Ship of Fools: Bereavement

Thread: Bereavement Board: Oblivion / Ship of Fools.

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Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

It's not news that my Dad died in December. I never expected it to be this hard. He had his first MI before he was 50, so he was never going to live a long life, and we were very lucky to have him till he was 71. So I suppose I thought I was ready.

I've been posting in a variety of places - on the depression thread here in All Saints, and the depression thread in Hell, on the prayer thread too. But I don't think I am depressed. I suffer from recurring moderate to severe depression and have been on medication for years. Relative to episodes I've had in the past, I feel quite "well". But I also, at some point every day, feel like I am at the bottom of a deep well being shat on from on high.

It think it's a combination of:
Missing him;
The greater significance of losing a parent - almost like not being able to find myself on a map.
The practicalities - still faffing around with probate.
The fact that the people I love are grieving too.

It's not a new story. I'm not special. I think I'm just hoping that -if anyone does identify with any of these feelings - hearing "Me too" will dilute the sense of isolation.

Posted by Welease Woderwick (# 10424) on :

My mum died in 1989 and my had in 2006 - and I still miss both of them every day. The pain has changed but it is still there.

Posted by Gee D (# 13815) on :

I miss my mother deeply even years down the track - and Madame's father also. You are not alone, and your reaction is entirely natural.

Posted by Diomedes (# 13482) on :

Me too - and when there are other difficulties to face, such the persistent pain of my recently broken wrist, the grief seems sharper somehow. I guess that deep down I actually want my mum or dad to 'kiss it better'. I miss them every day.

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

Thank you for being with me at this time. Thank you so much.

Posted by Moo (# 107) on :

My husband died of a freak accident in 1987 when our two daughters were teenagers.

The thing about grieving is you have to get used to the person's not being there in every situation where he normally was. It's much harder when you live in the same household.

It doesn't make any difference whether you were the one to make the coffee for both of you, or whether the coffee was made for you. You now make coffee just for yourself. Every situation has to be worked through, and it takes as long as it takes.

Erroneous Monk, you have my prayers and sympathy.

Moo

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

I lost a best friend and former roommate in 1988 and my canoeing buddy and best friend in 2010. My mother also in 2010. My inlaws both in 2009. I think of all of them a lot. You'd think I might be over a death from as long ago as 1988, but I'm not. I'm not sure that a person ever completely gets over a death. Does a relationship with a person have to stop when they are dead. Not sure. For me, there's not so much depression as melancholy. A whiff of sadness and poignancy that life and death are the same, and there's a thinness between these states of being.

Death isn't okay. It just is. Us humans, we get used to anything it seems. It isn't necessarily pretty.

Posted by betjemaniac (# 17618) on :

My mum died in February last year aged 62. It's still bloody awful. I think you have to just keep crashing on regardless. I think.

Posted by Ad Orientem (# 17574) on :

My dad died in 2009 and my brother in 2013. Especially after my brother died i fell into depression. I just realised at one point that nothing seemed to matter and I felt detached from everything. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with mild depression. I went on medication and spoke to someone on a regular basis. It helped.

The grief doesn't really ever go away. Not a single day goes by when I don't think about them. I miss them. What has changed is how I deal with it. I've learnt to accept what's happened, that nothing I can do can change that. That's what helped me to move on and gradually move out of my depression. Of course we're all different and we all react differently but if you haven't spoken to someone yet, a professional, then I would highly recommend it. It helped me a lot.

Posted by jacobsen (# 14998) on :

My Mum died in '81 and my Dad in '99. I still think about them and regret not having them around.But maybe that's part of their eternal life. While those who remember them live, they are not quite gone. But nobody ever said it would be easy. I am not convinced that "Death is nothing at all."

Posted by Lamb Chopped (# 5528) on :

I lost my father in 2001, grandparents in 2010 and 2012, and miscarried babies as well during that span. I don't ever stop thinking about them. And the grief changes as landmarks in time come and go, for instance, as I realize I will be my father's age at death in seven more years.

