THE SONGS THAT SHARE SPACE IN SUFFERING

It seems a strange place to find myself crying with songs that my sister never listened to. 

Shortly after Jennifer died, I assembled a collection of songs into a playlist entitled "Jennifer".  I needed a musical oasis to go to when I felt like I needed to feel her loss.  At first I tried to find songs that connected me to the loss itself, but as the list grew, I found myself throwing songs in the list for various reasons.  

Some of the songs from the Grease Soundtrack made it in, because Jennifer went to see that movie in the theatre with her Grade 7 class. I added Bon Jovi, because that was one of her favourite bands.   I threw country songs in because she was a farmer.  I included a lot of eighties music that she might have listened to forty years ago.  I found love songs that made me cry when I listened to them.  Some songs more than others bring emotion to the surface and some just help me imagine the two of us singing along with them.  

The more I listen to the playlist, I realize it is about me more than her.  Sometimes I need to cry, sometimes I need the passion of rock and roll just to get me to the next moment in my life.  Music came back to my world after she died.  I had taken a break from listening to music because I couldn't find myself in the songs I was listening to.  But when I look at my "Jennifer" playlist... there are songs I still can't find myself in, but they still somehow share space with me in my loss. I may ask myself "Why did I put that song in?' one day, and then the next time I listen to it, I understand that it has a place there.  

I still need to feel the loss.  I need to wade in the waters a little longer so that I can embrace this new life with authenticity.  I'm not going to move along just because the world is done crying.  I may have to wait until it's me in my truck with my playlist turned up before I can be that authentic, but I will find the space to be real.  I am grateful for the artists that are sharing space with me on this journey, including:  Tim Minchin, Anne Murray, Lucy Thomas, Il Divo, Reo Speedwagon, Chicago, Air Supply, Bryan Adams, Bon Jovi, Boston, Journey, John Denver,  Garth Brooks... and the list keeps growing. 

In the end, it doesn't matter what song comes up.  Jennifer loved music from such an early age.  It seems fitting that I would remember her between each note and lyric.  

* * * 

There is a song from my playlist that I want to share with you.  It is the only song that has my sister singing in it.  

Forty-one years ago (1982) , my sister was part of a high school choir.  One of the songs they did was a musical number called "Samson and Delilah".  My Dad had his tape recorder handy and recorded the choir singing it.   Four years later when I was in choir, our director chose the same musical to sing.  I found the recording that Dad made and shared it with the choir.  We had a lot of fun with that song.  It was the only song where we could ditch our choir robes and somber stance and have fun acting it out.  

Samson and Delilah 

“Music is the moonlight in the gloomy night of life.”

―Jean Paul Friedrich Richter

FINDING COMMON GROUND IN GRIEF

Today is one month.  One month since July 18; one month since my sister died; one month of being an only child.  

On the last day of July, I stood up at the front of her church and described our relationship in these words:  "We were polar opposites".  I even made a list in my iPhone of all the differences and they were many.  It's not hard to find my sister and I on very different planets of existence... and now more than ever.  

Here are a few that stick out that I had on my list: 

Jennifer                                Ruby

White Chocolate               Dark Chocolate

Farm dweller                      Small Town resident

Fiction reader                   Non Fiction reader

Mother                            Auntie

Size 6 feet                            Size 11 feet

Hated shopping                Loved shopping

Queen bed                         King Bed

Musician                               Poet/Writer

Dog Grandma                   Cat Mom

Christian                             Agnostic Atheist

It's not hard to find the differences, it's what divided us for fifty five years.  We were never best friends.  I think for the most part of my life, I felt like I was tolerated by her.  She put up with me because we shared the same parents.  But something happened when she became a mother.  She shared her gift with me.   I felt included in her life when her sons came along.  They became the part of her that found space with me.  They were the first experience of common ground with us.  Those boys brought us together in a way we couldn't do before they came.  We found a common affection and a common love for two human beings that changed our lives.  

How does the journey look now that she doesn't breathe anymore?  Now I get to keep looking for common ground.  I found a piece of that puzzle yesterday.  My cousin emailed me Jennifer's graduation picture.  I didn't have it in my vast library of photos, so I was very grateful to get it.  I dug out my graduation photo and put them together.  It was stunning how the similarities mixed well with the differences.  So much of the stories lined up.  We had the same photographer (Dad); we had similar styles of dresses; complementary and differing colours; the trees were the chosen backdrop for the photos.  

