20 Years of Grief

Sometimes it feels like yesterday, other times, a lifetime ago; February 24th, 2018 marks 20 years since my mom died.

Grief is a funny beast. Sometimes it's predictable, like in February. I've come to learn that each year grief is going to make itself known very prominently in February. It's cold, grey, and bleak, and so often I feel overcome with sadness that I can't entirely explain. Everyday challenges feel like a heavy weight I can't bear, and some days I struggle to just get out of bed. I've come to learn that self care is key, and do my best to be gentle, while surrounding myself with people who can be gentle for me when I've lost my way.

The February grief I'm familiar with - it's the sneaky grief that catches me by surprise. The times when I catch a glimpse of a mother and daughter doing something lovely together. The ordinary thoughts of the things she will never be a part of. The photo that falls out of a book to reveal an image of a person who I long to be near. The realization that I can't easily recall the sound of her voice. Twenty years will do that to a person.

This week I was talking to a friend whose mom died a year ago. She said that she's at a point now where her mom feels further and further away with each day that passes. I know that feeling well. I've passed through more than 7,000 days without my mom, and now she feels like a distant whisper of the person I used to know.

Last year I mentioned that this 20th anniversary scared me. 20 years somehow felt more significant. Now that I'm here, it still does, even though I know it's just another anniversary. I re-read this quote earlier this week, and it still resonates so deeply:

"As far as I can see, grief will never truly end. It may become softer over time, more gentle, and some days will feel sharp. But grief will last as long as love does -- forever. It's simply the way the absence of your loved one manifests in your heart. A deep longing, accompanied by the deepest love. Some days, the heavy fog may return, and the next day, it may recede, once again. It's all an ebb and flow, a constant dance of sorrow and joy, pain and sweet love." - Scribbles & Crumbs

Twenty years ago I experienced one of the worst days of my life. I've spent the years that have followed grieving, recovering, exploring, learning, growing and changing. I know that losing my mom at 13 has played a huge role in shaping me as a person - but I can't diminish the impact of everything else that has followed. Grief has left me forever changed, as I miss the person who gave me life, and I know that I will never be the same. 

How I Grieve

It's February 24th, which means that it's the 19th anniversary of my mother's death.

Year after year, February throws me into a tizzy and leaves me feeling sad. I've shared before the idea that grief is like the seasons - ever changing, but always present. While I know this and believe it, February continues to hit me like a tonne of bricks every year.

My mom isn't buried in a cemetery, nor do I have a place to visit her in any way, so each year my blog has become a forum for me to honour her memory and reflect on each new season of grief. This is where I'm at today.

It's ok to not be ok.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Most of us are guilty of reassuring people that we're ok. I myself found myself telling my therapist that I was "mostly ok" -- and that's totally fine if it's true. But it's also really ok if it's not. And it's also ok to admit it.

In this glossy, social media-driven world it's easy to view one another's lives as polished, easy, ideal or even perfect. But you never really know what's happening behind the photo or what their expression looks like in between camera clicks.

I encourage you to truly ask those around you how they are and adequately prepare yourself for a real and true answer. It's not always sunshine, rainbows and unicorns -- and that's really ok.

And in those darker days, I encourage you to reach out. Ask for help if you need/want it. Practice self care that helps you to feel safe. And do your best to find a glimpse of light in the darkness, just to make the day a tiny bit easier.

Feelings are valid, whatever they are

In past years I've gotten down on myself for anticipating February 24th or just feeling upset as soon as the calendar turned to February. I've worried about being "too upset" or "getting myself worked up". I've been working to remember that my feelings are valid and normal and it's totally ok to feel what I'm feeling. Getting anxious over "getting too upset" doesn't serve anyone, especially me.

Grief is such a difficult thing - it comes in waves and sometimes hits you when you least expect it. There are so many things that have triggered my grief - other deaths, special occasions, difficult life changes, happy life changes, photos, memories, conversations -- the list goes on and on.

I've found myself feeling sad over the last few weeks and doing my best to practice self care, but I've had moments where I've been paralyzed by grief. I've started and ended workouts really quickly, cancelled plans and put myself in bed to manage my emotions. I've been having some really helpful conversations with my therapist and being honest with where I'm at day to day, hour to hour.

I read this quote last night in Brené Brown's book, The Gifts of Imperfection "owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do", which rang especially true.

Showing or expressing feelings is not a sign of weakness. It's not a competition to try and be better or stronger. Feelings are valid - whatever they are.

19 years later, it's still important for me to honour my mom

I moved into my new apartment on January 1st and I've been enjoying making it my own and creating little projects for myself. One of the things that makes me really happy is that there are lots of pictures of my mom throughout my space. I look up in most rooms and she's there.

My mom wasn't a huge fan of having her photo taken, so each of these photos feels like a pretty special gift. Having these photos, talking about her, sharing my thoughts through social media helps me to feel closer to her.

I'm afraid of next year

It blows my mind that 19 years have passed since I've had any contact or a conversation with my mom. I have no frame of reference for what it would be like to have her in my life. I'm an entirely different, grown up person from 13 year old me.

