"I WANT MY SIBLING BACK" FACEBOOK POST

I found this on Facebook... shared by "Somewhat Awesome"... no name, no details... just this.  I needed to remember it, to save it, to have it to read again... maybe to share... but who do I share it with.  No one wants to go this deep with me about sibling loss.  So I will share it here.  No one will respond.  No one ever does.  Some internet bugs will add to what is listed as views... but no one will will actually read this.  But I still need to save it somewhere.  Hoping... that someone also understands.  "Somewhat Awesome"... I understand.  

"Losing a sibling is weird. You never know how to properly grieve. 
You expect to lose everyone in your lifetime. Your grandparents, parents, animals. But never your siblings. You expect your siblings to be the ones helping you during the hard times. They were your childhood best friends, why wouldn’t they be growing old with you? 
Losing a sibling is such a weird concept when you sit down and think about it. They were your whole childhood. A huge piece of you. And until you lose your sibling, you don’t realize how few memories you have growing up without them there. Because they were always there. Whether you wanted them to be or not. 
Losing a sibling is hard because you have all of these photos of them from when y’all were kids and you have to choke down the realization that there won’t be anymore of you guys. You won’t be able to take photos with each other as you grow older. 
All the big moments in your life will just be that. Big moments in your life that you can’t share with your sibling. 
Losing a sibling is like losing a huge part of yourself. You feel like you’re losing your identity, all while trying to embrace pieces of yourself that reminds you of them. It’s a lingering pain that just doesn’t seem to get any better with time. 
The grief of losing a sibling does not get better with time. You just learn to live with it, however that may look for you. 
Each loss in life is different. Different and difficult. And while no loss is bigger than another, losing a sibling is definitely different than the other losses I’ve endured. I just always thought they’d be there. Losing them wasn’t something I could of ever prepared myself for. 
Sibling grief is often overlooked.. the forgotten grievers…

I miss my sibling. I’m not me anymore without them. It’s hard to carry on everyday missing them. 

Love your siblings today please, because you never know who spent the night crying missing theirs.

Look for signs sent to you from them. Look for the one funny cloud on a pretty sunny day. Look for butterflies and cardinals. Listen to the songs from the birds. Embrace the rain on your skin and the snow. Your sibling IS there with you. And they do send you signs, whether you’re able to recognize them or not. It’s okay to grieve however you choose, however long it takes. Do not listen to others who are confused that you’re grieving longer than they think is appropriate. Because really…. After losing a sibling, we’ll be grieving the rest of our lives."

LOOKING FOR JENNIFER AND FINDING VAELA

This Sunday, I felt the need to be close to the absence of my sister. I don't feel her absence at my home, because she wasn't ever here long enough to make a memory for me. In the fifteen years I lived in my small town of Calmar, she lived an hour away and only made it to my place two times in those fifteen years and that was over a decade ago. So my life goes on here without feeling her absence in this space. (Please note... because my mother lived twelve miles from her farm... I spent my time with her in those places. But it still hurts that she wasn't at my place more).

I wanted to find Jennifer's energy, so I stopped in at her church. (before and after the service.... I don't do church services anymore... but I go occasionaly to connect with the people). It was a strange feeling being in that place and not seeing her there... (It's been almost fifteen months).

I hung around for the potluck after and visited with my friend Susi. It was then that a five year old girl by the name of Vaela came to our table and came right up to me. I'd never met Vaela before. Right away I was amazed. She was interested in me. She was amazed at my freckles. I think that was the first connection we shared. I told her she was beautiful... and her freckles were part of that beauty.

In the fifteen minutes that she spent at the table visiting with us, I didn't see her parents. Others told me that Vaela is like that with everyone. She was not afraid of this stranger in her midst. She just stayed. She wanted to know if I played games on my Iphone. So I showed her one game that I played. It was strange. I'd never had that kind of connection with anyone that young, that interested, that removed from my life before.

I had gone to that church that day to be with my sister's energy. That is how I described it. So in those fifteen minutes, I wondered if Jennifer was in that moment with us. Maybe she would have regretted not making the effort in her own time to connect with me and be interested in me. But in that space where she spent so much of her time... there was this little girl. I left that day feeling like I had connected with something that filled my heart up. Maybe it was my sister, or maybe it was just a little girl who hadn't been exposed to fear yet. But it was a beautiful thing!

Yesterday, I wanted to process what had happened on Sunday, so I wrote this poem.  

