My Facebook post from Thursday, December 29, 2011 (only changes: names removed):
Do you remember those 'everything I learned I learned from _____' posters? Well, this is sort of along those lines, but at the same time, it's not. I guess I feel that I am as good of a person as any to write a statement on grief because I've encountered my own somewhat recently.
What I have learned from this grieving process is that no two people grieve or even think or feel in general the same way about things. When it comes to grief, people have to do what feels right to them.
Some people wish to cry, some wish to scream, some can't even bring themselves to feel or do anything, some want to talk, and some want nothing more than to be left alone. Some people can't even stand the thought of eating, and some people eat everything in site just because it brings temporary relief. Some people stand up for what they believe in, some fall down. Some rely fully on the people around them to bring them strength, and some think they can do it all on their own. Some will light candles, bake or cook or eat, write books or songs or poems, draw pictures, create gardens, plant trees, cry, purchase gifts, give donations or even release balloons in honor of others, and some may do nothing because they aren't sure what to feel, think or do.
No matter what people wish to do, feel, or think, they are choosing what is right for them. People who are grieving are doing the best they can. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. People are doing what feels right to themselves in an effort to get through.
Recently, my husband and I have offered that people, who wish to, could release balloons on 12/30 in rememberance/recognition of Catelyn on her birthday. Some people feel that this is a nightmare - ecologically speaking. All I can say is that if it doesn't feel right to you, then don't do it. If you'd like to light a candle, have a birthday meal or a birthday cake or a birthday cupcake or even a cookie, make a donation of some type to some place, do nothing, cry, scream, cheer, sing, or anything else you can think of, then do that. Our idea to release balloons isn't about doing ONE thing, or even ANY thing, but if you feel like you want to do SOME thing, then pick and do what is right for you.
Monday, January 7, 2013
A different but "Merry" Christmas (from Dec. 2011)
This was a post (altered only by removing names) from facebook written on 12/5/2011:
This year, I don't really feel like 'celebrating' Christmas. I haven't purchased one gift, and I absolutely DO NOT want anything for myself.
I haven't sent any Christmas Cards (though I did make quite a few with my Stampin' Up! friends), and I have no plans to write up a cutesy holiday letter.
Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas - I love the lights, giving gifts, singing carols, baking, being invited places, spending time with friends and family, hearing from loved ones, and of course decorating.
I have been listening to the 24-7 Christmas song stations, and I've even gone out to see a holiday parade filled with lighted floats and more! At most, I might put up a teeny-tiny tree in Catelyn's room, and I have her stocking available to put a note in to tell her how much I miss her and love her. I've decided to 'gift' her presents, that I had already started purchasing in the summer, to an organization that takes in items for children (haven't decided which one yet, though).
Many, many friends and family members have wanted to do something for my husband and I, and we greatly appreciate that. The best thing that I can come up with is donate your time or funds to people in need. Get involved somehow, and if there is a "in honor of" option on what you do, please consider doing it on behalf of Catelyn.
Some ideas of places to donate to:
This year, I don't really feel like 'celebrating' Christmas. I haven't purchased one gift, and I absolutely DO NOT want anything for myself.
I haven't sent any Christmas Cards (though I did make quite a few with my Stampin' Up! friends), and I have no plans to write up a cutesy holiday letter.
Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas - I love the lights, giving gifts, singing carols, baking, being invited places, spending time with friends and family, hearing from loved ones, and of course decorating.
I have been listening to the 24-7 Christmas song stations, and I've even gone out to see a holiday parade filled with lighted floats and more! At most, I might put up a teeny-tiny tree in Catelyn's room, and I have her stocking available to put a note in to tell her how much I miss her and love her. I've decided to 'gift' her presents, that I had already started purchasing in the summer, to an organization that takes in items for children (haven't decided which one yet, though).
Many, many friends and family members have wanted to do something for my husband and I, and we greatly appreciate that. The best thing that I can come up with is donate your time or funds to people in need. Get involved somehow, and if there is a "in honor of" option on what you do, please consider doing it on behalf of Catelyn.
Some ideas of places to donate to:
- A local food pantry or soup kitchen
- Meals on Wheels - http://www.mowaa.org/
- Toys for Tots - http://www.toysfortots.org/
- The Angel Tree program - http://angel.jcpenney.com/angeltree/
- Project Linus - http://projectlinus.org/
- Make-a-Wish - http://www.wish.org/
- Ronald McDonald House - http://rmhc.org/
2010 First Christmas - at Grandma and Grandpa's
2010 First Christmas - at Great Grandma & Great Grandpa's
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
the importance of giving
Today is officially the first day of 2013 (at least in my time zone), and I want to take a second and share about Catelyn's birthday, which was 2 days ago.
As you may know, my husband and I requested that family and friends let us know about ways that they are remembering Catelyn through giving to others. We sent out our request through the blog & facebook about ten days before Catelyn's birthday. I was pretty slow in sending out emails to family & friends, but managed to get the word out a couple of days (at best) before her birthday.
On December 30th, we were surprised to see that we had received just over 35 emails from people telling us of the good things they did in Catelyn's honor. What a gift within itself!!
As began reading the messages, it quickly became clear that our request, of loved ones and strangers, to help us find joy during such a hard time had a bigger impact than we realized.
Numerous people mentioned that our request of giving to others actually gave them an unexpected gift within itself. I felt one person put it best when they said: "By giving love we receive love which makes everyone feel good."
Every message we received was so incredibly touching, and each gift immeasurable. Here is an idea of the gifts we were notified of:
I've tried to give a good picture of all of the messages we've received, and I'm sure things have been left out. Needless to say, we were wonderfully overwhelmed by all of the messages we received.
What a gift we've been given, and it sounds like many of you who have participated have experienced the same feelings.
We are grateful beyond words.
It's hard to feel anything but some joy as we read such wonderful messages. Thank you for easing the pain on what could've been a much harder day.
Each of you is a blessing.
As you may know, my husband and I requested that family and friends let us know about ways that they are remembering Catelyn through giving to others. We sent out our request through the blog & facebook about ten days before Catelyn's birthday. I was pretty slow in sending out emails to family & friends, but managed to get the word out a couple of days (at best) before her birthday.
On December 30th, we were surprised to see that we had received just over 35 emails from people telling us of the good things they did in Catelyn's honor. What a gift within itself!!
As began reading the messages, it quickly became clear that our request, of loved ones and strangers, to help us find joy during such a hard time had a bigger impact than we realized.
Numerous people mentioned that our request of giving to others actually gave them an unexpected gift within itself. I felt one person put it best when they said: "By giving love we receive love which makes everyone feel good."