The pain stops being quite so sharp (after a much longer time than most people think), but the connection is never broken.

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

Thank you all for posting. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.

So the pain goes on. It must do - after all things will never go back to how they were before. The world is changed. But you can't keep saying to people - or I feel I can't - I feel so awful since my dad died. You have to get on with it. And I've found that isolating - even, or especially, from those closest. If I say to my husband now that I'm feeling sad about dad, he doesn't even respond. He hasn't been through it though - his parents are both alive in their 90s.

And there are some people who have never mentioned or acknowledged it. Including the partner responsible for my performance at work. Which is going to make my annual appraisal really strange. If I ever bother having one. I think about quitting work every day.

Posted by Raptor Eye (# 16649) on :

I found it helpful to have someone tell me early on that I would think about my dad all day every day at first, and then one day I'll realise that for ten minutes I didn't think about him, and then feel guilty, but over time I would think about him for less of the day, and that was OK.

The grieving process has stages which have to take their time, but as others have said it's something we learn to live with rather than 'get over' - and we can be suddenly ambushed years later.

It might help to join a bereavement group or cafe, or to contact Samaritans (they are there for everyone to offload to, 24/7/365)

Posted by Moo (# 107) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Raptor Eye:
The grieving process has stages which have to take their time, but as others have said it's something we learn to live with rather than 'get over' - and we can be suddenly ambushed years later.

'Ambushed' is the right word. You will be doing something, not thinking for the moment of your loss, and suddenly something reminds you. It's always a nasty painful shock.

Moo

Posted by Belle Ringer (# 13379) on :

My Mom's death hit me real hard. Age 89 and poor health, not a surprise, and not a great relationship. But her death meant no one on this planet wakes up in the morning and thinks of me. That's a huge loss.

A friend has been widowed almost 30 years. She says she still occasionally spends the afternoon crying. Not often. Just sometimes it hurts fresh.

A dear friend (and expected marriage partner) was run over by a truck six weeks ago. I sang at his funeral. Another dear friend dropped dead last week (health gave out). Long term friends aren't easily replaced. I can see there comes a time when you have more loved ones departed than present.

I suspect death loss gets more familiar, tears and laughter both close at hand; we live, we grieve, we laugh, sometimes all at once. Never stops hurting, but becomes a usually quiet hole in life, that bites again at unexpected moments.

Posted by Belle Ringer (# 13379) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Erroneous Monk:
The world is changed. But you can't keep saying to people - or I feel I can't - I feel so awful since my dad died. You have to get on with it. And I've found that isolating -

Yes, it's isolating because our culture handles death poorly. Your dearest one dies, three days later you are supposed to be back at work looking and acting normal. And as you say, someone who has not been through it can't relate.

People have always had to go back to work right away - milk the cows, hoe the field, mend the nets. Work can help by forcing a rhythm on your daily life instead of just sitting in a dark void.

But rituals help, too. Unfortunately, today it's "not done" to wear black for a month of three (or years), not even a black armband. But sometimes there are other rituals. When my Mom died, I bought a coin sized metal angel, it stayed in my pocket for a months or two. Sometimes I held it in my hand for several minutes, sometimes I reached into the pocket to briefly touch it, gradually I needed it less. I have given pocket angels to friends.

Or perhaps something with flowers, candles, a craft project "for" the loved one, that would delight them (and you). The song I sang at the funeral a few weeks ago, I wrote the song, doing that was therapeutic, and I have it to sing or look at whenever I want at home.

Find a ritual, or invent one. I'm not normally a ritual person but it can have an anchoring effect, for a brief time you aren't drifting; that brief anchoring is refreshing and helps with adjusting to the new reality.

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Belle Ringer:
Never stops hurting, but becomes a usually quiet hole in life, that bites again at unexpected moments.

