Hey, welcome to the show. I had an inspiration to share with you around a personal experience this week. I have to say, I was a little hesitant.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk about it. I wasn’t sure if my wounds had enough scar tissue covering them. Have you ever felt that way? Like you were still too raw to talk about an experience you’ve had or a specific hard time you’ve gone through in your life?
Well, in this case, I decided to touch on elements of the story instead of going too deep into it. So much is still emerging for me in the healing process that I’m sure I’ll have more to share, in a more helpful way, at a future time.
If you’ve been listening for a while, you’ll also know that I typically keep my podcast episodes positive. As I mentioned in Episode 002, Thriving During Uncertain Times, I’m a silver-linings girl. I tend to see the positive in most situations. The hard times are often my greatest opportunities to learn and grow. Which makes it challenging for me to spend too much time in my sad stories.
At the same time, I’m also an outward processor. Which means that I don’t suffer in silence. I turn to my trusted circle of support and open up to share what I’m going through for encouragement and a listening ear.
I highly recommend curating your own trusted circle so you can grieve, celebrate, question, plan, or ponder - even with a community of one. You may find like I have, that in doing so, you’ll find an emotional release much sooner and move through the grief, anxiety, fear, or “stuckness” with more ease and less stress.
So here I am, diving into a piece of my grief story. Who knows, over time, I may share more so you can hear a different perspective that hopefully encourages you. This is my biggest hope for you listening.
You are not listening by accident. I truly believe that every place we find ourselves, there’s something to learn, even if it’s to witness the perspective of another.
So here it is:
December 10th marks the passing of my dear, sweet mother.
The years leading up to this day involved a great deal of heartbreak, change, and new experiences mostly for her, but also for my family.
The short version is that, several months shy of their 50th wedding anniversary, my father decided to move, on his own, to Asia. He had lived with mental health issues over his life, being high-functioning for many years, but over the last decade of his life, a lot changed.
My mother had been an unconditionally supportive force in his life and suddenly, she was on her own.
We moved her to our town, 6 hours away from where she had lived her whole life, and after 2 months of living with us, she had her own brand-new apartment just around the corner from us.
Walking with her through the many details involved in uprooting your life, not by choice, made us even closer. We mourned the leaving of my father together and as we did, I saw the strength my mother was always known for rise once again.
We dealt lawyers and government offices together, organizing her finances and living quarters. She began to have moments of joy in buying new, pretty things for her place. I had always been aware of how much of her life she had deferred choices to my father, but seeing her navigate the new experience of choosing solely for what lit her up, was a joyful experience for me.
Perhaps this is why my work centers on empowering women to raise their voices for what they want, starting with their self-care. Because later in my life I came to the realization how little my mother spoke up for her needs. She gave so much to her family and her community.
She was much loved by many for this and I believe she had pure motives to serve, and not for the glory. Even her work as a personal support worker to the elderly and to palliative care clients was work that many would shy away from, myself included.
Slowly over the 18-months that she lived nearby to us, my mother emerged from some of her grief. It would never fully go away because she truly loved my father and had never imagined losing him in the way that she did.
She and I went to lunch, shopping and the movies. She had tea with my doting mother-in-law, joined us for larger family gatherings, soccer games, hockey games, home-music performances, and painting and coloring sessions with her grandsons. We went on walks and enjoyed nature together and all the while, we both talked and listened as we processed this new stage of her life.
She got involved in the local church, made fast friends with neighbors in her new building, and after quickly figuring out the local bus lines, travelled to the library and senior’s center for books, art, and coffee.
All she did to integrate into her new life amazed me. She was even learning how to text.
The time we spent together was so full of newness and rich connection. I’m forever grateful for it.
Then one day, I hadn’t heard from her by dinner time. Normally we spoke once a day, if we weren’t seeing each other. I imagined that maybe there was a feature that was turned off on her cell phone, so put dinner on the table for my guys and headed over to check in on her.
While I could have jogged over, I drove, and when I parked, I noticed that her apartment lights were off.
I went through my mental calendar to check if I had forgotten an outing she may have been on with friends. She had taken several bus tours to historical locations and up north.
Then I thought that maybe she had a headache and was napping in the dark. This happened sometimes.
The thought briefly crossed my mind that something else may have happened, but I shoved it to the back of my mind.
When I unlocked the door, it was dark. I reached for the hall light and then I saw.
Across the way, in her bedroom, I saw her feet.
I ran over to hear and called her name, because she was lying so still. To my relief, she moved. I switched on the light and then I noticed that she looked very disoriented and the side of her face was swollen from impact with the floor.
She tried to speak but only murmurs came out. This was bad.
I immediately called 911 and followed it up with a call to my husband. I held her and waited and talked to her, trying to console both of us.
It’s surprising how quickly it felt the paramedics came and soon I was following the ambulance to the first of 2 hospitals she would visit that night.
It turned out that earlier that afternoon, she had a massive stroke and fell, while getting ready for a volunteer group that practiced conversational English with new Candian Immigrants.
That night was the last time I saw her awake. And 5 days later, she had passed on.
Over the year and a half she was with us, I experienced grief twice. Once with her as she moved on, and also when she died.
Looking back, it’s as though our time grieving together prepared me to grieve her passing.
The tools that I was able to reach for once she was no longer with us, I was able to access from having practiced so recently with her.
I started to emerge from grief by finding joy in things like, finding joy in the simple things. The birds singing, the colors in my surroundings, the message in a song, the comfort in a cup of tea.
The more little things I found joy in, I could open up to seeing more.
The gifts of our time together, the way she took her new life by the reigns, tentatively at first, but then with more energy. The connection that deepened between her and my kids and the rest of my husband’s family.
The lessons she could teach me, face-to-face, as she processed her life change.
I was able to find joy in being there for her. At times, it may have felt overwhelming, as I was home educating my kids, blogging, keeping up with the sports and activities schedule, dealing with lawyers and additional details.
But most of the time - it felt like a gift. Having that extra time with her.
It may seem trite or overdone, but truly, the way you can access joy after times of grief and loss is steeping in the lessons learned, the gifts wrapped in struggle and the blessings sitting right in front of your eyes - the things that are working in your life and the good relationships you have.
As my mother was so amazing at doing, there’s even joy to be found in the rainy, stormy days. I have no doubt that my optimism is a result of watching my Mother go through life. Always looking on the bright side, even when it got really dark.
And she always told my sister and I how much she loved us.
A loving spirit is where joy resides.
You likely have your own grief story that, after having looked back on it, showed you some hidden gifts, even if they’re buried incredibly deep.
I invite you to have grace on yourself to grieve any loss in your life in the best way you can: The way that feels right for you. There’s no timeline. No perfect way to do grief. There’s only your way.
And when you’re ready, you may find joy in surprising ways as you look back.
Thanks so much for listening to my story today. It’s something I feel my Mother would be happy to share with you.
Feel free to reach out and let me know what came up for you as you listened today. You can share and tag me if you like so others can be encouraged as well.
Sending lots of love your way.
Big Blessings.