Every message we received was so incredibly touching, and each gift immeasurable. Here is an idea of the gifts we were notified of:
- New or gently used items have been given, sometimes completely anonymously, and even when the giver's own funds were stretched, including:
- books
- toys
- crayons
- clothing (lots of clothing)
- bicycles
- quilts, afghans, & blankets
- luggage (for children who are in the foster system so they don't have to carry their belongings in garbage bags)
- get well packages (for children in the hospital)
- plants
- shopping carts at stores that require you to 'rent' them while you use them
- ornaments (to a mother who recently survived an accident that her children did not)
- varying gifts to those who might not receive them otherwise
- Financial support has been given to various causes including
- struggling family members
- The Histiocytosis Foundation
- Project Linus
- Salvation Army
- Feedmore.org
- Toys for Tots
- youth group mission trips
- animal shelters
- animal surgeries
- Technology for educational care/support was given to a teenager struggling with illness that requires multiple surgeries which would prevent her from attending school in the traditional way
- Driveways were shoveled for elderly
- Elders were visited
- Perspectives were changed
- Resentments were cast aside
- Random Acts of Kindness are being offered including:
- smiles
- hugs
- kind gestures
- kind words
- holding doors
- generous tips to waitstaff
- purposeful consideration (for illness, worry, sadness, loneliness, kindness, and so many, many reasons)
- prayers
- positive thoughts
- Kleenex
- memories
- transportation
- meals/donuts/cookies/baked goods/beverages
- seeking out the owner of a cell phone that was found in a slushy parking lot just days before Christmas
- Letters and Cards sent to the ill, elderly, & struggling
- One family adopted Catelyn's spirit by naming their Child's doll after her, so Catelyn can go on adventures with their family
- Other drivers were given extra consideration in high traffic zones
- Grieving siblings (younger and older) and parents were recognized in special ways
- The Christmas Angel Tree gift program was reinstated at an organization, led by a grieving mother, in honor of all Angels taken too soon
- Candles lit
- Volunteering of time/talents has occurred
- Blood drives have been attended
- Some relationships have been mended
I've tried to give a good picture of all of the messages we've received, and I'm sure things have been left out. Needless to say, we were wonderfully overwhelmed by all of the messages we received.
What a gift we've been given, and it sounds like many of you who have participated have experienced the same feelings.
We are grateful beyond words.
It's hard to feel anything but some joy as we read such wonderful messages. Thank you for easing the pain on what could've been a much harder day.
Each of you is a blessing.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
trying to find joy at Christmas
Christmas is said to be 'the most wonderful time of the year'...
When your child has died, it is hard to feel 'wonderful' about anything....especially any days that suggest any type of celebration. Birthdays suck, holidays suck, every day is draining. High expectations are placed on the bereaved. People don't want to see you hurting, and they don't know what to say. Often, they expect you to be cheerful, and it's really the last thing you want to be.
When your heart is broken, there is no joy, and there is little hope. What was once 'normal' has been shattered. Nothing seems right, and even your most favorite songs, meals, movies and traditions lose their luster.
Last year, my husband and I realized, two days before Christmas, that we could not bear the thought of being home over Christmas, so we took a last minute trip to Las Vegas - a place where no one really seems to care what day it is. It was great - we were able to get away, and we didn't have to face the 'traditions' that used to be associated with Christmas.
This year, has been hard, too....I'd even say it's been harder than last year. Last year, our Christmas was "blessed" with the cover of shock as we tried to go through the motions. This year, we are still trying to go through the motions, but unlike last year, the shock has faded, so this year carries all kinds of Emotion as we face each day.
My heart is torn. One part of me has always loved Christmas. The decorations, the giving, the kindness and joy. The other part of me wants to ignore the whole thing.
Deep down, I feel like we need to do something for Catelyn, to remember her....even if our hearts ache, even if we don't feel joy.
We did purchase a small tree to set up in Catelyn's room. I think it's 18-24 inches tall. I found a few ornaments I had picked up last year, and I bought lights for Catelyn's tree this year. My initial thought was that we could write little notes to her and tie them to the tree as a special tribute to her...
I truly thought it was a good idea, and that it would be therapeutic to write to her all of the things I want to say, but to be honest, the tree is still in its box sitting in our kitchen, and I don't think it will be used this year, especially since today is the five days before Christmas, and we are heading out of town tomorrow.
At a time when so many are feeling joyful, I can't help but feel hopeless.
I miss my daughter. I try not to focus on the fact that she is gone, but sometimes I can't overlook it either.
Catelyn would be celebrating her 3rd Christmas this year, and then her 3rd birthday on December 30th.
She had one Christmas and one birthday with us. She was 360 days old when she celebrated that first Christmas, so it was fun watching her try to figure out opening gifts. Between celebrating with her great-grandparents, her grandparents (on both sides), and her aunt & uncle - not to mention my husband and I, she had plenty of practice! She was so dainty as she scraped the icing off her cake piece (quite possibly the cleanest 1st birthday pictures ever!!!).
She was so fun to watch, but we don't know what future Christmases and birthdays would've been like if things had gone differently.
It's heart breaking to wonder about, and yet, it's hard not to.
So how am I supposed to find healing or even joy in a time when I feel so broken?
Well, recently, I heard about a blog called Theo's Christmas Stocking. Theo died at 9 months of age. His family has spent 7 Christmases without him now. As the first Christmas without him approached, they decided to ask friends and family to help them honor his life by asking a favor.
I realize that it's not fair to ride on the coattails of someone else, but the idea was so beautiful, I could not help but want to do the same for Catelyn.
So, what my husband and I are asking is that our friends, family, and even strangers, consider doing something kind for others in Catelyn's honor. Simply send us a note telling us what you did via email or mail if you know our address.
We will save any messages we receive and read them on Catelyn's birthday (December 30th).
Please note, we are not expecting anyone to do anything that costs money - the idea is just to do good things for others, and to think of Catelyn as you do them. Besides, there are plenty of free things you can do for other people that are meaningful:
Please know that we are appreciative of anything and everything done in Catelyn's name. And, no matter what type of giving suits you best, it is my hope that each of you can find joy in the gifts you are giving to others.
We could not move forward in our grief without the love and support of each of you, and we are so grateful for everything you do.
When your child has died, it is hard to feel 'wonderful' about anything....especially any days that suggest any type of celebration. Birthdays suck, holidays suck, every day is draining. High expectations are placed on the bereaved. People don't want to see you hurting, and they don't know what to say. Often, they expect you to be cheerful, and it's really the last thing you want to be.
When your heart is broken, there is no joy, and there is little hope. What was once 'normal' has been shattered. Nothing seems right, and even your most favorite songs, meals, movies and traditions lose their luster.
Last year, my husband and I realized, two days before Christmas, that we could not bear the thought of being home over Christmas, so we took a last minute trip to Las Vegas - a place where no one really seems to care what day it is. It was great - we were able to get away, and we didn't have to face the 'traditions' that used to be associated with Christmas.
This year, has been hard, too....I'd even say it's been harder than last year. Last year, our Christmas was "blessed" with the cover of shock as we tried to go through the motions. This year, we are still trying to go through the motions, but unlike last year, the shock has faded, so this year carries all kinds of Emotion as we face each day. My heart is torn. One part of me has always loved Christmas. The decorations, the giving, the kindness and joy. The other part of me wants to ignore the whole thing.