I find a wee be of solace and comfort in little rituals, like making a cup of tea, as cliché and trite as it sounds. At the end of the day, I tell myself, there's always tea.

Posted by lily pad (# 11456) on :

Yesterday was the eleventh anniversary of the death of my mom. I feel it every day. The only consolation is to see all the other people going about their daily lives and knowing that they too have lost loved ones.

A few weeks ago, I saw this advice on how to deal with grief and posted it to Facebook especially for a friend who had been noticing the same feelings. Based on the feedback, it obviously was meaningful.

Posted by Welease Woderwick (# 10424) on :

Thanks for that lily pad - my eyes are a bit moist at the moment.

Posted by W Hyatt (# 14250) on :

I found that it helped me a little to remind myself that it's supposed to be hard. It also helped when I could channel my grief into an impulse to try to brighten up someone else's day a little by coming up with an unexpected word of appreciation or understanding for them.

Posted by Polly Plummer (# 13354) on :

My Dad died in 1999. For several months afterwards, I found myself suddenly bursting into tears at odd times of the day when something happened to make me think of him. I found a lot of comfort from wearing his scarf, the only thing he used to wear that fitted me. The sudden tears gradually came less often but I still feel the sadness.

With my Mum, who died in 2003, I had a more complicated relationship and couldn't cry for her straight away. The sadness came on gradually and I feel we are still mending our relationship. I keep thinking how she would like to see the home we moved to, in a place she liked to visit on holiday, and how she would like to know my grandchildren.

The grandchildren were crying recently after seeing photos of my parents, because they'd never known them. I found that very comforting. We're still all one family.

Posted by rolyn (# 16840) on :

quote:
Originally posted by no prophet's flag is set so...:
I find a wee be of solace and comfort in little rituals, like making a cup of tea, as cliché and trite as it sounds. At the end of the day, I tell myself, there's always tea.

Not trite NpF..
I agree with you whole heatedly. Our family were great tea drinkers, always a communal pot on the table at meal times. So drinking a mug of hot tea can quite easily remind me of my late parents.
I lost a mother-in-law in the Spring and feel it more than than loss of mum 7 years ago. Grief seems to be fluid and doesn't always operate in the way we might think.

Posted by Welease Woderwick (# 10424) on :

Yesterday I watched the DVD of Matthew Bourne's Nutcracker and spent much of it missing my dad and thinking how much he would have enjoyed it.

Moist eyes, of course.

Posted by Piglet (# 11803) on :

quote:
Originally posted by rolyn:
... Grief seems to be fluid and doesn't always operate in the way we might think.

That's very true: I would say that I was more affected by the death of my brother-in-law (who was only 56) than that of my mother, who was 84 but had been unaware of her surroundings for several years before she died. It was as though we'd already lost her, and her death was rather more like us saying goodbye.

When my nephew told me his wife was expecting their first child, I found myself choking up, because my first thought was how much my brother-in-law would have loved being a grandfather (and how spectacularly good he'd have been at it); I can feel a lump forming in my throat just typing that ... [Tear]

Posted by Jamat (# 11621) on :

quote:
Originally posted by no prophet's flag is set so...:

quote:
Originally posted by Belle Ringer:
Never stops hurting, but becomes a usually quiet hole in life, that bites again at unexpected moments.
I find a wee be of solace and comfort in little rituals, like making a cup of tea, as cliché and trite as it sounds. At the end of the day, I tell myself, there's always tea.

I had an aunt , a nun who used to refer to tea as 'golden drops of consolation. ' nice image.

Regarding bereavement, after reading EM's post above, I was reminded of the poem 'Remember' by Christina Rossetti which seems to capture and bottle something. It is easy to google.
Some lovely lines:

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned....

