what i need.
i must admit that it has been odd not to write here on my blog lately. there is something happening in my life, something that isn’t one of those things one can share on a blog, that has spun me around a bit. something that really has more to do with someone else’s journey, yet, it deeply affects me too. it is all i have wanted to write about. mostly because i am seeking a chorus of people who might say, “oh yes, i know this. it will be hard. you are not alone.”
to dance around something feels odd and almost fake, but i am going to ask that you simply give me the space to do this. sharing the details is not for me to do.
those of you who have been stopping by for a while have probably noticed that i don’t talk about my family too much (as in, this aspect of my childhood is something i had to seek therapy about or when that happened when i was a child and on and on) because those things are deeply private. i do reveal a lot about myself here. but, i tend to reveal things that are just about me, and tend not share intimate details about the other people in my life that are their own pieces to share.
over the last few days, i have realized that because this is my place to come and be fully present, i do want to share some pieces of my childhood, of what is happening right now, of what has lead me to this place, to this moment. so for a while…maybe a long while…there will be this overarching theme of how this non-specific “something” is affecting me and those i love.
february 3 was the second anniversary of my dog traveler’s death. i didn’t dwell on it too much because i spent the day making my way across the country to chicago where another friend and i surprised our friend missy for her 30th birthday. the joy of being part of an oprah-like surprise moment is some kind of fun. keeping the secret and then sharing that moment with six of my dear friends was something i will keep close to my heart always. a perfect moment really. it was a whirlwind of a quick trip, but one that filled me up with all the good stuff that time with friends who have known you more than half your life can give you. (thank you girls.)
returning home though, i was back in the quiet. back to being alone most of the time. back to the place where each day is leading me closer to the time of my grandmother’s death. even though i love spring, and it makes me so happy that the tulips are peeking their way up through the soil, my heart aches because i cannot call her to tell her that the days are warmer and that i can smell spring in the air. this was her favorite time of year. last friday, i walked outside to the backyard with millie after it had just stopped raining and it smelled like the air on a cool spring day outside my grandparents house in south carolina. i could hear myself protesting as she would have demanded that i put on a sweater and my shoes and walk around the yard with her, so that we could see what was happening out there in the world of plants and birds and small animals. that moment last week was like a little whisper from her. it didn’t invite tears, just a smile.
still, i can feel an ache in my chest as i wish she was home so i could call her and say, “i cannot believe this is happening. can you? i am so overwhelmed right now.” and she would listen and then ask me about my plants or what i have been cooking lately. and then we might make plans to talk again soon. i would hear her voice.
back in november, my teacher told me about a workshop that she thought i might be interested in. it was a workshop for yoga teachers at her studio. another friend encouraged me to go, so i have had it in my head for weeks that i would be attending. when this past saturday came around and it was time to go, i realized i had only a vague idea of what the workshop was going to be about and wasn’t quite prepared for what i found when i opened the folder sitting at my seat in the circle at the workshop.
the topic: grief and loss.
the teacher was anna rhodes; a psychologist who studied with, worked with, and was friends with elizabeth kubler-ross. i learned so much in this workshop…and i will just share and share here as the waves of new understanding hit me. i still feel a bit raw from the experience and the combination of it with the other things happening right now.
reflecting on the workshop, i came to realize something important. the timing of my grandmother’s death has greatly affected me. although i know she was old and sick with something the doctor’s could not diagnose. although the timing of her death came as a surprise. although she was “just” my grandmother. although it has been almost two years and on and on…i still feel a bit stuck in the pain of the timing of it all. a few months prior to her death, we had just moved across the country from the only area i had ever lived. several people, and my dog, had been diagnosed with cancer. i didn’t have a full-time job or real sense of self-identity in this new community. my dog had just died of cancer. throughout all of this, the one person i could count on to be home to just chat with me, to answer questions about what to do with a yard and how to plant things, to brainstorm what to make for dinner, to cry about how much i missed traveler, that one person was suddenly gone. she wasn’t available to answer the phone for me to tell her that she was dead. she wasn’t there to say “i’m sorry you are going through this” as i wept about losing her. this is a huge piece of the agony i still feel. my life shifted so much in a few short months, and she was the one constant through it all. and with her death, that constant was taken away. forever.
