The Grieving House

While in high school a close friend’s dad passed away suddenly due to a heart attack. He was here one minute, the next minute he was just gone. I felt so helpless to her. What could I possible offer her? How could I support her? Shortly after that time, in a class we were told about the 5 Steps of Grieving.


1. Denial & Isolation

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

I was ecstatic to learn these. I figured that if I learned them, I could see what step she was in, and I would know what to expect, and then I would know when she was “through” her grieving. Oh to be 16 again and think the world was really black and white. Sigh.

It is no secret I have had loss in my life whether it was a death, a marriage, a job or even a friendship. The Steps of Grief apply to all of these losses. Recently someone going through a loss asked me, “How long will it take for me to get through this?” There is no answer. We all deal with loss in different ways. So cliché, right? Another sigh.

I like to think of the Stages of Grief as if it were a house. Each room is a step in the process. As we walk through various rooms in our house, every day, we also pass through the different stages of grief. Everyday can be different as far as what stage we are in. There isn’t a clear path of 1 through 5. Overtime, we change the cosmetic parts of our houses with paint, decorations and time we spend in the room. To me, the different stages also change over time as well. The deep depression I once felt after my mom passed away is very different than the “sad” days I may have now when I feel myself missing her more than usual.

There are times when I walk into a room and I don’t remember why I went there. Did I get there out of habit? What steered me there? Sometimes I think back to the time immediately following my mom’s death and I don’t remember how I got through some of those days. There is a memory lapse that makes me feel like it may never have happened in the first place.

I have lived in many homes since birth, at least 15. Even though I may not think of every house, at random moments something will trigger my memory of a house. In the same way, I will remember something about my mom that came out of nowhere. I can still remember the exact layout of a house when I was 3, just like I can still smell the coffee/Cert on my mother’s breath as I lay on her lap in an AA meeting.

By no means do I think the grieving process is a continuous cycle that you never get out of, like running on a hamster wheel. Grief will change, morph and age over time, just like a home.

If only the walls could talk.

Dear Mom,

Dear mom,



Well, it has happened – FINALLY. Your only son has gotten engaged! I know, there have been some close calls in the past, but this is the real deal. Your daughters couldn’t be more thrilled. It is a bittersweet moment, with you not here to see it. But just like I tell Wendy, it is just that WE wish WE could see YOU seeing HIM so happy. We know you are here, with each of us, watching our moments. I am sure you have already been watching Lynn and know so much more about her than the rest of us. Have you seen how she adores our kids? These kids flock to her with so much unconditional love, it is truly sweet. It is like she has been a missing part of this family, and completes the complex puzzle we have become. There is nothing about her that is fake, pretentious or destructive. She has a way of lifting people’s attitudes around her, empowering themselves into becoming who they deserve to be. Even Mike’s baby, Emma adores her and seeks her out when looking for her “people”.


I have held my breath for so long, when it comes to your son’s happiness and content with life. There have been times in the past when his heart has been broken and I wanted to slash out at the girl in blame or even kick him for screwing it all up. But as we all know, that no one really knows what happens behind other peoples closed doors. You once told me during one of my heartbreaks that unanswered prayers are really answering future prayers, I just didn’t know it yet. Maybe you leaving us early was part of “The Plan” for us girls to help raise Mike into his adulthood. Maybe this was just a trial run, prepping me in raising Noah.


Just as you taught me, whatever is supposed to happen, WILL happen.


I love you and I miss you. I thank you for giving us the roadmap, but not driving the car. For letting us get lost at times and yet being there to guide us onto the next path.

Thanks for continuing this journey with us. I will keep you updated. 

I don't feel good

As I am pouting about my return cold and feeling crabby about it….I am slapped with the realization that it is, JUST a cold. So trivial compared to those around me with real sicknesses and diseases. Sometimes we just need an “ah ha” moment to put things into perspective.









My symptom: My body aches.


Reality: My oldest sister was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis almost 2 years ago. Since then she has changed medications multiple times, looked into experimental treatments, been so sore she can’t get out of bed all while she works full time and is a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter and best friend to many.


My prescription: I will take Tylenol, soak in the hot tub and not complain about my body aches.






My symptom: Embarrassingly enough, while having pneumonia and coughing constantly found myself running to the bathroom because I thought my bladder wouldn’t hold up at times.


Reality: After a few weeks of urinating what looked like Dr Pepper, my brother was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Pending surgery, he suffers from constant issues surrounding going #1 and if faced with a long battle ahead of him.


My prescription: strengthen my muscles with a smile.






My symptom: I ate too many sweets at work during a retirement party and got the shakes from too much sugar.


Reality: My stepdaughter has to count every carb before she puts it in her mouth and determine how much insulin she will need to take to offset the blood sugar levels. Every item she puts in her mouth, every time she eats.


My prescription: Make better choices about food and relish every bite.






My symptom: I can’t taste the beer I opened because I am so stuffed up.


Reality: My middle sister, my mother and my stepfather all struggle(d) with alcohol and it altered their lives immensely. They lost jobs, homes, friends and even have had family turn their backs on them.


My prescription: Don’t overindulge, and appreciate being able to have 1 and walking away.

 
My symptom: My chest hurts when I breathe.


Reality: I watched my mom take her last breath which was slow, low and rattily because she fought the fight to Emphysema and Lung Cancer. She hasn’t shared the same air with me in 14 years, or ever met my son.


My Prescription: With every breath, FEEL the life that is pouring inside of me.