A random, eclectic mix of thoughts, feelings, observations, and experiences – LIFE

Therapy Post

Never too many flowers for Grammy. The wreaths completely covered her grave. But we'll keep her memory uncovered. Never to be forgotten.

It’s been a while, I know. I’ve had quite a rough time. I would like for it to end. I really thought that Saturday would bring it to a close, and I would go to sleep, and magically, on Sunday morning, all would be right with the world. No.such.luck. I woke up, yes. But nothing was right. I felt out of it. I still had a killer headache. I curled up on the couch and just slept. I read a little, but mostly? I just slept. I woke up when it was past the time that I should have been on the road, on my way to the weekly FamJam. I refused to be early. I didn’t want anyone to talk about it.

I didn’t want to hear how beautiful the service was. I didn’t want anyone to mention how “good” she looked. How good could she look, laying in a box? I mean, there’s no denying that she was a beautiful woman. Beyond beautiful. But don’t insult me. Or her. Don’t say she looked good, laying there, dead, in a really expensive, beautiful box. No. I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear people tease about how my mother went up with her twin brother to read a responsive prayer, but didn’t actually read anything. I didn’t want anyone to jest about anything. It was a funeral. It was somber. It was a rough time for everyone. There is really no need to rehash it.

I didn’t want anyone to comment on the fact that a lot of dignitaries were present. My uncle is kind of a big deal here, so yes, ministers of the gospel and ministers of government departments were there. I didn’t want people to say how good the Prime Minister looked for a change. Or how nice it was for the Deputy Prime Minister to attend, although he was on crutches. Or how the political divide was absent as the leader of the Opposition was also there. I didn’t want anyone to go on and on about how respected my uncle must be, to have so many people in their uniforms there, in support of him. Or my sister’s coworkers who were also there in a large number, uniformed. Or my mother’s friends who were not in uniform, but were there, nonetheless. They were there to help me from the graveside to the car. To tell me that things would be okay. To remind me to be strong for my mother. To give warm hugs. To assure me that I could call them any time. How kind, to be there for her, and for me too. How kind. What true friends.

I wanted to hear no talk of the beautiful solos. That lady really sang. She saaang. Like there would be no tomorrow. The words she sand penetrated my body, and seemed to fight to get out of my system, but they were trapped, and my body shook. I didn’t want anyone to bring it to my recollection. I didn’t want to think about it, or experience it again. The way I cried with no control. I didn’t want to hear, even in my mind’s ear, the sounds that escaped my mouth. Knowing that I’ve never cried like that before. Not at a funeral. I’m accustomed to crying quietly. No one around me would ever know I was crying unless they saw my tear-stained face. But not that day. That day, people saw the vibrations of pain and grief move my body, beyond my control. People heard the sounds of anguish and struggle exit my mouth, surprising even me. When that lady sang the second solo, I could have curled up and died. Great is thy faithfulness? Who’s faithfulness? Who was more faithful than my Grammy? WHO?! GOD?! God has been faithful in watching and letting us suffer through her illness with her, and taking her away from us, leaving us to continue to suffer without her. Yes, she’s out of it now. But only after immense pain. Maybe she was holding on for us? I don’t know… Maybe His faithfulness is great. I just know that hearing her sing about it… It was almost too much for me to take. I saw my mother, two rows ahead of me, shake, similar to the way that I shook. I saw my father wipe his face with a handkerchief. I remembered that Great is Thy Faithfulness was my grandfather’s (his father’s) favourite song. A priest sang it at his funeral. And the church became a forest of waterfalls.

I didn’t want to fall victim to looks of pity. Or questions like, “How are you doing?” Especially knowing that it was written on my face. My swollen, red eyes told the story of my day. My constant squinting was evidence of the seemingly eternal headache. My tight mouth was an indication of the fight I was in, against myself, to keep from crying. My nose, red and chapped… My hair, unkempt. My dress, unthought of. My legs, unlotioned. How was I doing? As well as a pauper on the street, perhaps?

For all those reasons and more, I refused to go early. I ate in a rush and left the table. Avoiding all conversation. All questions. All eyes. I left. I curled myself up on the couch, and mindlessly watched television. Dragons Den came on. I was pleased. Something that I could watch with the right amount of thoughtfulness and the right amount of thoughtlessness. I watched two episodes. Then there was nothing. I moved into the room without a television. I curled up on the couch with my new nook and read a little. My mother’s friends came to visit her. How nice! I wondered to myself, Will I ever have friends like hers? (Can you tell? I don’t have many friends. At all. There are just a few. I figure I have a lot of family, so no need to pile my life up with useless people. I choose friends carefully.) They drove all this way (my great-grandmother’s house is rather far) to come and see her. They brought her one of those giant greeting cards. Everyone from work signed it, along with nice little messages, telling her they missed her, and hoped to see her back to work soon, and that she needed to get well soon. (This card was not one of sympathy, but a Get Well Soon card, from she was out sick.) Along with the card came a letter-sized envelope. Cash. They took up a collection. I didn’t count it, and at the point, I don’t think she had either. Maybe they told her how much it was. After greeting them, I didn’t pay attention to their conversation. But I’m sure it’s enough to cover her next round of medication. Blessings. Finally. A reason to smile. A little less stress for her. And for me.