If I'm being totally honest, next year's anniversary scares me a lot. Two decades. 7300 days. Her physical presence in my life feels like more than a lifetime ago. 20 years feels like it has added significance somehow.

Today I will feel what I need to feel. I will continue to practice good self care, surround myself with wonderful people who I love, take time and space to feel safe and remind myself that whatever my feelings are today, they're valid, real and significant.

"As far as I can see, grief will never truly end. It may become softer over time, more gentle, and some days will feel sharp. But grief will last as long as love does -- forever. It's simply the way the absence of your loved one manifests in your heart. A deep longing, accompanied by the deepest love. Some days, the heavy fog may return, and the next day, it may recede, once again. It's all an ebb and flow, a constant dance of sorrow and joy, pain and sweet love." - Scribbles & Crumbs

A New Season of Grief

A friend recently shared the idea that grief is like the seasons - ever present, but always changing. I know I've mentioned this idea before, but it has deeply resonated with me this month as I approached the 18th anniversary of my mom's death.

February usually haunts me. It's the whole reason why I started the Life is Sweet series and performed 2 shows in my mom's honour. Those projects gave me a place to focus my energy and remember my mom in a cold, bleak, grey month that always felt like it was hanging over me like a dark cloud. In 18 years, I've figured out that I need to practice great self care in February, ask for help and give myself things to look forward to. 

I realized that this year was a different season for me about 2 weeks into February. 

I felt calmer. 

Sadness wasn't my predominant emotion.

I was in control of my feelings. 

As I've reflected on this change in my February demeanour, I've come to attribute it to a few things in my life right now:

• I feel really happy and fulfilled in the work that I'm doing and in my relationships
• I've been practicing good self care by working out each morning, nourishing my body with delicious food, drinking lots of water and getting a good amount of sleep
• I've developed a daily practice of gratitude and spend a few minutes doing positive visualization each night
• I'm going on a cruise in less than 3 weeks and I'm really excited for the downtime, time with Corbin and friends, sunshine and the opportunity to swim with dolphins
• The weather in Toronto hasn't been entirely miserable this year - it was 10 degrees on Saturday!

Corbin said to me last week that he felt like this had been my best February since we had been together and I have to agree. I think it's actually been my best February in a very long time, maybe ever. Perhaps this is a new season? Maybe February doesn't have to hit me like a tonne of bricks every year? Right now I need to get through today. 

My amazing friends and family have been a huge support to me this month. My Nan called last week to ask me how I was doing because she "knows February is hard for me". I woke up to a text message from my sweet aunt sending her love. Corbin made plans to take me out for dinner tonight. A friend (who has known me since the 8th grade when my mom died) just messaged me as I was finishing this post to say that she was thinking of me. I expressed my gratitude for her thoughtful message and she said "I wouldn't let today go by without one". Other friends have sent their love and offered to support me in any way I needed. Asking for help can be really tough, especially when you're an independent, self-sufficient person, but I'm very blessed to have beautiful people in my life who have my back. 

Sometimes it feels like I'm grasping at thin air for a memory of my mom. I have photos, stories, anecdotes, some mementos and her journal, but I wish I had more. Over the years I realize how far away I truly am from her, and that time is only going to increase as I get older. 

This morning I pulled out my mom's journal and read a few pages. I stopped at the letter she added on the very last page for my brother and I in December of 1993:

To Ashley & Cory:

I always knew I wanted to be a mother even before I had you both. You're more than I ever dreamed. 

Each of you is a very special gift from God. I hope I've been the best mother I could be. I hope to always be a positive influence in your lives. 

I know the importance of your individuality and independence. 

I want the best for both of you always. 

I love you both with all my heart. 

I hope to be here with you both for a very long time. 

My love for you both forever. Love Mom

I could re-read that second last line over and over again. I wish I could tell her the impact her life and death has truly had on my life. 

This is what grief looks like for me today, February 24th, 2016. 

In 18 years I've come to learn that grief is always changing. Tomorrow, next month or next year could be entirely different. I don't know because I haven't gotten there yet; I do my best to figure it out along the way.

Suicide, God and Comments on the Internet

A few months ago, someone that I admire wrote a post about Brittany Maynard, the woman who had moved to a new state with her family so that she could die with compassion. She was terminally ill with brain cancer and her health was deteriorating and she wanted to live the end of her life with dignity and have control over a disease that had taken control of her life.

This person that I admire is openly religious and often posts about his faith. He wrote a post about this woman, asking "what if Brittany choosing to die was not in God's plan" and went on to wonder whether God had great things planned for this woman that she would miss out on because she was choosing to end her own life. I read the post and realized that he and I shared a very different view on Brittany's decision, but then I made the mistake of reading the comments.

People were ripping the woman apart. Some said she should burn in hell for choosing to end her own life. Harsh opinions of suicide ensued. Others criticized her immensely for her "selfish" decision. Comments on the Internet can be a really horrific thing, but I couldn't believe the lack of compassion that these people were showing this woman who had made such a tough decision and shared it publicly. And while Brittany's situation is very different than anything I've experienced in my lifetime, with their criticism of her choice and suicide in general, I felt like they were also attacking my mom.