Vaela Who are you Who am I to you Why has fear not embraced you yet How can you feel so free What in you embraces me, a stranger Are you different than the rest Even a dog has to sniff me first But you You were free At five, you are free You even asked me a question You were interested in me You were amazed at me You spent time with me You didn’t run off and play I am old to you Where were your parents Did they trust you to be free I never met them It was only you We were in your church But even in church people aren’t free I can’t explain you I have never experienced anyone like you I made a friend and it wasn’t because of me Will I ever see you again Will you always be so free I feel for the day that you will embrace fear Like the rest of us It’s bound to happen It happens to everyone eventually We lose trust We get cautious We ask no questions We don’t want to know But until that day Glow in your freedom Remember the day The day you embraced a stranger who needed love

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” — Helen Keller

LETTERS TO MY MISSING CLASSMATES

Dear Darwin: 

In fifty six years, you are the only person who ever asked me "Do you believe in God?"  I only wish I could have answered that question from my own heart instead of a response that came from being raised to have "yes" as the only answer.  We were children.  We weren't philosopher's.  I don't know why you asked me that, but I remember when you did.  I just wish I could have had a conversation with you about it.  

The years passed and people assumed an answer, so no one ever asked.  I don't want to assume people didn't care about the answer, but it was just something either assumed, or just not questioned.  It's why I value you so much.  

I was on the phone with Melanie, a fellow classmate,  this week, and we talked about you.  I told her how one question made you a significant memory in my life.  She reminded me that you died young due to a lightning strike.  I don't remember that.  The last time you show up in my collection of class pictures was Grade three.  I don't have a copy of the Grade 4 class picture because I was absent that day.  By the time Grade 5 came along, you weren't there.  

I'm sorry that the universe took you out too soon.  What "might have been" is a question often asked but never answered.  I hope you felt loved in your time on earth.  I would hope that your parents found a way to some healing after your death.  I hope your family still carries on your memory.  

Thank you Darwin.  

Ruby

P.S.  This is a blog post I wrote in my Authentic Lent blog last year.  You were on my mind then too.  "No one ever asked me... other than Darwin." 

Dear Shannon:  

Hello.  I just found out yesterday that you died two years ago from cancer.  I was on the phone with Melanie getting updates yesterday and when I asked about you, I could hear the heart ache in her voice.  She misses you and your loss was hard on her.  I liked how she described you.  "She was a tender soul." 

It's been forty-two years since my family moved from Flatrock to Alberta.  I remember seeing you once at the bus stop in Fort St. John in those years.  It must have been the weekend that my family had U-hauls out at the farm and were loading up some more stuff to haul to the farm in Alberta.  I was living in Calgary at the time.  I flew up to FSJ to connect with Dad, Mom and Jennifer to help load the U-hauls, and then I took the bus from FSJ back home.  

I told Melanie that I don't remember saying goodbye to many people before we left in 1982, but I hope I called you and said good-bye.  You were the one person who I called my "best friend" for eight years.  I don't know what that meant for you, but every girl longs for a best friend, and I didn't have many close friends that I felt I could label them with that moniker.  You have to understand, I was an insecure child with poor self-esteem.  If I did have friends, I didn't believe that they were there for me.  Maybe it was your "tender soul" that drew me to want you for a best friend.  

My Mom remembers you, because of one night.  I had invited you to our farm for an overnight, and it didn't end well.  You got homesick and Mom and Dad had to drive you back home to Clayhurst.  I can't remember how I felt that night.  Maybe I had hoped I was enough for a night to make you feel welcome and loved.  Maybe I wasn't enough that night, and maybe I wasn't enough for the rest of the years.  Maybe you were more of a dream for me than the "best friend" I wanted or could have been for you.  

We didn't keep in contact after I left.  I left Flatrock in shame because of one word on my report card...  "Failed".  I tell people that I took Grade eight twice because I liked it so much, but truth be told, it was a shameful experience for me.   Maybe it felt better for me at that time to leave you all behind.  It took years to understand that maybe there was more too it than just my lack of interest in school.  My older sister Jennifer had a lot to do with the story. I can't fault her or my parents now, but how things went down in our family explains a lot of the story.  My smarter, more athletic and musical sister shone so bright that I didn't know where I fit in.  But her presence kept pushing me along in a system that wasn't tailored for my needs.  When she was sent to boarding school in Saskatchewan, I was alone.  I didn't have my motivation to push me along.  Grade Seven was hard and Grade Eight was harder.  

It's hard to know now how I would have fared if I had someone who believed in me, but the school system wasn't set up for that.  We were marched into a classroom and asked to assimilate to the program.  Our Grade One teacher, Mrs Dickson, had a job to do, and it wasn't to babysit our emotions.  I came along after my super sister, and all she could see was what I could be if I was just "more like my sister".  She didn't have training in birth order and didn't understand that the second one isn't the first one.  

