Sundays, Grief, and other Random Thoughts

So, I need to unload my very full brain and heart a little tonight. I have a whole post I'd like to write about tender mercies I've seen over the last 3+ weeks and some of the many amazing things people have done for us. Like how almost every day for the last two weeks, our mailbox has had at least one kind card or package. Such a treat - for our girls (their faces LIGHT UP at something fun in the mailbox) and for my heart. Thank you, thank you all you beautiful people out there. Anyways, there is so much to tell that is so tender and beautiful and uplifiting. And I'll get to it - soon hopefully. But, a different subject tonight. I really hope I don't come across as hopeless or ungrateful or whiny- we are so blessed- but I need to get out some more hard thoughts and feelings.

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Sundays are hard days, I've decided. I went into labor and Kate was born on a Sunday. And darn it, if every Sunday for the last three weeks, I haven't struggled mightily starting about the time Sunday school is halfway over. And by the time Sunday night rolls around (Kate was born at night), I'm pretty much a huge mess. Ready to sleep for a week or maybe the next ten years. Until I can wake up and not hurt so much.

Then Monday morning comes and I wake up pretty reluctantly and with eyes so puffy they barely open. But then life keeps happening (despite how my heart and mind shout for it to just stop for a while) and we begin the morning rush to get Elena to school. And life drags me along with it. Which is somewhat of a good thing, I think, because it keeps me busy and I get to Monday afternoon and feel pretty decent until I hit the evening wall. And then Tuesday and Wednesday, the same thing happens and I feel alright - all things considered. Thursday and Friday are alright, but not quite as good. I think I'm figuring out that I just get tired and can only take so much "normal" before the grief and mourning push their way back in and demand to be considered for a bit. I can take little doses of things right now. A few hours in company, a couple of tasks around the house, etc. And by the end of the week, I'm tired in body, Spirit, heart, and mind. Saturday the downward spiral continues, culminating in Sunday evening when memories collide with fatigue and things are hard and messy.

Last night I was thinking about this apparent cycle. I read a little (from here) about the stages of grief and under "anger" it said , "As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger."  This makes a lot of sense. And I wondered, is this where they cycle comes in each week? When the memories from my surroundings come back each Sunday, does my mind try again to process the intense emotion and then realize it's too much and I'm not ready and so I go back into denial and live pretty superficially for a few days to try and deflect the enormity of it all?

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So, one thing that I've been struggling with a lot in my head is being worried about how I'm feeling and struggling with and then worrying about what other people must think of me. Worried that people will be annoyed, sick of hearing about it and thinking, "When will she get over it already?!", that it'll make people feel uncomfortable, that I'll lose dear friendships and associations because of all these things. Sometimes that seems ridiculous to me and other times that seems like a very real concern. I have moments where I want to reach out to someone or respond honestly to an inquiry, but I'm worried about how other people will react, what they will think, or what I'm burdening them with.

One of the moms in my "cancer moms" group posted a link to this article about grief and it helped me tremendously to read. I just love it because the author has written some of the exact thoughts and feelings that were swirling around inside me and conflicting me last night. She totally hit the nail on the head! I want to shout "Amen!" to each point she makes.

I don't really know what else I want to say other than that I loved the article, she described a lot of what I've been feeling, and it made me feel slightly less crazy. I guess it just helped me to remember that there isn't a short, easy answer to all of this. I'm ok as I am right now. That at least helps to remove one of the wrestlings I've been having lately over my fear of how others might react. Here's the 7 principles on grief from the article:

"1. Grief is a normal reaction -- Grief is the natural emotional and physical response to the death of a loved one. Although our society desperately wants to avoid the messiness of deep sorrow, there is no way out except through the pain. Typical numbing techniques such as medications, alcohol and food are only temporary distractions to dull the pain.

Letting oneself grieve by going directly into the pain -- in manageable doses over a long period of time -- is healing. Avoiding the pain simply forces it to go deep into the heart where it subtly affects emotional and physical health.

2. Grief is hard work -- Grief isn't easy and it isn't pretty. It involves tears, sleepless nights, pain, sorrow and a heartache that knocks you to your knees. It can be hard to concentrate, hard to think clearly, hard to read and easy to forget all the details of life that everyone else seems to remember. Grievers frequently feel that they're going crazy and they sometimes wish to die. This doesn't mean that they're actively suicidal, it just means that they're grieving.

3. Grief doesn't offer closure -- Closure is an idea that we like because we want to tie up our emotional messes with a bow and put them in the back of a closet. But grief refuses to play this game. Grief tends towards healing not closure. The funeral can be healing, visiting a gravesite can be healing, performing rituals, writing in journals and making pilgrimages can be personally meaningful and healing. But they will not bring closure. Closure is relevant to business deals but not to the human heart.

4. Grief is lifelong -- Although we all want quick fixes and short-term solutions, grief won't accommodate us. Many people want grief to be over in a few weeks or a few months and certainly within a year. And yet, many grievers know that the second year is actually harder than the first. Why Because the shock has worn off and the reality of the pain has truly sunk in.