Etc etc (can't quote more because of copyright)

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

Some more thoughts in response to the posts above:

Special rituals, signs and reminders: My dad was brought up a Muslim, but didn't practice his faith, though often attended RC Mass. In fact he used to joke that he'd heard Mass in more countries than most Catholics probably had. When preparing for his funeral, it occurred to me that most of my female Muslim relatives would have their heads covered, so I got myself a mantilla. I've been wearing it for Sunday masses since because I like the fact that I share a head-covering tradition with my dad's family. Strangely, I've found myself thinking about covering my head more frequently, not just for church, but I'm not sure where the impulse comes from; and I'm not sure how people would take it.

Remembering the things he would have enjoyed: last month I took the children to Scotland for a week. We stayed just north of Oban. I visited Oban with my parents about 20 years ago. My dad liked whisky (like I say, he wasn't an observant Muslim), so when I was there this time, I was constantly reminded of him. Every time I went in a shop, I was thinking about which bottle I would have taken back for him.

Tea: Tea is essential.

I also find myself trying to find purpose in it. How does grief help us to be closer to God, to be more like him? I've found some comfort in the rosary. Sometimes it seems as if we have to be broken down before we can be recreated.

Posted by Huia (# 3473) on :

One of the last stories about my mother was of my brother coming home from America when her cancer was diagnosed - and they knew it would be the last time they would see each other.

He told me the story; " Mum kept making tea. It seemed that every 5 minutes she would pop in and say "Do you want a cup of tea?" Finally I told her I was not a tea-based life form. She looked at me and said, "I must have brought the wrong baby home from the hospital - here you are, over 50 and I never even suspected"

I still want to cry because that exchange sums up both of them so well. CS Lewis said when someone dies you not only lose them, you lose what they bring out in other people*.

At the moment I am grieving for my oldest brother. He is 64 and is losing his memory. When I visited him last week I noticed his shoe laces were undone and when I mentioned it he stuck out his foot like a little kid for me to do them up. When we were kids he was the one we asked when we were trying to remember stuff like who starred in a particular TV show and now he can't remember agreements to meet that were made the day before.
Sometimes life seems so unfair.

* A rough approximation . It comes from The Four Loves

Huia

Posted by jacobsen (# 14998) on :

There's a sadness in being the last person alive who remembers certain family events. When I first moved to London from Germany, my Dad and uncle would come down from the North East, and my aunt from the West Country, to spend the weekend. My one bedroomed flat became a boys' dorm and girls' dorm, and we had immense fun. But then, one by one, they died, and I am the only person left with those memories.They can go into the chronicle section of our family history, but experiencing them personally was something else.

Posted by Lothlorien (# 4927) on :

Someone mentioned being surprised by grief.

My dad died in 1998. Some years after that I was with my family at Pearl Beach on the Central coast here. We spent many happy holidays here and my sons now take their children there.

I looked up and was surprised to see Dad walking along the road. His figure, his Panama hat, his JC leather sandals. Above all his gait. Everything was just right. The last years of his life were marked by Alzheimer's, so I wondered if mum knew where he was.

As he went past, I could see this man was nothing like Dad and a shaft of grief went through me.. Had I stopped to consider things, I would have realised my mistake. But the place and clothing and especially his walk deceived me. My sons found me crying, something I rarely do.

[ 14. September 2015, 09:40: Message edited by: Lothlorien ]

Posted by Piglet (# 11803) on :

quote:
Originally posted by jacobsen:
There's a sadness in being the last person alive who remembers certain family events ...

My mum was far better at remembering who-was-related-to-who than my dad (even among his relations), and when she lost her memory and her ability to communicate, it seemed that a lot of conversations included the words "Mum would have known the answer to that".

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

Tea as ritual and comfort might be deserving of its own thread?

Last week I had one of those wistful days, where my mood and energy seemed reflected in the cool misty weather, and my thoughts were heavily on the death of one friend. It's this time of year we'd go into the bush for a couple of weeks of canoe trip.

A cup of tea made to the tipping point of the tannin bitterness coming forth, as if the kick in the mouth - how it bashes the back of the throat before it washes down the hatch - tells me to take a breath and get on with things; it'll be fine later.

