This year, Rosh Hashanah is a time of mourning

By Elliot Kukla

Yesterday, the sun did not rise in my Bay Area home. My toddler who usually wakes at dawn, slept until 9am and woke up confused, pointing to a dark umber colored sky, obliterated by clouds of smoke from wildfires billowing all over the West Coast. Even the hummingbirds and bees in my backyard were disoriented.

This fall, we are not approaching an ordinary New Year. I will celebrate Rosh Hashanah in my living room, connected by video conference technology to my community, as California burns, hurricanes threaten the southeast, and the entire country faces a lethal virus. Everything is changing. We can no longer even depend on the sky to be blue.

We have all faced so much loss in the year that passed, but have we taken time to grieve?

Some of the losses of the past year have been obvious and clear: Precious people have died, countless homes and habitats have burnt down, and jobs have been lost. Other losses are more amorphous. We don’t know yet what we will get back of the world of 2019: Will our kids ever get to play freely again? Will we have predictable seasons in the future?

I am a rabbi who offers spiritual care for grieving and dying. I have learned from my clients that grief is essential; without naming the loss we are unable to draw together and comfort each other and we remain isolated in our suffering. There is a cavernous absence of public grieving for the momentous losses we all are facing in 2020.

Just consider the scale of resources given to grieving the 3,000 lives lost in 9/11, versus the 190,000 people (and counting) who have died in the COVID-19 pandemic in this country. Where are the large national memorial services, the plans for monuments, the presidential condolence visits? Much of this disparity is linked to who is dying (at least in the public imagination), and the prevailing belief that “only” old, sick, and disabled people die of COVID-19.

Mourning is humanizing, and its absence cracks open the door to atrocities.

My Jewish ancestors were snatched off the street by SS officers and buried in mass graves; my queer ancestors were denied funerals out of fear and bigotry as they died of AIDS. My disabled ancestors were warehoused in institutions, and often buried without names on their graves. My trans ancestors are left murdered in alleys, their cases growing cold, as I write this.

Despite this lack of official lamentation, they found ways to mourn and be mourned by each other. Grief has always been a way for disenfranchised people to claim our value.

After surviving the Holocaust in Belgium, my great-grandmother Rivka moved to England. Before she died, she took my father out to the coal heap behind their home: “Swear on this mountain,” she said to him, “that you will mourn for me.” To this day, I feel bound by this oath made by my nine-year-old father long before I was born, to grieve for this woman I never met, whose face looks so much like mine.

My friend, Stacey Park Milbern, died on May 19th, 2020, her 33rd birthday. She did not die from COVID-19, but from battling for care in the beleaguered medical system as a disabled activist and a person of color in an era of pandemic. I attended her funeral from my living room. I picked white geraniums and purple thyme from my garden and held my partner close. The internet was flooded with what Stacey taught us.

Disabled activist Alice Wong wrote an obituary on loving Stacey and the radical world of love and care she had built. Wong’s post was filled with Stacey’s own words on her legacy: “I do not know a lot about spirituality or what happens when we die, but my crip queer Korean life makes me believe that our earthly bodyminds is but a fraction, and not considering our ancestors is electing only to see a glimpse of who we are.”

Reading Stacey’s words and Wong’s tribute, I felt my own sense of self-love as a disabled person, restored by mourning for Stacey, at the same time as aching against the unfairness of it all.

Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the new year, but it is also a time to say good-bye to the year that past. Our ancestors, like us, lived in times of chaos and change. Tears are a central High Holy Day theme. All the traditional Torah and Haftarah readings for Rosh HaShana speak of weeping.

The Shofar itself is a symbol of tears. Our sages teach that the ram’s horn we blow on Rosh Hashanah must be kakuf (bent) to reflect our own bodies bent over in grief; while shevarim (the broken blasts of the shofar) are meant to echo the sound of our own tears, they are always surrounded by tekiah (whole sounds). This teaches us that even though our heart has been broken it has the capacity to be whole again and, in fact, more complete for having encompassed brokenness.

Grief is transformative: When we name the immensity of loss, we also claim the depth of our capacity for love.

