Loss

 How to deal with loss is everyone’s choice. They, whoever ‘they’ are, say: time, distractions, work will help. I deal with it in another way. I change my thoughts like a tv channel to divert the pain. Suppressing every painful thought is not good, I hear, but for me it is a defense mechanism. I have trained myself not to care anymore for things and even people. Not to get attached. I moved into this house, and as lovely as it is, I will NOT love it. I have met new friends, and as loving as they are, I will not cling to them. Oh, they say, but friendships are essential. At this stage of the game, the only thing important to me is finding a secure and affordable place to live, and this is quite a task. Then, the worry of who will take care of me once I become older will be my next quest.

For the past three years I have lived in limbo. I have moved six times since I left my mother’s house after she passed. You see, whoever 'you' are, in the middle of summer 2017 I lost my delightful mother, after caring for her, as narrated in this blog, for a good 18 years. Our time together was an experience that I will never forget or resent. Lovingly, we learned how to share, tolerate and accept each other. Her care taught me a lot of what compassion and surrender is about. I gave myself up for her, and for this I have no regrets. I neglected to look out for myself in order to make her happy, comfortable and secure in a home filled with laughter, peace and love. And, when she passed, I lost not only my mother but my north, my friend, my support.

Then, abruptly, I found me: empty of goals, aimless, without purpose. I buried myself in the sale of the house, the packing, the process of getting rid of her things. I remained in that lovely, empty home, alone with my dog Renny. No more nurses, aids, visitors, except for my students. No more laughter, no more words of encouragement, no more giving, no more joy or sense of caring and accomplishment.

Early in January, 2018, three days after moving to an apartment, my dear Renny was taken away from me as well. I had just lost my mother, my home and now my puppy died after a fall. I found out what being devastated was about: a mixture of desolation, misery, loneliness, anguish, melancholy, despair and sorrow. And the taste of it is bitter, and sour and sharp like poison. How to deal with so much loss. How does one get used to it?

And then I learned that, mercilessly, life has a way of slapping you when you’re at your lowest. I lost my son; he distanced himself from us all. This loss is worse than death because with it comes inevitable closure and acceptance; with this kind of loss, there’s neither conclusion nor resolution. Only silence, rejection, shame and pain.

November 17^th 2020

Sela and me, 2016.

Estrangement

 Since the winter of 2018 my son slowly stepped out of my life. I've read all communications with him and I have yet to understand what actually went wrong. I decided to let it be, thinking that somehow time would cure wounds. But no, the silence is wider. He has done the same with his father, not answering phone calls, texts. I found this anonymous essay and adapted it to my own experience, and here it is:

To my son Michael.  You have chosen a life without me.  I’ve tried many forms of contact but failed. It has been many months… Will this silence last forever? I ought not to equate my agony to grieving for the dead: you’re alive, so I hold on to hope with faltering fingertips. 

I wonder if you’re forging ahead with your passions and friendships. I want to be proud and happy for you. Most of all I want to know if you intend this silence to last forever? If so, then please help me understand why. All of the anger that’s been building up since Sela died, what is that fully about? 

I have looked up the word estrangement on the internet and all I can find are examples of forced relationships or violent parents or something similar. I can’t find anyone to relate to, and frankly, I’m ashamed to do so. I had thought that you and I were close. I miss you every single day until it makes me feel sick. 

Rejection in a romantic love relationship is deeply painful, but from a son, the wound cannot heal over with time. I can’t replace you with a new friend. I imagine you may think I should be happy with my friends, rest of the family, but they cannot fill the void. The wound is gaping and tender, and it becomes re-infected daily. 

I look out for you in every street corner. A tiny glimmer of hope briefly possess me when I see someone who might be you. My vision cruelly morphs the most unlikely strangers in to your shape. Many times each day my brain plays tricks. 

A close friend said that I have no choice but to give you space and to get on with my life. This is what I do, but you are below the surface of everything. I’m never truly laughing, never relaxed or content, for every one of those moments end in nostalgia for shared moments.

Tears burst out of me at the most inappropriate moments, at any reminder. It endangers my everyday life, my sanity. Other people! What do they say? I know you’d think that I’m shallow to care, but many of those who know us do judge me and perhaps gossip.

I resent what seems to be everyone else having children and grandchildren, who enjoy their company, who talk things through with them, and share. 

I avoid any conversation about you; I can’t stand questions about how you’re doing. I deflect them and reverse them until I come across as being cold and closed up. I won’t be pitied, especially by those who will make judgments or will inevitably pat themselves on the back for their own parental success, in comparison with my shabby rejection. Yes, I’ve become jealous –I resent what seems to be everyone else having children who enjoy their company, who have meals with them, and talk things through with them.

Anger. You’re not the only one. I have that, too. Perhaps you’re afraid of that and that’s why you won’t come back? I’m gut-wrenchingly upset that you think it’s all right to do this to me: to your mother. Where is the love in that? Would your friends do it to their mothers? Why are their mothers superior and so much more deserving than I am? 

I’m so afraid that the longer this continues, the harder it will be for you to break it. I tried to teach you “strength in silence” when there seemed to be no other choice, to help you through a tricky rejection, but I never expected you to use it against me.

I used to believe that we were close; I have always loved being your mother. 
Here’s an opportunity for you to do something good. Please come back to me, or at least explain why, so that I may better understand. Please help me to find some peace from the tormenting questions in my head. 

Christmas 2006

Losing Renny

 A snowy evening in January 2018 I lost my friend, my companion, my heart.  He was a 11 pound miniature Dachshund called Renny Whiteoak.  I found this poem, unknown author,  which reflects my grief:

You no longer greet me as I walk through the door
You’re not there to make me smile, to make me laugh any more.
Life seems quiet without you, you were more than a pet
You were a family member, a friend, someone I’ll never forget
It will take time to heal, or the sorrow to go away
I still listen for you, and miss you every day.
You were such a companion, rambunctious, noisy and true,
             My heart will always wear the footprints left by you.     

Renny Whiteoak 6 April 2013 - 4 January 2018