My mother was a sherry drinker, though only when cold, or when she had a cold. Which meant bottles lasted long times, and a glass in bed before getting up. Shooting Sherry and Bristol Cream were the two. I poured out some the morning I learned she was dead, onto the ground. I have no real idea about why I was moved to do it, but I think of that most times when I think of her. (I am not able to remember her in the context of instant coffee, for obvious reasons.)

Posted by Boogie (# 13538) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Erroneous Monk:

The greater significance of losing a parent - almost like not being able to find myself on a map.

Yes.

My Mum and Dad died well into old age (91 and 86) but I have felt lost ever since. I'll never be the same again.

There's never a day goes by when I don't think of them both.

Posted by The Intrepid Mrs S (# 17002) on :

When Mr. S's mother died, my own mother wrote to him that losing a parent, even as an adult, was like having a leg kicked out from under you.

Mrs. S, who lost her father 37 years ago ... but retains The Dowager!

Posted by Belle Ringer (# 13379) on :

quote:
Originally posted by jacobsen:
There's a sadness in being the last person alive who remembers certain family events.

I used to cheerfully assume I'll outlive all my relatives (I take much better care of my health). I no longer want that. To be the last of the generation sounds awful lonely.

Grief bit me unexpectedly yesterday. A friend dumped a large carton of sheet music on me, cleaning out what he doesn't want while he downsizes. I had fun paging through the music, and then I picked up one that I jumped up to share --

with Mom.

But I can't.

She's been dead over 13 years.

It hurts to not be able to share something she would so much enjoy, we would so much enjoy together, separately isn't the same.

I hadn't cried about her death for several years. I assumed I wouldn't again. I was wrong.

Posted by Huia (# 3473) on :

Auntie Millie (my Great Aunt) was the last of a family of 9, some of whom lived together during the Depression and most of whom lived in Christchurch and stayed in contact their whole lives, stood up at her 90th birthday party and said "I'm the wee Lone Ranger". She had attentive children and grandchildren as well as nieces and church people who visited, but she missed her brothers and sisters so much in her later life.

She was such a delight to visit, once a friend came with me and they sang old hymns together. Then one day my mother's cousin rang to say she was failing. I biked off for my last visit but got there too late and joined her family praying around her deathbed.

I was sad, but mainly for myself. She had said she was ready for the Good Lord to take her, but grumbled that He didn't seem to be in any hurry. [Tear]

Huia

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

And then there's the practicalities of what happens after a death. *had-enough-of-probate face*

Posted by Huia (# 3473) on :

EM [Votive]

- it always seems unfair that all the legal and other stuff lands on us when we are least capable of dealing with it.

Huia

Posted by St Everild (# 3626) on :

My mum died in 2012 and my dad the following year. I had a complicated relationship with both of them (more so with my dad). I don't think I was ever able to tell them that I loved them, and that is a regret I will always carry. And I dont think they ever articulated that they loved me, so when I found a card which said "Love from Mum and Dad" on it when I was sorting out a bookshelf recently (or was it that piano stool) it was an object I wanted to keep, along with the last birthday card from my dad and so on.

I can't bring myself to erase their messages from my answerphone. And I can't bear to listen to them either.
It does get easier but it never goes away.
Hugs for anyone in the same position.

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

quote:
Originally posted by St Everild:
My mum died in 2012 and my dad the following year. I had a complicated relationship with both of them (more so with my dad). I don't think I was ever able to tell them that I loved them, and that is a regret I will always carry. And I dont think they ever articulated that they loved me, so when I found a card which said "Love from Mum and Dad" on it when I was sorting out a bookshelf recently (or was it that piano stool) it was an object I wanted to keep, along with the last birthday card from my dad and so on.

Not sure if this will fit for you but I'd suggest not saying it doesn't mean it didn't exist and that everyone didn't know it. Saying "I love you" wasn't part of the culture of my family of origin. I don't recall anyone ever saying it. But that doesn't mean it didn't exist.

