How do you cope with bereavement?

[missy]

JanesJewels, I want you to know I am thinking of you at this difficult time and hoping for peace for you and your family. The what ifs and if onlys I know them well. Sending you hugs and good wishes this holiday season.

 

[Sky56]

Facing it again. Currently caregiving another ill loved one.

 

[OreoRosies86]

Your original post really resonated with me. I caught myself nodding along several times, especially about the sudden finality of losing someone who means so much and was a huge part of your life. Where did they go? I know we all have to leave this earth eventually, but no one we love will ever be ready, just as we aren't ready now. All we have are very brief moments in time.

I would like to check into this thread again when I've gained a bit more perspective. In the meantime, here's a ::hug::

 

[JanesJewels]

Facing it again. Currently caregiving another ill loved one.

Sorry I'm so late to see this. Sky, I am so very sorry to hear this. Is it a terminal situation? Since you say "again", it sounds like it.

I know there are no easy ways to handle this. I can tell you what I learned from my own experience, and it may be helpful, and it might not be. I'll try. Feel free to ignore!

A mistake I made with caring for my mother was giving up my whole life. Now I'm finding it hard to rebuild. If you can keep seeing friends, doing hobbies, working, etc, then try to do so. Of course, your unique situation may make this impossible. But other family members did not give up as much as me and they have been able to continue with their lives, whereas I am in a rebuilding situation and finding it very hard.

An oncologist I read online said that sometimes relatives make a flying start and then have nothing to give at the end. I also made this mistake. I was so exhausted from traveling to see her since December 2012 that in January 2014 I told myself I would have six months in my own home, and I would stay there as long as she was OK. So when she got worse at the end of Feb I didn't go, and same in March. I was sick in March and I had a ton of work. I was planning to go in April but she died really quickly at the beginning of that month.

Had I not given so much near the beginning, I would have been in better shape to go later. (I thought she had much more time than she did, though, and the day she died she told me she had months to live, so I don't blame myself too too much; however it was down to needing a self-imposed break that I wasn't there.)

Finally, here is a link to some great advice from another caregiver. I wish this had been written when my mom was sick. Perhaps it will help you, too. https://community.breastcancer.org/forum/144/topic/825823

Good luck, Sky. Thinking of you this Christmas xxx

I would be pleased to listen if you want to talk more about what is going on with you.

 

[JanesJewels]

Your original post really resonated with me. I caught myself nodding along several times, especially about the sudden finality of losing someone who means so much and was a huge part of your life. Where did they go? I know we all have to leave this earth eventually, but no one we love will ever be ready, just as we aren't ready now. All we have are very brief moments in time.

I would like to check into this thread again when I've gained a bit more perspective. In the meantime, here's a ::hug::

Elliot86, I've just seen this message and looked at your other thread. I am so, so sorry about your friend. What a dreadful, terrible shock. There are no words.

How are you feeling now?

The only thing I can tell you that may be of any small comfort is a book I read about sudden death. It's called "I wasn't Ready To Say Goodbye" and it's written by two women who have both experienced the sudden deaths of people close to them. One of them, her adult son was stung by a bee and it killed him; the other is an ex-husband and father of her child.

What's interesting about the book is that they wrote some of it, then put it away for many years, and came back to it. So they have the perspective of then, and now.

A line in the book resonated with me. One of them said that she was a different person inhabiting a different world after her son's sudden death, and there were some friends who just couldn't seem to cross that bridge with her. That has certainly been my experience. (Although my mother was ill, her end was very sudden - she had just booked a cruise to Africa and had spent the day in the yard with friends, entertaining, telling me she had months to live, was looking forward to seeing me on Tuesday - anyway, she was gone 17 hours later.) So although she was terminally ill, I read this book and found it very helpful.

