Permission to Feel It

Sometimes I have to give myself permission to feel it - again. In part, it's the grief comes in waves thing, and we can only stand so much at a time. But sometimes the ache wells up again when I least expect it. I have several choices here. One is to push it down. One is to allow it a little space, but not too much because I hate the ache and the pain. And the other - let it emerge fully and deal with it - do what I need to do. Sometimes this can be the hardest one to allow. Who wants to feel the pain, again, and again, and again.

Today, I was feeling it again, and I happened to be exhausted from not enough sleep - a menopausal thing. So I lay down on the couch. Immediatley my two kitties came and lay down with me. One in the crook my body made as I lay on my side. She snuggled in close next to my heart and tummy. The other climbed onto my side. Both of them purred and loved me. It comforted me in a way that was not invasive and required nothing of me that I could not give. They always do that when I need them too - without me asking. Sometimes I think they are the ones who are more advanced.

Vi

[ December 06, 2005, 08:36 PM: Message edited by: Vi ]

Vi, after my aunt passed away I was sitting on the sofa thinking about her and my bird softly said, "I love you." It was so healing to me. She must have known I needed it.

Vi, giving myself permission to feel the loss at certain times and doses is how I managed to get myself through the sadness that never seemed to go away. I would either wallow in the pain and sink into depression, or repress it and sink into depression. So I decided to "allow" myself little periods of grief. The first ones were long bouts, but they gradually began to subside in intensity. Like you, they hit right out of nowhere...maybe the smell of Dad's pipe tobacco, or a particularly tough Mom-moment...now I allow myself to feel that loss and sadness, but I don't allow it to overwhelm me like it used to.

Being here has helped beyond measure to make that journey through that interminable grief. It's as if my sisters here have filled a void that I never thought could be filled again after Mom and Dad died.

Vi, your thoughts and insights have been very healing for me in my own journey. Your courage has given me courage, and your pain has helped me to heal my own pain. Thank you for sharing your journey with others, like me, who are stumbling along the same road.

Dianne, what a wonderful bird. That's really touching.

Eagle Heart, your sharing your journey has helped me too. Like you, my bouts with this aren't as deep as they used to be. Yes, "stumbling along the same road" is a good way too put it.

And right now I need to go for my walk before it gets too dark. The exercise helps too, even if I don't like to exercise.

Blessings, dear ones,
Vi

Once again our animals show us proof of their undeniable sixth sense and their devotion and love for us...they truly are the Angels upon the earth. Vi, one feels what they feel when they feel it and need no permission to do so. Feeling is an exercise for the soul....

[ December 02, 2005, 09:10 PM: Message edited by: chatty lady ]

Vi, because I don't know you may I ask what is causing you so much sadness? Love those kitties for knowing you needed their sweet comfort.

Dianne, how very touching that your bird said, "I love you." I can't describe the feeling I got hearing that.

Once when I was crying Benny came up to me and got close to my face. He touched one cheek with his one paw and then the other cheek. It's hard to describe the intense love I feel for this little stray.

I hope Vi, that whatever your grief is, as time goes by the hurt will lessen. I pray that for you.

[ December 03, 2005, 12:02 PM: Message edited by: ladybug ]

Chatty Lady, yes, animals are wonderfully in touch with what's important. I like your statement, "Feeling is an exercise for the soul..." I'll ponder that one.

Ladybug, my most recent loss was my sister to liver cancer in June. She was 64. My post - My sister is Dying on this forum under Loss will tell you more. As for others - in 1980, my brother shot and killed his neighbors, 4 of them. Two we knew. On that day I lost the brother I knew, although he didn't die physcially. He is a dangerous, mentally ill man. I lost what remained of my innocence, and all illusions of safety. In 1983 my father died at age 69. I was 33. In 1988 my sweetheart, Gary, died of pancreatic cancer all of a sudden. Four years ago my mother's second husband died. Two years ago my mother's third husband died - he was kind of an uncle to me as I grew up. My dear friend, Tosca, a role model, died in 2002. My favorite aunt Lottie, died in 2000. Both my mother and my father had large extended families. So I've had many aunts uncles and cousins who have passed over the years - a steady stream of them. At times I feel the vacancy intensely. My mom is 87 and has a mild form of dementia. So she is no longer the same person.

Loss has taught me many wonderful things. But at times, when a new one comes along, which it always does, I have to give myself permission to feel the pain...so I can heal a little more. Thanks for asking.

