Heal

So, the last time I went to counseling was to try to have a better relationship with my dad. His choice in partner after my mom died hasn’t been one to bring out the best in all of us. She is completely threatened by me, I’m completely threatened by her, my dad has turned into someone who can’t do anything by himself anymore, and it’s a situation I just can’t stand to be in. So we entered family counseling together, and it was to teach us how to communicate what we needed/wanted from the other. Well, literally as soon as I got married (6 days to be exact), on my mom’s death anniversary, while her own father lays in the hospital after a massive stroke the night of my wedding, he tells me that he and “Tracy” bought a house and would be married in the fall. Fast forward to July, 6 days after my grandfather eventually passed away, and definitely not the fall, he tells me he got married that afternoon.

UM, did we ever spend ONE YEAR in counseling so that these little surprises wouldn’t happen? Did he learn ANYTHING about communicating better, understanding our tensions better, anything? Does he have any sense of sensitivity, sensibility, patience, or anything that might indicate to him that maybe then wasn’t the right time? Did he EVER want me to have any decent relationship with either of them?

Wow, I’m still easily triggered. Deep breath.

I went back to the old counselor a few times after that, but I can’t seem to muster up going back again. It just feels so stagnant, so much like a failure. I mean, I don’t blame our counselor, far from it: I think he was doing the best he could with a fractured family dynamic. But there are too many associations there. Too many unanswerable questions.

But where do you look for a new counselor? On a day where I had a total meltdown about a month ago, my sister reminded me that I had already googled a few ‘affordable’ counseling options; I just needed to call one. So I did and left a message to get more information. At least three weeks passed. I think I forgot that I ever called. But yesterday, while browsing my favorite bookstore, I got a call from a lady who could schedule me as soon as next week! Catching me that off guard allowed me to say yes without doubting it.

So, I’m starting fresh with someone who doesn’t know all the backlog, someone who might have a woman’s perspective to all this loss and grief, and we’ll see what comes of it.

And I’m cautiously optimistic, which is a good sign. Showing boundaries and hope all at the same time. I just hope it’s not a waste of time, or causes me more confusion and heartache. I don’t think I can handle all that again. I guess that’s where the caution comes into play. There are no guarantees for success here, but I have to try, to get any further in my healing.

...and it’s darn-painful!

Why don’t people ever talk about the pain associated with healing? Isn’t it supposed to be this warm feeling companied with light and song and goodness?

Haha.

Slowly I’m learning the lessons I’m supposed to, but gosh, it doesn’t always feel so great.

The body and mind have an interesting way of remembering the seasons better than any ‘consciousness.’

May has begun, birds are singing, grass is greener than ever, and warmer days have returned. For most people, this is a happy time, a renewal period, and I am glad for that.

For me, though, for the few days that it’s been May, I have been antsy, unsettled, wheels-spinning….It’s taken me awhile to piece it together, and can be best summed up by my grandfather who was rather weary about it: “My sister died in May, my wife died in May, my daughter died in May. I just don’t like the month.” I remember him telling me that last year, as he was preparing to make his way here for my wedding. I, the optimistic one, countered, “Yes, Grandpa, but I’m also getting married in May! That’s got to be a happy thing, right?”

It was a happy thing. In fact, my sister also has her anniversary in May. We decided we’d do what we could to reverse the heavy meaning May carried for us. But May does seem to have its burdens, even aside from its usual connotations (including Mother’s Day). My grandfather ended up having a stroke the night of my wedding (May 25). He did survive it, for a time, but it marked one more ‘curse’ of May. I was nearly through the month last year when my dad announced on May 31 (the anniversary of my mom’s death) that he would marry someone I’ve struggled to make a real connection with. An anniversary that also marked my mom’s diagnosis of metastasized breast cancer: living a year to-the-date.

Today I am not speaking to my father, who did in fact marry that woman in secret. My grandfather passed away in July. I’ve been weary to talk to any family, but my sister.