Here's a link: http://www.amazon.com/Wasnt-Ready-Say-Goodbye-Surviving/dp/1402212216/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1419361625&sr=1-1&keywords=i+wasn%27t+ready+to+say+goodbye

Another book that was surprisingly helpful was Grief For Dummies. It's not a dummy book at all. It's full of sensible advice. One part that stands out is where the author tells the reader that you must accept that you will not be having a relationship with your loved one any more, at least in this world. It was put better than that, but somehow I found having the reality pointed out gently like that helped me move toward acceptance.

I am so sorry for the shock of your friends' deaths, Elliot. It will take time - a lot of time, much more time than everybody else thinks it should.

love,


Jane xxxx

 

[TooPatient]

It may sound silly, but I really liked Chicken Soup for the Grieving Soul. All of the short pieces written by different people with different experiences and beliefs really just worked with what I needed. It didn't make it all better, but it was a comfort of sorts.

Big hugs to everyone. It is never easy to lose a loved one.

 

[TooPatient]

Jane -- Sending you big hugs. I just read the last couple of pages and know this must be an especially hard time for you. Please try to remember the good times you and your mother had together at this time of year. I know it will be hard but it really does help. I cried over so many happy memories but in time, I have been able to smile at the happy memories.

 

[JanesJewels]

TooPatient, thank you so much for your kind message. I'm deeply touched.

I'm going to read the Chicken Soup book. I've read one of those before and liked it, but not the grief one.

Happy holidays to you, TooPatient xxx

 

[JanesJewels]

My beautiful mom, 1974, with my older sister and I. Happy Christmas, Mom, wherever you are today xxx

 

[Andelain]

Beautiful pic!

 

[Imdanny]

My mother died 3 1/2 hours after Mother's Day. She was 67, had retired six months, and had lung, brain, and spine cancer. She didn't know. She went into the hospital for back pain, and died in three weeks. This has been the worst year of my life. My heart is shattered. I don't have anything wise to say. I'm reduced to praying for this pain to end.

 

[junebug17]

Janesjewels, that is a beautiful and sweet pic; your mother…so very lovely. I am very sorry for your loss, your pain and your grief are still so fresh, sending thoughts of comfort to you.

Danny, I'm heartbroken for you, such a sudden and tragic loss - my deepest condolences, I will be keeping you in my thoughts as you go through this traumatic and difficult time. (hugs)

 

[Calliecake]

Oh Danny, I am so so sorry. I wish I had some magical words that would take your pain away. The holidays are always so rough after losing a loved one so please take good care of yourself. Do you have people in your life who are helping you get through this? Hugs

Janes Jewels, The picture you posted with your mom and sister is beautiful. I'm so sorry for your loss.

 

[Polished]

I'm so sorry for your loss Imdanny. My mother was 70 when she died and I just relate to so much of your post. Take of yourself and remember that all the good things she gave you will continue to go forward with you for the rest of your life.

 

[isaku5]

My mother died 3 1/2 hours after Mother's Day. She was 67, had retired six months, and had lung, brain, and spine cancer. She didn't know. She went into the hospital for back pain, and died in three weeks. This has been the worst year of my life. My heart is shattered. I don't have anything wise to say. I'm reduced to praying for this pain to end.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Danny . In cases like your mother's, the cancer had already spread to other organs. Not your fault; not her fault; it just happened. Her cancer must have been very aggressive.

Look back on the good times you had with her and at how she enriched your life. Yes, she is gone, but definitely not forgotten.

 

[VRBeauty]

Danny: I'm so sorry to hear of the pain you're in and that you've been going through. A friend of mine says that your universe shifts when you lose your mother - I know that is true for me. I lost my mother (also to cancer) at the end of May, not long after you lost yours. Mine was 85 so it should not have been unexpected, and yet... I suspect that for many people it will hit hard no matter what. Christmas preparations brought on new, fresh, waves of grief, especially since my mother loved Christmas and delighted in making it special for us.

Hugs to you, Danny. I hope your pain will start to subside soon.

 

[VRBeauty]

My beautiful mom, 1974, with my older sister and I. Happy Christmas, Mom, wherever you are today xxx

What a sweet picture! <3

Hugs to you too, JJ!

