Rays of Hope in Times of Loss

Empty on Full

We never know when the first significant loss in our life will be, nor do we know how we will react or what the emotions will be. When I became suddenly and unexpectedly single at age 30, I had no emotional vocabulary to put into words what I was feeling. I knew I had to be strong for my two preschool-aged children. I was busy looking for a new job, seeking education to help me grow professionally and personally, reading self-help books one minute and story books to my children the next. To say I was busy was an understatement.

My feelings were ignored and unidentified and life was a giant "To Do" list. Then I attended a workshop about transitions, and in one simple phrase, I felt validated and normal. The relief was astonishing. If you are grieving any loss, you know that you begin to question your own sanity, as so many emotions swirl inside you like a vicious tornado. What was the validating phrase?

March is DVT Awareness month

I remember when my son told me he thought his girlfriend of three years, Jessie, was “the one.” Some of you know that this sweet young woman, who we’d begun to think of as our future daughter-in-law, died suddenly about a year ago.

Jessie died of a pulmonary embolism, which is a complication that occurs when a blood clot (medically known as DVT - Deep Vein Thrombosis) breaks loose and migrates to the lungs, where it blocks a pulmonary artery or one of its branches.

I am writing to help increase awareness about it, because the symptoms can easily get missed as they did in Jessie’s case, even by medical professionals. About a week and a half before she died, she had a slight swelling in her ankle and went to her clinic. The doctor who examined it thought it looked like a mild sprain, asking her if she remembered hurting it, to which Jessie replied, “No.” He joked with her that she must be a tough girl, to not even notice she had sprained her ankle! But it wasn’t a sprain; it was swollen because of a DVT/blood clot.

A few days later she went to the clinic again, having difficulty breathing. She was then misdiagnosed with pleurisy and given a prescription. In reality, the blood clot had begun to move toward her lungs.

Invitations

What influences have caused you to make changes in your life? This was a question posed in a group discussion I attended early in the week. Of the many responses that came to mind, the two that floated to the top of my list were invitation and loss. Invite means to "increase the likelihood of; request the presence or participation of." How often, when you look back at changes in your life, did they come as the result of a personal invitation? Not an email pitch, or meeting announcement. Someone asked you. And because you knew and trusted that someone, you were open to the invitation that you would have otherwise been closed to, had it not been for the personal invitation.

Maximum Asset Plan (MAP)

Did you know that the simple definition of asset is "advantage and resource?" In times of transition or loss, it is our human assets that help us the most. Although grief is not something that can be planned, it is a tremendous advantage to have our human assets firmly in mind for any challenge that comes our way. Human assets are our deeply held values, talents, positive attitudes and energies. It is also the loving relationships that keep us connected to our sense of purpose.

Always NEAR

I originally created the acronym NEAR for an article in SELF magazine, to help readers remember the common experiences of grieving. The many unfamiliar emotions are painful and often visit us when we least expect it. The letters stand for:

Numb - initially we are shocked and numb to the feelings that come later.

Emotions - after the numbness, many emotions: anger, despair, confusion.

Acceptance - when we accept the permanence of our loss & move forward.

Reconstructed - rebuild our lives, integrating positive meanings into the loss.

      Our loved ones are always NEAR and can help us find new meanings as we rebuild our lives in their absence. Grieving their loss is a lifelong process that matures and evolves as we grow.

Elevating Hope

When I was in 8th grade our school introduced us to a new, cutting edge computerized assessment that promised to expertly predict our future careers. I remember the pages and pages of questions, filling in the circles perfectly with my #2 pencil, and then waiting many weeks for the results. When the day came and our guidance instructors handed out the printed assessment reports, they were truly impressive looking, and mighty thick! I scanned the multiple pages with excited anticipation to see what I would be when I grew up. Finally on the last page, my future career was announced to me in two words. I’ll give you a hint, so you can share the anticipation with me for just a moment. The first letters of the two words were: E.O.

What do you think E.O. stood for? Executive Officer, maybe? A terrific guess, but no. My career destiny, according to this impressive computer science evaluation was:

Elevator Operator!

Holidays and Birthdays

My son's birthday is Halloween and we often have had a wonderful time carving pumpkins. His girlfriend of three years, Jessie, is seen here carving her pumpkin. I loved her delighted smile in this picture - her last Halloween. Jessie's birthday is December 11. The holidays from Labor Day (the weekend Jessie died), Halloween, and through Christmas are particularly difficult. What can we do to cope through the holidays and birthdays, yet begin to celebrate and find joy as we move forward?

We have done various remembrances - a simple toast on an anniversary, acknowledging a donation to a charity in Jessie's name, giving gifts that she would have liked or that remind us of her spiritual presence in our lives. Sometimes we are specific in our words and at other times we mention loved ones who are with us in spirit.

We have met and are grateful for coming to know people we wouldn't have, had it not been for this loss. This sentiment is expressed in one of the Rays of Hope poems:

     For our loss has brought new hearts to us that help our spirits rise;

     The love that's shared between us is a mighty pleasant surprise.

During this holiday season, remember that sometimes we have to adjust our hopes in order to accept life's difficult losses and changes. As I wrote in my Christmas poem this year:

     Some loved ones are with us now only in spirit,

     And they, too, give us hope; we just have to hear it.

