GRIEF AND HEALING

My mother died on April 4, 2008, at 4:00 in the afternoon. The staff at Rose Haven Convalescent Hospital in Roseburg, Oregon, had been watching her closely and calling me daily to report on her condition. During the weeks prior to her death, one member of the staff or another had been calling every few days to tell me that my mother had been refusing to take fluids, eat, or take her medicine. I tried to talk to her on the mobile phone that is provided for family members and patients (she didn’t have a bedside telephone), but the connection was always very poor, and my mother’s hearing had been slipping, so communication was spotty and very trying.

A nurse named Penny called one day and I asked her to tell Mom I would be coming up within the next few weeks to visit. Tell her she has to eat and feel strong, I said, so we can take some jaunts to some of her favorite places. Penny promised to convey my message to Mom immediately. As the phone calls increased in frequency, I began to sense that the staff was very concerned. But I still stubbornly clung to the hope that the tide would change and that Mom would come out of her situation and go back to eating and taking her meds.

When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, I asked them to take her to the hospital for an IV drip. Barbara, the charge nurse told me they couldn’t do that. When I asked why, the answer was a reminder that Mom had signed an advance directive three years ago when she entered Rose Haven that stipulated no extraordinary measures and no tubes. I was stunned. I had been there when Mom signed the document, but I guess I didn’t fully understand what “extraordinary measures” meant. In my mind, they meant an external breathing apparatus or a food tube down the throat. I asked if I could override the advance directive and was told no, because my mother had been of sound mind when she signed it.

Finally, on Friday morning at about 8:00, Barbara called me to say she didn’t expect Mom to last the remainder of her shift. She was right.

I was able at last to put my affairs in enough order to make the 800-mile trip. I started the drive on Sunday and arrived there on Monday, April 7, after staying overnight in Sacramento. It was an easy, beautiful drive. Mt. Shasta area still had some snow on the ground and of course the peak itself was as majestic as ever — an amazing sight! The state of Oregon was as green and healing as it had always been. I kept wondering why I wasn’t feeling more grief or more sense of loss.

On Tuesday and throughout the remainder of the week, I went through all the necessary arrangements that need to take place when a person passes. I visited Rose Haven and the caregivers who knew my mother best all qued up to hug me and tell me how much they adored my cute little mother. They shared their favorite anecdotes with me and affectionately called her “The Princess.” Knowing my mother, I chuckled. The funeral director, Rusty, was a lovely individual. My mother had paid into a trust fund for her burial and already had ordered the headstone; nearly all expenses were covered. What a thoughtful, fantastic last gift to give me! My decisions were minimal. I chose the most gorgeous  pearl and ice pink casket, called “Cameo Rose.” I chose the flowers, two incredible sprays of pink and magenta chrysanthemums and carnations, and pink gladiolus. One spray was supported on an easel and the other covered the coffin. Mom held a nosegay arrangement of the same color scheme.

I still choked up occasionally and my eyes would fill with tears, but I never exhibited any uncontrolled sobbing as I had at my first husband’s funeral. Or at my sister’s funeral … or my father’s. I still was puzzled by what I viewed as my low grief level. A viewing took place on Thursday, Mom looked beautiful in her white angel dress and sparkling pink earrings and pendant.

Friday, exactly a week after she died, my mother was buried. The speaker, Major Souders of the Salvation Army, chose all the appropriate things to say that couldn’t have been more appropriate if my mother had written them herself. The guests departed and I watched my mother’s casket being lowered into the soil between my father and my sister.

On Saturday, I packed up my car and started home. I stopped by the cemetery to say my last goodbye. I welled up again, but still no tears were running down my cheeks. The drive home was peaceful. I listened to my favorite CDs as I watched the Oregon border and the massive California landscape roll past the car window.

On Sunday, I arrived home spent, but still functional. I picked up my life where I had left it the week before. Today, Monday April 14, 2008, I think I’m finally in touch with why I’m not more grief stricken. I think it’s because I have been suffering grief for a long time as I watched my mother’s life diminish. Twenty years ago her arthritis became so bad she could no longer walk, but with her heart of a champion, she still took care of my father and handicapped sister from a wheel chair. Then I watched as my father’s health failed and he passed away. My sister was the next to go. Through it all, my mother and I grieved and then recovered.