So does all that explain why I feel so restless, so scattered, so unable to stay focused on anything of importance, without knowing why? Could my subconscious mind and body have a greater memory than my conscious mind? Do they know the dates and associations even better than I, unless I recount them all here? Perhaps.

My anniversary is in just a few weeks. I’m hoping I can at least celebrate that in some tangible way. Lord knows my husband and our marriage are the best things that’ve happened all year. There are some real merits to May, and I don’t want to put any stock into it being cursed, but my heart hangs a little bit heavier than normal, and I remember all the greats that have passed on before me, while I strive to live out a life of love and wholeness rather than loss and regret.

Am I still healing? Yeah, I’d say so.

I’ve been trying to heal through distancing myself from the sources of pain.

The last time I saw my dad was the day after my grandpa’s memorial service, screaming at him at the storage unit…

Last time I spoke to him was Dec. 30, and he called to say he got an offer on my childhood home, and was inviting me to come home and see it for the last time before closing.

I told him then that I didn’t know, and I still don’t. I don’t know exactly when closing will be, but it’s gotta be soon.

I think my psyche has been working out the possibility of seeing it.

I had crazy dreams last night, involving my new stepmother. The first was that I was staying in their new house, and she had prepared the guest room with sheets that were in her family for years, but salvaged long ago from a thrift shop. Apparently, the sheets had a dark history from even before: a murder and a fire. My stepmother told me the sheets would burst in imaginary flame when she put them in the washer, and if you looked carefully you could see the blood stains. When she moved close to point out where, the sheets bubbled like something was underneath. I maintained composure, and knew once she left, I would replace the sheets, but I was trying to ask her why she would use those sheets for me. She was trying to say it was no big deal.

I think I was trying to press her for answers about why we don’t like each other, why we treat each other the way we do, when the repulsion and scariness of the sheets shook me awake.

I laid awake for a long time.

And when I fell asleep the dream morphed into meeting her family for the first time. It was a holiday, maybe Thanksgiving? And her kids and spouses and their children were all gathering. They kept looking for me like I’m the big freak show, the one who has been so against all of this that they need to see who I am and what I’m about. I should have written down this one sooner, because I might be able to process it better. Both dreams were just so weird.

Usually dreams involving her send me into a tizzy about how unfair everything’s been. And at least I can say that hasn’t happened. Yet.

I don’t know what the end result of all this will be, but I hope I can share some wisdom soon.

This kind of healing sucks.

I just don’t know.

For the last several weeks, October was my month. I was feeling myself again, chipper consistently, feeling I’d moved on from the miseries of the summer.

Now I just feel kind of blah. I’ve been busting my butt for my job just to be criticized for “acting outside of my role” last week. Before that I’d been working way overtime with no chance of compensation, simply because there was that much to do, and now I just feel crummy, staring at my ever-huge pile of stuff to-do, knowing some of it’s never going to get done, because I only work 20 hours a week. And trying to be gentle with myself, knowing no one deserves to be worked this shamelessly.

I don’t want to go into work yet.

And my dad. I won’t let myself think about it most of the time, but I’m still so angry at him for making me feel so insignificant. For being so deceitful and dishonest. For being unapologetic and framing thoughts and questions as if I have the problems.

Why are people so hurtful?

Great, I’m crying again.

Sometimes, tears are healing, but today I just feel like a dud.

I once found one of those rocks with a single word carved into them. You know the ones that say “love,” “friend,” “strength”... Well, it was during the time when my mom was sick and it was the first and last time I found one with the word “Heal.”

When I found it, I was in my Junior year of college and I was taking a seminar in Anomalous Experience for my psychology major. At first, I was reluctant to be in it. I was afraid the class would be too “new-agey” and not as focussed on hard data. But it was my only opportunity to get into a seminar that spring. In reality, I’d probably still attest to it being rather new-agey and hard to take seriously at times (alien abduction stories? Pre-birth memories?), but since it was a seminar, we got to have enlivened discussions while looking for the science. I just made sure that for my presentations I found subjects I could take seriously enough to research and explain.