Vi

Thank you for taking the time to tell me all this. I'm hoping I didn't open any healing wounds by asking. I will go back and read the post you mentioned about your sister.

I'm really sincerely sorry to hear of all the sorrow you've had to deal with. Sometimes just having a good cry and not denying it hurts may move you closer to healing. There's nothing wrong with admitting you're hurting because who among us could find fault with that?

Let each day bring you closer to healing and joy. This is my wish and prayer for you kind lady.

Ladybug,

Thank you for your loving concern. No, you did not make me feel worse by asking. I'm fine most of the time. It just hits me now and again, and I deal with it.

Pain is such a good teacher. It can bring out the real beauty in all of us, if we use it that way. Heck, we might as well. It's gotta be good for something.

Vi

Vi, your site is beautiful and so are you.

Dianne,

Thank you so much. May the blessings of your heart bring you much happiness.

Vi

Are you feeling the loss of your loved ones today - this holiday season? Are you all okay? Do you need support?

Gosh, thanks for asking,Vi.

Mom died 30 years ago.......funny how it's still so raw.......especialy at Christmastime.

I never was able to have babies, so it's DH and I and our five dogs. Yes, you are all so right about them. They are my saving grace! Even with one doggy in heat now (:wink:) I still need them. Not one of them is my favorite......ALL of them are.

Loss is something that goes in stages. I also blame the commercialized "holy-days" (some call them holidays). People are constantly asking "spending time with family? Going "home" for Christmas". Well, this is home and my family is DH where we live.

Loss: When Mom died, we were so unprepared for it. She left a husband (age 47) and four children, ages 16 to 23. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to get thru in my life. Still is, really.

I've missed a "mommy" in my life, so I feel like I just flailed around living what I thought was a good life. NOT! too many husbands, no kids and often times very lonely.

Granted, even with kids and a DH, some are lonely, but the only life I know is mine. And my feelings are my true, honest ones.

So, another Christmas has come and gone. WHEW! DH and I just say let's get this over with so we can get on with life at least for the next 365 days!

Vi and Di, I was glad to read your posts. Thank you for asking and sharing.
It is seven years to the hour that my Dear Mom passed away. I miss her terribly but I spent the day remembering our last precious Christmas together. Dad passed a few years earlier on December 12th. Mom was buried on New Year's Day...Her and Dad's Wedding Anniversary.
Yes, I am Okay but this year just seems a little harder.
Hugs to all who are finding it difficult today.

Love
chick

[ December 25, 2005, 11:06 PM: Message edited by: chickadee ]

Di, I don't have any kids either. It was my choice. My cats are my children. My third husband, a keeper, is allergic to dogs. So when my dogs passed, I didn't get anymore. Wow, you were young when you lost your mom. That must have been so horribly difficult. What about Dad? Who/what is DH? Is this short for....?

I miss my mommy sometimes too, although I've been fortunate enough to have her all these years. She's 87. But she has dimentia and is not the person she used to be. Dad's been gone 22 years. This year I miss him more than usual, I think because my sister passed in June.

My husband and I do not celebrate the holidays, except what we need to do for our mothers. There have been so many tragedies in my life that it took it all out of me. My sweetheart died 17 years ago a couple of weeks before Christmas. Dad loved Christmas. So when I hear the Christmas songs in the stores it bring in the sadness. I too am glad when it's over, and people stop talking about it. Some feelings I just can't get back.

Chick, wow seven years to the hour, and you lost your dad at this time of year. At least a triple whammy including the anniverary thing.

My aunt Lottie who was about 85 when she said this, once said, "When you don't have your momma what do you have?" She was a strong woman with a twinkle in her eyes. She faced everything really well and yet she missed her momma a lot.

This kind of thing reinforces the need for us all to get along and love each other - even those, maybe especially those we have never met. We are all in the together.

Please, take a piece of my heart and use it to comfort your own,

Vi

[ December 26, 2005, 02:01 AM: Message edited by: Vi ]

Di and Chickadee you both made me cry talking about your mothers.

Christmas is officially over now so I hope you two had some joy in it. My love to you both!

Vi, Di, Chick

Gotta a few minutes before work, thought I'd stop by......

As you know, this was our first Christmas without Nichole. And I don't mind using my son's language and saying, "It sucks." That pretty well sums that up.

I am feeling for every one of you and myself too. And others I've read about on these posts. Boy, death can sure take the magic out of a magical thing. I want my mommy too. And my dad. But most of all...you know. My only comfort is that I know Nik is with my Mom. And they loved each other like no two other people, and that makes me feel much better.

