Competitive Grieving

I read a blog post today that shook me deep. Her name is Stacie Lewis, she writes her half-brained daughter’s story here and also writes for BabyCenter.com. The story I read today from Mama Lewis is titled: “I lost at the Grieving Mother Competition”.

Mama Lewis has the courage to share with the world the stories of her daughter, May. May is four. Four years ago, she had a traumatic birth which left her severely brain damaged. Some of Stacie’s readers on Baby Centre felt entitled enough to judge. Judge how she is dealing, living and grieving a full-brained child.

For many years, I have quarrelled with quantifying and qualifying grief. Aside from losing a young cousin and uncle in a horrific car accident over 10 years ago, death has not been my main source of grief. Yet, I have gone through it several times. Over the same issues. Some would say one should only go through the grieving process once. True? No. Grief is one of the very few things in life which is indescribable to others and only the grieved understand the level of pain.

One of my dearest friend, now family, has lost many animals. She requested I accompany her to the vet with two of her beloved cats when they became ill and life was not worth it for them. I watched her closely after these two losses as I knew she was in deep grief. When losing someone or something cherished and loved, there must be grief, hurt, sorrow. Those are wonderful feelings. The feelings of pain from losing is God’s way of building us. Those are necessary and embraceable feelings. Once the last phase of grieving has passed and the sun begins shining again. One can look back and embrace the wonderful memories. It is wonderful to think: to feel such pain, there had to be tremendous love. This is the case for my friend and her heavenly animals.

Another dear friend lost an adult daughter, a grand daughter and a husband in the span of three short years. The grief from those events is most definitely not quantifiable nor qualifiable. But, in such situation, the grieving must go on. Not only would my friend grieve her beloved family but the plans she had made for the future and any other changes that ensued from these losses. It is truly, a continuous grieving process. With faith in her Lord, my friend has conquered the unimaginable. Although she may never be the same, God has a plan for her, it is the best and only plan.

I have watched people throughout my life. My grand mother lost a 17 year old daughter. She is still grieving. I am not judging. Others are grieving an education; a dream house; angel babies; failed relationships. The world is grieving, continuously. It is our survival. A way to go on carrying our burdens.

I like to think I am nearing the last phase of my grieving process. I have accepted my childhood. I am learning to accept the lack of parental and unconditional love. Each day, I appreciate more what I have now, as a mother and a wife, and not regretting what I could have had or I could have been. I like to think I am raising my children to be human beings with the values I would like to have been taught and it is definitely helping closing the chapter.

Unlike death, which is final, my grieving process can easily rewind to beginning credits and bring me back to the gut-wrenching, open, bleeding wound, with only a phone call or lack thereof. I am getting stronger, as time goes, and I don’t let the reel go back so far.

I am seriously losing at the Grieving Competition. But it is my race. As long as I finish it, I have won.

M.

Cherished moments

This morning, all four of us sat on children’s chairs during the Christmas Parent Breakfast at our children’s daycare  eating oranges and croissants. Our eldest son attends the before and after school program and our little guy is there all day, patiently waiting the return of his brother. When the school bell rang, I walked my boy to his class and tried to help him get settled. He obviously didn’t need me and showed great independence. He was eager to get in to the room where his friends were, but I insisted on a kiss, a hug and “je t’aime, bonne journée”.

I returned to our second son who was clinging to his papa. He doesn’t appreciate change in his routine. Having his father there was too good to be true and he certainly didn’t want him to leave. We have to be strong and show him confidence, he is safe and we are always coming back to get him. The tears were streaming down his face and both my husband and I were heartbroken to leave him behind. We hugged and kissed him at least a dozen time before he resentfully went to one of the caregiver’s arms.

I have been going over every single moment from this morning. The hugs, the kisses, the uncertainty in their eyes when we made a move that may have been interpreted as preparation to leave. It could have been the last time I looked in their eyes, kissed their plump lips, stroked their shiny hair or said good bye.

This evening, both my boys are safely nestled in their beds, next to our bedroom. I can tell who’s breathing louder and who’s lungs are a little too congested.

I cannot bear to think of those parents, barely miles away from our haven, whose world have been shattered. Hopes, dreams and plans were torn to shred by some deranged man carrying, not one but, 3 of the most powerful guns.

This man made a conscious decision this morning. He walked in to Sandy Hook Elementary School  and opened fire. Leaving 27 people on the ground to die, he turned the gun to himself. Eighteen of his victims were children. People’s babies. Mothers and fathers are now looking at empty bedrooms and closets full of hidden Christmas presents.

