Lack of Relief
(picture found here)
Back when my mom was sick, I was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated because it didn’t matter who I called, met with, faxed, emailed, whatever, she was still clearly not getting better, was clearly in a serious decline, and it was scary as hell. I spoke to her on the phone every day, and every day, she sounded worse. Every day, I tried to find some way to encourage her to try physical therapy, to do things like go outside, get dressed, watch TV, anything that might lift the burden of depression that was overtaking her. And nothing was working. Not the meds the doctors gave her, not the encouragement that my Grandma, Kate, and I gave her, nothing. Nothing was working.
One evening, Ted asked me how I would feel if she were to die. I thought about it, and my first answer was that I would be sad. I would miss her terribly, and it would break my heart to lose her now, when I had counted on at least another 20 years together, when I had been looking forward to taking her to get a pedicure, to taking her to yummy ethnic restaurants like they didn’t have in Alaska, to hearing of her recovery and her adventures in living with Kate. So sad, yes, that I expected. But part of me said, I’ll feel relieved. I’ll be sorry that she’s gone, but I’ll be relieved to have this extreme stress gone, relieved to know that she’s not in pain any longer. I’ve heard this so many times from people who lose an ailing relative, that there’s a sense of relief when they’re gone, though usually people feel somewhat ashamed at that relief.
Every time I went to see her, she was in so much pain (her back and her sciatica) that most of what she wanted was painkillers. I would be relieved to have that pain be over. I would be relieved that she wasn’t going to suffer a long, horrid, years-long decline. You hear horrible stories of hard, hard, times, and I would be relieved that she wasn’t going to suffer that.
And then, she died. She died the day after the worst visit I ever had with her. A visit where she threw up everything I brought her to eat, she hallucinated picture frames around my face, thought they would never let her go, was afraid of the pain of having to do physical therapy, was sad at the thought that any of us might be angry or frustrated with her because she wasn’t working harder to get better (I’ll admit it, I was). It was a horrid visit. Ted’s mom told me, when you go see your mom, give her some comfort. Rub lotion into her feet and hands, brush her hair, tell her you love her. I listened to that advice, and so even though I was frustrated with her for not trying harder to recover (which I have come to accept that she couldn’t do, that she was too far gone and it was just too much), I did tell her that I love her, I rubbed lotion on her feet, I rubbed it into her hands, I gave her her favorite foods to eat. Which she threw up. It was horrid. I came home so tense and wound up, that yes, her being free of that, me being free of that, would indeed be a relief.
The reality, though, is that while I have felt the weight of all of that stress lifted from me once she died, the stress of “God, what if I make a mistake, what if I forget to tell the doctor something he needs to know, what will the repercussions to her health be?”….even though I felt that lift of stress, I have as yet felt no feeling of relief. Perhaps I misunderstood what that relief might feel like, but I haven’t found a second of relief. What I feel is sadness and longing, longing to be able to talk to her about politics, sadness about not being able to bring her a bag of delicious late summer fruits, nectarines and peaches and plums. The everyday pleasures of life that I cannot share with her. I don’t feel relief. I feel robbed.
21 Comments
Ted
It seems these last few weeks have been very hard on you. I wish there was something more I could do.
(sigh)
You feel robbed … I feel helpless. Boy, we’re quite a pair, huh. 🙁
Cherry
You have been robbed! This was to be a new chapter in yours and your mom’s lives. A chance to be closer and to be able to talk to each other in person and not just on the phone. A chance for her to tell Maya stories and not just send her letters. A time for her and Kate to spend time laughing and sharing memories and learning how to live with someone again.
I’m so sorry Julie. I wanted you to feel the relief, even if it came with a great deal of pain. Most importantly though, is that you are feeling. You are mindful of your emotions, and still able to laugh and talk and play. You are living with your grief and through your grief, even if you haven’t felt the relief which was promised. I hope you do someday.
Hugs!