Re complicated relationships with parents, I think most of them are (could be wrong). I have thought for a long time it's a continuum or a line with "I don't care" on one end, and love, conflict, closeness and even hate on the other other, with the general condition being intensity. Likey so:

love & hate-------------------abandonment
caring enough to argue-----------------nothing
caring enough to love------------------nothing

It's not original with me, I think the original is:

connection------------------refusal to even acknowledge (apathy)

Posted by Nenya (# 16427) on :

My two brothers and my mum have all died within the last four years. I agree with so much of what's been said on this thread. I would also say that grief is a very lonely thing because each loss is different. When my mum died, my remaining brother and I talked about her; in doing that I realised that although we were mourning the same person, our experiences of that were different.

Grief's also exhausting, because your mind constantly looks for the person and keeps coming up against the loss. My mum has been dead for three years but every day I have something I want to talk to her about. And yes to feeling lost and to having been thrown off the map. When she died (at 92 and oh, so ready to go) one of my prevailing feelings was that I had never known a world without my mum and didn't know how it worked. I'm still trying to get my head and my emotions round that one.

When I got the phone call in June letting me know of my remaining brother's sudden death, one of my first thoughts was, "How am I going to tell Mum?" There was, for a change, relief in remembering that she was dead and I therefore didn't have that awful job.

And no, the pain never goes away, and should we want or expect it to? Our loved ones are precious; they matter and they always will. We just find a new normal and learn to live in it.

My sympathies to all who have posted here, and to those who feel they can't (as I haven't felt able to before today).

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

Massive hugs to everyone on this thread

Posted by L'organist (# 17338) on :

I'll admit to not being too cut up at my mother's death, although shocked at the unexpectedness. My Papa I miss every week, as do my children, and I still hear his voice in my head when I read things in the Church Times!

But the death of a partner is a completely different thing.

All I can say with any calmness is that is isn't the lack of a partner for things like weddings, parties, etc, that hurts the most: the worst not having anyone to do nothing with. Sure, you can (if you're lucky) find people to fill your house or to go to the theatre, but its not having the other half to just sit and watch TV in the evening.

Posted by jacobsen (# 14998) on :

The comfort of knowing that they are there, albeit doing something else in a different room. And then meeting up for TV etc.

Posted by Moo (# 107) on :

Hearing a joke or a specific bit of news you know they would like to hear--but they're not there to hear it.

Moo

Posted by Spiffy (# 5267) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Lothlorien:
Someone mentioned being surprised by grief.

My dad died in 1998. Some years after that I was with my family at Pearl Beach on the Central coast here. We spent many happy holidays here and my sons now take their children there.

I looked up and was surprised to see Dad walking along the road. His figure, his Panama hat, his JC leather sandals. Above all his gait. Everything was just right. The last years of his life were marked by Alzheimer's, so I wondered if mum knew where he was.

As he went past, I could see this man was nothing like Dad and a shaft of grief went through me.. Had I stopped to consider things, I would have realised my mistake. But the place and clothing and especially his walk deceived me. My sons found me crying, something I rarely do.

My mom and I were at breakfast at Disneyland for my 34th birthday and we met a little wizened gentleman with a twinkle in his eye and a bright wit.

When he had taken his leave of us, I said to Mom, "That guy reminds me of Grandpa."

"Yeah," she said. "I think that's how our loved ones return to us, in other people like that."

My mom died suddenly and unexpectedly in February and I've though of this a lot since then.

Posted by North East Quine (# 13049) on :

I'm sorry to hear about your mother, Spiffy. It's good to see your avatar again.

Posted by Lothlorien (# 4927) on :

That is sad news about your mother, Spiffy. I echo NEQ's greeting. It is a long time since you have been around and I was glad to see your name.

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Spiffy:

quote:
Originally posted by Lothlorien:
Someone mentioned being surprised by grief.