 

[TooPatient]

Danny, so sorry for your loss. Please take care of yourself.

 

[JanesJewels]

Beautiful pic!

Thank you, Andelain. xxx

 

[JanesJewels]

Junebug, thanks for the compliment to my mom and for your kind words.

 

[JanesJewels]

Oh Danny, I am so so sorry. I wish I had some magical words that would take your pain away. The holidays are always so rough after losing a loved one so please take good care of yourself. Do you have people in your life who are helping you get through this? Hugs

Janes Jewels, The picture you posted with your mom and sister is beautiful. I'm so sorry for your loss.

Calliecake, thank you for the nice things you said above.

 

[JanesJewels]

My beautiful mom, 1974, with my older sister and I. Happy Christmas, Mom, wherever you are today xxx

What a sweet picture! <3

Hugs to you too, JJ!

Thank you, VRBeauty.

Your mom died just the month after mine. I am so sorry for your loss. I don't think it matters how old the person is - as my wise friend says, pain is pain. Your mommy sounds lovely. You say she delighted in making Christmas special. I am very sorry to hear that the Christmas prep was hard for you. If it's any consolation, I spent the 26th in tears.

Wishing you peace and greater happiness in the future, and some respite from your grief.xxx

 

[JanesJewels]

My mother died 3 1/2 hours after Mother's Day. She was 67, had retired six months, and had lung, brain, and spine cancer. She didn't know. She went into the hospital for back pain, and died in three weeks. This has been the worst year of my life. My heart is shattered. I don't have anything wise to say. I'm reduced to praying for this pain to end.

Oh, Danny....... I am so, so sorry to hear of the loss of your wonderful mom. Your mother died the month after mine, and mine was 70. Mine also had widespread cancer including spine and lung. Your experience must have been the most dreadful shock. What a body blow for you. We had 15 months warning, which I'm grateful for but it was an awful strain, waiting and wondering and putting your life on hold.

Everyone says the grief gets better and that time heals. Friends whose parents have been gone for a number of years say that the time comes when you can delight in their memory and take comfort in remembrance of them, when you laugh or smile when you think of them and their sayings and their ways, instead of being grief-stricken.

If it's any help, I feel just as you do - that my heart is shattered. I can't bear to look at photos of her - there are none in my house - and I can't bear to call her to mind clearly. Can't bear to think of her image in my mind's eye nor hear her voice. I've felt frozen inside since it happened. I was doing somewhat better but Christmas has been quite a setback. I wonder how you are doing.

When I read your message, I felt comforted that someone else out there is as heartbroken as I am about their mother. Because the death of an older parent isn't seen as such a big deal by some, I feel. Perhaps, especially, by those who haven't had a major loss. It's funny how different the world seems afterwards. As if all the colors in the world have changed, and the never-bereaved can't see or imagine those colors.

J. K. Rowling, who was heartbroken over losing her mother before she ever saw her daughter's success, expressed a similar emotion in her books. It's the part when only those bereaved can see the horses pulling the carriages taking the children from the train up to Hogwarts. For those who have not experienced a death, the horses are invisible. It's a great way of expressing the gulf between those who have and who haven't experienced major bereavement.

The writer Iris Murdoch said, "The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved."

I do not know one single person anywhere close to my age who has lost their mother. I know two people, and both of them are twenty years older than me. The few times I've socialized this year, people have skated over the topic of Mom and then rattled on about everyday things and I've felt like we're aliens from different planets speaking different languages.

I am very sorry for your loss, Danny. Things will get better. They will. It just takes time - a lot of time. This is a difficult time of year but you won't always feel as badly as you do now. xxxxx Let us know how you are.

 

[JanesJewels]

So, Mom. In exactly three and a half hours, it will be one full year since I've laid eyes on you. That gray, windy day at the bus stop when we'd had a little argument, and I waved goodbye and that was the last time I ever saw you, although you lived another three months. I thought you still had years. Who would ever have thought it. You even booked a fly cruise to Africa in February. Then you died so suddenly I couldn't make it home.