Complete Article HERE!

A dad, brother and sister —

Woman who lost three relatives to suicide focuses on helping others with sudden loss

by Alexandra Heck

It’s a level of loss many would struggle to comprehend.

Jane Brown has lost three members of her family to suicide; her father when she was 29, her brother more than 20 years ago, and more recently her sister.

“There are stages in grief,” said Brown, who now offers support for others who have lost loved ones to suicide. “I didn’t always feel how I feel today.”

Brown is part of the Support After Suicide team with a program called Here4Hope, a partnership between the Canadian Mental Health Association of Waterloo Wellington, the County of Wellington and Wellington OPP.

It’s a program to help families, friends, colleagues and caregivers grieving from the often, sudden loss.

“When a community member dies there are so many that can be touched,” said Cecilia Marie Roberts, suicide prevention lead with CMHA Waterloo Wellington.

She says that Here4Hope is the first of its kind, because it pairs bereaved individuals with a police officer who can act as a liaison on the investigation, mental health support, and the guidance of someone who has similar lived experiences.

She said what follows from a suicide is often a traumatic and complex grieving process, and many may be afraid to talk about it or reach for help.

The program is a three-year pilot project funded by the Ministry of the Solicitor General, aiming to stabilize those in initial shock and work with them in the days and months following.

Both Brown and Roberts say that everyone grieves differently, and that with a traumatic event, there really is no correct order or timeline for how someone may work through the stages of loss.

In the early days, the team helps families with many of the practical questions.

The liaison officer can help answer questions about their loved one’s personal effects, the coroner’s timelines, questions about an investigation.

“There’s definitely support for our officers as well,” said Wellington County OPP Detachment Commander Insp. Paul Richardson.

He said that when someone dies in the community outside of hospital, officers are on scene.

They see what has happened. They are often the ones who speak with family.

He said the program gives officers comfort in knowing that there’s support for those that they meet in these situations.

“They have seen first-hand the pain and the anguish families feel,” said Roberts.  

Questions about writing an obituary, funeral arrangements, speaking with the media and explaining the situation to children are all daunting tasks that the team can give gentle guidance on.

During the next six to eight months, their support changes shape.

“That’s when the anniversaries start happening,” said Roberts, explaining that the first Christmas, birthday, back-to-school, have a tremendous effect. “Those first anniversaries can be so painful.”

Roberts says that life is never the same after losing a loved one to suicide. Instead, things shift and change.

“You move on to a new normal,” she said.

Over and over again, Roberts has heard from clients about the importance of having someone to relate to, someone who has faced a similar experience.

“I think the biggest thing that I offer is hope,” Brown said, noting that she never knows how someone is feeling, but can share how she felt when she was faced with similar circumstances.

“I’m not going to judge them,” she said, explaining her role is primarily to listen.

She shares ideas for coping and stresses the importance of having a strong support network.

Brown wants anyone in Wellington County to know that there are resources available if they are grieving the loss of someone to suicide.

“There’s help out there,” she said.

Complete Article HERE!

These Myths About Grief Could Be Interrupting Your Healing Process

by Catherine Adams

At the end of February, I lost my beloved cat of 13 years to mammary cancer. I adopted her as a kitten when I was a child and she grew with me and comforted me through the highs and lows of my life. Needless to say, it’s been hard, and this experience has me thinking about the process of grieving as I move through it.

Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of experience with grief in my short 25 years. When I look at this year and speak with my loved ones, I see grief all around me. Grief can be such a shocking experience, and I’ve found there are many harmful expectations surrounding how grief and healing should look. These expectations pigeon-hole us into pain and stagnancy, and can bar us from actually getting to the healing.

Researchers have identified different “types” of grief:

  • Anticipatory grief. When we grieve a loss before the loss has happened. For example, many of us are grieving the loss of 2020 to COVID-19 before the year has ended.
  • Common grief. This includes all of the symptoms you’d typically associate with bereavement.
  • Complicated grief. Where the one affected grieves in an “atypical” way (we’ll get back to this later).
  • Persistent grief. When intense grieving lasts past 12 months in association with certain symptoms.