Deep down, I feel like we need to do something for Catelyn, to remember her....even if our hearts ache, even if we don't feel joy.
We did purchase a small tree to set up in Catelyn's room. I think it's 18-24 inches tall. I found a few ornaments I had picked up last year, and I bought lights for Catelyn's tree this year. My initial thought was that we could write little notes to her and tie them to the tree as a special tribute to her...
I truly thought it was a good idea, and that it would be therapeutic to write to her all of the things I want to say, but to be honest, the tree is still in its box sitting in our kitchen, and I don't think it will be used this year, especially since today is the five days before Christmas, and we are heading out of town tomorrow.
At a time when so many are feeling joyful, I can't help but feel hopeless.
I miss my daughter. I try not to focus on the fact that she is gone, but sometimes I can't overlook it either.
Catelyn would be celebrating her 3rd Christmas this year, and then her 3rd birthday on December 30th.
She had one Christmas and one birthday with us. She was 360 days old when she celebrated that first Christmas, so it was fun watching her try to figure out opening gifts. Between celebrating with her great-grandparents, her grandparents (on both sides), and her aunt & uncle - not to mention my husband and I, she had plenty of practice! She was so dainty as she scraped the icing off her cake piece (quite possibly the cleanest 1st birthday pictures ever!!!). She was so fun to watch, but we don't know what future Christmases and birthdays would've been like if things had gone differently.
It's heart breaking to wonder about, and yet, it's hard not to.
So how am I supposed to find healing or even joy in a time when I feel so broken?
Well, recently, I heard about a blog called Theo's Christmas Stocking. Theo died at 9 months of age. His family has spent 7 Christmases without him now. As the first Christmas without him approached, they decided to ask friends and family to help them honor his life by asking a favor.
I realize that it's not fair to ride on the coattails of someone else, but the idea was so beautiful, I could not help but want to do the same for Catelyn.
So, what my husband and I are asking is that our friends, family, and even strangers, consider doing something kind for others in Catelyn's honor. Simply send us a note telling us what you did via email or mail if you know our address.
We will save any messages we receive and read them on Catelyn's birthday (December 30th).
Please note, we are not expecting anyone to do anything that costs money - the idea is just to do good things for others, and to think of Catelyn as you do them. Besides, there are plenty of free things you can do for other people that are meaningful:
- shovel sidewalks or mow lawns
- hold doors for others
- smile at strangers (you can make a game of this and try to say hi and smile at everyone you meet!)
- compliment a stranger
- volunteer
- sit and talk with an elderly person
- go caroling
- spend more time listening to others
- give you (blood, time, talent, strength, etc)
- let someone go ahead of you in line
- give hugs
- be kind to people you aren't normally nice to
- pick up trash laying on the sidewalk, or road, or anywhere
- read books to kids (go to www.wegivebooks.org where you can read books to give books to other kids)
- give to important causes with the click of a button (The Hunger Site, The Breast Cancer Site, The Animal Rescue Site, The Veterans Site, The Autism Site, The Child Health Site, The Literacy Site, The Rainforest Site)
- say please and thank you
Please know that we are appreciative of anything and everything done in Catelyn's name. And, no matter what type of giving suits you best, it is my hope that each of you can find joy in the gifts you are giving to others.
We could not move forward in our grief without the love and support of each of you, and we are so grateful for everything you do.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
no magic
As a person who is already mourning the loss of their child, I find
myself feeling especially helpless as I see people around me who are grieving. I feel like I should be able to offer some kind of comforting words, and find myself realizing that there are no right words to say...ever.
There is no magic way to take the pain away. There isn't anything that can 'fix' the situation. As a person who likes to fix things, this makes me feel so incompetent.
Recently, I have put my foot in my mouth, trying to talk with other grieving people, more than I care to mention....oh yes, I have. It just goes to show that when tragedy strikes, no one, not even the bereaved, knows what to say.
The best thing that any of us can do is listen, without expectation, to what is being said to us. I truly believe that we cannot offer any "right" words of comfort. The best thing we can do is LISTEN. Let the person who is mourning say (or not say) what they need to. Offer support through actions and not words.
When we try to offer words of encouragement, they usually get in the way of what our intentions are. We find ourselves, accidentally, trying to hurry the course of grieving along. It's not that we don't believe, or even understand, that grieving should take a long time, it's more that we want to remove the suffering. We want to make it "better".
There is no "better"....not immediately, and sometimes not even after a couple of years. "Better" comes with time, and often lots of time. Each day gets a little "better", even when the days are feeling worse.
I am going to try to illustrate this timing by looking at astronomy (which you will soon see that I am no expert in - sorry Ms. Burrichter if you should read this).
In school we learn that it takes the earth approximately 24 hours (or 1 day) to make a complete rotation on it's axis. At the same time, it takes the earth approximately 365 days (or 1 entire year) to completely orbit around the sun. Because the earth is tilted, and also rotating on its own, as it moves around the sun, we experience different seasons at different times.
When we experience a loss, in our own way, we become tilted (like the earth), and we begin to experience different stages of grief (seasons). We continue to try to move forward (orbiting on our own axis) the best we can in life (while rotating around the sun), and eventually we realize that we've begun to heal (made a complete revolution around the sun).
The biggest difference between grieving and astronomy, is that there is no set timeline for the seasons, and we can't rush it either. The seasons (stages of grief) come when the come; we don't necessarily get the luxury of knowing that in a certain amount of time this will all go away. We have to accept that healing will come when it's supposed to. We may not feel healed in one year, or five years, or even fifteen years, but we keep moving forward. It's all we can do.
Not everyone will understand, and perhaps most people won't, but it's not up to us to worry about that. We have to look out for ourselves and do the best we can. Our world is now tilted. We're going through things differently than we did before.
Our "better" will come, but it may take a while.
If you are struggling with grief, find people who will listen to you and not try to force you to find "better". Find people who have the power to listen and don't have to fix things. If you can find 2-3 people who can support you, it will help.
At some point, if you look backward, you will begin to see how far you've come, and though your "rotation" may not be complete yet, you can see that you are moving...you may not feel it (much like we don't feel the daily rotation or annual rotation of the earth), but you will start to see it.
There is no magic way to take the pain away. There isn't anything that can 'fix' the situation. As a person who likes to fix things, this makes me feel so incompetent.
Recently, I have put my foot in my mouth, trying to talk with other grieving people, more than I care to mention....oh yes, I have. It just goes to show that when tragedy strikes, no one, not even the bereaved, knows what to say.
The best thing that any of us can do is listen, without expectation, to what is being said to us. I truly believe that we cannot offer any "right" words of comfort. The best thing we can do is LISTEN. Let the person who is mourning say (or not say) what they need to. Offer support through actions and not words.
When we try to offer words of encouragement, they usually get in the way of what our intentions are. We find ourselves, accidentally, trying to hurry the course of grieving along. It's not that we don't believe, or even understand, that grieving should take a long time, it's more that we want to remove the suffering. We want to make it "better".
