The Chaos of Grief: Part II

Homeward Angel, painted by Ross Beard (2005)

Today is Bell Let’s Talk, and it’s serving as a good excuse for me to get back to writing, and my series on Grief. Part I focused on the “Shock & Awe”, the initial confusion and disorientation that happens after losing a loved one. For this entry…. we’re going to talk about the darker side of grief.

Anger & Guilt

When we think of anger during the grief process, we think of it as the blame game. We want answers. We want rationalization as to why this possibly could have happened. Some people get angry with their faith. How could their God do this to them?

The anger I’ve been dealing with has often been more abstract. And before I go too far with this… I want to make something very clear, aka, I’m writing this to you Mom… I’m not mad about the events that transpired that night. I’m not mad at my mom, the paramedics, the hospital, none of them. From the way it all happened, there was nothing anybody could have done differently in those moments.

But, my confession is that I sometimes struggle with anger towards my Dad. Why didn’t he go get his heart checked more often? Why was he so stubborn about seeing the doctor? The “what if” scenarios really get under my skin, wondering about what could have been different if he had approached his health care differently. I’m also really angry at him for not being here anymore. How could he just leave us like that?

But deep down I know… I’m not actually angry with him. I’m feeling guilty. Guilt for not being around more when he was alive, not writing down the many stories he used to tell, not chatting with him online more or on the phone, all the times I got annoyed or frustrated with him, the list goes on. I’m actually angry that I didn’t appreciate the moments I had with him more. I’m angry with myself. I’m angry that I don’t live closer to my Mom, that I can’t be there more for day to day things, and that I wasn’t there more often even before all of this.

And that anger has often made it’s way to other people. There’s been times when I have unfairly snapped at Sean, or have been frustrated with others. Often times I may lash out when I feel that I am being asked to do too much. My defenses go up very quickly. My level of patience is very low, and I often find myself feeling annoyed at the smallest of inconveniences.

Anger is an ugly emotion. I feel a lot of physical pain when I am angry. My adrenaline pumps. I get exhausted, but yet, I don’t sleep well. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like a darker version of who I really am. It brings out my worst qualities. And it’s also all really confusing. I never feel like I know if I am truly upset about something, or if it’s the grief. I feel like I don’t know myself, and my emotions at times. And I find the anger is hard to overcome, because you can’t resolve it the way you want to. If I were mad at a friend, I could contact them and try to find a solution, or at least have my feelings heard. But here, I can’t do that. I can’t yell at my Dad or ask him questions. I can’t have my feelings truly heard. Because I am talking about more than prayer, or writing in a journal, etc. A face to face conversation cannot happen, and that just feeds the anger even more because it’s all just a reminder that he’s gone. I think, too, the anger we experience when we’re grieving is because we’re exhausted. We’re done. We’re tired of talking, thinking, reacting. We just don’t want to do it anymore because everything feels pointless.

The guilt is really hard. Forgiveness for this type of guilt has to come from within, and as my therapist will tell you, I am extremely hard on myself. I rarely forgive myself. Instead, I tend to use the anger towards myself as a motivator. But that is of course, an unhealthy relationship.

So, for those who have been through this before let’s go with the spirit of today – and let’s talk about the anger, the guilt, the resentment. All those ugly feelings. Get them out into the open. Vent, rant, speak up. And also, share with me how you dealt with it. How did you forgive? How do you cope? Share your stories, and let’s get through this together. Because we can’t carry around these heavy emotions that weigh us down. We need to find freedom.

Thanks for reading, and today I close with The Moody Blues and the song “Question”. A staple in our household. I feel the frenetic energy in this song captures the roller coaster of anger, grief, and longing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Chaos of Grief: Part I

2019 certainly hasn’t gone the way I hoped it would. On December 21st 2018, when Sean asked me to marry him, I expected 2019 to become one of the best years of my life. Instead, on February 8th 2019, things took an awful turn. My father died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 65. A regular Friday evening turned horrific.

I’ve debated for months about whether to blog about my grief, the anxiety I’ve experienced, and just the general confusion about day to day life. I have countless drafts saved. Part of me didn’t want to be so public with my inner thoughts, but then recently I decided I had too many things I wanted to share. There’s a lot of lessons you don’t fully learn and realize until you say goodbye to one of the key difference makers in your life.