Through years of experience, I’ve broken down alternatives to the following misconceptions associated with these types of grief to help free you from these expectations in a way that allows you to heal and move forward.

Grief can come hand in hand with any kind of loss, and loss doesn’t only apply to death. Perhaps you’re a part of the class of 2020 and are grieving the loss of a celebration of your accomplishments with friends and family. Perhaps you’re grieving the loss of a relationship and a future you had imagined together with that person. Perhaps you’re grieving the loss of an acquaintance, a public figure, or an unjustly killed stranger.

Whatever you’re feeling, that feeling is valid. After all, how can we move forward from something we haven’t acknowledged we’re going through?

It’s easy to slip into comparison at times of crisis. We may think that because the worst didn’t happen, that because we are alive and healthy and others are much less fortunate, that we do not deserve to feel distraught over events in our own lives.

But, while gratitude for our blessings is a good thing, as is empathy for others, comparison helps no one. It does no good for the less fortunate, and that sort of self-punishment only deepens our pain. Be kind to yourself, and let yourself feel what you are feeling.

Don’t let the surveys dictate how you feel. While research says that bereavement grief tends to last 7 to 12 months, how you cope with your loss (any loss) holds no bearing over what that person or experience meant to you.

Just because you’re able to feel happy after your loss does not mean that you’re happy that it happened. Moments of joy in the midst of a painful experience are completely normal.

Indeed, this myth is pervasive enough that it was deemed worthy of research. Inhibited grief, where a person shows few outward signs of grieving, is a commonly touted type of complicated grief that may contribute to the feeling that you’re doing grief “wrong.” But studies have shown that rather than being harmful or abnormal in some way, this kind of grieving is a sign of human resilience.

Loss is hard and the fact that you have the strength to continue with the difficulties of daily life in the midst of it is something to be proud of.

If you’re dealing with the death of a loved one, that person who passed would have likely celebrated your good days with you if they could. Letting go of your pain does not mean you’re letting go of what you loved.

Emotional numbing

There are times where starting over quickly is a sign of emotional numbing. This is when you “feel nothing” rather than feeling everything (memories, regrets, etc.). This is a coping mechanism for loss. With numbing, feelings may resurface at a later, seemingly unrelated time.

Complete Article HERE!

The 6 stages of coronavirus grief

By Daniel Scott

As a band director, the coronavirus turned me into a person I didn’t recognize, and I am beginning to figure out how to become OK with that. If you are an educator like me, you probably led a semi-continuously busy life made up of moments. You planned those moments based off events through the year. From one event to the next, you would check the boxes.

For me, it looked like this: Holiday Concert? Check. All district auditions? Check. All county clinic? Done. Summer Convention schedule released? I’m ready.

Life was busy, and it was beautiful. With the passing of each event you felt more excitement to reach the next moment in time. You loved the structure of your pre-COVID-19 life and your ability to make a direct difference in the lives of the young people who trusted you to lead them. As a pre-coronavirus coach, dance instructor, or fine arts teacher, you went from changing the world one rehearsal or practice at a time to sitting on the couch in your eerily quiet living room.

You went from booked evenings and packed weekends to forcing yourself to open the backdoor for fresh air. You get fancied up to go to the grocery store with hopes that you will see any other form of face-to-face human life. Coronavirus you is not vibrant. Coronavirus you is not outgoing. And while coronavirus you has all the time in the world to be busy and get tasks done, you don’t want to move from your comfortable, you-shaped cushion on your new couch.

Why is that? How can you go from one of the most task-oriented people you know, to having to muster the motivation to tackle simple tasks? This shift is caused by much, much more than COVID-19, and to understand it, we’re going to have to look at the realm of psychology and, more specifically, grief.

A brief on grief

Grief is the common, internal feeling one faces when they react to loss. Bereavement is the “state of being” experienced when one has lost someone. If you have ever taken an introduction to psychology course, you have probably heard of the 5 stages of grief detailed in the book, On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief through the Five Stages of Loss, co-authored by Elisabeth Kuber-Ross and David Kessler. The book explored the grief process and identified 5 non-linear stages that exist throughout.