anna talked about how as people who take care of others, we have to listen to what someone says when describing their pain and grief. people say things like, “i can’t catch my breath.” “my heart feels torn apart.” “my mind is going crazy.” “i can’t remember anything.” we have to listen to this, because this is the reality of how they are feeling physically and emotionally.
hearing this was a true “aha” moment for me. for the last, almost, two years, i have been thinking and sometimes saying that my heart feels broken. literally broken. that when i saw my grandmother in the funeral home, i felt my heart break. and each time i have to remind myself that she is dead, and i have to envision her in that funeral home again to remember, it feels like it breaks again. this is what is happening.
i talked to anna afterwards and she said, “you need to tell the people who take care of you that this is what it feels like so that they can do things for your heart.”
the people who take care of me.
i am a bit stuck at this phrase. but, this has caused me to have a new awareness of what i need.
what i need.
i need to be held. a lot. i need to rest in between my husband and our crazy, furry golden retriever and just feel safe. i need to be honest that my heart feels broken. i need to share my story again and again. i need to seek support in ways i haven’t in the past. i need to wrap myself up in warm blankets and wool sweaters when the chill sets in. i need to be held. i need to have someone pet my head. i need to surround myself with little things that invite happiness. i need to remember what it is that makes me happy. i need to create and push myself. i need to be held. i need to be honest. i need to share all that lives inside me. i need to tell my story. i need to sit by the sea. i need to let another take care of me sometimes. i need to be held and rocked and caressed. i need to be held. i need to be held.
and i am trying to find ways to share what i need and let go of the guilt that comes with asking. to just be honest and let the people who take care of me know what i need.
(whispering now)…maybe you could try this too. we can each try it. and be there for one another in this new experience of realizing and then sharing what we need.
this is me
Reader Comments (22)
The scholar Carolyn G. Heilbrun emphasizes that "women catch courage from the women whose lives and writings they read"
Thank you for the courage you lend me to be quite and listen to my breath and my heart.
You have given me much to reflect on today.
i need to be held too, but he is not here to do that. i'm finding it extremely difficult to breathe in the weeks leading up to the two year anniversary... extremely difficult. snuggle in with Jon and Millie - you are blessed to have them love xo
I feel such empathy with your struggle with your grief at your grandmother's passing. I lost my Nan more than two years ago, and I still have trouble accepting her death. She was the only person I could believe when she praised me (still). I have been depressed since she went, and there is an empty space in my heart that I haven't been able to fill. She was my inspiration in life and it is hard to go on when I realise she is gone.
BUT... I was immeasurably fortunate to have her until my 35th year. She was an amazing woman and I treasure her memory.
Your words made me realize something...I've written about it on my blog :)
Hugs, Sophie
wow liz.
this is hard.
what a great opportunity for you
to attend the workshop
and come away with new insights.
hugs and thinking of you
Your words really touched me today, Liz. Although daddy's been gone only 4 months, I dread one day waking up and realizing it 's been 2 years, or 10 years... I don't know how I will handle it all. As I practiced my yoga this morning, I wondered if I might be suffering from PTSD- I constantly have these flashbacks of daddy... daddy in the nursing home or hospital or at the funeral home, in the back of church on the day of the funeral...
I need, too, to be held, to be told that grieving is okay, for as long as you need to do it, that crying on their birthdays or anniversaries is just all a part of it...
As you so wonderfully tell us, we can experience this together, all of us, because all of us go through this at one time or another. But we have to share with each other and let the people around us know what we need... that's so important.
