By Michelle Farnsworth
I told a friend yesterday that I’m angry at old people. How awful! How can I even think that or say it - let alone, write it down?
But it’s true.
I look at old, classy, well-dressed ladies and think, “Why is she still alive and not my mother? How come she gets to carry on and wear fancy old lady clothing and do her makeup and hair?”
Last night was again one of those moments for me. I was having a nice evening out, and a family was seated near us. The matriarch of her family, clearly in her 90’s, wore a pink suit, and her hair was styled just so. She smiled and laughed and enjoyed her family. I watched her and felt envious and sad. I thought my mother would be a great-grandmother like her mother was, and her mother’s mother. I never thought differently. She would’ve been the ultimate.
But she’s gone.
DENIAL
Watching the different phases of my mother’s dementia and Alzheimer’s was a glimpse into my mortality. At first, I was in denial. I was so confused and troubled that I stayed away for a bit.
I remember taking her out to lunch one time and she was so different. She was paranoid and weak. She had a difficult time conversing and even eating. The waitress gave me a sympathetic smile. I didn’t want that look. It made me feel awful for my mother. My mother was strong, talented, smart, resilient, sexy, and courageous. She didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.
As the days and months went by and further testing revealed the truth, I knew I was losing her. I didn’t know how long. Could be years. I selfishly prayed it wouldn’t be drawn out. I didn’t want to see this icon of a woman dwindle away before my eyes.
PRECIOUS TIME
Time was of the essence, and I began to relish every moment and opportunity I had with my mother. From simple car rides to The Big Boy for her favorites, to family dinners and holidays.
We all silently witnessed the unthinkable and unavoidable physical and mental deterioration of OUR matriarch.
My mother was preparing for her departure from her physical existence. Especially in her last days, she wanted to go Home.
Somehow, in the back of my mind, I thought this precious time with her and witnessing her journey would prepare me for grieving. I would pray for God to take her Home. Take her from the cruel twist of fate that robbed her mentally and physically of the life she knew.
At times, I felt a sense of peace. Clichés that people recite such as, “They won’t suffer any longer,” or, “They will be in a better place” would enter my psyche, and I would silently agree to the tired, ancient advice that is considered wisdom and comforting to most people.
I would be “the strong daughter” and play the roles I had inherited as a child – the oldest, strongest, most out-spoken. Unafraid. Unfiltered. Ready for this ultimate ending of my beloved mother.
Turns out I was hardly ready for what lay ahead. I was going to be on my own path. She was gone. My creator. My world. My mother.
SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS
Every moment of every day there are reminders of her. A song. Her favorite food. Driving down streets where I would accidentally see her also driving, and we would wave and laugh, as if it was some extraordinary encounter. Or I find something simple for her in a store. I place my hands on it, and remember - oh yes, she’s gone; and I leave it on the shelf, tears welling up in my eyes as I walk away.
I read about grief. Have collected a library of books that I’ve skimmed. Searching for something that pertains to me. And most of it goes right through me and doesn’t make me feel any better. It doesn’t stick, doesn’t offer me any solace or coping mechanisms.
Here’s my unprofessional, unsolicited, and perhaps rude opinion on grief:
It (insert swear word starting with an “F” here.) sucks.
I’m angry. I’m trying to pull myself out of crushing despair. My world split open, and I will never be the same.
What can you say to that?
“It takes time.”
Eff time.
That’s a cliché, and if I hear it or see it again, I’ll lose it! Time is never going to soothe my soul. The only possible answer will be when I see her again in Heaven.
THE STING OF DEATH
I have had moments where my chest physically hurt with the pressure of sorrow. Have you ever felt it? If you have, you know. You cannot breathe, cannot think clearly. Colors and sound are jumbled. Fear of a deep depression looms like the ocean ready to crash over me and pull me down.
I would like to say my friends and family helped me. But honestly, God and I are the only ones. I’ve had to do the work. I’ve had to thrash around, cry until I cannot breathe, beg God to calm me and take my sorrow and my burdens. I think talking to a professional would’ve made me sink. And I don’t believe I’m the only one.