  • Denial
  • Bargaining
  • Anger
  • Depression
  • Acceptance

Kubler-Ross explained in the book that the stage of denial deals with bereavement and the feeling of disbelief for what has happened. The bargaining stage is known as the trade-off stage. During this development, the individual tends to make a deal with fate to gain more moments of time with the loved one they lost. In the anger stage, individuals find something or someone to place blame. In this stage, questions of fairness arise. The sadness stage sends individuals into deep depression and helplessness, and acceptance is the stage in which individuals feel a sense of understanding and the ability to continue through their grief journey.

Many, including myself, believed that grief only occurs when mourning the death of a loved one. It took me by surprise when I was talking through many of my thoughts and emotions surrounding COVID-19 with my principal, and she proclaimed, “You’re experiencing grief.”

“I can’t be experiencing grief,” I thought.

I have experienced the pain of mourning a death, and this feeling was nothing like it. I walked away from that conversation feeling like I was exaggerating the emotions I felt. I did not believe I could ethically compare losing a few concerts and events to the loss of a loved one. So I did some research, and here’s what I found.

Understanding the COVID-grief

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”

– Vicki Harrison

Grief is highly individualized. Frequently, when we experience loss, we are able to skip many of the stages of the process. Others may experience instances where the stages reoccur. Kubler-Ross also believed that the stages of grief could be applied to any significant feeling of personal loss, not just death of a loved one. Kubler-Ross believed people could also experience grief over loss of a job, a relationship, anticipating one’s own death, or similar experiences.

Grief can be encountered by all who have had a major personal loss. For many, COVID-19 uprooted many aspects of day-to-day life: work, leisure, child care, and more. People all over the world have been forced to change their plans and adapt to new, uncertain circumstances. People have lost their normal routine and events they look forward to; as such, people are grieving what we could call a loss of expectation.

This means that COVID-19 grief is a reality and your feelings of loss and fear are valid. The truth is, there is not a “normal” type of grief. If you were to Google “types of grief,” you would meet an onslaught of websites labeling more than 10 different archetypes of grief. Anticipatory, complicated, cumulative, and  disenfranchised grief are just a few types that explain our COVID-19 life.

Anticipatory grief deals with the fear of what the future may hold. One typically incurs this type of grief when he or she receives a bad diagnosis, or when they begin to think of their own parent’s mortality, however, this type of grief also deals with the fear of the unknown. In a recent conversation with the Harvard Business Review, David Kessler stated the following:

With a virus, this kind of grief is so confusing for people. Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but you can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety. We’re feeling that loss of safety. I don’t think we’ve collectively lost our sense of general safety like this. Individually or as smaller groups, people have felt this. But all together, this is new. We are grieving on a micro and a macro level.

As Kessler mentions, the coronavirus is a threat that we can’t see. Further, it is unlike anything we have experienced, so we have difficulty predicting it and knowing what to expect. This uncertainty about the future is where anticipatory grief — this fear of what might lie in wait — can come into play. Anticipatory grief is related to anxiety and the fear of “what comes next.”

Complicated grief includes three different subtypes: chronic, delayed, and distorted. This grief type focuses on the feelings of loss that are long-lasting and disrupt your ability to do daily activities. For instance, this type of grief could manifest as the increased difficulty in getting off of the couch day after day. Some other possible symptoms of this grief are anger and irritability towards others and oneself. Complicated grief reminds us that being stuck in quarantine may not be the only reason you’re getting fed up with your significant other.

Cumulative grief refers to the feeling of loss one experiences when there is a chain of negative events one after the other following a loss. One encounters this type of grief when a second loss occurs while you are still grieving over the first. One tough aspect of COVID-19 has been the slow cancellations of every event and experience from March through the summer and beyond. To many — myself included — it has felt as if life was slowly being taken away one moment at a time. The intense feeling of loss that you may feel is cumulative grief.

You have not finished grieving over the loss of the musical being canceled, and now you’re having to deal with your spring recital being canceled as well. Both events are losses and caused a major disruption to your life. Continued disruptions and losses can send one into a tailspin that leads to a constant recycling of the grieving process. Because of this, the cumulative grief cycle could be very damaging to one’s psyche.