Maybe this journey of grief will uncover more common ground for my sister and I.  Even through her feet aren't around to walk on it, maybe I can still find her "Footprints in the Sand".  

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die." Thomas Campbell

MY FOUR LEGGED GRIEF PARTNER

A phone call from my sister today brought news of the death of a dear friend and family member.  Gunnar was my nephew Ben's Rottweiler.  I still remember as we drove up to the trailer where everyone was gathered that evening of the day Ben died.  There was Gunnar, waiting on the deck for his "Papa".  So many people had gathered at the trailer and some were strangers to Gunnar.  He wasn't going to move from his post.  He saw all these people walk into Ben's trailer and he only had eyes waiting for one man to come home.  

Gunnar was the first one that night that got a tearstained hug from me.  That dog lost so much that night, and he didn't even know it.  Maybe he had a sense of something. It is hard to understand what animals pick up from humans.  But I was told that he didn't move off the deck for at least a week.  He kept waiting.  

I spent this afternoon compiling pictures of Gunnar and discovered that most of them were taken from 2017 and later... after Ben died.  It was then that I realized that all the time I spent with Gunnar was in response to loss and grief.  I didn't know who needed who the most, but every chance we got to be together, I had my iPhone handy and I got selfies, videos and pictures of my big brown furry four-legged friend.  I was collecting memories and today, I was amazed at how many I had.  

Gunnar was my connection to Ben.  I could no longer go and see Ben, but Gunnar was there waiting for me.  I could talk to him and share my sadness with him.  He said nothing, but his kisses and companionship were all I needed to be reassured that he understood my pain.  I will never know how and when he started to cry, but a while back he started having problem with his eyes.  Maybe it took a while, but the tears finally caught up for him.  

I miss my friend.  He is more than a memory of my nephew, he is a friend all unto his own.  He is my family and as I say in my video... my best friend in the canine world.  Maybe that is because we found communion together.  

Here is the video that I made for him today. I call it my "Love Letter" to  Gunnar.  

Remembering Gunnar

"Love walks on four legs as much as it walks on two."

  Ruby Neumann

WHEN ANNIVERSARIES COLLIDE

 

I remember the numbness I felt after we left Tigger behind with the vet.  After having a moment to hug and cry, we walked back to the front desk.  Maybe there was paperwork left to sign and bills to pay.  I don't remember exactly how the date came into my mind, but I remember telling Manfred rather somberly... 

"Today is Dad's fifth anniversary."  

We had Tigger euthanized on January 28, 2013... five years to the date that my Dad died.  

I didn't think about Dad all that morning, as we were panicking to get Tigger to the hospital in Edmonton.  Tigger was filling our minds and our emotions.  He was our four legged boy.  Manfred was his dad for ten years and I was his mom for four.  He was Manfred's first cat.  

For four years, January 28 was Dad's day, now he would share it with Tigger for the remainder of my days.  Every year to pass became an emotional balancing act.  I tried to find ways to keep both my precious father and my precious furbaby in my mind and heart.  

I wasn't with my Dad when he breathed his last breath, but I was with Tigger.  I held Tigger as his body bid farewell to this earthly existence.  It was my first experience being with a loved one in that moment.  Life ebbed from him and his energy lifted from it's earthly cage to mix unencumbered with the universe.  (a rather poetic picture).

I wonder how Dad would have felt sharing this special day with a family feline.  I remember often how Dad would embrace Boomer.  He had a soft spot for critters and it showed in the way he cuddled that Calico that shared his life for twenty years.  Maybe there is something rather fitting in this story.  

I often think of the special people who collide on my calendar.  My friend Lori shares a birthday with my Oma.  My great nephew shares a birthday with my Grandpa.  It brings a strength to the day and leaves it less lonely.  I can celebrate with one, and remember the other.  

Today it is fifteen years since Dad died and ten years since Tigger died.  Reaching those milestones makes me wonder if it really feels like it's been that long.  I have had a whole marriage in the time that my Dad has been gone and I have mothered two cats in the time Tigger has been gone.  I am not saying the Dad and Tigger holes are gone, but with Manfred, Sofie and Twinkel in my life... it's like flowers are growing in the holes.  A beautiful reminder of presence and absence, a gathering of warm love residual from the past mingled with the present.   

"People respond to your loss relative to how they view the value of what you've lost."  