C
Oh, Julie! So sorry you’re going through this. The even harder part is that sometimes these feelings last longer than we think they will. I know all too well what you may be going through right now.
A few years ago, I lost my aunt (whom I was very, very close to). She died of a long battle with cancer. I was actually in the hospital room with her when she died. It was the most awful, gut-wrenching, painful feeling to feel the life just slip away. As she was “going”, she kept saying (in her mother tongue…which is Tagalog, a dialect of the Philippines), “Bring me down. Please, bring me back down!” Did that mean that she could see herself leaving her own body?
I cried and I cried, thinking of all the things I wanted to do with her still…of all the places we were supposed to go to….of all the things I wanted to share with her (like the day I got married and now with the baby coming). I also thought of all the things that I hadn’t done. I have stopped being so hard on myself and as the days go by, the pain lessens…but only slightly.
As I read this post, I can see how you feel robbed. It’s true. No matter how many people try to console you or help you through this, sometimes it will feel like nothing helps. I can’t say that time will take away the pain, but it does get better. There will come a day when it won’t always feel so hard.
Sorry for this lengthy comment. I know you’re probably tired of hearing people try to be there for you. Sometimes it’s more a matter of getting things out rather than wanting people to say stuff.
Thinking of you XOXO
lilalia
It is easy to understand how it is you feel this way. I wish you an ease to your sorrow through the comfort of your dear husband and loving family. I also wish that at some point in time you will be able to feel how that what you loss is very small in comparison to all that you gained in the years with your mom. And, that this realization does not occur from your brain, but through the warmness of your heart.
Starshine
Dear Julie,
I’m just so sorry for the sadness and pain you are feeling. You are grieving such a big loss.
Sending you love and hugs. xo
Loretta Beaver (aunt Lori)
Dear sweet Julie, it is my deepest desire that you are able to get to a space of peaceful contentment. I wish I was there to give you a hug, and get one too. I too wanted more time with my sister, yet I am sincerely grateful for the time that I did have. Precious moments, too few, too short, and yet I know that finding her at all was a gift from our Creator. She lives in you and in Maya. Because of my faith, I believe we will all be together again in a time and space we can not even imagine. I believe her spirit is with us every day and she will be as close to us in the measure we allow. She was in pain, and that pain is no more. Our grief is over our loss of her physical presence, but she is with our dad and grandparents that have gone before us. My understanding is (think of a baby in the womb, it is not yet born to this world, but still a part of this world) that the baby died to the womb world to be born of this world. And when we die to this world, we are born to the next world. I do believe she is in a better place and all of her pain and impairments she had at the end of this life were left here, and all the joy and growth she experienced in this life, went with her. Our lives are better for the days she shared with us, and I thank her for that. Know that you are loved very deeply and you are in our prayers (Tony wanted me to assure you that he has you in his prayers too). Love Aunt Lori
Jenny (your cuz)
As you know I lost my mother too when I was only 19. All I can say is one day it wont be so painful. But you will always feel robbed and miss her. It isnt fair when someone dies so young. But you can feel good that she wont have to suffer, and no one deserves that.
Linda Atkins
Of course you do, my dear, of course. For good reason. I am so, so sorry your mother is gone. It’s a dreadful, unimaginable loss.
Nance
Perhaps the relief is yet to come.
Rain
Well in a way you were robbed. You lost a relationship that you treasured and you didn’t agree to its loss. You wanted it to be as it could have been, not as it was. It’s not a consolation that her suffering is over because you wanted it to be over with her healthy and happy again. I am sure she wanted that also. Her body didn’t cooperate. I don’t know of any words that will make it better either. Just time which is very little consolation. Time and concentrating on all you do have, not on what you have lost.
Nancy
Julie,
Just a lurker, but I’ve found the quote below so helpful as I’ve moved through the loss of parents and sibling. This author really gets it…..