There is no "better"....not immediately, and sometimes not even after a couple of years. "Better" comes with time, and often lots of time. Each day gets a little "better", even when the days are feeling worse.
I am going to try to illustrate this timing by looking at astronomy (which you will soon see that I am no expert in - sorry Ms. Burrichter if you should read this).
In school we learn that it takes the earth approximately 24 hours (or 1 day) to make a complete rotation on it's axis. At the same time, it takes the earth approximately 365 days (or 1 entire year) to completely orbit around the sun. Because the earth is tilted, and also rotating on its own, as it moves around the sun, we experience different seasons at different times.
When we experience a loss, in our own way, we become tilted (like the earth), and we begin to experience different stages of grief (seasons). We continue to try to move forward (orbiting on our own axis) the best we can in life (while rotating around the sun), and eventually we realize that we've begun to heal (made a complete revolution around the sun).
The biggest difference between grieving and astronomy, is that there is no set timeline for the seasons, and we can't rush it either. The seasons (stages of grief) come when the come; we don't necessarily get the luxury of knowing that in a certain amount of time this will all go away. We have to accept that healing will come when it's supposed to. We may not feel healed in one year, or five years, or even fifteen years, but we keep moving forward. It's all we can do.
Not everyone will understand, and perhaps most people won't, but it's not up to us to worry about that. We have to look out for ourselves and do the best we can. Our world is now tilted. We're going through things differently than we did before.
Our "better" will come, but it may take a while.
If you are struggling with grief, find people who will listen to you and not try to force you to find "better". Find people who have the power to listen and don't have to fix things. If you can find 2-3 people who can support you, it will help.
At some point, if you look backward, you will begin to see how far you've come, and though your "rotation" may not be complete yet, you can see that you are moving...you may not feel it (much like we don't feel the daily rotation or annual rotation of the earth), but you will start to see it.
we are not experts on anyone's grief
As many have already heard, there was a very tragic shooting at an Elementary School in Connecticut yesterday. I believe I last heard that 26-28 people died, at least 20 of which, were children. My heart truly aches for all of the families whose lives have been forever changed by this incident.
At this time, the tragedy is too hard for me to think about in great depth, but a few days ago, I was researching websites on bereavement counseling, and found a couple of really helpful websites: one is somewhat more geared towards people who want to be grief counselors, and I feel that the other is more for anyone. Either way, they both have a lot of good information to offer:
http://www.omh.ny.gov/omhweb/grief/
http://www.selfinlight.com/Bereavement.html
A couple of important points found on the former website are as follows:
At this time, the tragedy is too hard for me to think about in great depth, but a few days ago, I was researching websites on bereavement counseling, and found a couple of really helpful websites: one is somewhat more geared towards people who want to be grief counselors, and I feel that the other is more for anyone. Either way, they both have a lot of good information to offer:
http://www.omh.ny.gov/omhweb/grief/
http://www.selfinlight.com/Bereavement.html
A couple of important points found on the former website are as follows:
Sunday, December 9, 2012
TCF memorial candle lighting
Tonight was one of those really tough nights.
Good was mixed with bad, heartache was mixed with joy...
The Compassionate Friends, an international grief support group for parents, siblings, and grandparents, held their candle lighting ceremony tonight. At 7pm, in every time zone, all across the world, people lit (or are lighting) candles, as groups or individuals, to honor the lives of the deceased. It's a very powerful and touching ceremony.
My husband and I participated as helpers in the ceremony. We greeted every person who came in, we passed out ornaments that were shaped like doves and stated 'love', 'joy', or 'peace' on the body, we lit the ceremonial candles with another couple, and we joined all of the participants as each of us lit an individual candle for the child/sibling/grandchild we miss.
It was so touching to be a part of something so important, and yet, it was hard. It was hard to hear the music choices, one of which was 'From a Distance' (my friends from grade school could attest to the fact that song has made me cry since I was in 5th grade and my grandpa died). It was hard to see so many people gathered to remember so many children. It was hard to watch the PowerPoint presentation of so many faces and names. It was hard to listen to the song that was played as we lit candles to remember our babies/siblings/grand-babies.
As I watched the faces streaming across the presentation, I was sad to recognize names of children I have heard so many times in The Compassionate Friends meetings I attend nearly every month, yet it was sort of nice to see the faces of some of Catelyn's angel friends. Catelyn's name approached, and I felt myself growing anxious, almost as though her picture couldn't pop up fast enough, and when her beaming smile crossed the screen, I felt like it should've been up far longer.
It's so hard to only be able to see her face in pictures or video, and even if I look all day, it's never long enough. Oh, don't get me wrong, we have ~2500 pictures and a decent handful of videos of that little girl (yeah....she was only 20 months old), and I am SO grateful for each and every one of them....
But what I wouldn't give to be able to hold her again....to smell her hair....to run my fingers through her hair...to kiss her goodnight.....to hear her laugh and tell me things.
At the end of this month, we will reach Catelyn's 3rd birthday. Three-year-old's are wicked-smart, highly observant, and they have no 'filter' of what they should and shouldn't say....I can't even imagine the things she would know or say or do....
At 20 months, she was so wise already. She knew that when it was time to leave, we'd give everyone a hug; she knew that she had to put on her hat & shoes before we'd go anywhere; she knew that she had to say 'please' if she wanted something - which was usually 'up', and she'd say 'uppies' to request it; she knew how to put on her shoes....and everyone else's!; she knew how to dance, sing, sign, & speak German & English; she knew she ought to pet the kitty 'nice' ly, though she hadn't quite mastered how to lay her hand on him gently (and he didn't seem to care); she knew she was supposed to go to the pool & play on daycare days during the summer, and she knew what it meant when mama or daddy appeared and weren't in swim clothes....and so much more.
It seems I've become side-tracked from what I was trying to say. I was a part of something vastly important to so many people tonight, and it was nice to be able to let my heart ache in the company of so many others, though it was so sad to see so many people tonight, too.
I'm grateful for The Compassionate Friends, and having so much support from people who understand all too well what it's like to endure the death of a child/grandchild/sibling. Even though many of us may have had mixed emotions tonight, it was still a good experience overall. It's nice to have a designated day when all of our loved ones are honored, and candles are pretty much lit for 24 hours straight....our hearts ache, but it's heartwarming.
Good was mixed with bad, heartache was mixed with joy...
The Compassionate Friends, an international grief support group for parents, siblings, and grandparents, held their candle lighting ceremony tonight. At 7pm, in every time zone, all across the world, people lit (or are lighting) candles, as groups or individuals, to honor the lives of the deceased. It's a very powerful and touching ceremony.
My husband and I participated as helpers in the ceremony. We greeted every person who came in, we passed out ornaments that were shaped like doves and stated 'love', 'joy', or 'peace' on the body, we lit the ceremonial candles with another couple, and we joined all of the participants as each of us lit an individual candle for the child/sibling/grandchild we miss.