Next, Mom made the decision to go into an assisted living situation. The final closing of her house and the selling of many of her items to an estate auctioneer caused me a great deal of sadness. I remember crying over and over again as I packed up many of her hard-earned belongings, knick-knacks, paintings, and dishes that I remembered from my childhood. It’s so tragic to see a life that has been so fully lived come to this; living in a one-room apartment with only a few favorite belongings near at hand. But, again, Mom’s sense of art and beauty saved her. She continued to write, both fiction and poetry. She crocheted and knitted. She read a great deal … until her sight began to fail. Each time a faculty was taken from her, I grieved.

We talked about moving her the 800 miles down to the Los Angeles area to live. But each time we talked about it, we decided that she was really better off where she was, although I couldn’t visit Roseburg as often as I wanted. I grieved over that. I missed her at holidays when the rest of the family would gather.

So now I think that my twenty years of grieving may have come to an end. I will probably still feel heartache and loss from time to time. But little by little the good memories will take hold and I will begin to heal.

I found the following on www.cancersurvivors.org/Coping/end%20term/stages.htm written by Judy Bear.

We've all experienced grief. We've all felt those intense rolling waves of emotion. But, do we all experience the same feelings each time we lose a loved one?

WHAT ARE THE STAGES OF GRIEF?
Many people have tried to explain what grief is; some have even identified certain stages of grief.

Probably the most well-known of these might be from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's book, On Death and Dying. In it, she identified five stages that a dying patient experiences when informed of their terminal prognosis.

The stages Kubler-Ross identified are:

    * Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
    * Anger (why is this happening to me?)
    * Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
    * Depression (I don't care anymore.)
    * Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes.)

Many people believe that these stages of grief are also experienced by others when they have lost a loved one.

Personally, I think of these definitions as emotional behaviors rather than stages, per se. I believe we may certainly experience some of these behaviors. But, I believe just as strongly, that there is no script for grief; that we cannot expect to feel any of our emotions in a particular set pattern. I do agree that acceptance is probably the last emotion felt, and in some instances it may be the only one.

A lesser-known definition of the stages of grief is described by Dr. Roberta Temes in the book, Living With An Empty Chair — A Guide Through Grief. Temes describes three particular types of behavior exhibited by those suffering from grief and loss. They are:

    * Numbness (mechanical functioning and social insulation)
    * Disorganization (intensely painful feelings of loss)
    * Reorganization (re-entry into a more 'normal' social life.)

I am better able to relate to this definition as it seems to more accurately reflect the types of behavior I have experienced and observed. Within these types of behavior might well be most of the feelings described in Kubler-Ross' writings as well.

WHICH LIST IS RIGHT?
In my opinion, both of these lists, and many others that we've all seen, are all descriptive of some of the emotions and functions we go through when we lose a loved one.

I believe that grief, like so many other things in our complex lives, can't be reduced to a neat list with absolute definitions, timelines, strategies, goals, and completion dates. Would that it were so easy

Grief is as individual as those of us who feel it, and as varied as the circumstances of death which occur.

WILL I GO THROUGH EVERY STAGE?
If a 98-year old grandfather died in his sleep, I think there would be different stages of grief and loss experienced than if a two-year old child were run over by a car and killed.

If a person has had a long life, death is somewhat expected as the natural scheme of things. There will be emotions of grief and loss but they might be more for what we will miss.

If a young life is cut short unexpectedly, there may well be feelings of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and in some cases acceptance.

Just as we have different emotional reactions to anything that happens in our lives, so too, will we experience grief and loss in different ways. I think the important thing to remember is that there is a wide range of emotions that may be experienced; to expect to feel some of them and to know that we cannot completely control the process.

WHEN WILL I BE THROUGH GRIEVING?
Grieving used to be much more ritualistic than it is today. In generations past there were set periods of time when certain customs must be observed:

    * Widows wore all black clothing for one year and drab colors forever after.
    * Mourners could not attend social gatherings for months.
    * Laughter and gaiety were discouraged for weeks or months.

Today we are unfettered by these restrictions and might even be confused about when we should be done grieving.

Actually, we'll probably never be done.

We'll never forget the person we grieve for. Our feelings may be tempered more with good memories than sadness as time passes, but that isn't to say that waves of raw emotion won't overcome us way after we think we should be done.

The trick here is to understand that feelings will occur, try to keep them in perspective, try to understand why you feel a certain way, and if there are any unresolved issues that cause particular emotional pain, forgive yourself and others and if necessary talk with someone about it.

There is no completion date to grieving ... let your emotions flow through the stages of grief.