This weekend, I have almost every minute planned with my boys. Tonight we made red and green Rice Krispies squares and watched a Christmas movie. Tomorrow is our Gingerbread house project and many other Christmas crafts as well as baking. Wrapping presents for the neighbours and delivering them. Playing board games and Thomas the train.I  have a pretty good grasp of my emotions and reactions, however,  I have absolutely no idea where I would be if I were a parent from Sandy Hook School. I am so very angry now, how would I process someone voluntarily taking my child’s life, ten days before baby Jesus was born, to save us.

I have a lump in my throat which won’t go away. God must be so angry. Evil is truly the only explanation for such massacre. Purely evil.

Four years ago tomorrow, a dear friend lost her baby, of thirty-five years old. Children are vulnerable and sans défense so the tragedy is ruthless. However, as someone once said to me, we are always someone’s baby. Regardless of age. Parents who lose children walk around with a cross on their back.

Tonight, I hugged my boys long and hard. I looked at them and studied their beautiful little faces. And I prayed. I prayed for the parents of the children who were killed. The children who lived but watched their teacher and friends being killed. I prayed for peace in spiritual chaos. I prayed for all the families and friends who have, in their lifetime, had to say good bye to a human being they brought to life. Because there really is no other love similar to loving your child, the pain of losing such love has to be unexplainably acute. I pray that these little angels are in Heaven, pain and worry free. I can only imagine the fear they had to experience.

Such tragedy is core shaking. I don’t think I will ever drive away from our school the same way I did this morning.

Hug your children, your grandchildren. Tell your family and friends how much you love them and how much they mean to you. Tomorrow is another day.

Dear God, please lift those families’ hearts in your care. May they survive this earth shaking disaster.

Maman M.

~1~ PC Slater

A few months following my move to Ontario, I had enough of “country living”! My aunt was gracious enough to let me move in with her for the first little while. Once I had a job and a better sense of myself, I started looking for a new place to live. Friends of my aunt knew this lady: police constable Slater. Single, born and raised in Montreal, trustworthy, etc.  She used to take borders in her cute little bungalow. She didn’t particularly like the company, in fact she preferred having flight attendants who were never home. Her last border left a bitter taste and she vowed to never have another one. Until I came along!!

I stood on her front porch, the first time I met her, 18, shy, barely speaking English. She was scary! She stood tall, thin with very strong features and a dry sense of humor which I did not understand at all. I’m convinced she was coerced in to taking this poor little French girl under her roof.

So, I moved in! My grandma came all the way from my home town, took me to Ikea and made it her mission to make my small little room, home. It was good. I had one friend who lived nearby and spent a lot of time with her, the rest of the time I worked ridiculous hours at the airport. I wasn’t home much which please the lady of the house. I can’t remember being particularly “happy” but it was good!

PC Slater and I kept our distance. She worked shifts, when on nights, she slept during the day and when on days, she liked to relax in her basement. I never joined her. I think I was scared of her most of that year! I did however discover a sweetness and authenticity about her. She took me to her friends for parties or holidays like Christmas.

After a year, I moved on. She and I were both ready. I never thought I would see her again. I was wrong!

About a year after that, I went to China! When the escapade was over, she offered to pick me up from the airport. At that point, in an unspoken fashion, we had become friends. Not much was said about it but it was clear. It was forever!

Over the years, the tall, thin police constable softened up. Her circle of friends, whom I met from the very beginning are now part of my life as well! PC Slater has called me her “daughter” for a few years now. She has watched me meet my husband and marry him. She was the first visitor in the hospital after my son was born. She has brought me Gatorade when I have been bed ridden with the stomach flu. I took her soup when she has had strep! I stayed with her after carpel tunnel surgery and performed nursing duties when the stitches came apart. That is what friends do!

Over the last 12 years, I have discovered a very quiet and reserved woman to be one of the most caring, reliable and true friend a girl can have. My first impression of her could not have been more wrong.

Most recently, I spent the night on her couch when she was sticken with grief. Her beloved daddy passed away just 9 days after her mom succumbed a pneumonia. I found myself in a room full of grown women falling apart with grief. I served them brandy and made coffee.

It amazes me how quickly the roles have changed. I am a wife and mother and they no longer see me as the little French girl who needs rescuing. I am part of their tight knit circle. I am one of these amazing women with scarred pasts and happy stories.

I felt PC Slater was the perfect woman to begin the “Remarkable Women Series”. She has been a big part of my life from the very beginning of my journey. I owe her part of who I am now.

To this day, she yells at me to stop apologizing all the time. I laugh it off.

She is a remarkable woman, friend and human being.

We have an understanding that I will, one day, choose her nursing home and take care of her. I don’t look forward to her aging, but I do look forward to giving her back what I have received from her.

Love you A.M.S!!

Mélanie