I was ready to go home long before it was time. I left my laundry in the washer. I couldn’t take it any more. I was ready.to.go. I got about halfway home before the tears started coming. I found myself intrigued by the way the tears dripped and dropped. Down the sides of my nose, around my mouth, and then DROP. Right onto my chest. They didn’t roll down my chin, down my neck to my chest. They just dropped. Like a jumper off of a cliff. That’s the way I wished my emotions would act. Just jump off of a cliff, never to be seen again. Over the edge, to the point of no return. Instead, they stuck around. Possibly driving me to the edge. Lord knows that if I take the plunge, there won’t be any return. I see the edge. It’s in sight. But I just.can’t.go.there. There would be no turning back.

I hope everyone is having a great week so far. I’m working at keeping busy. Lots going on at work. I haven’t been able to read any blogs. WP wouldn’t let them load. Lots of catching up to do. Those of you who miss my comments, I have not abandoned or unfollowed you. WP has been punishing me. I’ll be back. If you’ve seen any cool/fun/funny posts that I may have missed, please leave links. I could really use some good reads for my spare time. Many thanks!

Advertisements

Comments on: "Therapy Post" (13)

  1. Sorry to hear about your grammy. I hope things get brighter soon. Stay strong!

  2. I’m so sorry. Know that your grief is YOURS. Go with it however you can.

    I can relate to so many of the things you said for my Gram (who raised me, so she was in fact “both parents” to me as a child). I did NOT attend the large public function and I only attended the private funeral and enterrement. That was as much as I could bear and it was not bearable. I cried in my car to and from work for about a year. For about 2 months, I’d sit at work, staring off into space. People were kind. I found that talking about her (ad nauseum) helped. Friends were kind enough to listen.

    • Thanks. It’s hard to get accustomed to it. It feels like it won’t end. One minute, I think it’s done and I’ll be okay, and the next thing I know, I’m in tears. It doesn’t even have to be triggered. I’ve mourned my granduncle (who was really like my father), but that was over 10 years ago, so I guess I forgot what it was like.

      I’m finding it difficult to focus on anything, even if I’m not thinking about her. It’s so odd. I’m starting to wonder if I need to seek some outside help… Therapy or something. Maybe I need to talk? But I don’t want to keep blogging about it again and again. And I don’t want to bore the hell out of the few friends that I have. I don’t want to be a broken record, or that person that everyone avoids. *sighs* I think I’m going to try journalling for a bit, and see what happens. If necessary, I’ll have to dole out some $$$ to someone to listen to me go on and on.

      And you know what else? I feel WEAK. I’ve always thought myself to be a strong person, but now I feel like a weak, little, crumbling person.

      And crying REALLY gives me horrible headaches.

      • If you want to try therapy, that’s probably a good sign! Many, many people go into therapy for different reasons and grief is a COMMON one.

        About friends: one way to tell if your friends are TRUE (or even if acquaintances are good, decent people you’d like to have around more) is if they can listen. Usually, people who’ve suffered a loss (not recently) are more empathetic–they’ve gone through grief, too. The details are always different but the “life arc” is the same. I’m thinking of you.

  3. oh no!! *hugs* I hope you’re getting there soon! Grief is so, so horrible. Keep smiling and busy, things will get easier. 🙂

  4. Maybe they aren’t looks of pity; maybe it’s empathy. Almost everyone has experienced loss. You aren’t alone. I’m sure you’re Grammy was and is very proud of what a strong and amazing woman you are. The days will get less gray, and eventually you will find the sun again. Keep your chin up.

  5. My feeble (and probaby pathetic) attempt to make you smile …….. Guess what? Chicken butt! My Husband (bless his heart) TRIED (key word) to improve the satellite signal over the weekend and ending up disconnecting the entire thing. We were without TV for 36 Hours. OHMYGOODNESS!! You can read about it here ——> http://nicoleandkevin.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/thank-you-craigslist/

    Take a warm bath, read a good book, drink a glass of wine …. whatever you need to do to take care of YOU.

    xo,
    Nicole

    • You got a nice little L-O-L, ma’am! That was funny.
      I think a bath is seriously in order for tonight. There’s no wine in the house, I don’t thiiiiink… But if there is, I WILL pop it open and have a few sips. And read a book? ALWAYS on the agenda! 🙂
      Thanks!

  6. Just Rambling said:

    You loved your grammy and I’m sure she was proud of being your grammy. I hope you’ll feel better soon.

    As far as links go… this has to be my shortest most serious post ever:
    http://reflectionsfromadutchgirl.wordpress.com/2012/01/17/todays-sunset-view/
    I love the picture… it’s… peaceful!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: