The advanced class of life

I've heard it said that people who have gone through particularly grueling life challenges are probably those who are in the "advanced class of life."  They are people who can deal with some heavy duty problems.  My mother was one of those people. This morning, I read this paragraph in a book called "Healing After Loss."

"We have but to look around us and see the many others who have suffered losses.  They are legion.  They walk the streets with us, get on and off the bus, shop with us in the stores.  They have survived.  And some of them have been made stronger and are now pillars of support for others."

My mom

This morning, as I was doing my quiet meditation, I sensed my mother's presence, as well as the loss I feel in my life without her.  My mother was a complex person.  And she loved me.  I felt anger sometimes towards her.  And I respected her.  She drove us all crazy sometimes.  And we miss her.  She hated the way she looked after she got sick.  And she still had an inner beauty.  She was funny and tolerated no bullshit.  She disliked the nursing home she had to live in at the end of her life and she had more "boyfriends" there than any other resident.  The average age of these "boyfriends" was forty. She would be sitting in the solarium and a few of the aides would come by and say, "Hey, Helen!  How are you doing today?  You look beautiful."  And she would light up.  She complained that her aide, Janis, and Janis' best friend, Wendy, laughed too much and were too happy.  And she loved listening to their gossip.  I miss her and wish we could have one more afternoon sitting together in the backyard.  

The Mastery at Friends in Deed, Part II

After spending an entire weekend at the Mastery and eating the best food I've had in a long time (eggs baked with sausage and asparagus, delicious chicken, rice, roasted carrots, carrot cake) - after being nurtured with love and food for an entire weekend, I have a better idea what the Mastery was about.  I'm not going to write much about it, because I don't want to spoil it for anyone who might take it, or something like it. 


I will write a few things that I learned or - that I've been learning and were reinforced over the weekend.  

"The quality of life is not determined by our circumstances, but by what we do with them."   I lost my mother this year, my marriage ended, my daughter moved away, my job ended, I had to move, it's a lot of shit.  I am sad.  I am grieving.  But I can still enjoy life and allow myself the space to feel a range of feelings, rather than suppress them.  Those feelings are not facts - they are just feelings.  

Use "and" - as in "I loved my mother AND she was a difficult person."  Rather than "I loved my mother, but she was a difficult person."  

Resentments are like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die. 


Blame: "if we knew then what we know now, everything would have been different...and we didn't know then, so what's the point in blaming ourselves or others?"

Our feelings are an inarguable truth:  "I feel sad."  That is true.  But worry is drama.  And I know I love drama, but it drives me crazy.  

"What other people think of me is none of my business."  That's freeing.

We talked about patterns in our histories that we would like to break.  A few of them were "living in negative predictions."  "How can I ask someone for help?"  "I need to rescue people."  

Put a period in a sentence after the facts.  "The subways in NYC are all screwed up on weekends.  It is annoying."  Rather than, "the subways are all screwed up on the weekends and it makes me late for everything, and I get so angry that it ruins my entire day and then I'll get into a fight with my friends."

I loved this line from the movie "Sordid Lives" which I have never seen, but someone mentioned:  "Get off the cross, we need the wood."

It is through difficult times that we have the most growth.  (I find that very annoying.)  I have had great epiphanies while shopping.  (I'm kidding.) 


Is the glass half empty or half full?  It is both.  


This weekend, I walked into a room that had about five or six people I knew fairly well, and about fifty others I didn't know at all.  And I fell in love with all of them.  The participants of the Mastery and the people who helped out by cooking and just being there in the "back row."  They came from all over the world and everyone's stories were different, yet the universality was so evident when people shared from their heart.  What a gift.  My dream is to find a foundation that funds organizations like Friends In Deed and help them with a very large grant.

The Mastery at Friends in Deed

I'm not sure what I think of this Mastery experience yet, except that the meals have been excellent.  Nothing like being fed every meal when you're in a crisis.  The volunteers cook amazing meals - last night Shepard's Pie, a big salad, fresh cole slaw.  This morning's breakfast was excellent oatmeal, bacon, fruit salad, yogurt, lunch was flank steak, roasted potatoes, roasted broccoli (best broccoli I've ever tasted), another big salad, fresh bread, and gingerbread cake with butter cream icing.  Tomorrow they say the breakfast is going to be fantastic, some kind of egg dish that's baked with cheese and sausage, and another egg dish for vegetarians.

The Mastery started in the 80's when the participants all were AIDS patients or HIV Positive, now it's for anyone who wants to attend.  Like Friends in Deed big groups, most people are either dealing with illness, caregiving or grief. Each mastery seems to have its own theme, loss is always one theme - this group seems to have a lot of caregivers.  It's a very intimate experience and I have to say it's left me a bit raw emotionally tonight.  I'm feeling sad and lonely, but I know that it will pass.  And I am looking forward to going back tomorrow. 

I wish that sitting with the feelings wasn't as uncomfortable as it is, but I know that for years when I was so involved in caregiving, I never really had the luxury of feeling all the emotions, because I felt I might not be able to cope with caregiving and falling apart.  Now all I have to do is take care of myself and let myself feel the feelings.  And if I feel like falling apart, I can.  And then I guess I can put myself back together again too.

I hope that in a year from now, I can look back at this time with sympathy and compassion for myself.  I miss Zoe so much and I know this isn't easy for her either.  Her life has changed quite radically too.  I wish I could hug her now.  I guess I'll go hug Lucy and Lola and let myself have a good cry.  

A primer on grief

If anyone is reading this blog for the first time, I will quickly get you up to speed.  This past year, 2009, has been challenging for many people - and I'm no exception. 