     Our best to you in finding holiday cheer,

     You're loved, and to us you'll always be dear.

The Heart of HOPE

A few years ago, I was hired to speak about Courage. As I began pondering the points I would make, the phrases, "fear fighting" and "fear extinguisher" came into my mind. I thought it would be great to get in real fire fighter gear and take pictures to enhance the images of fear fighting and fear extinguisher. My son worked for me that summer and he was the photographer, but I found myself procrastinating about it.

Soon my son would be back to college. I was beginning to run out of time and all of a sudden I realized my procrastination was due to fear! Even though I loved the concept of fear fighting, I was afraid to call the fire department and track down someone who could grant me permission to come, dress in their gear, and take pictures. Here I was speaking about courage, yet I was afraid of rejection and feeling embarrassed in the whole process. That was enough to get me moving, and as you can see by the picture, we got it done. Notice my son even fixed the license plate to fit the theme of extinguishing the flames of fear in order to "smoke" past the obstacles fear creates.

This year I was asked to speak about HOPE. When I was preparing that talk, I realized that COURAGE is at the heart of hope. It takes courage to adjust to significant losses and live with changes filled with unknowns. That is when we all have to capture our courage and hang on to it to help us through.

New fillings for old cavities

One of the thrills of aging is being told by my dentist that an old filling needs to be replaced. I usually say something lame like, "You mean it won't last another 50 years? Can't you just plaster a little something on top?" We both chuckle, then I set the appointment with a sense of dread. I hate the process. Drilling out the old, then putting in the new. Shots of Novocain along the way. YUCK!

Now it's done and it feels pretty good. Not as good as the original before it had a hole, but better than an unfilled or growing cavity. Even as I sat there today, barely tolerating the drill buzzing away in my head, I realized how dealing with significant losses is a bit like this dreaded dental procedure.

Death of a loved one and other significant losses leave a hollow place, a cavity, but it is not possible to fill it with what was once there. Slowly, over time, we must find ways to fill the empty space with new thoughts, memories, and meaningful activities. These new fillings can never replace what was lost, but they can help us continue in a healthy way with what is left. It's important to prevent the hole from getting bigger.

A reader shared with me recently that her child and grandchild had died in an accident years ago, and that the poems in Rays of Hope helped her feel normal and less empty after all these years. She said the loss is always with her, but that she'd tried to fill the void with an overloaded calendar, which only seemed to leave more of a hole in her spirit. The poems helped validate feelings she had tried to escape, especially when the initial numbness of the early stage of grief had worn off.

As much as we object because we hate the hole left by our loss, when we allow little fillings along the way, it eventually eases the pain and discomfort. And sometimes, we need to discard what had once worked effectively as a filling, finding new ones to replace the old that no longer fits. This is what my kind and gentle dentist calls "preventative care" and I have to admit, I'm grateful for it!

On Fire!

It is probably the fires in southern California that made me remember this story and reflect on how the meanings have grown over the years.

When I was a little girl, the one phone we had at home was attached to the wall in our kitchen. I had to climb a step ladder in order to reach it. Little girls always wore full, poofy dresses and skirts back then, and I remember one dress especially vividly. It was black and brown gingham, just as cute as could be, and was made by my mother's talented hands. Mom must have created hundreds of dresses for my four sisters and me over the years. She deserved an award for her sewing.

One day, I was standing at the top of the step ladder, talking on the phone. My grandfather happened to stop by the kitchen and I remember watching him at the sink as I chatted away. Suddenly he turned and lunged at me, shaking my skirt with such tremendous vigor, I couldn't imagine what was going on. He had a look of sheer terror on his face and I'd never seen him move with such lightning speed. I instantly looked down at my skirt, only to see the flames rapidly gobbling it up, moving upward toward my waist. You see, the phone was above the gas stove, and my dress had brushed through the stove's flames and caught fire as I stood on the ladder. It had no sooner registered in my brain that I was on fire, that Grandpa had put out the flames.

Once the flames were extinguished, Grandpa sort of collapsed back against the counter behind him, putting his hand on his chest and breathing the most audible sigh of relief I have ever heard. We both just stared at each other in silent recognition of what had just happened. I don't even remember if a single word was ever uttered between us about this little emergency that could have turned out so differently. I was not injured or burned in any way, and Grandpa recovered from his nerve-shattering experience of having to rescue his granddaughter from the flames. My mother sewed a patch over the burned-out chunk of my dress. I wore that dress many times, and although mom patched it with such exquisite care that no one ever noticed the repair work, I always looked for the patch, and would stroke it with my hand.

I didn't realize it at the time, but now I know why I studied and stroked that gingham patch on my dress. It reminded me that I was special and loved, and worth rescuing. Sometimes I think the special gingham patch has kept me going in the most difficult times, even long after I outgrew the dress and it disappeared.

There are times in life when someone else can see that we are "on fire" and in need of rescue. They may step in - or sometimes even lunge in - to help us see and extinguish the little flames in our own lives that may be gobbling us up. What matters most is that we recognize the many forms of love that come to us regardless of how they are delivered, and allow them to help us patch up our lives.  That's how we get whole again, and become able to step in with our own special fire extinguisher when someone else needs it.

Thank you, Grandpa and Mom. I love you infinitely.