Disenfranchised grief occurs when society attempts to invalidate the grief of an individual, which leads to disenfranchisement. Many teachers are hearing invalidating statements such as, “At least you’re still getting paid. I’d like to get paid to sit around” or “I bet you’re happy to have more time with your family.”

Many of our students, specifically the class of 2020, are experiencing disenfranchised grief. How many of us have read statements such as, “It’s just prom” or “It’s not like they aren’t going to graduate. They just can’t walk on the stage. I wish I could’ve skipped my graduation”? While well-meaning, these statements serve to invalidate the intense feeling of loss that many students and staff are experiencing. These comments send the message that we “shouldn’t” feel this loss. Because of this, many become disillusioned from the grief felt.

The current culture has often made grief felt by educators and students insignificant. Without the ability to acknowledge this grief, feelings of anger, sadness, or loss can arise and be mis-attributed to other issues. All of this feeds the continuation through the grief cycle.

The human brain searches to make sense of what surrounds it. Unfortunately, we are in a constant state of an unknown, fear-inducing world, with a myriad of grief types that force us to feel lost even when we’ve jumped on our seventh Zoom call of the week. What can we do to overcome this grief?

Where do we go from here?

“We grieve because we love. How lucky we are to have experienced that love?” -Jahanvi Sardana

The first step of overcoming grief is understanding. This article doesn’t exist to be an exhaustive guide on how to overcome grief, but more to bring an awareness to what we may be experiencing. Some may be in our denial stages, pretending that the virus doesn’t exist, or in our anger stages where we are extremely angry with the social distancing measures put in place that have caused so much loss and anxiety in our lives. Bargaining may have occurred where we have decided to distance ourselves to be safe for a short period of time in hopes that everything would be “normal” after two weeks. Many of us may be feeling a sense of sadness or hopelessness believing that there is no end in sight.

Rather than be future-oriented, I believe that in this time we should stay present-focused. Every individual should extend grace and compassion to others and work every day toward acceptance.

I believe, much like Kessler, that there is a sixth stage of grief following acceptance. This stage deals with giving a meaning and purpose to the grief we experienced.

I believe that each of us has the unique ability to reach the end of this pandemic stronger, with a few new skills and an abundance of lessons learned.  We have to expect and understand that we may not function at the level that we normally might during this time — and that’s OK! As educators, our focus should be on providing. What experience can we create? What joy can we exude? What smile can we provide to our students and families in need?

Provide joy. Provide happiness. Provide humility. Provide understanding.

Grief is difficult. The emotions experienced are confusing and messy. We must understand that many of our days we will not be able to give as much of ourselves as we are used to, and that is OK.

Our 100% will be different each day, but we must focus on doing our best to provide what we can for the career that we love. The most important lesson I hope we all take away is to always love and appreciate the gifts life gives us every day.

Complete Article HERE!

‘Black Widow’

And A Conversation About Finding Humor In The Grieving Process

Leslie Gray Streeter is no stranger to grief. The former Palm Beach Post columnist lost her husband Scott five years ago to a sudden cardiac arrest.

She details the struggle of overcoming that grief while fighting to adopt her son Brooks, all with a sense of humor in her new memoir “Black Widow: A Sad-Funny Journey Through Grief for People Who Normally Avoid Books with Words Like Journey in the Title.”

“You’ll forgive me for not thinking clearly right now because my husband very recently dropped dead in front of me while we were making out. And when I say very recently. I mean yesterday. I have to pull myself together and deal with this sometime. Well, right now, probably what I really want to do is jump on the golf cart from which my mother is nervously watching me and drive us to the nearest bar,” she writes in her book.

WLRN’s Luis Hernandez spoke with Streeter about her new book and finding humor in the grieving process.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

WLRN: You wrote this book a short time after your husband’s death. Were you finding humor in these moments as they were happening? Or were you trying to find the humor on purpose?