I’m going to break up these blog posts and focus on some specific emotions, and feelings I’ve dealt with. I feel there’s too much to say in just one post, so I hope you’ll bear with me as I get this all out of my system.

Shock & Awe

I know a lot of people talk about how they can barely remember certain aspects of a life changing moment, but I feel like I can recite in pretty clear detail everything I said and felt in the immediate aftermath of my aunt calling to tell me the horrible news. There are many times where I catch myself going over that night in detail. It’s like I need to remind myself that this is reality. I try to stop myself in those moments. After all, I don’t want my lasting memories of my dad to be of that fateful night.

When you’re in such deep shock it’s hard to find the energy to keep up with the rest of your life. I find that over the past several months I haven’t been as engaged with my friends, and have often felt like I don’t have the capacity to support them in their own struggles. As I reflect on this summer, I know I’ve become more withdrawn than I normally would. I’ve skipped going to concerts because I would rather be alone at home. Or, I’ve purposefully avoided making plans with people because sometimes the idea of being social is too exhausting. I felt this way after the robbery in South Africa as well. When you’re moving away from a trauma, it’s hard to see when others around you may be suffering as well. Your own pain and confusion takes precedent and it becomes hard to focus on everything else. But I am starting to regret some of this. As summer begins to wind down, I am starting to feel like I wasted some of my days. (Regret is a theme I’ll touch on in another post).

I’ve so often felt like a zombie, or as my mom has often observed, we go through the days feeling like actors in our own lives. That we’re just playing a role. Going to work felt like that at first (and sometimes still does). I could put on my management hat and forget that I was the girl dealing with grief. But then reality would sink in. I’ve had times where I’ve cried on the TTC, or on my walk home. It can be anything. A thought, a memory, seeing the stars, a song coming on my Spotify. And then the haze comes back. Everything starts to feel surreal again, and the pain gets pushed down until the next time it resurfaces. I open my office door, turn on the computer, and begin to play my role.

One of the things I’ve been struggling with the most as it relates to my health anxiety is how truly fragile everything is. I can’t wrap my brain around just how suddenly you can lose someone. When I get caught in the shock, the questions rise up. Why now? Why this way? How do you just wake up one day and not know it’s your last day on earth? I find it incredibly terrifying to think of how quickly everything can be lost. How can there be no warning? No time to say goodbye? Why does it have to be so random? For me, when I can’t make sense of things I get very uncomfortable. My anxiety loves order and reason. Death is neither of those things. And so at times it’s caused me to spiral into some anxious times where I begin to fear those old fears – that I have cancer, that something is wrong with my heart, that I am going to die young and will miss out on everything.

I guess, that’s supposed to be the good lesson in all of this – the reminder that life is short and tomorrow is not promised. It’s supposed to make you appreciate the little things more, cross things off your bucket list, or finally make that move in your life you’ve been putting off. But there are so many times I feel frozen in fear. Whenever we make a new decision on something related to the wedding I get a little bit scared. “What if I don’t make it to my wedding and all of this is a waste?”. But I can’t let the shock do that to me. I know, deep down, I can’t live in fear constantly. I know that Dad wasn’t afraid of what was next. He often talked about how he didn’t fear death. It was the next adventure, the next part of the journey. It was something to be curious about. He also told me people with control issues tend to be the ones who fear death the most. As usual, he was right.

One thing I am thankful for in regards to my anxiety is that I feel it’s made me quite self-aware. I can recognize when I am withdrawing, or not supporting other people. But it’s hard to often do something about it. Especially when I’m trying to do things like be on my phone less, read more, and trying to get through the day. Throw in that work has been incredibly busy, and it just feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day to often tackle everything.

So what can I do? What can anyone do going through grief? I think it goes back to what one of the nurses told my mom that night. “You take things minute by minute, hour by hour”. Eventually the fog will begin to clear. I’ll find a way to stop trying to make sense of what happened, and just accept it. The sting will wear off.

With each of these posts I will close with a song that reminds of me Dad. They may or may not relate to each post. They just might be songs currently running through my mind. As I wrote this post I was listening to Kate Bush and the “Hounds of Love” album. Dad used to blast this album in our home when I was little, and together he and I would dance and sing around the house to it. So while I navigate all of this confusion, I know one thing is true. Somewhere, he’s up there in The Big Sky. Thanks for reading.