It was so touching to be a part of something so important, and yet, it was hard. It was hard to hear the music choices, one of which was 'From a Distance' (my friends from grade school could attest to the fact that song has made me cry since I was in 5th grade and my grandpa died). It was hard to see so many people gathered to remember so many children. It was hard to watch the PowerPoint presentation of so many faces and names. It was hard to listen to the song that was played as we lit candles to remember our babies/siblings/grand-babies.
As I watched the faces streaming across the presentation, I was sad to recognize names of children I have heard so many times in The Compassionate Friends meetings I attend nearly every month, yet it was sort of nice to see the faces of some of Catelyn's angel friends. Catelyn's name approached, and I felt myself growing anxious, almost as though her picture couldn't pop up fast enough, and when her beaming smile crossed the screen, I felt like it should've been up far longer.
It's so hard to only be able to see her face in pictures or video, and even if I look all day, it's never long enough. Oh, don't get me wrong, we have ~2500 pictures and a decent handful of videos of that little girl (yeah....she was only 20 months old), and I am SO grateful for each and every one of them....
But what I wouldn't give to be able to hold her again....to smell her hair....to run my fingers through her hair...to kiss her goodnight.....to hear her laugh and tell me things.
At the end of this month, we will reach Catelyn's 3rd birthday. Three-year-old's are wicked-smart, highly observant, and they have no 'filter' of what they should and shouldn't say....I can't even imagine the things she would know or say or do....
At 20 months, she was so wise already. She knew that when it was time to leave, we'd give everyone a hug; she knew that she had to put on her hat & shoes before we'd go anywhere; she knew that she had to say 'please' if she wanted something - which was usually 'up', and she'd say 'uppies' to request it; she knew how to put on her shoes....and everyone else's!; she knew how to dance, sing, sign, & speak German & English; she knew she ought to pet the kitty 'nice' ly, though she hadn't quite mastered how to lay her hand on him gently (and he didn't seem to care); she knew she was supposed to go to the pool & play on daycare days during the summer, and she knew what it meant when mama or daddy appeared and weren't in swim clothes....and so much more.
It seems I've become side-tracked from what I was trying to say. I was a part of something vastly important to so many people tonight, and it was nice to be able to let my heart ache in the company of so many others, though it was so sad to see so many people tonight, too.
I'm grateful for The Compassionate Friends, and having so much support from people who understand all too well what it's like to endure the death of a child/grandchild/sibling. Even though many of us may have had mixed emotions tonight, it was still a good experience overall. It's nice to have a designated day when all of our loved ones are honored, and candles are pretty much lit for 24 hours straight....our hearts ache, but it's heartwarming.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
telescopes
I feel like I fell into a pit or a well that is just wide enough for my body to be wedged inside. And, of course, I didn't fall gracefully. Instead, I am stuck with one leg tucked up by my head, the other leg dangling straight down, and one arm crammed next to my head while the other presses awkwardly into my side. I can't scream for help because I can barely breathe.
I am physically and mentally stuck.
I am stuck, but somehow I have been given a telescope. With the telescope, I can see life moving on above me, but I still can't get free.
Every day I fight a battle to get up and get out of bed. On a good day, I can convince myself that getting out of bed is for the best, and that I have a responsibility to my job, my husband, and the other people around me to be 'normal'. On a bad day, though, I stay in my jammies and sleep and watch tv all day....and usually cry....
I'm 14.5 months into the grieving process, and I can only imagine that some of these statements may seem odd, but please realize that a great portion of the first year of Catelyn's death was spent in shock.
As soon as the doctors walked into the room our family, friends, and pastor waited in, my brain knew what had happened, but the second those men walked into that room, the shock took over and built a brick wall in front of my face. The wall was placed there to protect my heart. My mind wasn't so easy fooled, though, and it caught on right away to what was happening.
Thus began the battle of my mind versus my heart.
Continually, my mind knew what was happening, but my mind was smart and knew that there was no way my heart could withstand the pain. The knowledge. The reality that Catelyn was gone. So shock took over as best as it could, and my mind was forced to wait....wait for the brick wall of shock to begin to crumble.
It turns out that shock doesn't crumble or fade overnight. So, the first year of Catelyn's death, was basically spent moment-to-moment, trying to get through, not worrying about what was coming next, just trying to live in each moment and accept it for what it was - ever changing, often painful, and slow moving.
Now, I am not a mason, so I don't know a lot about building brick walls, but I can only guess that when a wall is put up too quickly, there are bound to be mistakes. Perhaps the mortar didn't take properly, or proper alignment wasn't used, or erosion wasn't accounted for, but for one reason or another, when a wall is put up too quickly, that wall will not hold forever.
So, bricks started falling somewhat early within the first year, causing my heart to realize what had happened, one glimpse at a time. And, as one might imagine, the slowly falling bricks helped ease some of the pain of reality. But, about the time that things started to seem like they were manageable, a large chunk fell off of the remaining wall, and reality really hit, which brings us to present.
For the last 2.5 months, I have been living in reality, truly realizing that my life has changed forever. But, not only has my life changed dramatically....other people's lives have continued to move forward. It's so hard to realize you have stayed complacent for a year, and everyone else hasn't.
When Catelyn died, it was like a fell into a deep, dark, well. Life kept moving forward, and I was stuck in place. I've now found myself in the well, but I don't know how to get out. I'm trying, but I can't figure out the next move.
I feel disconnected from everyone....and of course I do. But, if I don't talk about where I'm at, and how I feel, then no one will ever know what I am going through. And though no one may have the same experience, at least you might be able to get a glimpse (even if only through a telescope) of what it's like for me, and I'm okay with that. After all, we are all different, and so is our grief. I like to say we are like snowflakes and that no two people ever grieve the same.
It's hard for me to feel anything but sad these days, but I don't want you to feel sad for me. I just want someone to understand that this is a part of the process, and things will improve, but don't rush me or try to change my thinking. I'm at a point where I need to work my own way out.....so listen when you can, or offer encouragement when you can, but don't try to tug on me....I'm in a fragile place, and if you pull too hard, you might break me.
I am physically and mentally stuck.
I am stuck, but somehow I have been given a telescope. With the telescope, I can see life moving on above me, but I still can't get free.
Every day I fight a battle to get up and get out of bed. On a good day, I can convince myself that getting out of bed is for the best, and that I have a responsibility to my job, my husband, and the other people around me to be 'normal'. On a bad day, though, I stay in my jammies and sleep and watch tv all day....and usually cry....
I'm 14.5 months into the grieving process, and I can only imagine that some of these statements may seem odd, but please realize that a great portion of the first year of Catelyn's death was spent in shock.
As soon as the doctors walked into the room our family, friends, and pastor waited in, my brain knew what had happened, but the second those men walked into that room, the shock took over and built a brick wall in front of my face. The wall was placed there to protect my heart. My mind wasn't so easy fooled, though, and it caught on right away to what was happening.
Thus began the battle of my mind versus my heart.
Continually, my mind knew what was happening, but my mind was smart and knew that there was no way my heart could withstand the pain. The knowledge. The reality that Catelyn was gone. So shock took over as best as it could, and my mind was forced to wait....wait for the brick wall of shock to begin to crumble.