Ruby Neumann

A LENGTHY LOSS LIST

 It's the Saturday I mentioned in my last post.  Six years ago, about this time (2:00 pm), I got a knock on the door.  That knock on the door was my mother.  It was the only time in my almost fourteen years of living in Calmar, that my mom showed up without prior notice.  She came to tell me that her grandson, my nephew was dead.  

I've been reading through the "Grief Recovery Handbook", and the homework assignment for today was to compile a loss list.  If I had tried to write this list a week ago, I might have put about five to ten items on the list.  But having a new upgraded definition of grief and loss, I found my list growing to over seventy entries so far.  

The first entry was my grandmother's death from lung cancer in 1975.  I was seven years old at the time.  The most recent entry was my Uncle Don who passed away in December.  Ben shows up somewhere in the middle.  

Most of the losses were not traumatic deaths of loved ones.   A lot of the names I put down probably didn't draw many tears, if any at all.  I have a big family and that explains a good portion of the death losses.  Three losses were coworkers (all cancer deaths); seven of the deaths were four legged loved ones; twenty-four events were not deaths at all.  Cancer was the biggest culprit in the deaths.  

What these seventy some items all have in common was the weighty feeling of some kind of loss that welled up in me.  Every event contributed a hole in my core.  One might think that after that great a list, I might have a heart of swiss cheese.  Some years I have felt like that.  But somehow the emptiness that is created when each death happens or each change occurs becomes less empty. Love starts to fill the holes.  Love doesn't evict the memories, but somehow finds a way to co-exist with them.  It's like a warm blanket covering over the pain and heartache, allowing it to find a safe place to rest. 

Losses like Ben require more blankets, because they create a bigger hole.  As I peruse the list, more names come to mind and I wonder if I forgot them because they weren't as painful.  That isn't entirely true.  Most of those hurt a great deal during the time they were fresh losses. Most also found a safe place to rest, only to surface on occasion leaving behind a smile.  

I didn't list the countless people still alive that I "lost" when I transitioned homes and jobs.  They have a place in my heart and memories and also bring a smile when I find myself thinking about them.  

I am glad that today wasn't just focused on Ben.  I am glad that I could share this day with all those others who have shared space with me and left holes behind.  Ben is one of the big holes, but he would graciously open his arms to share space with all the other loved ones I thought of today as I made this rather lengthy loss list.  

“Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.”  Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

LEARNING ABOUT LOSS AT THE LOCAL LIBRARY

 It seemed different this time.  I saw the ad in the Calmar Chronicle and wondered if I needed to go.  I had been to grief seminars before, but this one wasn't hosted by a church and didn't include a Lutheran pastor as the grief expert.   This was hosted by the community and held at the library in my home town.  I wondered if I could learn something new.  I signed up.  

Ironically, this seminar was scheduled three days before a significant anniversary.  This Saturday marks six years since my nephew Ben died.  But I wasn't going for him this time.  This time I had someone else on my loss list that I needed to think about.  This time it was about Jesus.  

When I got to the seminar, I was glad to see that I didn't know anyone.  That is always a gift when one is walking into a room of such a sensitive subject as grief.  These were all people here because they had experienced loss. We had that in common.  

The seminar was hosted by Janelle of Intentional Connecting Wellness Services.  She was expecting two people and found herself with a room full of eager learners.  

I first realized that this was very different from my previous grief seminar experiences when I saw something in the list of losses.  "Loss of Faith".  Wow!  That was being acknowledged.  I had to thank her for including that. I don't know if anyone else in the room felt the gravity of that moment, but I did.  My pain mattered.  

Janelle shared some valuable lessons and myths about grief.  Her main resource is a book called "The Grief Recovery Handbook" by John W. James and Russell Friedman.   When I got home, I downloaded the book.  I am three chapters in and very grateful for the journey it is inviting me on.  It is not a how-to book on "getting over" losses.  In fact... "getting over" is one of the myths of grief. I think it wants to take me on a journey of validation this time.  Maybe it wants to be a companion for me on this lonely road.  

Right now, I have no other human being that is equipped to walk along side of me on this grief journey, but that could change.  I am not laying any expectations on anyone.  This is a heavy load for anyone and in my experience, the only people that have cried with me on my loss journeys are those who have felt a similar loss.  I can't ask any of my Christian friends to walk this journey with me and right now... most of my friends are Christians.  

I want to end this post with some nuggets that I wrote down at the seminar yesterday.  They are from the book and I hope to find them again as I read through it.  

"The key to recovery from grief is action, not time" 

"Grief is a normal and natural reaction to the loss of any kind."

"There are no absolutes in grief."

