. How do I get to that place? I realize that grief is very lonely. No one misses Joana the same way I do, because no one else was her mom. Others can't possibly understand how I feel (unless they have lost a child themselves), so I don't talk about it. They can't understand why I feel guilty and blame myself for a lot of the things that happened. So I don't bring it up any more. They can't imagine what it feels like to hold your child when she takes her last breath and there is absolutely nothing you can do to save her. The desperation you feel is something I will never be able to put into words.

On the outside I appear to be doing very well, but it's exhausting to keep up that façade.

And I wonder...if Joana can see what is going on down here on earth, does she see it with "human" eyes? Does she only see that her mom goes to work every day, takes care of the rest of the family, laughs and makes jokes, and looks to be doing just fine? Or does she see so much deeper and knows how much I hurt? How much of an effort it is to carry on with mundane, everyday tasks? How tiring it is to function and pretend to be okay? If that is the case, she would be very disappointed in me.

I have read many Facebook posts by grieving mothers, and it is very discouraging to read, "it never gets easier, it will just be different." Will it really never get easier? Will I really never feel truly happy again?

I bought a couple of books that were written by mothers who have lost their children, and I truly hope that these books will give me some hope that yes, there will be a day when I will feel happy again, without pretending. I know I can survive this (because what choice do I have, right?), but I don't want to live for the rest of my live just surviving.

So if you see me - or any grieving person for that matter - please try to understand that you are just looking at a shell, that there is so much more to us than our hollow smile. A big part of us was taken, and we have to learn to live with a huge hole in our hearts.