My husband told me, “We all have to go through this … you have to put your big girl panties on.” Not to throw him under the bus, because the Lord knows, he was and is there for me, but to hear him say those words to me, made me irate.
One night I turned to him and said, “Who made you the CEO of Grief?”
It was a pivotal moment for me. I made it clear that no one is going to dictate my grieving process or categorize it. Putting it into some neat little, overused phrase wasn’t helping and would never soothe me.
GRIEVE YOUR OWN WAY
Another phrase I heard that was supposedly meant to jolt me out of my stupor: “You’re not that important.” I am important. And so were my loved ones. And I’m going to think, say, and honor them in every strange and unconventional manner that comes to mind.
I’m convinced that people going through this process don’t want the status quo. They don’t want to read a book or go sit in a tiny room and talk to someone. They want to cry, scream, and curl up in a ball. They want to be left alone. They want to pick up a rock and hold it if that helps. A talisman. Simple. They want to feel the smooth surface of the rock between their fingers and find calm and peace. That might be all anyone needs in the moment.
I am far from an expert on the topic of grief and sorrow or even death. But what I’ve found from my experiences is that it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution.
Whatever way you process and survive is the right way. Don’t let anyone be the “CEO of your Grief.” And once your life comes back into focus again, you’ll take the necessary actions to reinvigorate yourself.
Perhaps going to church and being surrounded by that community can offer guidance and hope.
Maybe a circle of friends that has your best interests at heart will embrace you and offer the words that bring you comfort.
Everyone needs a safe and non-judgmental place to escape to. And if you’re not finding that space - it’s vital to seek it out. Don’t be embarrassed or afraid to take steps to control the level of sadness you’re experiencing.
Personally, I do not have the desire to have professional counseling or medication. At one point I contemplated it, but I turned the corner and have focused on goal setting:
Writing about grief.
Helping others that have reached out to me with their stories of loss.
Challenging myself to embrace my healthy lifestyle choices.
Traveling to Montana and the mountains to be alone, contemplate and write this piece.
Honoring my mother’s legacy in the television news industry.
I believe one of the healthiest and most effective ways to stop the bandit of grief is to keep the mind busy. Figure out what makes you feel alive, important, respected - and keep yourself busy with those tasks.
Distracting a busy mind or keeping depression and anxiety at bay can be accomplished by involving yourself in daily life. Even if it’s as simple as taking a walk or writing in a journal or asking a friend to go out for lunch. Do it!
One little step turns into a routine, and that translates into a stronger and more focused mind capable of mourning without completely submitting to the pain and sorrow of death.
THE REST OF MY DAYS
My mother never, ever gave up. I know throughout her life she went through terrible times and life-altering events. But she never stopped providing, living, and making sure her daughters were provided for. And I’m not about to crumble under the weight of this grief.
I can hear her say, “Oh Chell Belle, don’t cry. It’s okay.” And she’s right. It’s okay. It’s never going to be completely perfect - nothing is in life.
The end is inevitable. We are humans, and we will die one day. Our loved ones will die. Of course, we spend our time on Earth hoping and praying for longevity. But that’s not always the path God has in store for us.
I don’t want to focus on death anymore. I want my days and time spent exploring, creating, traveling, providing, living, and sharing. I know that I will continue to grieve the loss of my beloved mother. I know other friends and other loved ones will pass from this Earth, and I will feel sadness once again.
God is preparing me with strength, compassion, and courage. It’s what He is giving me to help others. It’s my path on the way to the day when He welcomes me into His Heavenly Kingdom.
About the Author
Michelle Farnsworth is the creator of Be Magazine for Women, Chell’s Chic Creations Jewelry, and author of “Are You Tiny?” children’s book. Traveling the world and living life to its fullest is her passion. Sharing her story with her husband Richard and two sons, Harry and Tommy, makes her life complete.
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