In fact, I don't know if I've posted this before, but here's a sweet little story: One time Mother came to visit. She had a pretty little ring she was wearing with a purple stone - amythist(sp?)- Nichole was admiring it (she loved that jewelry!!)and so , as always, Mom said that when she got home, she would send Nichole one just like it, so they could wear matching rings and 'be with each other over the miles". Of course she did. A very special ring to Nichole.

Nichole lived in a group home for awhile, when I needed to work and she could never be left alone. And as you can imagine, things were often "lost" . So was the ring.

5 years later,after Nichole had been home for almost 4 years, and a couple of days after Nichole died - when I was screaming in my head, wondering where she was and if my Mother had truly come to get her - I opened Nik's night stand drawer to get a hair tie. She kept only a few things in that drawer - her hair ties, her diary and a few other little things. All the little things were pushed aside and there, all by itself was the ring. I truly stood there motionless and could not believe what my eyes were seeing. Time was, as they say, suspended. I was suspended. My mind didn't know where to be. Slowly, I started to focus , and fell to the floor, crying for the joy of knowing that my Mother had put that ring there. To give me physical proof that she had my Nik.

Just to tell you that I had been in that drawer daily, for the hair ties. There had been no ring there. Not for all the years. And if Nichole had found the ring, unbeknownst to me, she would have shouted to the rooftops that she had found it, because it was THEIR connection (forgot to say that my mom died in '89)over time and space. Needless to say, I wear the purple ring. (Nichole's birthstone, by the way)

Well, I just made myself feel better - I hope this has made at least one of you feel better too.

Searcher

and maybe ALL the magic isn't gone after all........

Searcher, the ring story brought me to tears - of joy and sadness. Thank you for sharing it.

And your son is right - "it sucks." But one thing
I must say...Nichole was SO loved, that is obvious. Not everyone can say that at the end of their lives.

((HUGS))

Searcher,

I know your momma put the ring there. Those who go to another level can do things for us here. It's just that we become skeptical of things like that in our world laden with practicalities. What a blessing for you to find the ring. Your momma loves you. Your momma loves Nik and is taking care of her. How totally wonderful to have the confirmation.

Searcher, what a beautiful story! I truly believe that it was your Mother telling you she was caring for Nichole.

Searcher, another lovely, emotional, well written story that is proof positive that you need to keep writing. Please print these things and keep them in a folder/binder. And keep writing them because they help heal you and positively bless others who are grieving.

Bluebird, Vi, Meredithbead, and Dotsie.

You are all so kind to me. I come here for comfort and healing, laughter and the chance maybe to help someone else with what I have learned along my way.....I have had all this and more. It is an absolute blessing to me. YOU all are an absolute blessing to me. And, remember, I'm not all that religious! (at least in the organized sense) So many of you really are helping me to grieve and to heal. This place has provided me with a opportunity to find myself again, to find what it is I need to be about in this world. And I am SO grateful to be able to tell my stories. To write about my little family , our memories, our Nichole and my Sam - and to have them recieved so well makes me cry with my very soul exposed. Each time I have written one of these, I have received encouragement from you - and this gives me the strength and the desire to write more. I am a little bit tentative still about beginning such a monumental thing as book, but writing in tiny bits as I have, seems to just be the thing for now. How many ways can I say THANK YOU?

Dotsie - I will print these, for if nothing else ever happens, Sam will some day be glad he has them. (Gotta get my new ink cartridge first!!)

I regret that I cannot traverse these forums as much as I would like - work has me busy. (Thank Harietta for that). I think I should develop a system. So If I don't respond as quickly or as wholly as I should, I beg your forgiveness. It is never my intention to slight anyone, or to be remiss in answering......

And so with all that, Here I go with another one!(Dotsie, you have heard this before, so you are free to go ! LOL)

(See, ya'll, where encouragement gets you! Pretty soon, you'll be saying "we've created a monster!!!)

I want to tell all of you about this story. It means soooo much to me.

