You're four years old and you fall down and get a scrape on your leg. Two days later there is new pink skin on the spot and you can run as fast as ever. The worst long-term effect is that for the rest of the summer you will have a light spot in your leg tan.
You're fifteen years old and a girl you like tells you she doesn't want to see you any more. Actually she doesn't tell you, she has her friend tell you and that hurts even worse. Six weeks later you meet a very nice girl at a dance and you end up taking her to Junior Prom. The worst long-term side effect is a bit of embarrassment over the past.
You're twenty-six years old and everything is working out according to your plans. You are head-over-heels in love with your spouse, your soul mate. Your new son is healthy. Your job is satisfactory. But for some reason you are uneasy in every social situation. The alcohol that was once a usable tool is now an absolute need. All day. It's not working. You hate yourself and want to die. One afternoon you remember a long-ago conversation with a friend who was talking to you (for some reason...) about how she was helped by Alcoholics Anonymous. A call is made. An AA meeting found. (You get a ride because you're too shaky to drive.) Your brief, near-fatal relationship with alcohol ends. The long task of life without the substance begins. The worst long-term side effect is that it doesn't just skin over like that scrape when you were four years old. It also doesn't simply get displaced/replaced by something new. You haven't got a clue, you haven't got a plan, except to survive. And you begin to learn about taking life one day at a time.
You're forty-two years old and your mother dies suddenly. You didn't get to say good-bye. You didn't get one last hug. She's gone. Nothing makes sense. Nobody loves you like your mom. Every hour, every day there is a nagging empty agony. Everything hurts. The worst long-term side effect is that it doesn't go away. A sort of callus builds up over the wound, like a tree that loses a large branch, but you can't say it heals exactly, because what is gone stays gone. You begin to learn how to go on loving after the one you love is taken away.
What am I driving at here?
No. I think I'll just leave it where it is. The process is ongoing, after all.
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
11/21/2012
Grief and the Holidays: Answers for the "How are you?" Question
People who know you have just lost someone you love will ask you, "How are you?"
They may never have gone through what you are going through. They may have some vague notion that grief recovery is a matter of days or weeks, not years -- a lifetime.
Whenever the Holidays are upon us, I think about the heartless and cruel things people did and said after my mother died unexpectedly back in the summer of 2000. (A compilation of "what not to say to someone in grief" will be a subject for another day.) One of the difficult recurring social situations is when you get that cue to speak. The light comes on, the camera is rolling. What do you say?
How are you?
There are two kinds responses that seem to work. One is to fly under the radar -- lie and say you're fine. The question is not really a question after all, but rather a kind of species of tribal ritual (think dog-sniffing).
The other response that seems to work is pure deflection. Take the force of the question and direct it back to the questioner:
You look fabulous!
I am so glad to see you!
Wow look at your decorations!
What follows are some answers that flowed from the sluggish Crowndot brain during a few minutes before the coffee kicked in this morning:
Fine. You?
Fine. You've got a lotta nerve asking that.
Fine, you insensitive boor.
Oh. Just peachy. My Mom just died. Did you forget?
Fine. You didn't want the truth, did you?
Oh about as well as could be expected.
About fair.
On a good day, only fair; on a bad day... And don't ask if today's a bad day.
Well, I'm up and dressed today...
Better, thanks.
Better, no thanks to you.
About the same. You?
Like I've been cut a thousand times then set on fire and they put the fire out with salt and lemon juice.
Contagious. Stay back!
Radioactive. I will kill anyone who gets too close.
I'll be all right.
I'll be all right once I get back to some kind of routine.
I'll be all right once I get some "issues" sorted out.
I'll be all right once I get away from this party.
I'll be all right once I get away from you.
Kind of numb.
Kind of angry.
Kind of struggling.
Oh, y'know...
Everything still hurts.
I still can't believe she's gone.
I'm not afraid of death any more.
Hungry. Where's the nibbles?
They may never have gone through what you are going through. They may have some vague notion that grief recovery is a matter of days or weeks, not years -- a lifetime.