STREETER: I think that you’ll agree with me probably that the worst humor is [from] the ones that are there trying to be on target. When people go, “I’m going to try to be funny,” that’s usually strained and it’s labored and it’s too on the nose. I just started writing and I would go back over the sentence or the paragraph for the page and say, “was there anything funny in there?” And there usually was, because that’s just sort of the way it came. I spent a lot of time reviewing books and reading books, particularly celebrity autobiographies and memoirs. And the most irritated I ever was, was when people were holding back. The people whose books are the most fun were usually people who’d been in show business for 30 or 40 years, gone to rehab, had some bad marriages, been in and out of a cult—because they don’t care anymore.

You’re a Christian and your husband was Jewish. What role did your faiths play in your relationship?

There are some people who at whatever part of their life decide that their faith is either non-existent, it’s merely cultural or it’s something they’re still hewing to. Both of us could probably say that the faith we had at that moment was not exactly the same as when we grew up. We still both believed in God and we still both believed in a similar moral compass and moral code. We made sense of each other. He would say, “I believe in the in the original and you believe in the sequel.”

You had made the joke that if he died on you, you would pick the outfit for him to be buried in. What did he wear for the funeral?

We buried him in a Brooks Robinson jersey because my son’s name is Brooks Robinson. And he would want to be buried with something of Brooks. I know it. And that was a very, you know, special thing for him. Then a pair of dress pants, because I was not going to bury him in sweats or raven shorts, and then his raven sandals. I wanted to make it somewhat classy. And I’m sure there was some conversation back and forth when they were dressing him. But no one said anything to me about the outfit. It wasn’t an open casket anyway. There he was, he looked like himself.

What significance do you hope this book is going to have for your son, Brooks when he’s old enough to read it?

I hope that he can read it, particularly parts about Scott and about who he was, because it’s so unfair that he died when Brooks was 2-years-old. That to me is so unfair. God and I are still not cool with each other about that. But I want him to know not only how wanted he was in our entire family, but to Scott. He would have done anything for this child and being this child’s father meant everything to him. And I want him to know that Scott was also not some saint. He was a goofball. We got into fights about raven shorts and stupid crap. He was a human being. I want him to be a living, breathing person. And I hope that this book does that to him. Also, maybe in the moments when he’s a teenager and he thinks I’m insane he can read this and say, “okay, she did do some stuff. She’s not just the person who’s trying to thwart my happiness.”

Have you gotten any response from people about how this book has helped them on their own grieving journey especially during this time of a pandemic?

In this pandemic, grieving is twofold. It’s both grieving people who physically died and people who just happened to die of anything else during this time. So the way that you were able to mourn them was not the way it used to be. Now it’s Zoom funerals and memorials and that kind of thing, rather than being in person. It’s never going to be like it was. People have said to me that my book has been helpful not only because it’s about grief but because, without trying to, I just wrote a book that was about having to do it and saying my life changed. I still have to pay the mortgage and the bills. My life changed. And I still had to keep moving. There’s no one right way to do this. You cannot fail the process of mourning. Those who lost people during a pandemic and those who are just beginning to grieve or whose grieving came full circle during this time told me, “thank you just for like saying you get to be messy with grief.”

Complete Article HERE!

Orphaned in adulthood —

“Losing both your parents doesn’t get any easier”

There are painful and sometimes unexpected feelings associated with losing both parents in adulthood.

By Caron Kemp

If it’s possible to have a good death, that’s how I’d describe my mum’s. Within the unlikely surroundings of a quietly attentive intensive care unit, she went peacefully, flanked by her family. It was a mere five months after her cancer diagnosis and none of us believed that the Large B-Cell Lymphoma coursing through her blood, lungs and chest would beat her. But the chemotherapy regime was gruelling, rendering her weak and even more ill at every dose and the final bout of pneumonia proved too much.

I was just 33 and juggling three young children of my own, yet as I sat vigil at her bedside in her final hours, all I wanted was to be scooped up into the arms that once cradled me, to be looked after.

A mummy’s girl to my core, I looked like her, shared many of her quirks and, in her latter years, doted on her as she endured more than her fair share of poor health. Yes, we bickered and, yes, she drove me mad regularly – but my mum was my biggest cheerleader. Even when I failed my driving test over and over again, or felt like I was falling apart at university, she was on hand to remind me of my worth.