At the beginning of the year, I stopped working because the business I was in tanked (real estate.) I can't say I ever really loved it, but I enjoyed the people I worked with, being of service, and having an income.  
In April, my husband and I decided to separate after 24 years of marriage.  Then in May, my mother (who'd already survived two hospice stays) got very sick and on June 9th, she died.  A few weeks later, my 21 year-old daughter (whom I adore) moved to San Francisco (she couldn't have picked Boston?)  For all of August and September, I was left alone to sort through everything in our loft in Brooklyn, selling much of it, tossing a lot out, having a stoop sale, etc., and pack up what I could to move into my dear friend's loft in Soho. Did I leave anything out?  Death, divorce, moving, empty nest, loss of income, no, I think that's it.  Could it be worse?  Yes.  Is it a lot to deal with?  Yes.
With all of that on my "plate" - I have to say that in one way I got very lucky.  My move back to Soho, where I lived with my husband and daughter for seventeen years, has brought me a block away from a place that has saved thousands of lives over the past twenty years,  Friends In Deed.  I have discussed it before, but briefly it began in the late 80's to help people cope with the AIDS crisis and it has grown into dealing with illness, caregiving and grief.  It's an amazing place that offers counseling, groups, body work, nutrition counseling, you name it, they do it. I've written about it before.
Last night I went to a seminar on grief led by Dr. Eric Schneider, who is the spiritual advisor to FID.  On Tuesday night, after hearing me share in a big group, a woman came up to me and said quite emphatically: "Thursday night. 7 pm.  Dr. Eric.  Grief and loss. Come. Trust me, he's amazing."
I've done plenty of reading on grief, but I have to say that I got what I needed to hear last night and it rang true for me.  Take what you like and leave the rest, as they say:

Loss:  a perceived change in circumstances plus a perceived change in personal identity
Grief: the natural response to loss
Grief is endless.  


The five stages of grief as Elizabeth Kubler-Ross wrote about are not linear and perhaps there are better models.  Those five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  What about relief?  What about guilt?  


Another model for grief is shock, disorganization, reorganization.  

Another one:  awareness -- alarm -- emptiness (three levels - first level is the loss of the person, the life.  Second level, practical issues, the loss of income, a home, etc.  Third level, the constant reminders: you pick up the phone to call the person, you cook for two instead of one, you look at the chair he or she sat in.)
Disintegration- then reintegration..."the new normal."  The spaciousness and the possibilities begin to return.  Grief is natural, like breathing.  You try to let it happen, let it run its own course.  
Myths:  You'll get over it.  You'll transcend it.  There is a right way to grieve.
Truth:  Your loss will transform you.  We need to get out of our way.  This is the experience, it is what it is.  Tell your friends what you need.  Let them know you can use their help.  If they ask, and you don't know what you need, thank them for asking and ask them to maybe ask again.  Soon.
The transformation is often for the better.  Not always, but usually.  I know that I have become a much more empathetic person these past few years.

What is not ultimately helpful: drugs, drinking, eating too much, these are all distractions from the process.  The one thing many people talked about was taking something to sleep - and Eric said that dreams help keep the grieving process moving forward, so maybe it's not such a great idea to take Ambien or Lunesta very often.   

Human beings are resilient.  We are amazingly strong.
What helps with grief?


Talking helps
Not talking helps
Crying
Screaming, yelling
Being silent
Writing (in your own handwriting)
Reading
Walking
Prayer
Meditation
Your animals

These are all the tools I have been using, so it felt good to know that I am on the right track. There are other tools I find helpful - music, laughter, nature, and I would put  Friends in Deed at the top of my list.  This weekend I'm doing what is called "The Mastery" at FID.  I honestly have no idea what it is, but I'll let you know. 

 

Anger

Every morning (which has turned into my favorite time of the day) I wake up, make myself a cup of coffee and then meditate for thirty minutes.  It seems to give me a good outlook on the day.  I also have a few readings I like to do before going out into the world and the one this morning, from Melody Beattie's "The Language of Letting Go" was particularly meaningful:
"Anger 
Feeling angry - and, sometimes, the act of blaming - is a natural and necessary part of accepting loss and change - of grieving.  We can allow ourselves and others to become angry as we move from denial toward acceptance.
As we come to terms with loss and change, we may blame ourselves, our Higher Power, or others.  The person may be connected to the loss, or he or she may be an innocent bystander.  We may hear ourselves say: 'If only he would have done that....If I wouldn't have done that....Why didn't God do it differently?....'  We know that blame doesn't help.  In recovery, the watchwords are self-responsibility and personal accountability, not blame.  Ultimately, surrender and self-responsibility are the only concepts that can move us forward, but to get there we may need to allow ourselves to feel angry and to occasionally indulge in some blaming.
It is helpful in dealing with others, to remember that they, too, may need to go through their angry stage to achieve acceptance.  To not allow others, or ourselves, to go through anger and blame may slow down the grief process.  
Trust ourselves and the grief processs.  We won't stay angry forever.  But we may need to get mad for a while as we search over what could have been, to finally accept what is.
God, help me learn to accept my own and others' anger as a normal part of achieving acceptance and peace.  Within that framework, help me strive for personal accountability."

The Guest House

After doing yoga yesterday (and definitely feeling the muscle aches today), and continuing this painful journey of divorce, not knowing when or where I will find a job, feeling a bit rootless, missing my daughter, and also being filled with gratitude for this journey I've been on all year, I thought of a Rumi poem that I have always loved.  Here it is:

The human being is a guest house
Every morning there is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness
Some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor
Welcome and entertain them all
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house
and empty it from its furniture
still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.