Oh, the agonies I went through trying to decide whether to view your body before the funeral. For those three weeks, you were just down the street at the funeral home. The very idea that I could actually lay eyes on you, could still actually see you, was intoxicating. But the funeral director, who knew you in life, said you didn't look how you did alive, that no preservation had been carried out, and it might be better not to see you. I don't think I could have borne the sadness of seeing you dead, you were so smiley and bubbly and so proud about your hair and appearance. The very idea of you gone was just appalling, to see you in front of me, present but unable to respond. The most difficult decision of my life, but I decided not to go and I have never regretted it. You were life and laughter itself, and I think you would have been appalled at the idea of me seeing you in death. Quite possibly it might have pushed me over the edge. So I didn't go, but I well remember the agonies of that decision. I had no peace day or night.

So I never saw you in the hospital, either. But during that dreadful phone call in the night of Fri April 4, I had the presence of mind to give a message to you through Dad - and you were awake enough to receive it! You heard him tell you how much I loved you, and you said, "That's nice." When people are near death, their last communications become very short and monosyllabic. When Dad said N was on her way, you simply said "Good." But you got my message! You heard my message. I am so grateful, because shortly after that you became unresponsive.

Oh, Mom. I thought you'd live to a ripe old age like your parents, I really did. And you weren't ready to go. You were desperate to see your grandchildren grow up.

But what's the alternative this Christmas? You'd have been a mess from chemo. You didn't want to live on and on at any cost. You didn't want that wheelchair - Dad was going to order it for you the next day but you died that night - and I really don't think you could have borne the loss of your hair, your proud hair.

So it's better this way. You went quickly, without the kind of gradual suffering that your particular cancer can bestow. You spent your last day in the yard, dressed with your makeup on, talking and laughing with some of your dearest, oldest friends of 45 years standing. Hardly any chemo for you. (That's why I have a lock of your beautifully-highlighted hair.) No hair loss, no vomiting, no neuropathy, no wheelchair, no incontinence, no mental confusion. You were independent and able to carry out all your activities of daily living right to the end. You even managed to climb the stairs on your last night, although Dad says it was a struggle.

So I would rather it was this way. Your death was both expected and really sudden, but I would rather it was I who suffered in bereavement this year rather than you suffering physically. Much rather.

Oh, but what a hole you've left in my life. You were such a good person and you never stopped smiling.

Mom, I will love you with all of my heart for the rest of my life xxx

 

[missy]

Danny, I am so sorry. I am thinking of you and sending gentle hugs your way.

JanesJewels, I am still keeping you in my thoughts and also sending gentle hugs your way.

The loss of a loved one leaves a huge hole in our hearts that will never fully heal but with time the pain does get less and we can remember our loved ones with more happiness than sadness. Sending love and healing vibes your way. I am so sorry for your loss and pain.

 

[TooPatient]

Jane, I know today is hard for you. Sending you lots of hugs.

Danny, I know you are hurting but I promise you will feel better in time. Sending you lots if hugs too.

 

[JanesJewels]

Thank you, Missy and TooPatient.

I'm upset tonight because of one insensitive remark too many. I have been through the last nine months with barely any support outside the family because I hardly know anyone who has been through a major loss. One of my friends, her father died four months after my mother and I was determined to be there for her - she commented on how supported she felt by me and was amazed that I was able to do it during my own bereavement. When her dad died, I saw that I could turn away or I could take the opportunity to reach out to her and cement that friendship for life. That friendship has been satisfying, at least, because it allowed me to give to someone else, and try to soothe their hurt. I didn't want her to hurt like I was and have no one except family to talk to. She was nice about my mother, too. But it's amazing to reflect that I do not know one single person who has lost their mother. The friend who lost a father is 15 years older than me. I am in touch with the majority of people from various stages of my life, from everyone at school, to college, workplaces, acquaintances, friends of friends, etc.