When I found my Nichole, in the middle of the night, she was already gone. I never slept thoroughly, always listening with some other piece of myself for seizures. She had been fortunate enough to be the recipient of a vegus nerve stimulator. This was a miracle of a device, which fit just under the skin and delivered a small electrical stimulation to halt a seizure. It was working well, and she had returned almost to her pre-seizure self. (Sam and I count the years in terms of BS - before seizures -and a giggle is appropriate here) More alert, laughing more, able to comprehend her surroundings....We had our Niki back - after too many years of her life had been taken by drugs. The drugs were as bad, if not worse, than the seizures. And we had tried every new one on the market for 18 years. Only to find after a few months, that they ceased to work. We were so very hopeful this time. And were working toward decreasing the medications she was on. We had just bought a lift van for Nichole for a Christmas present, and were engaged in buying a most beautiful, handicapped accessible home - split design, so Sammy could have his living room, bath, and bedroom on one side, his own apartment really with a personal outside entrance, while Nichole and I had our bedrooms and bath on the other side. Perfect. And a gorgeous view of the mountains to boot!!! And still, the house backed up to the greenbelt - which is a walkway with plenty of empty land surrounding it that runs all around the Boise area for, I think, 40 miles or so, usually following the river.We had just bought the trappings for a little waterfall and pond for the backyard, which Nichole could finally access with her wheelchair...All was perfect. And we were so hopeful for the first time in ever so many years......Every morning, Nichole and I would look out at our mountain, and talk about what we saw today - the shadows, the sunlight and how it made the mountain look different every day, and the great, magnificence of the raptors which fly over the river beyond, diving to catch their prey. We marveled at the eagles, the hawks, and even the many songbirds who use this place as a migratory corridor. And every night, Nichole would say, "How is our sunset, Mom? Pink or orange?"

That night, I awoke hearing the beginnings of a grand mal seizure - I lay there listening to see if the VNS would stop it. It did. So, I thought, wonderful, we'll both sleep sweetly tonight...But then I heard nothing else. No rustling of covers, no turning in bed. Nothing. A deadly silence. I got up to investigate, and when I saw her, I panicked as I never do. I am not one who panics. Not after so many, many years of crisis. But there she was, inverted upside=down , on her neck, bottom in the air, between the bed and her wheelchair and the nightstand. A little triangle of space, with her in the middle, upside down. No noise, nothing. I screamed. And went to remove her chair so I could get at her. The chair would not engage for too long a time. The chair weighs 400 pounds or more. Finally, I got it moved back and then ,with strength only a mother can possess, I threw her with one hand clear across the room onto her back. I could see she was gone. I started CPR and pinked her up twice. Then I realized I had to get the phone. I ran to find it, leaving her there, not breathing. Knowing, knowing....too much time, too much time......Calling 911 - the woman was just doing her job, trying to keep me on the phone, but this was keeping me from doing my CPR - keeping precious breaths from my baby, I finally threw the phone across the room. By then the emergency squad was there. Knocking to get in - I screamed to come in but they didn't hear me. So I had to leave her again. It took them so long to get a hearbeat. Too long. Too long. I knew. I called my Sam - COME HOME - right now, he said? RIGHT THIS MINUTE, SAM - she's NOT BREATHING!!! I should have told him to drive carefully, because he sped home at 90 miles an hour. The next I knew, he was leaping over the end table, to avoid colliding with the paramedics and to get the dog out of the way. Winston, (the dog) was transfixed with sight of all going on - maybe as upset as we. And would not move. Sam picked him up and set him in the kitchen. (Winston was a black lab, very old, and very heavy - we had to put him down a few months later, we think he just gave up after Nichole )Next, I was in Sam's arms, each of us giving the other some of our depleted strength.

So I dressed, got my address book with the phone numbers, and went to the hospital. The news was not good. But they were going to try to "cool her down" - put her in ice - to retard any further brain damage. This was hard to see. She hated being cold, and was, often, because of her missing pituitary gland (another story). We waited for the prescribed 24 hours. And watched for any returning Nichole. There was not. Nothing, Nada. No movement, no pupils in her beautiful eyes to see. Dr. Han came. Love that man. He said, "just to prove to myself, and to you, that I haven't missed anything...." He ran a tissue over her pupil. Nothing. Nothing at all. No flinch, no nothing. I knew. She was so gone from us....So very gone.

I told the doctor that I was too exhausted to remove the ventilator that day. I was told it could take a long time. So I left. I knew she wasn't there anyway, just her body. So I went home with a friend who drove me. I wanted to stop at the Oregon Trail.( My poor friend Sharon I know was thinking, Should I call someone? Has she gone off the deep end? )Do you know that the Oregon Trail still exists? Here, you can actually step into the ruts of the wheels that are still there? This is remarkable to me. So much history. And so much loss - so many who didn't make it either. But so much encouragement, I guess, if they could manage it, so could we.