Since my mom's death in 1998, I've had some very difficult conversations / debates / arguments with people about suicide. It's a heated subject, and I've had my fair share of people express their opinions about it to me.

About how selfish it is.
How awful it is for the people who need to "clean it up".
Shouldn't I be angry at my mom?
And now reading the opinions of these people who believed that those who die by suicide should burn in hell.

Just, wow.

In 17 years I've certainly wondered what had to be happening in my mom's head in order for her to end her life. She had 2 children, family and friends who loved her immensely and she left that behind. I've felt sad for the time I lost with her and all the things she'll never be a part of in my life. It hurts to think about the time we've missed out on together and the moments in my life that she will never experience. The important people in my life that she'll never get to meet. And while suicide is a very final choice, I recognize that those who die by suicide really see no other way to keep living. It's not a feeling that I have personally experienced, but I have felt the bleakness that comes with depression and can only imagine that suicide is a further extension of that. And in Brittany's case, it was a choice to die with dignity. Not an easy one, but a decision that she and her family decided was the right one for her.

I can't imagine condemning anyone to "burn in hell", especially not someone who was hurting immensely and going through their own version of hell; A person who was experiencing a lot of pain and sadness, who through their own actions would leave family and loved ones and a whole life behind. I'm not a religious person, but I understand that the bible says to "love thy neighbour", right?

And like I felt the day I read those comments, I feel the need to write this and defend my mom, because she isn't here to do it herself.

Because in my experience, when people get upset about suicide or the idea of suicide, they forget that there was a person attached to the concept. They dismiss the people that were left behind. They get caught up in being against the idea and view it as a concept that they are against. When really, there's so much more to it than that.

Each year I host this Life is Sweet series for people to share their stories and to remind others of the humanity behind the ideas of mental health, mental illness, suicide and loss. It's easy to get caught up in a concept, but let's remember that there are people behind them.

Seventeen years ago, my beautiful mother Debbie chose to end her life by suicide. I can't claim to understand exactly why, but I know that she dealt with a lot of pain and sadness in her lifetime.

I'm not angry at her.

I don't feel resentful of her "selfish" act.

I feel sad for all that we both missed out on.

And I miss her every day.

Smile, Open Your Eyes, Love and Go On

14 years ago, on February 24, 1998 at about 8:00 in the morning I was sitting next to my mother’s body, begging something bigger and more powerful than me to bring her back to life. I held her and hugged her and hoped and prayed and did everything I could possibly think of to keep her with me. The events of the 24 hours prior played out in my brain repeatedly and I found myself crying out of sadness and despair and guilt for not telling her that I loved her before I went to sleep the night before. No one responded to my wishes and she didn’t wake up. My mum was taken to the hospital and about an hour later my grandmother got the call to say that she was gone.

On February 25, 1998, I went to school. I was in the 8th grade and I went to the office when I arrived to give them a note and inform them that I had been absent on the day prior because my mother had died. While I was sitting in my first period class, I was called down to the principal’s office during homeroom and he asked me what I was doing at school. I told him that I didn’t know where else to be. I didn’t want to be at home, because we were staying with friends and I felt out of place. I didn’t want to be making arrangements for my mother’s funeral and I didn’t want to be left alone anywhere with my thoughts. School gave me a distraction and a great support system. I had a wonderful guidance counsellor, a fabulous homeroom teacher and a great group of friends. I knew where I needed to be, and if it was okay with him, I intended to stay.

It’s been 14 years since my mum died, and I’ve spent the last 5,110 days trying to figure this whole thing out. I am the person I am because my mum took her own life 2 months before my 14th birthday. And somehow, most of the time I manage to be pretty okay.

I think when something tragic happens to a person, you can go one of two ways: you can wallow in it or you can rise above it. I’ve always been one to rise above. In the years that followed my mum’s death, I went to counselling, talked openly about what had happened and in some ways distanced myself from other family members who were stuck in their grief, sadness and blame. I miss her every day and feel sad for all the experiences we won’t share, but I haven’t let it hold me back from the life I  have wanted to live. Her death inspired me to live life to its fullest potential and in the last 14 years I’ve done everything in my ability to do just that.

I work really hard to keep that spirit alive in me, but every year come February I watch that strength start to crumble. As the day approaches that sadness builds up and I never really know how it’s going to manifest itself within me. I’ve been coping with my mother’s death for a longer period of time than I got to enjoy her life and I’ve realized that it doesn’t ever get easier. I’ve spent a lot of this week trying to keep my shit together so I could go on with my regular life, but have found myself locked in bathroom stalls sobbing or crying myself to sleep more than once. It’s exhausting. And hard. But I know I’ll get past this too.

“You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.
Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she'd want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on.”

~ David Harkins

Today will be tough, but I know that tomorrow I will wake up and I will be finished with February 24th for another year. I have plans in the next 24 hours to see some of my very favourite people and I’m going to allow myself to feel whatever it is that I feel. It’s likely that I will cry, but I’ll probably smile too, because I know that that’s what she would have wanted to see.

xo