Tag: grief

Home Alone

niklas-hamann-418782-unsplashSome days are hard.

Christmas is one of those days for me. It is a day filled with loss and aloneness.  This year was especially hard and I am disappointed in myself.

I don’t “do” Christmas and this year Spirit has guided me into understanding more about why this is.  In fact, over the last few weeks, Spirit has shown me a low-frequency Energy that I carry around with me, and have done so for most of my life.  It is such a part of me that I haven’t recognised it. It’s been bottled up so tight for so long I simply don’t see it.  I see it in others, but not in Self and that has to change.  You can’t work to better yourself, to grow, if you don’t see the very thing you need to work at.  This low-frequency Energy is Anger.  I can talk another time about how that Anger grew, about why I haven’t recognised it, but that is a tale for another day.  It is enough right now that I have recognised that emotion.  It means I can now work to heal that pain.

I am normally a glass-half-full person.  Even in the bleakest times I can usually find something to be grateful for.  I can usually see beauty in the dullest of days.  But Christmas Day?  Man that is hard.  Especially when faced with Face Book.  All those families coming together in Joy and celebration.  It’s confusing.  I am so glad and happy that others can enjoy that closeness with family but I am also deeply saddened that I don’t have family around.  Normally I can deal with it, mainly because it’s usually just another working day for me.  This year, I had no work to do.  It’s my life choices that have brought me such a Christmas Day, but this year I wallowed.

Loss comes in many forms.  I emigrated from England to Australia and in doing so, lost the family Christmases of childhood.  Australian Christmas is in the middle of summer – that is something I can’t get my head around – so many of my Christmas traditions are lost also simply because of the heat.  I could have made new traditions, but didn’t really get the chance.  My husband passed from cancer not long after we arrived in Australia and his family made it clear – and they chose to do this at Christmas, the first one after he died – that we were outsiders.  Or rather, If I am being honest (and I need to be) one member of the family made it clear we were not a part of that family.  I think the others told themselves that it was best if they left us alone in our grief.  I couldn’t get past the hurt that was done to my daughter that day and it was from this point that I decided that I wouldn’t “do” Christmas any more.  You can kid yourself that you are fooling others into believing that not ‘doing’ Christmas is a choice against commercialism (and I don’t go for the religious stuff either) but I don’t think that many folk realise that for me it is a defensive thing.  If you don’t do it, it can’t hurt.  How screwed up is that?

More loss.  This year I lost a close family member.  We have some barriers to break through and it appears that she is not prepared to talk about them, to try to fix them.  I didn’t even know they existed, at the level they obviously do for her, until early December.  And this is the trigger for my despondency, but it also where I found my bottled up Anger.  It is reflected in my daughter.  I found it in my mother a few years ago.  I remember that I’ve seen it in my grandmother – and experienced it at her hand.  And if you look closely at the one picture I have of my Great Grandmother, it’s right there in her eyes too.  I hope my daughter can break that trait.  She has the strength.

But now, it’s Boxing Day.  The day where tradition says you can return unwanted gifts.  I return the gifts of loneliness and dismal introspection.  I think it may take longer to return the Anger – that is something I don’t want anymore, but it will take some work to loosen.  It was a horrible day, yesterday, but this morning I realise my glass is still half full.  I had been given the opportunity to review these losses.  Some are profound and can’t be changed, some can be worked on and hopefully overcome.  But my decision, yesterday, to wallow in that loss and anger was a choice I made.  Unknowingly, yes –  but still a choice.  Today I choose differently.

I have started the Energy work on this.  It is a Karmic Imbalance that needs to be brought back into balance.  And that is one of the reasons why I am here in this lifetime.  To balance Karmic Imbalance.  I do have help in this.  I need it.

I asked my sister to be an intermediary, and sent a letter to this hurting family member.  A bridge, I hope.  A place from which to grow a better understanding of each other.  As adults.

So I will stay away from Face Book for another day – I’m not quite ready to take Joy in other people’s happiness but I do not plan to allow another Christmas to knock me so low.  If next year it looks as if it will be a lonely day again, then I’ll do something about it.

So often we see meme’s about remembering those who are alone over Christmas.  My last 20 Christmases have been difficult, but this year I learned the depth of loneliness this day can bring.  I didn’t like myself as someone wallowing in pain.  That pain has been with me for those past 20 Christmases, but this is the first year that I have faced it.  For the next 20 Christmases I will seek ways to build new traditions.