Whenever the Holidays are upon us, I think about the heartless and cruel things people did and said after my mother died unexpectedly back in the summer of 2000. (A compilation of "what not to say to someone in grief" will be a subject for another day.) One of the difficult recurring social situations is when you get that cue to speak. The light comes on, the camera is rolling. What do you say?
How are you?
There are two kinds responses that seem to work. One is to fly under the radar -- lie and say you're fine. The question is not really a question after all, but rather a kind of species of tribal ritual (think dog-sniffing).
The other response that seems to work is pure deflection. Take the force of the question and direct it back to the questioner:
You look fabulous!
I am so glad to see you!
Wow look at your decorations!
What follows are some answers that flowed from the sluggish Crowndot brain during a few minutes before the coffee kicked in this morning:
Fine. You?
Fine. You've got a lotta nerve asking that.
Fine, you insensitive boor.
Oh. Just peachy. My Mom just died. Did you forget?
Fine. You didn't want the truth, did you?
Oh about as well as could be expected.
About fair.
On a good day, only fair; on a bad day... And don't ask if today's a bad day.
Well, I'm up and dressed today...
Better, thanks.
Better, no thanks to you.
About the same. You?
Like I've been cut a thousand times then set on fire and they put the fire out with salt and lemon juice.
Contagious. Stay back!
Radioactive. I will kill anyone who gets too close.
I'll be all right.
I'll be all right once I get back to some kind of routine.
I'll be all right once I get some "issues" sorted out.
I'll be all right once I get away from this party.
I'll be all right once I get away from you.
Kind of numb.
Kind of angry.
Kind of struggling.
Oh, y'know...
Everything still hurts.
I still can't believe she's gone.
I'm not afraid of death any more.
Hungry. Where's the nibbles?
11/19/2012
Holiday Survival: How to Take Care of Yourself
The time of this posting is the morning of 19 November 2012. In the
United States, we are on the verge of the Thanksgiving Day holiday, the
start of the season of The Holidays.
The holiday season can be especially cruel to those who are not in a "holiday mood" -- such as those dealing with depression or grief. For those whose grief is new and raw, the holiday season becomes a marathon of feeling misplaced, forgotten, pained. It becomes a question of survival.
If the holidays loom fearfully before you, I offer this. They are just a number of days. You survive one day at a time by taking care of yourself. I put together this list of tips some years ago after my mother passed away suddenly. I offer it to you.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1.) Eat. You may not be able to taste it, but the tissues do need nutrients. Think simple. Think comfort.
2.) Try to lie down for at least six hours a day. Do it in a series of cat-naps if you want. You may not be able to sleep. When your body needs sleep, your body will sleep. But being horizontal helps even if you're not sleeping. Try not to *try* too hard to sleep.
3.) Breathe all the way out occasionally. Breathe all the way in occasionally too.
4.) Relax you jaw muscles. Lower your shoulders. Lift your eyes to the horizon. Unclench your hands and toes. If you can do those things, much of the rest of you might relax too.
5.) Drink a little water or juice sometimes even if you aren't eating. Stress (and crying!) is dehydrating. And being dehydrated adds to the stress.
6.) If you normally bathe, consider taking a shower instead; if you normally shower, consider taking a bath. Weird, but outlook-changing. Likewise, if you always put on your left shoe first, do the right one first today. Try it.
7.) Comfort-dress. Put on your most comfortable clothes, even if the colors don't match. Your most comfortable condition of dress (or undress).
8.) Try a new brand of . . . tea, coffee, breakfast cereal, after-shave, soap, hair gel, whatever.
9.) Make some time that is you time. Then, practice *not* feeling guilty about stealing that hour from your many other responsibilities. Here are some ideas: A.) Sometimes I go to the library after work and read the funny parts in a couple of the periodicals I don't subscribe to (I mean, why subscribe if all I read are one column and the cartoons?). B.) Go somewhere comfortable and anonymous (Library, park bench, a bench at the mall...) and either pull out your phone and pretend to talk to someone (like those we have lost?) or pull out a book or magazine and pretend to read. Nobody will bother you!