“You’ll get over itâ€. It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because “it†is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The articulation of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is the shape of you and no one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
~ Jeanette Winterson
There’s more to the quote, but this was all I could find online. Take care – it does get better.
J
Thank you Nancy. 🙂 I like that quote. I have to say, thankfully, that no one has yet told me I’ll get over it someday.
My friend Starshine told me that losing someone was like a hole in your heart, and that the edges soften after awhile, and hurt less, but the hole is always there, as a testament to the person you loved and lost. And that the hole is to be cherished because it reminds you of them. That sounds a lot like what Ms. Winterson said in your quote.
Thanks for that.
Suebob
Oh, yes, I understand. My sis was terribly ill with MS in the 18 years before she died. I thought it would be a relief for her suffering to end. But it has not been a relief. I am mad, sad, miss her awfully. I try to remind myself that I was the jeep-driving, beach-walking sister back, not the paraplegic sis – but my mind doesn’t work that way. I want what I can’t have, and that is that.
Hugs to you. It is awful, and it does take time, a lot of time apparently, to feel better.
amuirin
You know, as you write this down, all you are going through with the loss of your mother you lend a modicum of relief to people who find someone to share a deep well of loss. And it’s brave, it really is to share with such honesty those feelings.
It is still new, your grief. The pain and unexpectedness of having to be without your mom, the unfairness of that- all of those feelings are still right near the heart.
I think relief comes with acceptance. And accepting such a staggering loss takes time. Be kind and patient with yourself. All those feelings- loss, guilt, anger, they’re part of the grief process. And grief is a necessary element of the ability to love.
amuirin
I really like your ocean picture, btw. Living at the coast, I know how difficult it is to get a good picture of waves instead of a flat, boring shot. That’s a wonderful capture.
J
ACK, amuirin, I totally forgot to give credit for the photo, which is NOT mine. I fixed it now. Yes, it is a beautiful photo.
MsMamma
Gosh, I don’t know if you’ll ever get ‘over’ it. The pain may be duller and such, but you did lose her too early. I know a comment like this doesn’t help a whole helluva a lot, but what you and you mother shared and showed the world here in blogland was VERY SPECIAL. Most people just don’t have that kind of a bond. XO
Chancy
I also miss your Mom, Maya’s Granny, Her blog was one of my must reads. She did write so beautifully and intelligently. I know you continue to mourn your loss and miss her terribly but you need to let her go. Try to feel at peace knowing you did everything possible for her.
Your word picture of your last day with her was touching. Rubbing lotion on her feet had to be so comforting to her and to you.
You did your best.
Chancy
http://www.driftwoodinspiration.blogspot.com
C
What wonderful comments everyone has written for you, J 🙂
I was just thinking of you today. I don’t think it’s possible to “get over” the loss of a loved one. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though. I’d be worried if you did “get over” it! Know what I mean? I totally agree with what Starshine said 🙂
Thinking of you. XOXO
Cate
Of course you have been robbed – you have been robbed of many happy years with your mom, and it hurts, it hurts like Hades. It has been some time since I lost my dad to stomach cancer, but his last several weeks before passing were so full of pain that I cried whenever I left the hospital, and I cried for hours and hours. Watching him go through that pain ripped me right apart – I still miss him terribly, but at the root of things is the sure knowledge that wherever he is, Dad is not going through that pain now. There are moments here and there when I still feel bitter and a little angry – that good man deserved a peaceful third age and a comfortable passing, and he had so many happy years left to live.
Your mother was someone very special – she was fierce and intelligent and she absolutely blazed with light and life. Somewhere, somehow, that light goes on, whether we think of it as a “spiritual thing” or (in terms of quantum physics) as dancing molecules, the dust of the stars.
Suzann
dear Julie – be as gentle with yourself as you possibly can right now – you lost something of such great value – you lost your irreplaceable dear mother – of course you are sad. Sending golden healing light to you across these miles between. We miss her too. with you in spirit. xo