Looking back, I can understand, maybe explain, but more important, forgive those people that maybe didn't know better.  Maybe that is all I get to do now is forgive.  Forgive my parents, forgive my sister, forgive my first grade teacher, forgive the program, forgive, forgive, forgive... and move along life's highway.  Now I get to learn, enjoy life, reconnect with people and enjoy them all over again.  How precious is that.  I just had hoped I could have one more moment with you to let you know how special you were to me back then.  Even if you couldn't stay the night.  

One last wish for you, my friend... 

May the stars where you came from embrace your energy once again.  May your family and friends remember you with fondness.  May you continue to live on in their memories.  May our time together on this planet be a blessing to me and may I feel like I am a better person for having you in my life, if only for a short time during childhood.  

Rest Easy, dear friend.  

Ruby 

Shannon's Obituary

Shannon plays and sings with her family.  

"A piece of my heart is now a star in the sky". Author Unknown

GRIEVING FOR JOE

 Why am I sad?  He wasn't family. He wasn't a friend.  I never met him in person.  He never knew me... but I heard him sing and now I grieve.  

Joe Bonsall of the Oakridge Boys passed away from ALS on July 9, 2024 at the age of 76.  

I was first introduced to a love of the Oakridge Boys music because of an album that was in my parents LP collection.  "Fancy Free" came out in 1981.  It was the year before we left B.C.  I don't know when my parents acquired the album, but there is a hand written price of $2.00 on it, so I am guessing that Dad picked it up at a thrift store.  Mom doesn't remember the details about the acquisition.  

I downloaded the album into my iTunes this week and the songs are still in my head.  I can sing along to every one of them.  I must have worn that album out back in the day.  I had a crush on Richard Sterban, but who didn't.  He was that good looking bass singer for the Oaks.  

In the last few years, the Oaks music came back to me and I enjoyed watching them on Youtube.  What amazed me this time was the energy that Joe Bonsall brought to the performances.  His vibrancy and passion is attractive... and more so than my girlhood crush on the bass singer.  Joe was the life of that group.  

I think my sadness comes more from the hole in the group, than the loss of the man.  I went through a similar loss feeling when I found out that Carlos from Il Divo died during Covid.  I wasn't too attached to Carlos as a person, but the hole he left in his foursome was massive.  

 I will end this post by sharing some of my Oakridge Boyz favourite music videos.  

Gonna take alot of river 

Elvira (with Home Free) 

The Shade 

Bobby Sue

Dream On

Love Song

And my favourite Oaks Album of all time is the one that I listened to over and over again as a teenager.  The words to the songs still rest in my memory

Fancy Free Album Play list

And a remembering of the Oaks wouldn't be complete without some gospel, for that was their roots and the music they are most connected to.  Some how, even now... I think their vocals shine the best when they are singing gospel music.  

Remembering Joe Bonsall (Time has made a change in me, I love to tell the story) 

"I want to sing just a little love song

I want to sing to you for a little while

Back up and toe the line for you

I want to be your all in all" 

Lyrics of "Love Song" sung by Joe Bonsall of the Oakridge boys 

A SCRAPBOOK LETTER

 

"Some paint with acrylics, I like to paint with words." Ruby Neumann

My Mother's Day gift for my Mom this year was a scrapbook of my sister's single life.  It was far from all inclusive.  I am sure I left a lot of good stories.   But I wanted to capture what I saw as some of the more pivotal moments of her first two decades on this planet.  

This project started last year, but in reality, it was a dream I had long before he died.  I wanted to write her a book of the stories of our childhood that she seemed to have forgotten.  Her mind wasn't a storage house of the past.  When I asked her if she remembered certain events, she would often reply with a "No".  Somehow I still felt the need to remember those things that she had forgotten.  

I started this scrapbook as something for Mom to remember her daughter, but it became a letter to my sister.  So my Mom is the fly on the wall of that conversation I wish I could have had with Jennifer.   I poured my heart out in one month and was pretty proud of what I had written.  I think I got a lot of good stories out and Mom is already making her way through the book.  I complimented it with pictures because pictures often tell more of the story than words do.  I think it's the pictures that bring the mind back to the moment,  the words just fill in the details.   

I picked up another scrapbook at Dollarama because I felt like I wasn't finished with the story telling.  I have a few ideas, but I still want to talk to my sister.  Mom already reminded me of a story that didn't make it into the first volume.  Maybe there are more of those moments.  I also want to bring more of me and my story in to the next book.  What stories do I still have in me that my sister and my mother didn't have access too.  Maybe there is some more of my life that can help my mother.  I haven't started it yet.  I am just perusing ideas right now.  