It turns out that shock doesn't crumble or fade overnight. So, the first year of Catelyn's death, was basically spent moment-to-moment, trying to get through, not worrying about what was coming next, just trying to live in each moment and accept it for what it was - ever changing, often painful, and slow moving.
Now, I am not a mason, so I don't know a lot about building brick walls, but I can only guess that when a wall is put up too quickly, there are bound to be mistakes. Perhaps the mortar didn't take properly, or proper alignment wasn't used, or erosion wasn't accounted for, but for one reason or another, when a wall is put up too quickly, that wall will not hold forever.
So, bricks started falling somewhat early within the first year, causing my heart to realize what had happened, one glimpse at a time. And, as one might imagine, the slowly falling bricks helped ease some of the pain of reality. But, about the time that things started to seem like they were manageable, a large chunk fell off of the remaining wall, and reality really hit, which brings us to present.
For the last 2.5 months, I have been living in reality, truly realizing that my life has changed forever. But, not only has my life changed dramatically....other people's lives have continued to move forward. It's so hard to realize you have stayed complacent for a year, and everyone else hasn't.
When Catelyn died, it was like a fell into a deep, dark, well. Life kept moving forward, and I was stuck in place. I've now found myself in the well, but I don't know how to get out. I'm trying, but I can't figure out the next move.
I feel disconnected from everyone....and of course I do. But, if I don't talk about where I'm at, and how I feel, then no one will ever know what I am going through. And though no one may have the same experience, at least you might be able to get a glimpse (even if only through a telescope) of what it's like for me, and I'm okay with that. After all, we are all different, and so is our grief. I like to say we are like snowflakes and that no two people ever grieve the same.
It's hard for me to feel anything but sad these days, but I don't want you to feel sad for me. I just want someone to understand that this is a part of the process, and things will improve, but don't rush me or try to change my thinking. I'm at a point where I need to work my own way out.....so listen when you can, or offer encouragement when you can, but don't try to tug on me....I'm in a fragile place, and if you pull too hard, you might break me.
Thanksgiving...it's harder than it looks
It's Thanksgiving Day today. I don't feel very thankful.
Don't get me wrong, i know I have things to be thankful for, such as an amazing husband, a warm house, a cat, a job, a family and friends who love me....
It's just very hard to find reasons to celebrate anything. Though last year was the first Thanksgiving without her physical presence, there was a great deal of shock clouding the vision of my heart.....so in a way, this is my first Thanksgiving without Catelyn.
This morning I was watching video footage from Catelyn's first and only Thanksgiving. In the video, she is grabbing tons of ads for Black Friday, and crawling around with them, swishing them around, and then finally sitting to try to 'read' them. It was so sweet....so simple....so Catelyn.
I have another video from that week in 2010, where she discovered her dad's shoes on the floor, so she picked one of them up and hefted it from left to right, dropping it on occasion, and scooting around with it.
She was wonderfully inquisitive, and persistent.
So, I guess I'm grateful......grateful to have the technological advances that allow me to keep Catelyn's memories alive, and hear her voice and see her mannerisms.....grateful that Catelyn lived long enough for us to have memories with her.....grateful that she was able to show me joy in the simplest activities.
Don't get me wrong, i know I have things to be thankful for, such as an amazing husband, a warm house, a cat, a job, a family and friends who love me....
It's just very hard to find reasons to celebrate anything. Though last year was the first Thanksgiving without her physical presence, there was a great deal of shock clouding the vision of my heart.....so in a way, this is my first Thanksgiving without Catelyn.
This morning I was watching video footage from Catelyn's first and only Thanksgiving. In the video, she is grabbing tons of ads for Black Friday, and crawling around with them, swishing them around, and then finally sitting to try to 'read' them. It was so sweet....so simple....so Catelyn.
I have another video from that week in 2010, where she discovered her dad's shoes on the floor, so she picked one of them up and hefted it from left to right, dropping it on occasion, and scooting around with it. She was wonderfully inquisitive, and persistent.
So, I guess I'm grateful......grateful to have the technological advances that allow me to keep Catelyn's memories alive, and hear her voice and see her mannerisms.....grateful that Catelyn lived long enough for us to have memories with her.....grateful that she was able to show me joy in the simplest activities.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
where i am
Today is Sunday.
It's been 14 months, today, since Catelyn died.
I didn't realize how hard the anniversary of her death would be, and the last two months have broken loose a lot of emotions that hadn't even come out yet.
The day of Catelyn's angel-versary (the anniversary of her death), was filled with heartache as I remembered nearly every moment of Sunday, September 11th, 2011. It was so hard to recapture each of the moments of the day: from things seeming good, to going very badly.
...but it was even worse, in some ways, because it felt like she had just been in my arms a week before, even though a year had passed.
Over the last two months, I have begun to realize something that I didn't feel last year. Life is moving forward without Catelyn.
During the first 12 months of grieving, I consciously knew that life was moving forward, but it didn't really feel like it, I guess. As I was telling Catelyn's story recently, I felt the reality slowly creep up my side, and encompass my heart. And with it, my world changed from light gray to black.
Catelyn is dead...
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault....
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault, and there is nothing that I can do about it.
I am not a person with high self-esteem to begin with, and I've felt like such a loser lately. Feeling the devastation of the death of a child is pretty much a daily reminder of things I cannot change, and that only makes me feel worse.
Believe me, I know that I couldn't have done anything more than what I did to try to save her, but there aren't words to describe how personally the knife of death cuts when you outlive your child.
I know quite a few people who have lost children, and I have no idea how they have made it through the pain. I am hopeful that I will be lucky enough to find the courage and strength to face each day, as they have. At this point, though, I don't want to deal with this anymore. I would like to lock myself away in my bed and never leave the house in hopes that I could make the pain subside. (and don't worry, I'm not going to do anything hasty, and I see a therapist who knows all of this)
The pain is strong, and it's like nothing else I've ever experienced. We've done so many positive things in Catelyn's honor, trying to keep the memory of her life both strong and positive, but in a way, it's like placing a band-aid over an appendage that just got ripped off....it doesn't stop the bleeding, and it doesn't eliminate, or even lessen, the hurt....
Recently, I read a quote (I can't remember who wrote it) that said: "We all die twice in our lifetime: once when we actually die, and again when our name is said for the last time." I am confident that Catelyn's second death will not occur for many, many, many years to come.....long after I am gone, but that brings such minute comfort in a time when the pain is so great.
At the Compassionate Friends meetings I attend, we have always said you can't outrun your grief, it will always catch up with you. I had never thought I was trying to outrun my grief, but now I'm not so sure...
Things feel so grim right now. The only thing that I know for sure is that I miss my baby girl.
It's been 14 months, today, since Catelyn died.
I didn't realize how hard the anniversary of her death would be, and the last two months have broken loose a lot of emotions that hadn't even come out yet.