Next day, the vent was removed. 26 hours later, my Nichole's body died. I will never, ever, forget those agonal breaths, making her body rise from the bed. And the ever-running nose. Which no-one could figure out. Using box upon box of tissue. Sam there, wiping her nose. Me there, wiping her nose, her aunt there, wiping her nose. All the disease, running out of her at last. Running out, out, out, out......free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, Free at last.

The time came when I wondered what to do. Nichole wanted to be cremated, so I called the Crematorium. I expected them to tell me how I should proceed. They didn't. I was floundering, called them and they said, well, after she's gone, let us know. But this was not right to me. Her father and I (divorced since 1976)did not wish a viewing. But I couldn't let her be seen by even family looking as she did. Hair such a mess. So, Sam and I went to buy her a pretty outfit, and when we got back, we dressed her in a turqoise t-shirt, with a pretty yellow sweater- because it was spring, with the lilacs blooming; as they were when she first had surgery for her brain tumor, so many years ago....

But before that, I got angry. No one was coming to dress her or bathe her or anything. So I threw open the curtains to let the sunlight in. I went to get soap and water, and shampoo for her angel hair - her aunt came to help me. We bathed her. We brushed her angel hair to frame her face, and dressed her in her pretty clothes, her eyelashes so thick and dark, lying on her porcelain face. That ethereal face - with such a bright, bright smile. And those very dark, blue, blue eyes.....So pretty. Just then, watching the monitors, nurses ran to get her father (who couldn't manage to enter the room until now) and Sam, who just had gone out to rest a few minutes - and our Nichole sighed the prettiest, sweetest two sighs of her last breaths. I will never forget those. For all of my life.

After, we came home. And when I approached the front door, a "plethora" of butterflies surrounded my soul. They were flying above my face, around my head, my body, everywhere - the most beautiful sight I had ever seen - it was like being in Heaven. There must have been 30 of them, at least, their wings making soft impressions on my face. I had never seen such a thing in all my life. And one little butterfly lit on my door-frame. Lingered there. I knew it was my Nichole. Free and happy to be with my other loved ones of the past - all to be happy for ever more , and waiting for me. And Sam. All in due time........

Now, Meredith, I am wondering if you do special orders? Maybe something with a butterfly? Do you do your own designs? We should talk.....

Thank you for all who listened,
Jawanna (Searcher)

I'm speechless...

(((HUGS)))

There you go spilling that loving mom's heart of yours.
Searcher...you are so meant to write and share your love with others.
I can hardly see through my tears.

Searcher...you have a gift girl!!!..your words are precious gems that enlighten me and comfort me..and always have me wanting to hear just one more story...I so love the story about the ring in the drawer...I had a similar experience with my mother after her death... and I just know in my heart your Mother was reaching back to comfort you and assure you that she and Nichole are together on the other side and so that ring is to keep you close to them until you can all be together again...I love that you shared that story with us...thank you from the bottom of my heart....

Searcher, this brought tears to my eyes. I remember the part about the butterflies from a prior post. Nichole's spirit was finally free from the prison of her body. She appeared to you as a creature of perfect physical beauty because you always saw her beauty, but now the rest of the world could too. And butterflies are short-lived, as Nichole had been.

I can't begin to comprehend the pain you went through, but underneath the pain there was also great joy. Thank you for sharing.

Searcber, I am more moved than I can say. Thank you for sharing your story.

Thank You.

Bluebird, I needed your hugs.

Brenda, I'm just so glad to have somewhere to tell about my girl....Thank you for your confidence in my writing.....

AvalonBlondi- what was your similar experience? I would love to know about your mom. Thank you for being so encouraging to me.

Meredithbead, I believe what you have said. I did feel like she was at last free to be her beautiful self, unencumbered by her illness. And flying, too.

NHJackie, I'm glad you read my story. I'm glad you all read my story. And I know that Nichole is watching on, pleased with what she is seeing. She would be so happy that I am telling about our experiences - her experience.

Searcher, I have felt drawn to you since your first posting. What a loving mother you are, and a compassionate friend. I would love to have you as my neighbor.

Searcher...you always have my encouragement, my support and my love...I left you a PM....

Searcher, the beauty of your soul is matched by your tremendous talent. Hang in. Pain eases and the lessons of grief can be used to bring beauty to others.

Love you,
Vi

[ December 30, 2005, 08:13 PM: Message edited by: Vi ]