Her death hit me hard. However long we’d lived with the realities of hospital visits and hushed conversations, living without her wasn’t an option. The funeral passed in a daze and once everyone else’s world carried on turning, I was left fumbling in the dark for a way to carry on.

Stoic to the end – I’ll never forget the final thumbs-up sign my mum gave as she was put into an induced coma – here was my lead. She never lamented her situation, and neither would I. Her greatest riches in life were her family and I knew all she’d want was for myself and my sister to rally around my dad; her soulmate of more than 35 years, himself bereft and broken-hearted.

“I was left fumbling in the dark for a way to carry on”

So, I poured all my energy into him. I sobbed until I physically hurt, I sought her out in the feathers that landed at my feet, and I got my first tattoo in a big ‘screw you’ to the world. But my dad gave me purpose. Thus, when he was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer exactly two years after my mum died, the cruelty of the situation wasn’t lost on me.

In the seven months that followed, I watched the wisest man I knew become reduced to a shadow of himself; frail, dependant and scared. In the last four weeks – played out from a small, clinical hospital room – life existed in a vacuum, where fear was palpable.

My dad’s death was not a good one. Riddled too with pneumonia and sepsis, I was woken in the middle of the night to news that he’d had a heart attack. He died before we could get to him. It was Mother’s Day.

It was my sister who first helped me try on the title of ‘orphan’ for size. But a fully-fledged adult, juggling a career and motherhood, I felt like the proverbial square peg. Yet here I was, without the greatest anchor in my life, and somehow the shoe began to fit.

Losing both parents is not the same as losing one, twice over. When my dad died, I didn’t just lose him. I lost my identity as someone’s daughter, I lost the family and friends only connected to me through them, and I lost anything standing in the pecking order between me and my own demise.

Plus, without my dad to anaesthetise my pain, I found the wound of my mum’s death finally laid bare too. It was all too much and for weeks I couldn’t muster a tear; numb to the earthquake that had ruptured my world as I knew it.

Life since has been punctuated with plenty of difficult days, but my first birthday without either parent was the toughest yet. However hard it was receiving a card signed solely from my dad, receiving nothing stung so much more. I spent the day at home in my pyjamas, because some things can’t be fixed and at times it’s ok to feel crushed.

Before my dad died, I’d always found camaraderie in others walking a similar path. But this was unchartered territory and it was a very lonely place to be. People tried to empathise. Like the friend of my dad’s – himself in his 70s – who told me he ‘knew exactly how I felt’ having recently lost his second parent. Grief is not a competition, but I can tell you – comparing two completely different experiences hurts.

“There are so many questions that now have no answer and so much I wish I could still weave into our family tapestry”

As someone who struggles with vulnerability, being honest about my feelings is a constant work in progress, yet opening up to the rare few individuals who don’t wipe away my tears, who hear what I say and what I don’t and who share my newfound dark and often inappropriate sense of humour, has been fantastically medicinal.

There are so many questions that now have no answer and so much I wish I could still weave into our family tapestry. But no one leads a perfectly curated life; it’s what we do with our pain that makes the difference.

Losing my parents has been an incalculable, lasting blow, but it’s also been surprisingly freeing. Without anyone to be my guide, I’ve emerged into a new stage of adulthood; finding out who my truest, deepest self is, what serves me well and what really matters. At times it’s been ugly, I’ve been very angry and I’ve lost and found many relationships along the way.

I am also, though, acutely aware of how short and precious life is and I’m more motivated than ever to live mine fully – with my parents’ values and spirit carried with me in my heart.

Complete Article HERE!

Emotionally preparing for the death of a pet

The reality of having a pet is that we will outlive most of them.

By Kellie Scott

The grief when an animal dies can feel like losing a friend or family member to many of us, explains Annie Cantwell-Bartl, a psychologist specialising in grief.

“For some people it can be absolutely profound.”

Veterinarian Anne Fawcett, who has a special interest in end-of-life decision-making, says often the anticipatory grief can be worse than the experience of when the animal dies.