Thank you for opening yourself up, Liz, to help me and help all of us. I don't know if this stuff ever gets easier but maybe it gets tolerable... that's all I am asking...
Love you, Liz...
Your words stopped me and made me breathe in deeply and then I left my desk to go cry and now I am back. I had a realization the other day, a realization that in less than a couple of months, a year will have passed since my babies died, five years will have passed since my sister died and my breath caught and I wondered where has this year gone because I think I was sleepwalking for most of it because there is no way a year could be gone, never mind five.
I think I need the time to grieve that I never fully gave myself at the time, because I couldn't, the pain was to intense.
Thank you for your honesty here ... I need to be more honest with those close to me I think.
hugs.
This passage through grief feels so lonely. I wish, more than anything, that my sister could still be at the other end of the phone to talk through the sadness with me. And the laughter and the silliness and all the things we shared. Even the things we disagreed on and argued over.
Reading your words has opened a vulnerable place in my heart today. I'll try to fill it with self-care and will ask for the hugs I need. Thank you Liz. xoxoxo
May you receive everything that you need. I am sorry you're going through this, Liz. You are not alone. You are loved and held by so many.
there are tears in my eyes. this is a powerful realization...so powerful. i am here...if you ever need me to hold your heart just call...day or night...late or early...i see your broken heart and i hear it's tears.
Oh, Liz...I hear you, loud and clear. I am choked up right now, sitting alone in my little coffee shop, because I know that desperation to just be held, to have someone hold you and listen and play with your hair and just sit. If you were here, I would give you that gift.
I hold you in my heart from far away, love. I am hear if you need anything.
Also, I, too, struggle with how much to share from my childhood because of it's potential to hurt or expose others. It's a tough line to walk. I just want you to know that I understand.
Love to you, today and everyday.
oh liz.
i understand what it's like to be affected by something very deeply and be unable to write about it on my blog because it doesn't directly affect me...what a strange sensation that is. so hugs for that.
and as for the rest...the grief, the realizations you had at the workshop - i hear you. just that. i see you, and i hear you.
take wonderful care of yourself. i hope some cuddling helps.
I understand how the timing of a thing can make it even more unbearable. Maybe someday I'll tell you a little about why I say that, but I won't take up space in your comments with it. I just want you to know that I hear you and I understand that and I'm glad to listen when you want to talk. {{{{Liz}}}}
No. She was not "just" your grandma...I know, and I am sorry.
I don't know what it is you are going through, the things from childhood that carry over for you. But I know these things are real to us, and matter. I wish you healing love, now. Healing Love and Light. All that you need...
oxox :)
One of my favorite activities is being held between my husband and our Jack Russell, especially under a fuzzy blanket on a cold night.
Love to you, Liz.
This post resonates with me SO much. I hear you, Liz, and I'm sending you a big hug. xoxo
Liz~ I pray that you find peace in those things that you are dealing with right now. I hope that by declaring what you need, you are enveloped by both the universe, as well as your loved ones.
Thinking of you during this difficult time and sending many hugs...xoxoxox
read "The Secret." It will change your life!
blessings,
sage
Love to you, Liz. I wish I could say more, but for some reason I can't type past the lump in my throat right now.
I want you to find everything you need.
I admire you for stepping forth and saying what you need. It inspires me to do the same. I get caught up folding it in, withholding the opportunities for others to nurture me,and ultimately depriving myself - simply because of the fear and pain of making myself vulnerable.
It's been years since I cried at my desk. Thank you for your incredible bravery.
This is the most beautiful post I've read in a long time. I loved my Nan too, and lost her 20 years ago this year. I miss her still, but am aware of her presence in my life in so many ways...so precious.
I also feel the need to be held, as we all do, I'm sure. Some of us are lucky enough to have someone to hold us. Thank goodness for that.
I hope that you are feeling more comfortable a month on, and that you can still hear her voice and see her smile. Bless you both.
Thank you so much for sharing your story.
Hugs (((xXx))) Suze