At the very end of the semester, I presented on anomalous healing experiences. Within that framework the topic I found the most intriguing was visualization. The mind-body connection is strong. People have been “healed” of cancer and other ailments simply from taking chunks of time everyday to be still, get relaxed, and really imagine their body ridding itself of its illness. My favorite story I read was of a neat-freak who imagined an army of maids who would come in and clean out all the cancer cells with the most potent cleaning agents – blast, spray, scrub, rinse, and repeat.

With my new stone I purchased and the inspiration to try visualization exercises out with my mom, I came home from school that summer prepared to meditate with the stone and make tapes with her to give it our best go.

I wasn’t even home two days, I hadn’t even unpacked, and my mom went into the hospital for the last time never to return. When I finally did unpack, seeing that stone was bittersweet. I had a lot of expectations and hopes around it, and never even got to “use” it. What use was a “healing” stone after my mother died?

I have no idea what made me think of that stone or this story. I live far away from “home” now, and I’m sure the stone is placed somewhere in my dresser back in that place.

I think I got to thinking that the goal “heal” is meant for many who are struggling with physical ailments. To any of you reading this, I wish you the very best in whatever battles you are fighting. You are brave and courageous, and I believe that healing can come in a variety of forms. Stay focused on that. Be healed by that.

For me, the word “heal,” in using it for my goal, has become something entirely different. It’s been six years since my mom died, a fact that just is. I’ve done a lot to get through my grief issues and yet her absence is truly a part of me now. I lost my mom. She’s not here anymore. She won’t be. All I have left of her are the memories and her voice that answers me when I’m in trouble, which, in a way, means that I haven’t lost her at all.

I always thought when I was grieving I was just grieving the fact that she wasn’t here anymore. I had no idea that my concept of “family” broke when she died, too. Even six years later, I thought that my “family” as I knew it would remain constant somehow. If it were to change drastically, I thought we’d all (my sister, my dad, and I) be together on it, agreeing to it, working for it, and not doing anything to the contrary.

Instead, my dad remarried secretively in July to a woman I’ve struggled to like and accept the entire 4+ years they’ve been dating.

The pain and the sheer heartache to follow have been nothing I ever would have thought possible to even happen after being just married myself. Plainly, it sucks.

“Healing” is what I’m seeking now. I am starting to feel my heart being healed. I am starting to feel my life being healed. And it feels good. And it feels long overdue.

After distancing myself for so many years from the visualization exercises of healing for my mom and that stone, I think it’s time I (proverbially) dust it off and start anew.

I visualize a tree. It stands on a hilltop, which gives it a lot of exposure. Yes, it stands rather prominently. I see the tree being a safe haven on that hilltop. I see the tree being bathed in sunlight, being watered well, being visited by many who seek its shade. I see the tree bearing broad leaves. And fruit! Succulent and sweet. For all to enjoy. I see that the tree has some gnarls and knots in its trunk and branches, indicative of few rough winters and perhaps drought in the summers. But it is flourishing now. Indeed, it is one of the healthiest trees of the many surrounding it. I see this tree, and I smile.

I see the tree being me, and I know that I am ok.

Grief is a part of life. Yes, I want to get through my grief issues, but what I really want is to heal.

I think I can accomplish more of my goals by focussing on the language of them.

So, yes, healing is a’comin’.

I’ve been going through a lot of transitions lately.

1. A new job.
2. Marriage.
3. The death of my last grandparent (and seemingly the last real connection to my mom.)
4. The loss of the dad that I knew and what I knew of our “family.”
5. The loss of huge pieces of me. I am molting. Shedding old parts to make room for new growth. And I was just starting to feel comfortable in that old skin…

It’s painful, this whole grief thing. I finally think I’m getting somewhere, and then I’m slammed with more crap.

A friend just told me that, “Trials are not the enemies of faith, but are opportunities to prove God’s faithfulness.” I’m still trying to absorb that statement. It is true that I don’t want to be a victim anymore, and I wish beyond all things that I could see the silver lining of all of these hardships and new challenges with a deeper, more joyful faith in place…

One day, I suppose I’ll get there. But it’s hard for me not to think that as soon as I do, what will be the next heartbreaking loss?