The Knowledge of my Anger, Despondency, Aloneness – and my wallowing in such low-frequency emotions IS a gift.  A gift of deeper understanding that I can now take out into the world.

A Gift of Knowledge, given in this Era of New Beginnings and New Knowledge.  I will NOT be returning this particular Gift on this Boxing Day.  Knowledge is far too precious.  And the opportunity for New Beginnings is the best Gift of all.

A Tricky Topic

This is a tough topic.  It shouldn’t be because it’s something we will all achieve eventually.  It’s the last thing that most of us will do in this lifetime although some do it a couple of times, usually thanks to modern medicine.  I’m talking about death and grief.  If this is a sensitive subject at this time for you, it’s probably best not to read further just now.  This is just my view, at this stage in my life.  I know some people will worry that I’m struggling in some way, but no I just feel this is a topic with a taboo that we need to re-assess.  It shouldn’t be something to fear.

This ramble was triggered by a Face Book friend who has just written that she had to say goodbye to her dog after an emergency trip to the vets.  It’s such a time of sadness, when you loose a fur baby and friends gather around offering support and condolences, but I have a very different view that could be difficult for some folk to comprehend.

I’ve never feared death.  It’s a part of the experience of living.  None of us can escape it.  It’s the unknown that often scares us and the fear that many of us experience is mainly due to centuries of religious fear of going to Hell if you are bad.  And let’s be honest, we are all ‘bad’ at times.  It’s part of being human.  I bet there is not one person reading this who has not stolen something – even if it’s just a paperclip from the office or ten minutes of someone’s time when they were in a hurry.  In this scenario, Hell must be a busy place!

When someone I know passes, of course there is sadness and grief, but for me it is also a time of celebration.  This person (including fur babies) was in my life for a reason and my life is so much richer for having known that person, and hopefully that person gained much for having me in their life for a time too.

It is so easy to get caught up in the sorrow of someone passing.  You may disagree or want to argue with me, but I see that sorrow as also a little selfish.  Don’t, please, get me wrong, I also don’t see ‘selfish’ as a bad emotion although it can be.  The sorrow is because that person is no longer there.  You cannot interact with them anymore.  They are missing in your life.  They have left a hole that is going to be difficult to fill.

In our sorrow, we often forget the good times we shared with that person.  At least for a while.  For me this is the crux of grieving, the ultimate thing to be sad about – we forget for a time how much richer we are for having known that person.

When someone passes we all offer sympathy: “So sorry for your loss.”  “My condolences.”  We just don’t know what to say to bring comfort and that brings a level of awkwardness and sometimes friends just drop away when they are needed most, simply because they don’t know how to help.

For me, the way to help is to remember the good times.  The Joy and Laughter you shared together.  The giggles and the mischief, the times you sat into the middle of the night discussing world affairs, the hugs.  Remember the funny quirks that you teased him or her about, the things he or she taught you.  Remember and be thankful for the Love you shared, but most of all, don’t focus on the sadness.  It isn’t disrespectful to giggle at a funeral when you are remembering with Love.

When my first husband passed 20 years ago, I wanted to hold an old-fashioned wake.  Not one where everyone stands around, dressed in black with serious expressions on their faces, and softly spoken words.  I wanted a good old knees-up, a remember with Joy And Laughter PARTY!  I wanted ‘funniest thing I can remember about Ian’ games.  I wanted kids to have ‘run like Uncle Ian’ races (he had a very strange way of running).   I had a shed full of car maintenance tools I’d never use and didn’t even know the names of, so I wanted a Grab a Gift from Ian for all the guys into motor racing or car repairs.  I wanted a Moody Blues sing-along.  I wanted to make his life, and the impact it had had on each person there REAL.  I had heaps of practical support from many wonderful people, but people are so conditioned to celebrating the sadness; the absence of the person that they just couldn’t cope with my need to celebrate the good and the funny quirks that made Ian who he was.

What all this rambling is ultimately saying is yes, the time that someone transitions is sad, but don’t let the sadness overpower the richer memories.  The Joy and the Laughter.  You walked with that person, or fur baby, for a reason and when they leave your life, let the memories be the good ones.

I’m not old, but I am older and occasionally thoughts of my mortality cross my mind (no, I’m not being morbid so, my loved ones reading this, no need to worry).  I see my eventual time of transition as my greatest adventure,  I get to see, to Know, what comes next!  I am honoured that I got to walk next to you for a while.  Maybe I’ll get chance, like Billy Fingers, to pop back and say Hi!

 

 

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