My dad died in 1998. Some years after that I was with my family at Pearl Beach on the Central coast here. We spent many happy holidays here and my sons now take their children there.

I looked up and was surprised to see Dad walking along the road. His figure, his Panama hat, his JC leather sandals. Above all his gait. Everything was just right. The last years of his life were marked by Alzheimer's, so I wondered if mum knew where he was.

As he went past, I could see this man was nothing like Dad and a shaft of grief went through me.. Had I stopped to consider things, I would have realised my mistake. But the place and clothing and especially his walk deceived me. My sons found me crying, something I rarely do.
My mom and I were at breakfast at Disneyland for my 34th birthday and we met a little wizened gentleman with a twinkle in his eye and a bright wit.

When he had taken his leave of us, I said to Mom, "That guy reminds me of Grandpa."

"Yeah," she said. "I think that's how our loved ones return to us, in other people like that."

My mom died suddenly and unexpectedly in February and I've though of this a lot since then.

*Massive hug* I'm so sorry to hear about your mum.

I think there's something in what you say. There was one day when I was feeling really awful - everything was going wrong at work, and my dad's death was so recent it still felt like I'd been hit hard in the chest.

And then someone I've not known for long phoned, and in conversation, used a phrase that was something my dad would have said. And I'd never heard this person say it before. And it was like I caught a glimpse of dad.

Posted by Lamb Chopped (# 5528) on :

Oh Spiffy! Glad you're back, sorry for your grief. [Votive]

Posted by Mamacita (# 3659) on :

Spiffy, I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for posting - It is good to see you again.

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

Funeral on Saturday for uncle in Calgary. Just figuring out after many long, long calls with my aunt what and how to do things, and to help her at the funeral re her greatly difficult children; she's like a mother to me, and grandmother to my kids. Then a phone message comes, from Ottawa, aunt has died today. Sudden. Uncle who is stone cold deaf greatly needs help, we are communicating by text message and relay service. What to do what to do what to do. I need to get to Alberta and Ontario all at the same time. Or get someone in one place or the other. Didn't need the sinus cold and dripping nose in addition.

Posted by Piglet (# 11803) on :

{{No Prophet}} [Votive]

Posted by Lamb Chopped (# 5528) on :

Oh, I'm so sorry. Is it the same aunt in both cases?

Posted by Lothlorien (# 4927) on :

That is very hard, No Prophet. Prayers for you.

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

((No Prophet)) [Votive]

Posted by Raptor Eye (# 16649) on :

[Votive]

For you and the family, No Prophet.

Posted by Jemima the 9th (# 15106) on :

Heavens, no prophet. [Votive]

for you, and for all your family. And the logistics.

A side note on being broadsided by grief. In Starbucks with no3 this morning and all of a sudden sniffling like a jessy because I was surrounded by middle aged women shopping with their mothers. Mum died 2 years ago and although we were close we didn't do shopping as a recreational thing together. I was jealous of something I didn't even want when I could have had it.

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

Thanks for the kind words. Appreciated muchly. Off the first of two, which occurs tomorrow. I am additionally tipped off about the conflicts we're wading into.

Re the seeing of someone, and thinking it's the person you're mourning. I think it's true that we carry around little internalized bits of people we're known and loved within us, such that it's a today thing, not a past thing to recall in such a way, my memory is "now".

I don't see them like you report,
Jemima the 9th, but if there's a mind's ear akin to a mind's eye, I hear their voices particularly. Then I have to tell myself to stop listening or I will certainly cry. Which is not bad, but just not all the (friggin) time.

Posted by Welease Woderwick (# 10424) on :

Last week I spent a few days in Mysore and was chatting to my friend H there and mentioned that I can never really forget his birthday as it is the same day as my mum and 26 years on the old feelings of missing her came back.