The day of Catelyn's angel-versary (the anniversary of her death), was filled with heartache as I remembered nearly every moment of Sunday, September 11th, 2011. It was so hard to recapture each of the moments of the day: from things seeming good, to going very badly.
...but it was even worse, in some ways, because it felt like she had just been in my arms a week before, even though a year had passed.
Over the last two months, I have begun to realize something that I didn't feel last year. Life is moving forward without Catelyn.
During the first 12 months of grieving, I consciously knew that life was moving forward, but it didn't really feel like it, I guess. As I was telling Catelyn's story recently, I felt the reality slowly creep up my side, and encompass my heart. And with it, my world changed from light gray to black.
Catelyn is dead...
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault....
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault, and there is nothing that I can do about it.
I am not a person with high self-esteem to begin with, and I've felt like such a loser lately. Feeling the devastation of the death of a child is pretty much a daily reminder of things I cannot change, and that only makes me feel worse.
Believe me, I know that I couldn't have done anything more than what I did to try to save her, but there aren't words to describe how personally the knife of death cuts when you outlive your child.
I know quite a few people who have lost children, and I have no idea how they have made it through the pain. I am hopeful that I will be lucky enough to find the courage and strength to face each day, as they have. At this point, though, I don't want to deal with this anymore. I would like to lock myself away in my bed and never leave the house in hopes that I could make the pain subside. (and don't worry, I'm not going to do anything hasty, and I see a therapist who knows all of this)
The pain is strong, and it's like nothing else I've ever experienced. We've done so many positive things in Catelyn's honor, trying to keep the memory of her life both strong and positive, but in a way, it's like placing a band-aid over an appendage that just got ripped off....it doesn't stop the bleeding, and it doesn't eliminate, or even lessen, the hurt....
Recently, I read a quote (I can't remember who wrote it) that said: "We all die twice in our lifetime: once when we actually die, and again when our name is said for the last time." I am confident that Catelyn's second death will not occur for many, many, many years to come.....long after I am gone, but that brings such minute comfort in a time when the pain is so great.
At the Compassionate Friends meetings I attend, we have always said you can't outrun your grief, it will always catch up with you. I had never thought I was trying to outrun my grief, but now I'm not so sure...
Things feel so grim right now. The only thing that I know for sure is that I miss my baby girl.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
sometimes amazing things happen
I went to work the other day and found out that one of my co-workers is an apprentice at the tattoo shop in the town I live in. We started talking a little and I mentioned that my father-in-law got a tattoo at that shop somewhat recently. He asked me what it was of, and I mentioned it was a ladybug.
Now, I knew that the odds were good that he would probably know about it, and I felt bad bringing it up (I haven't told everyone that I worked with about Catelyn), but wasn't prepared for what he would say next. It turns out he actually drew the sketch for my father-in-law's tattoo!
To me, it's incredibly cool that someone I know (even if they didn't know at the time that they knew the family) was the artist for such a sentimental tattoo.
Seems like it was meant to be....
Now, I knew that the odds were good that he would probably know about it, and I felt bad bringing it up (I haven't told everyone that I worked with about Catelyn), but wasn't prepared for what he would say next. It turns out he actually drew the sketch for my father-in-law's tattoo!To me, it's incredibly cool that someone I know (even if they didn't know at the time that they knew the family) was the artist for such a sentimental tattoo.
Seems like it was meant to be....
Unexpected gifts
 |
| Catelyn's bouquet at the edge of her garden. |
About two weeks before her death, Catelyn was asked to be the flower girl in that wedding, and while I wanted very much to go to the wedding, I also knew that it would be hard to endure.
As we walked into the church, I immediately saw a picture of my baby on a side table, and knew the picture was there to remember her life. What a special gift.
I teared up as the 'replacement' flower girl walked down the aisle, and tried not to lose it as the bride came down (weddings usually make me teary anyway, with all that love pressed into one moment). I eventually cried, as one of my favorite songs was sung, but tried not to let it show too much.
After the ceremony, the bride and groom released each of the aisles. As they approached us, I lost it. The ceremony was so perfect, the bride was so stunning, the couple was so happy, but my heart wasn't completely in it because I missed Catelyn so much.
I wondered what Catelyn would've been like as she strolled down the aisle at the church...would she have stopped to greet her grandparents on the way down? Would she have been too intimidated to go all of the way down the aisle? Would she have hammed it up? Would she have remembered to throw the petals down?
The ceremony was a mixture of silly, sweet and fun. The matron of honor (sister of the groom) gave a beautiful speech, and mentioned that it was hard because there was someone missing who should've been there. My thoughts went to Catelyn, though I knew she wasn't speaking of her. She was actually speaking of her grandfather, but the words were perfect, and my eyes filled with tears yet again.
At the end of the night, as we talked with friends, and told the bride how breathtaking she looked, we received a surprise. The bride asked if we had been given Catelyn's bouquet. I was stunned. I replied we had not, and the bride handed me a miniature bouquet wrapped in the same silky ribbon as the bridesmaids bouquets. She said that she had specifically created a bouquet for Catelyn with a butterfly tucked into it, and wanted to be sure that we received it. My heart was overflowing.
There are so many details that go into wedding planning, and to know that Catelyn was remembered within that planning was so wonderfully touching.
Thanks to the thoughtfulness of the bride and groom, Catelyn was still a part of her first wedding.
Celebration Blahs
My birthday was last week....it's forever 15 days after Catelyn's angel-versary, so it's not really a day I enjoy anymore, which is kind of sad, because I used to LOVE birthdays.On Thursday this week, I was talking with a friend, as we went out for my post-birthday celebration. We were talking about lots of things, and Halloween came up on the list. I said that I don't know that I'll be up for it this year.
Celebrations really aren't fun for me anymore. Instead of creating happy feelings, they tend to stir up a bunch of emotions that don't match the intended mood. Birthdays and weddings (a time of joy and celebration) remind me that Catelyn doesn't get to have those things, Christmas and Thanksgiving (a time for friends and family) remind me that my family isn't all here, and days for laughter and silliness (such as Halloween) aren't fun because my heart is broken, and I don't want to be silly.
As we talked about Halloween, I said that if Halloween was a holiday that allowed people to be sad and depressed, I would probably love it so much right now. We could dress like death, and feel sad, and it would be marvelous!
Then we giggled at the idea of a purposefully sad holiday that allowed us to feel gloomy, hurt, let down, angry, and all of the other things that happen with grief.
I realize that the idea may sound inappropriate to some, but the twisted and bereaved side of me thinks it's a fantastic idea. It is likely that those who haven't lost someone close to them won't care as much, but I think that those who have would love the opportunity for it to be 'okay' to be sad and broken one day out of the year. At this point in my grief, I would absolutely look forward to that day. A day not insistent in laughing, fun, silliness or smiles (though if those things happened while remembering our loved ones, that would be fine). It would also be fine to cry or sob, scream, sit around in your jammies all day long, look at pictures, pull out all of their things, watch videos and more. I can honestly say I would look forward to that date.