10.) I hate to say it, but exercise does help. Even if it is just flexing your ankles while lying on your back, it can get the lymph pumping. (I have recently discovered that some park benches are high enough to kick my feet like a little child -- gentle exercise and "it takes me back ... ") Gentle walks ... on up to long aerobic workouts ... it's all okay. Don't get down on yourself for not doing *more*.
11.) Find a piece of nature you can enjoy, even if for just a few minutes: an all-day hike in the pristine mountains; an afternoon near the surf-sprayed tide pool rocks; a detour into and then out of the florist's shop (the air is so great in there!); a peek into the pet store just to watch the baby whatevers crawl over each other.
12.) Write. Some write in a journal. I sometimes write "letters" to those whom I have lost. Mostly I guess my grief writing is in the form of posts to alt.support.grief.
[Notice: the above recommendations are based on personal experience. I am not any of the following: doctor, lawyer,psychologist, counselor, traveling salesman, or multilevel marketer.Permission is granted (Yes! Do! That's what it's for!) to use all or part of this document to help anyone dealing with grief.]
The holiday season can be especially cruel to those who are not in a "holiday mood" -- such as those dealing with depression or grief. For those whose grief is new and raw, the holiday season becomes a marathon of feeling misplaced, forgotten, pained. It becomes a question of survival.
If the holidays loom fearfully before you, I offer this. They are just a number of days. You survive one day at a time by taking care of yourself. I put together this list of tips some years ago after my mother passed away suddenly. I offer it to you.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1.) Eat. You may not be able to taste it, but the tissues do need nutrients. Think simple. Think comfort.
2.) Try to lie down for at least six hours a day. Do it in a series of cat-naps if you want. You may not be able to sleep. When your body needs sleep, your body will sleep. But being horizontal helps even if you're not sleeping. Try not to *try* too hard to sleep.
3.) Breathe all the way out occasionally. Breathe all the way in occasionally too.
4.) Relax you jaw muscles. Lower your shoulders. Lift your eyes to the horizon. Unclench your hands and toes. If you can do those things, much of the rest of you might relax too.
5.) Drink a little water or juice sometimes even if you aren't eating. Stress (and crying!) is dehydrating. And being dehydrated adds to the stress.
6.) If you normally bathe, consider taking a shower instead; if you normally shower, consider taking a bath. Weird, but outlook-changing. Likewise, if you always put on your left shoe first, do the right one first today. Try it.
7.) Comfort-dress. Put on your most comfortable clothes, even if the colors don't match. Your most comfortable condition of dress (or undress).
8.) Try a new brand of . . . tea, coffee, breakfast cereal, after-shave, soap, hair gel, whatever.
9.) Make some time that is you time. Then, practice *not* feeling guilty about stealing that hour from your many other responsibilities. Here are some ideas: A.) Sometimes I go to the library after work and read the funny parts in a couple of the periodicals I don't subscribe to (I mean, why subscribe if all I read are one column and the cartoons?). B.) Go somewhere comfortable and anonymous (Library, park bench, a bench at the mall...) and either pull out your phone and pretend to talk to someone (like those we have lost?) or pull out a book or magazine and pretend to read. Nobody will bother you!
10.) I hate to say it, but exercise does help. Even if it is just flexing your ankles while lying on your back, it can get the lymph pumping. (I have recently discovered that some park benches are high enough to kick my feet like a little child -- gentle exercise and "it takes me back ... ") Gentle walks ... on up to long aerobic workouts ... it's all okay. Don't get down on yourself for not doing *more*.
11.) Find a piece of nature you can enjoy, even if for just a few minutes: an all-day hike in the pristine mountains; an afternoon near the surf-sprayed tide pool rocks; a detour into and then out of the florist's shop (the air is so great in there!); a peek into the pet store just to watch the baby whatevers crawl over each other.
12.) Write. Some write in a journal. I sometimes write "letters" to those whom I have lost. Mostly I guess my grief writing is in the form of posts to alt.support.grief.
[Notice: the above recommendations are based on personal experience. I am not any of the following: doctor, lawyer,psychologist, counselor, traveling salesman, or multilevel marketer.Permission is granted (Yes! Do! That's what it's for!) to use all or part of this document to help anyone dealing with grief.]
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