Posted by Sioni Sais (# 5713) on :

Mrs Sioni never forgets the anniversary of her Mum's death but what makes it especially poignant was that she died not long after midnight. The day before had been our daughter's fourth birthday and we're sure she didn't want our daughter's birthday remembered for all the wrong reasons, so she managed to hang on for a few more hours.

Posted by Moo (# 107) on :

My husband died the day before our older daughter's nineteenth birthday.

Moo

Posted by Jenn. (# 5239) on :

My mother-in-law died on Friday, the day before my sons 5th birthday. We spent his birthday with the whole family at a zoo/theme park. This was very strange. I was close to m-i-l, and it feels sometimes like I'm grieving too much because its not my mum. But its very hard to pretend that everything is OK, because it isn't.

Posted by Piglet (# 11803) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Sioni Sais:
... we're sure she didn't want our daughter's birthday remembered for all the wrong reasons ...

My brother-in-law died on the day after his own birthday, which was also the day before mine, a few days after my dad's and a couple of days before my brother's girlfriend's.

It was as though he'd hung on to get a day that wasn't someone's birthday.

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

quote:
Originally posted by Jenn.:
My mother-in-law died on Friday, the day before my sons 5th birthday. We spent his birthday with the whole family at a zoo/theme park. This was very strange. I was close to m-i-l, and it feels sometimes like I'm grieving too much because its not my mum. But its very hard to pretend that everything is OK, because it isn't.

((Jenn.)) Thinking of you

Posted by Erroneous Monk (# 10858) on :

My dad died on my parent's wedding anniversary. On 5th December this year it will be one year since he died, and it will also be their Ruby Wedding. It's just so sad.

Posted by MiceElf (# 4389) on :

Last year my son's partner gave birth to a tiny premature baby who clung to life until strong enough to eventually go home. Everything seemed fine she was needing a lot of support but was happy - smiley responsive and expected to thrive. Suddenly in March this year she simply stopped breathing and I received the awful phone call from my son that she had died. She was 7 months old.

Our two families response to this awful time could not be more different and I am ashamed and disgusted with my own parents apparent distant and callous reactions and statements such as telling my son "It would have been easier if she had died when she was first born - then they would not be so attached to her" or today's priceless comment when I told them that he sounded really depressed... was...
"Is he still upset about the baby?"

I read everyone's posts re:- losing a parent and I almost feel envious; not for your sad loss of a loved mother or father.... but for the almost certain feeling that I fear there is little to grieve for when she goes... except a lifetime of missed opportunities to love and be loved.

She phoned me to say that her funeral was all planned and paid for, and that she has stipulated that she wants " Always look on the bright side of life" played as the curtains close.

Like farting in a lift... this is so wrong on so many levels it crushes me under ten tons of irony I really want to weep.

Posted by Belle Ringer (# 13379) on :

quote:
Originally posted by MiceElf:
I read everyone's posts re:- losing a parent and I almost feel envious; not for your sad loss of a loved mother or father.... but for the almost certain feeling that I fear there is little to grieve for when she goes... except a lifetime of missed opportunities to love and be loved.

I have read that death of a family member you did not have a close relationship with can be more difficult than death of an emotionally close love one.

The stated reason was, as you'll relate, you lose not just the person but the hope of ever having the deeply longed for warm relationship.

It's taken me a decade to be able to look back and occasionally see deeply flawed attempt to express love in some of the things she said and did, flawed as much by her training from her sub-culture as by her real self.

We are all walking wounded. Including our parents.

Posted by no prophet's flag is set so... (# 15560) on :

Imagine if you will two children of dead person, after the service, arguing at the front of the church over who shall transport the cremated remains which were in a small box. Thank God for Rev Dr Priest who, all 5 feet of her, somehow authoritatively asserted peace, took the hands of both and delivered them to family at the back of the church, turned heel, picked up the cremains and went forward away from family with them.

Excuses made, tears shed, riot act read. Neutral party to transport remains. I felt we this was a bizarre reboot of a Victorian novel. It has taken a bit of time passage for me to update.

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