Then again, one day is not really enough...perhaps it should be a week.... :)
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
a very good show indeed
Tonight, I was watching a tv show that I had never seen before, called "Go On". The only thing that I knew about the show is that it is supposed to be a comedy starring Matthew Perry.
What I didn't know going into it, is that Matthew Perry's character has recently experienced the death of his wife. After a little research, I realize that I saw the 2nd official show tonight (excluding the pilot).
So, there I was, watching this show about a man whose wife has recently died. He's trying to make his life 'normal' again, and he's going to a group therapy for people who have experienced various life changes. I didn't know much about the backstory, because this wasn't the first episode. What I did realize is that there are still people in his life that haven't heard the news.
One of the people he had to break the news to was his landscaper. After he told the landscaper, the landscaper began to build a fountain in the yard, in memory of the wife. It was brightly colored, and had a large woman (perhaps Mary?) at the top of it. It certainly didn't fit the modern landscaping in the backyard, and some might even say it was tacky. Nonetheless, it was something that the landscaper needed to do.
Plenty of funny things happened throughout the show, but a lot of it was quite real to the experiences I've had over the last year. People trying to do and say the right things without succeeding, people trying to guess what the bereaved are feeling, the group trying to figure out how to (you guessed it) go on.
And then, at the end of the show, I cried. The people from the life changes group had ended up at Matthew Perry's home, and they heard music coming from the back patio. When they stepped outside, the fountain had been completed, and it was simply beautiful. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of all that our friends, family, and even strangers have done for us.
It was overwhelming to watch a tv show about something so close to my heart, but it was such a relief to see it, too. I don't know if the show will be a huge success, but I truly hope it will be. After the show was over, I watched the pilot and the 1st official episode on nbc.com - a very good show, indeed.
What I didn't know going into it, is that Matthew Perry's character has recently experienced the death of his wife. After a little research, I realize that I saw the 2nd official show tonight (excluding the pilot).
So, there I was, watching this show about a man whose wife has recently died. He's trying to make his life 'normal' again, and he's going to a group therapy for people who have experienced various life changes. I didn't know much about the backstory, because this wasn't the first episode. What I did realize is that there are still people in his life that haven't heard the news.
One of the people he had to break the news to was his landscaper. After he told the landscaper, the landscaper began to build a fountain in the yard, in memory of the wife. It was brightly colored, and had a large woman (perhaps Mary?) at the top of it. It certainly didn't fit the modern landscaping in the backyard, and some might even say it was tacky. Nonetheless, it was something that the landscaper needed to do.
Plenty of funny things happened throughout the show, but a lot of it was quite real to the experiences I've had over the last year. People trying to do and say the right things without succeeding, people trying to guess what the bereaved are feeling, the group trying to figure out how to (you guessed it) go on.
And then, at the end of the show, I cried. The people from the life changes group had ended up at Matthew Perry's home, and they heard music coming from the back patio. When they stepped outside, the fountain had been completed, and it was simply beautiful. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of all that our friends, family, and even strangers have done for us.
It was overwhelming to watch a tv show about something so close to my heart, but it was such a relief to see it, too. I don't know if the show will be a huge success, but I truly hope it will be. After the show was over, I watched the pilot and the 1st official episode on nbc.com - a very good show, indeed.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
First angel-versary
Catelyn's first angel-versary has come and gone. September 11th was such a hard day this year. Every emotion seemed to renew and resurface. At a point where I thought I had started to progress, it was frustrating to feel like I was back at square one. It seems like it was just a few days ago that we were in the hospital, waiting things out, and yet again, it seems that the impossible has happened.
What is there to say at this one year mark? Beats me.
If you would've asked me anything about the one year mark previously, I wouldn't have known what to say. And honestly, I still don't. What I do know is that the pain is real, and it's back, and it's pretty much just as fresh and strong as it was when Catelyn died.
There are probably people wondering how it could be so fresh one year later. Since Catelyn happened to die on September 11th (though 10 years following the United States tragedy), I can best relate it to the events from 9/11/01.
This year, through Facebook, I was able to watch countless friends and family members write messages of support and remembrance of an event that happened 11 years ago. They wrote everything that they remember: where they were, what they were doing, how they felt, how this changed their lives and perspectives.... Each and every one of us was affected. We felt the pain and agony of the numerous lives lost together.
It is really no different for me with Catelyn's death. I remember where we were and why, how the week had progressed, what we did that day, the realization that things were no longer 'okay', pleading for Catelyn's life to be spared in multiple places within the hospital, and ultimately receiving our news of reality.
When a tragedy occurs in your life, it affects you, not just for one day, one week, one month, or even one year, but for the rest of your life. Much like the families affected in September 2001, my husband, myself, our families, and our friends will always remember where we were, what we were doing, how we felt, and how our lives and perspectives were changed when we received the news of Catelyn's death. Over time, the pain may fade a little, but reality will always be there. And, just like the countless people who lost children, grandchildren, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins and friends on that dreadful day in September 2001, our hearts are forever impacted.
Next year, about this time, Catelyn's angel-versary will surface again....
Will it be different? I don't know.
Will I feel that panicky feeling as I realize that, as much as I want to, I cannot change the events of 2011? Possibly.
Will I make sure that no matter where I am on that date I will find a way to remember my baby? You're darn right I will.
What is there to say at this one year mark? Beats me.
If you would've asked me anything about the one year mark previously, I wouldn't have known what to say. And honestly, I still don't. What I do know is that the pain is real, and it's back, and it's pretty much just as fresh and strong as it was when Catelyn died.
There are probably people wondering how it could be so fresh one year later. Since Catelyn happened to die on September 11th (though 10 years following the United States tragedy), I can best relate it to the events from 9/11/01.
This year, through Facebook, I was able to watch countless friends and family members write messages of support and remembrance of an event that happened 11 years ago. They wrote everything that they remember: where they were, what they were doing, how they felt, how this changed their lives and perspectives.... Each and every one of us was affected. We felt the pain and agony of the numerous lives lost together.
It is really no different for me with Catelyn's death. I remember where we were and why, how the week had progressed, what we did that day, the realization that things were no longer 'okay', pleading for Catelyn's life to be spared in multiple places within the hospital, and ultimately receiving our news of reality.
When a tragedy occurs in your life, it affects you, not just for one day, one week, one month, or even one year, but for the rest of your life. Much like the families affected in September 2001, my husband, myself, our families, and our friends will always remember where we were, what we were doing, how we felt, and how our lives and perspectives were changed when we received the news of Catelyn's death. Over time, the pain may fade a little, but reality will always be there. And, just like the countless people who lost children, grandchildren, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins and friends on that dreadful day in September 2001, our hearts are forever impacted.
Next year, about this time, Catelyn's angel-versary will surface again....
Will it be different? I don't know.
Will I feel that panicky feeling as I realize that, as much as I want to, I cannot change the events of 2011? Possibly.
Will I make sure that no matter where I am on that date I will find a way to remember my baby? You're darn right I will.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)