When you have some warning that your pet is nearing the end of their life — for example, when your pet is old or terminally ill — there are some things you can do to emotionally prepare for their death that can make the pain more manageable.

Our love for pets and disenfranchised grief

My mum Joanne Scott is a big animal lover and has given a home to many rescues over the years.

She’s had to say goodbye to dozens of pets including horses, dogs, cats, cows, guinea pigs and chickens — most of which were my family too.

A loss that stands out the most for her is horse Razie, who she had for 22 years.

“I was just so close to him. He was like my right arm.

“He understood me, I understood him. I just loved him dearly and he was a pony that was very loving.”

She had to judge the right time to euthanase Razie when his cancer was causing him too much pain.

“You feel like you’ve lost a friend.”

Dr Cantwell-Bartl says often the grief is not recognised as valid by the person themselves or others around them which can make it harder to work through. This is known as disenfranchised grief.

“There’s not those same social supports and rituals like when a person dies.

“People can feel embarrassed and guilty that they are so distraught.”

Dr Fawcett says she’s lucky to be surrounded by people who “get” the human-animal bond.

“As a companion animal veterinarian, I see people who are very bonded to their animals.

“There are often mutual tales of rescue — a stray cat who kept a person going when their spouse died of cancer; a dog that someone rescued from a pound who gave them a reason to get out of bed during a period of mental illness.”

She says while there is still room to improve, society is getting better at understanding pet grief. For example, she has clients whose bosses have granted them bereavement leave.

Ways to emotionally prepare for their death

Spend time together

Making the most of the time you have left with your pet can start the grieving process in a way you have control over, says Dr Cantwell-Bartl.

“You can spend time with them, stroke them, delight with them, and feel the sadness.”

Find a vet you are comfortable with and talk to them

Finding a vet you feel is understanding and supportive is important. There are vets who specialise in palliative care and can offer options like euthanasing at home.

Dr Fawcett says to talk openly about your concerns and the pet’s quality of life.

If you are considering euthanasia, make plans with them.

“Where will it happen? Who would you like to be present? What are the options regarding the animal’s remains; for example, burial, private cremation? If cremated, what sort of vessel do you want to keep the remains in? What are the costs you need to expect?” are some questions to consider, Dr Fawcett says.

If you do proceed with euthanasia, know it is normal to question if you did the right thing.

“That doesn’t mean it was the wrong thing,” Dr Fawcett says.

Joanne says she still struggles with some of her decisions.

“One horse I put down still haunts me. Even though everyone says you did the right thing, I still think sometimes, ‘Did I do all I possibly could?'”

Talk to people who understand

Seek out people who get what you are going through, Dr Cantwell-Bartl says.

“Find those people who can put their arms around you and walk by your side.

If you are struggling to find the support you need, consider professional counselling.

Make them comfortable and do your best

Joanne says knowing you’re doing your best by your pet can help you can have some closure.

“Making them as comfortable as possible in the time they have left shows that you love them.

“Then you know you’ve done all you could.”

Dr Fawcett agrees and says doing our best by our animals includes not prolonging suffering.

“That can mean letting them go when it is in their interests.”

Know that it’s OK to grieve

Dr Cantwell-Bartl says feeling like you should “just get on with things” can shut down your grief.

Give yourself permission to feel the hard emotions and go through the processes of grieving.

Words of comfort

Knowing she has given an animal the best life possible is what helps Joanne prepare to say goodbye.

“That is a wonderful thing because there are too many animals that don’t have a good life.

“I always look back and think about some of the kittens we only had for nine months, and a fantastic nine months is better than a shitty five years.”

Dr Fawcett says it’s important to be kind to yourself, no matter how you are feeling.

“For people who experience profound anticipatory grief, the death of an animal can be a relief.

“These owners can feel guilty for not grieving as much as they feel they should. I think the key is to be kind to yourself.”

She says the grief of losing her own animals has left a pain in her chest, but she has some peace knowing she gave them a good life.

“As one of my clients said to me, grief is the tax you pay for love — but it’s a tax worth paying.”

Complete Article HERE!