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”  Winnie the Pooh

THE FIRST MOTHER'S DAY AFTER THE DEATH OF HER DAUGHTER

 

What does a woman go through on that first Mother's Day after the death of her daughter.  Not just any child.  This was the first born.  This was the daughter that made her a mother.  Her identity was changed in 1965 because of this one.  

My mother has been a trooper.  She has shed tears for both of her parents, her husband, her first grandson and now her daughter.  I can't begin to imagine the strength that takes because I still have my mother, my husband and I didn't have children to lose.  

All this weighed heavy on me ( her second and last daughter).  I wanted to give my mom a special Mother's Day.   So I planned a road trip, rented a van and my mom and I went for a drive to Saskatchewan.   Our first destination was in Shaunavon at my cousin's ranch... where my mom and I were affectionately greeted by a Saint Bernard by the name of Bella.  

We stayed overnight at the ranch and enjoyed quality time with our family.  We got a tour of the ranch that gave Mom an off-roading experience she won't soon forget.  

Our next stop was in Regina to visit an "old friend".  He had just turned 98.  My Mom has over sixty years of friendship with this man and he was one of the pastors that officiated at my parent's wedding.  So he was on the top of the list to see, as it was most likely the last visit Mom will get with him.  

After our visit, we made our way to Outlook.  My Mom and I are both alumni of a Lutheran boarding school (LCBI) in the outskirts of this small Saskatchewan town.  This year marks seventy years since my Mom graduated from high school.  Every Mother's Day coincides with graduation, so I thought that it would be a treat to take in some of the grad events.  Mom even got acknowledged on Sunday morning.  She was an LCBI celebrity that day!  I looked at the grad class and wondered who would return in 2094 to celebrate their seventieth anniversary from high school.  

Mom and I both were especially excited to see familiar faces that made Mother's Day extra special.  I got to hug a former school mate who was spending her first Mother's Day without her Mom.  It was a beautiful day. 

After having a quick bite to eat and finding some more former classmates, Mom and I made our way to Radisson to spend the rest of the day with good longtime friends.  Mom was greeted with yet another big dog... this time a Rottweiler.  Mom did well to make friends even through big dogs are not her forte.  

We went out for supper and then connected with other friends for the night.  It was a well rounded trip and we were both feeling a loss of energy so we were glad to be heading home.  

I like my road trips with my Mom.  She knits while I drive and we are both somewhat relaxed as long as the road and other drivers are nice to us.  We didn't face a lot of crazy traffic on this trip, and that is always a bonus.  I am thankful for our time together and Mom was so happy to have been with her friends and family.  It's really "all about the people" 

“To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.” – Thomas Campbell

GROWING AROUND OUR GRIEF: LEARNING ABOUT GRIEF IN COMMUNITY

"People tend to believe that grief shrinks over time.  What really happens is that we grow around our grief. "

I have had this image on the wall in my office for some time now.  It has reminded me of the core understanding of the grief process.  This very concept was introduced in the first meeting of a Calmar community grief support group I have been a part of during the month of April.  

Every Tuesday morning for the last month, I have walked to the local community centre in my town to gather with other grievers from the surrounding communities.  We have averaged about 8-11 people every meeting with two facilitators: a registered psychologist and a community social worker.  It has been a transformative time for me and for the others.  

This has been the first time I have been in a in-person grief support group of any kind.  It offers a very different dynamic in the grief recovery process.  

"It's easier to talk to a stranger, than it is to my family members" 

This was mentioned in one of the meetings and I would agree with it.  I didn't know anyone in that room one month ago, and I have been able to pour out some of the depths of my heartache to them.  It has been encouraging and uplifting.  

Today is our last day together officially.  I don't know what happens after this morning.  Will any of us want to stay connected, or is the magic in the group that will dissipate after today.  

We have all learned a great deal thanks to the wisdom from great teachers that our facilitator Amy has brought to us.  I have been in several grief training seminars, and some of what Amy gave us was new and enlightening.  

It is tempting to walk alone in grief, because of the feeling that "no one understands me or my pain".  But what I have discovered this month is that sharing a common loss is not as necessary as sharing our loss and being in community with other grievers who understand what it is like to lose someone precious.  My heart can go out to someone who has lost a mother or a spouse, even through I still have both in my life.  Broken hearts don't need identification as much as they need compassion.  

I will end off this post with some of the grief wisdom that Amy shared with us in our class.  