I think my counselor thinks I’m hilarious, and is just generally amused by me. And yes, I can be a pretty funny gal.

But more so than that, he’s seeing my tremendous growth, and he looks at me with a kind of pride that my own dad can’t muster. [My dad is amazing, he is sooo proud of me, and I know that, but his look is more, “Look how amazing my girls are and my life is,” than, “I AM PROUD OF YOU.”]

Anyway, there has been amazing growth. In me, in my relationships, in my “boundaries,” in my self-confidence, in my “situational depression,” in my outlooks. I was always afraid of therapy, because stereotypically it points out your flaws and makes you go through awkward exercises of reflection and analysis and things I do perfectly well on my own, so why do I need a counselor? But having someone to do the kind of encouragement that HUMAN beings can sometimes fail at and give me better tools to evaluate the circumstances around me has been invaluable. My counselor never told me I was doing anything wrong (ok, I take that back – he has), but he’s doing a tremendous job of telling me what I’m doing right, and I feel great. I finally feel like my life is my own. And because of that feeling I’m going to be a rockstar, not because of my parents, not because of others’ expectations or even my own, but just because I want to. I want to embrace my life and the changes within it, and just be me.

My mom passed away 5 years ago. Actually, it’s been five and half years now.

I was 20 when it happened.

It happened at a time when I describe that I had one foot in the nest and one foot out. Not a kid anymore, but still very far from embracing adulthood. In other words, by not being in either realm, I really didn’t know how to handle it. As such, it’s been such a BIG loss.

I’ve been posting about having a better relationship with my dad, and it’s true that a lot of our issues are rooted in how we’ve been dealing with our grief. I’m getting to a point, finally, where I can recognize that a lot of my harsh reactions towards him come from deep issues with my grief. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve always recognized it, but I was never ready to take extra steps at addressing those issues. I wanted to grieve the “natural” way, exactly as it would come and be what it was. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve been latching myself to the grief, rather than letting it run its course. I’ve been holding onto it, because in a weird way, it seems to help me remember her better and respect her legacy. What it hasn’t done is allow me and my dad equal breathing room in how we “move forward.”

And so, right next to “have a better relationship with my dad,” I have to put “get THROUGH my grief issues.” And I’m not even going to say “get over” them, because that’s not the right action. The grief is there for a reason. I’m not sure it ever really has a true end, but I imagine it to have rings like a tree trunk, each ring expanding out from that awful initial pain that loops and loops. Layer upon layer of lessons, of memories, of people, and of time.

I suppose I already began this goal, seriously, back in April/May when my dad and I started counseling. It’s been in counseling that I’ve been learning the tools to articulate all the complex emotions and attitudes that I had been trying to say since those feelings started, and learning how to respectfully ask for changes with my dad. All in the same month that we started professional counseling, I went to a motherless daughters support group for the first time, started reading a book called Unattended Sorrow, and we buried her ashes at the cementary near the five-year anniversary. Along that journey, too, I became engaged.

Wow, a lot of changes there. I suppose that’s why I’ve been struggling so much of late, too. Getting married is a bit of a grief process. You’re losing not only your single lifestyle, but you lose your single self. I don’t mean it as a bad judgment, just the truth. When you prepare to mold two lives into one, you’re bound to lose parts of yourself as an individual. Your choices and decisions suddenly don’t become your own any more. It seems like you have to discuss everything, and constantly explain why and how you do things, find consensus, and learn what pushing each “button” means. Heck, this Christmas showed me that even your family isn’t your own any more! In the right situations, it’s a beautiful blending (fortunately, in my case), but no less terrifying at times.

So, yes, grief exists for me on many levels. And being conscious of how I don’t ever want to be held PRISONER by the grief and/or the sometimes accompanying pain and suffering, I am declaring this goal to keep me moving forward and to keep finding acceptance in the changes my mom’s loss brings.

Love you, Mommy. I miss you.