"Grief is not intellectual, a psychological diagnosis, emotional weakness, a broken brain, something to 'get over'." 

"Grief is not linear, organized or predictable; it's messy and chaotic." 

"Validate feelings rather than minimize them." 

"True strength comes from being emotionally honest."

"85% of what people say after loss is not emotionally helpful." 

" 'I know how you feel.'  Don't say this to anyone at anytime for any reason...'." 

BARBARA

 

Some stories just lie in waiting until the person is gone and then they become a treasure to read.  Barbara's is one such story for me.  

In doing an internet search, I didn't need her last name.  Barbara Walters is the first to appear when I type in Barbara.  I wonder if that is the signifier that a woman has become well known.  With so many Barbara's in the world, it is her name that rises to the top.  

I downloaded her book "Audition" yesterday for thirteen dollars.  I am amazed that it was so inexpensive.  

When the queen died, I wondered how to grieve.  How does one grieve for great women?  Barbara Walters spearheaded the careers of so many women, including Oprah.  She was a trailblazer for women in media.  Back when women were shunned for having a voice, Barbara stretched hers to the moon.  I didn't follow her career.  I am not that big of a news buff.  But what I have become lately is a lover of stories, especially of trailblazing women.  I admire passion and those stories are what attract me.  

Lately, my passion for reading has weakened. I enjoy jigsaw puzzling a lot more.  Puzzles are far less controversial and isolating for me.  But I seem to be still drawn to stories, and especially those stories of people so famous that their story has been lost in their celebrity.  Those stories are mattering to me now.  

I don't know what inspirations will arise from my read of "Audition", but that will be another blog post on my "Ruby gets Real" blog, if it indeed becomes another rocket read of my life.  I will look forward to what this woman will speak into my life during the following weeks as I dive in to her story.  I will remember her as I read and will find gratitude for her journey.  This will be my grief.  

“The hardest thing you will ever do is trust yourself.”  Barbara Walters

MY "TIME AND A SEASON" FRIEND

It was Janice who told me that some friendships are for a "time and a season".  I wonder if that was her way of letting go of people when she didn't have a choice to keep them.  Who really starts a friendship with the understanding that one day it could end?  Who wants to willingly invest quality personal time in a person knowing that it is only temporary?  Aren't all friendships started with the hope of them lasting a lifetime?  

I met Janice in 1995 and I have this photograph from our first weekend together.  It was a conference in Banff.  I don't know why we connected.  She was a very joyful person and was always gravitating towards people.  It wasn't hard for her to make friends.  She loved people and it seemed her life's passion to pour love and joy into others.  So maybe that is why.  I am drawn to people of passion and that was Janice.  

"I have the spiritual gift of encouragement."  I often heard her say.  We both belonged to a church that seemed to want us to label ourselves with one or two of the spiritual gifts as permanent possessions.  I remember those days.  I also remembered the struggle for me to figure out what mine was.  It wasn't until much later that I came to understand what could be the fluidity of "spiritual gifts".  To think I had to hang on to one as my forever identity really takes away from the accessibility of all the "gifts"  to all people.  But that seems like a lifetime ago.  

I got a phone call yesterday from a woman who I met the same weekend as Janice.  We had not communicated for what seems like over twenty years.  She got my phone number and called me on New Year's Day.  I told her that she made my year.  As we talked, she shared with me that Janice had passed away.  As I was on the phone with her, I went to my computer and found Janice's obituary.  She passed away in 2012... over ten years ago.  

I guess I was that "time and a season" friend for Janice.  I don't even remember when we lost touch.  I have thought about her over the years, and this morning I went digging in my photographs and found a few photos from my time with her.  

I guess the question I have for myself now is.. 

"If you haven't been in contact for two decades, what does her loss feel like for you?

Honestly, I wish I could cry.  I wish I could honour her with my tears.  I guess tears seem to appear in fresh losses and not so much in a loss of someone that  has been gone for ten years.  I cry when someone dies that I "can't live without"... but Janice... I lived without her for two decades.  So the tears are not there.  

My heart weeps on the inside.  It remembers a friend who gave of herself to me and so many others.  It weeps for the lost opportunities to connect over the years.  It weeps because there are no more chances to reconnect.  

I have a special gift from Janice.  It is a photograph, and on the back of the photograph, she wrote a heartfelt thankful message that gives me a smile. 

Thank you Janice for the "time and season" you gave me as a friend.  

"You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can’t forget. Those are your friends." ~ Mark Twain