“Grief is not a problem to be solved; it is an experience to be carried”- Megan Devine

“The brain cannot think its way out of grief. We must feel our way through.” -Gordon Neufeld

"We don’t need to feel all the time, but we all need the time to feel”- Gordon Neufeld

"Our brains are like Teflon for the positive experiences, and like Velcro for the negative experiences." Rick Hanson 

"The mind would rather be guilty than helpless."- David Kessler. 

"Guilt can become a burden too heavy to bear, and can keep us stuck in our grieving process." - David Kessler

“Real self-care is creating a life we don’t need to escape”- Anne Lamott

• We don’t get over our grief, our grief goes with us because it is how we love our person.
• Grief is not a linear process. We will oscillate between grieving and living in our new way of life.
• No feeling is final. No feeling is fatal.
• Grief is love with no where to go.
• Beating ourselves up over “what-ifs” does not move us forward.

MISSING THE MANY ALONG WITH THE MAN

When people ask me what I miss about Emco... I always say... the people.  It is really the only thing I miss.  I don't miss the drive. I don't miss time away from my home and family. I don't miss repetitive tasks that had me wondering of my purpose.  I don't miss the corporate machine.  I don't miss the move away from personal customer service towards automated answers.  I miss the people.  I miss the interactions I had with my coworkers and the customers.  I miss the social environment that I was a part of every week day.  I miss the casual interactions along with the deep conversations.  

I left Emco in 2020.  Along with leaving the company, the paycheque, the job... I left a family that I was unable to say goodbye to.  That was painful.  It took a few years before I found myself entering the doors again.  Even then, I only saw a handful of my former coworkers.  I had lost so much.  

On my last trip, I discovered that one of my coworkers, a man by the name of Brian, was in an automobile accident.  He was driving with another coworker and something happened to him that caused him to loose control of the wheel.  I can't remember all the details. I think he went unconscious while driving.  Joe was riding shotgun and had to get control of the vehicle.  When I last visited Emco, the story was that he was in a coma in the hospital.  I didn't hear anything more until yesterday.  

My husband and I were delivering heaters to a customer in Edmonton and I bumped into one of their employees that I knew from my customer interactions at Emco.  Tim recognized me and we chatted a bit.  He then asked me if I had heard about Brian.  I told him I heard Brian was in an accident.   

"No, Brian passed away."

That I didn't hear.  I did a google search for Brian's obituary and discovered that he died on March 26 which was over two weeks ago.  The immediate loss I felt, however,  was not for Brian, but for my disconnection from my former family that would allow two weeks to go by and no news of his death to reach my ears.   I found out, quite by chance, from a customer... not a former coworker.  

I tried to refocus my energy on Brian and how I felt about his dying.  I didn't really feel free to cry in that moment, but found solace in my sadness.  I read his obituary and discovered a few more things I didn't know about the man I worked with for more than a decade.  One hardly learns of the personal details of one's coworker's lives at work.  

I had a chance to connect outside of the workplace once with Brian.  It was at the Edmonton Rock Festival.  My husband's band was part of the lineup that weekend, and I saw Brian in the stands, so I went over to talk with him.  I discovered that he liked attending music shows.  He was a regular attendee at the Emco Blues Festival.  We had a nice visit.  

I was trying to rack my brain about Brian's qualities so I could share them on the obituary. What I came up with was caring.  I realized that maybe I didn't know him as well as I hoped.  But I remember that he valued his customers and co-workers.  I got to have an ear on his frustrations every once in a while, but he didn't take his frustrations out on his customers or his coworkers.  

As much as Brian's death is sad for me, the sadness is wrapped around my greater loss of the family that we were both a part of for so many years.  Had I still been a part of that family, I would now have a place to grieve and share that loss.  Now I don't know how to grieve and wonder if I am still grieving the loss of my Emco family.  

I have a video I made after my departure from Emco.  During Covid, the Emco teammates were sharing photos with each other.  I collected those photos along with some that I had from work and I made a video of my Emco Family.  I watched that video three times yesterday.  It's been four years and there are teammates that I have forgotten, but there are teammates that I greatly miss, (some not even alive anymore).   The song I chose was "The Living Years" from Mike and the Mechanics.  

I realize that in my grief for one person,  there is often a bigger picture and more losses that make the sadness for that one person even greater.  Do I miss Brian or my Emco Family or both?  Emotions are a strange thing to map out.  I do miss them both.  I miss each person, and I miss the team and family.  I am glad now that I am where I am and with whom I am with.  There are no regrets there.  Just a whole lot of sadness right now.  I am missing them all over again.  

* * * 

"Grief is hard work"  Rebecca Sorrells

 

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...'."