I quite literally do not know one single person who has lost their mom. And everyone except the friend above has two healthy parents.

I've been kind of a hermit since she died, since I know no one who understands, and against my better judgement I made the mistake of opening up to three friends who wanted to see me. (Three separate friends.) Lord, what a mistake. I knew I shouldn't have done it. See, this is what happens when you attempt to re-join the world. One ignored me, one told me I am lucky (among other things) and one told me that my loss doesn't matter since we're all going to die anyway. The one who told me how marvelously lucky I am - and at least four other highly offensive things - has always bossed me around and directed me as if I'm an extra in some play of hers, but I put up with it because she's funny and interesting. Her boyfriend died of lung cancer 15 years ago. I wonder how she'd have liked it if I'd told her how incredibly lucky she was for having found the love of her life and getting 16 years together because, hey, some people never meet the one!

I didn't say that because even years ago, before any loss of mine, I knew that no one who is struggling with bereavement feels lucky. He died of lung cancer caused by four decades of chain-smoking, and I could have told her how lucky she was that he made it to sixty and then died a swift death, but I didn't because after all, some people smoke heavily for a lifetime and never get lung cancer, so I would never have told her she was lucky. And if children losing parents during childhood is so common that having your mom till age 39 is stupendously lucky, then how come it's such a rare event that I don't know of anyone who has lost a parent? And if people losing parents during childhood is so common that I'm lucky by comparison, the average life expectancy wouldn't be 80. The fact is that most people will have their parents into their early fifties at least. Oh, and it's a big mistake to compare losses. They're all different, they're all sacred, and they all hurt like burning iron pressed against your skin. How come no one I know knows this?

Fortunately my family really, really gets it, and thankfully I have 37 family members, who all loved her, because she was so nice. Example: One cousin was emotionally abused by his father (who married into the family) because that cousin was "supposed" to be a girl. A girl then came along three years after him and they were never nice to him. My mom always stuck up for him, fostered his art talent, bought him paintboxes, and was good to him in general. She saw clearly how they weren't nice to him and she felt very sorry for him. That's just an example of how good she was to the family, so it's not surprising everyone loved her. She made everyone's wedding cakes - really elaborate, amazing ones, works of art in sugar, that she could have sold for thousands, but she gave them away for free - and once the cousins married and had children, always remembered the children's birthdays as well as the cousins.

Family is where it's at, for me. We didn't always get along so well but I have never learned a lesson so thoroughly and deeply as this: Blood is thicker than water, at least in my family.

Every bereaved person needs someone to just sit, and be quiet, and listen. Not to judge, not to give unsolicited advice, not to tell you how you should be feeling. Just to listen, listen, listen. So simple and so elusive.

 

[JanesJewels]

Anyway, I wonder how everyone else is doing? I've been thinking of Danny, who said he was heartbroken. I hope he comes back and lets us know how things are, and that people on here are thinking of him with kindness and respect for his loss.

In terms of getting used to loss, I think I'm actually getting more used to my mom not being here now, after nine months. I don't think I expect her to be here now, and although it doesn't hurt any less, the weirdness of her being gone is starting to recede a little.

I worry so much about my dad. He seems to be having stomach issues. Oh well, that's a problem for another day.

Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for letting me vent.

 

[JanesJewels]

On the bright side, I have been searching and searching for a friend who I lost touch with after college - I knew she had gone to medical school, but I could find no trace of her on social media at all, for years, and no one seemed to know what happened to her. Well, I found her this week! And I was so, so proud to know that she is a doctor who treats HIV, and has a special interest in the management of HIV during pregnancy. So happy for her, and so impressed with her compassion and dedication!

This also reminded me of an old friend who has HIV, and 18 months ago it had progressed - he had Kaposi's sarcoma on his foot, and other medical issues.......but today's drugs are amazing and he's been back at work as cabin crew for quite a few months now, working full-time and enjoying life again. It truly is a miracle.

I am so thankful for these happy things.

 

[JanesJewels]

Double post.