I let grievers know that the impact of grief is lifelong just as the influence of love is also lifelong. No matter how many years go by, there will be occasional days when grief bursts through with a certain rawness. There will be days, even decades later, when sadness crosses over like a storm cloud. And likely, every day going forward will involve some memory, some connection to missing the beloved.

5. Grievers need to stay connected to the deceased -- While some might find it odd or uncomfortable to keep talking about a loved one after they have passed, or find it disconcerting to see photographs of those who have died, it is healthy to keep the connection alive. My heart goes out to a generation or more of grievers who were told to cut their ties to their deceased loved ones, to move on, almost as if they had never existed. Such unwitting cruelty! It is important to honor the birthdays and departure days of deceased loved ones. Their physical presence may be gone, but they remain in relationship to the griever in a new way beyond form, a way based in spirit and love.

6. Grievers are changed forever -- Those who expect grievers to eventually get back to their old selves, will be quite disappointed. Grief, like all major life experiences, changes a person irrevocably. People don't remain unchanged after getting an education, getting married, having a baby, getting divorced or changing careers. Grief, too, adds to the compost mixture of life, creating rich and fertile soil. It teaches about living and dying, about pain and love and about impermanence. While some people are changed by grief in a way that makes them bitter and shut down, it is also possible to use grief as a springboard for compassion, wisdom, and open-heartedness.

7. Grievers can choose transcendence -- Transcendence has to do with gaining perspective, seeing in a new way and holding pain in a larger context. Seeing one's grief from a larger perspective allows it to be bearable and gives it meaning. For one, transcendence might mean reaching out to those who suffer. For another, it might mean giving to a cause that will benefit others. Grievers who choose transcendence recognize that they are not alone, that they share a common human condition, and that they are amongst so many who have experienced love and loss. They use their pain in a way that touches others. The pain is still there, of course, but it is transformed."

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Here's a scripture I really, really like these days:

 1 The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;

 2 To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn;

 3 To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.

Isaiah 61:1-3

I'm broken-hearted, and mourning, and oh, do I ever feel like I have the spirit of heaviness (heavy describes it exactly). And what wonderful promises in return!

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This experience is very hard. Which is an understatement. I feel a lot of peace and have been blessed, through a knowledge of Gospel truths and personal revelation, with a lot of answers. Overall, in the big picture, I feel very ok. I know we'll get through this. But it is a messy, difficult, heart-wrenching process for me in the meantime. There is a lot to work through. This grief is very real and very powerful. Frighteningly overwhelming at times. And seemingly hugely complex. What the article above said about "letting yourself grieve by going directly into the pain" being healing has been on my mind a lot lately, but it seems like every time I try to delve into the pain, it threatens to swallow me. It just seems neverending.

So, on that subject, I'd like your advice/thoughts if you have any. I was pondering last night about what to do/how to get through this overwhelming pain and grief. Right now, it feels like something so huge and complex that I might never be able to work it all out and get through it. I had the thought that maybe this is where the Atonement comes in? Maybe this just is too huge for me to handle and process. Is that the answer - do I just need to turn it over to the Lord? How do I do that? Is it a combination of utilizing the Atonement to help in some way and also something else I need to do/experience? Does that make sense? I mean, like I've said, I've got a lot of the answers regarding the big picture. But I'm struggling with what to actually DO (to put it bluntly) to stop feeling so crappy. To not want to burst out crying multiple times a day when I get thinking about things. Does that make sense?

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I feel like I'm stuck in limbo- like I don't know how to move forward or where I fit into life now. Eric and I were talking the other day about it and he helped me to realize some of what I'm struggling with. Pregnancy is a huge life change with lots of anticipation, preparations, changes, etc. The natural resolution of pregnancy is having a baby. Not just giving birth to a baby, but having a baby in your every day life. And I'm missing that. Pregnancy, in my experience, is so deeply interconnected and ingrained into my existence as a woman that this unnatural and unexpected resolution of my most recent pregnancy has left me totally bewildered on every level of my being. It's a loss I feel acutely. It's really hard to know where I fit in and what to do now to feel "right".

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I started reading a book I received called, Joy Cometh in the Morning, and a passage from the introduction really touched me. The author is describing her feelings several years after the loss of her baby and I could really relate to what she described:

"What had started out as sheer torture gradually softened, and little by little Dave and I were able to look forward to the future again. Through the passage of time and divine assistance, I had learned to enjoy life again rather than simply endure it. I had come to realize that I could love others and I could love myself without feeling guilty toward Devin [her son that passed away]. Not only that, I truly could be happy, I could laugh at myself, and I could have fun again..." 

I'm on the "enduring it" side of things at the moment, for the most part. But I'm hopeful for the future.

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And now, I've officially thought myself into a stupor and I can sleep. Hooray for a new day tomorrow.