I’ve been in a serious funk
lately and haven’t been able to pin down the source of the crotchety,
cantankerous and grouchy bent that has affected me. I know I am in serious need of a vacation that includes
clear blue water, white sand and a skimpy two-piece but this pall is set deeper
than that. I’m by no means
depressed or unable to carry on with my gazillion normal activities but there
is a definite pettishness that has been matching me step for step.
After hearing of the loss
of the parent of a dear friend and watching The
Best Man Holiday (no spoilers) I think I’ve finally pinned it. The holidays are fast approaching and I miss my parents
terribly. I lost my mother after a
short illness 26 years ago and have been on my own ever since. My dad was always present, but was a
big believer in offering assistance only when you’d exhausted all other options
and I guess my über resourcefulness precluded me from needing much assistance,
which is good… I guess. My dad
succumbed to cancer last year after gracing the world with almost 90 years of
his presence.
Losing parents is never
easy no matter how old you are.
Though difficult, it is the natural progression of things and although an upsetting reality, most people will lose their
parents during the course of their lives. My journey towards being an orphan began on a pleasantly mild Tuesday during April of 1987. I had just celebrated my 20th birthday weeks earlier and watched in horror (and some fascination) as my mother
peacefully drew her last breaths. She was 63. For weeks, a cloak of confusion, rage and disbelief descended. Outwardly, I was able to function normally. I was attending classes, completing
assignments and eating adequately, but no one saw the rages that tore through
me at night and caused me to trash, at first my bedroom, then extending to full
nightly sessions where multiple rooms were mercilessly and purposefully attacked. I experienced overwhelming grief and
lamented about the mess that my life had the potential to become. Then like clockwork, and consumed by
guilt for questioning God’s will, I painstakingly restored order and discarded the
remnants of my rage that I hadn’t quite figured out how to control. During those weeks sleep was fleeting. By contrast, my dad's death, twenty-five
years later, held no real shock.
He lived a long and fulfilling life and his death came as no real
surprise. I was well in control of my emotions by this time and managed the grieving process with grace.
I didn't trash any rooms or cry inconsolably, but it dawned on me that I needed to preserve the fading memories that I’d stored as there would
be no new ones to draw from as I transitioned from loved daughter to orphan. I felt anchorless.
I was no one’s child. I
felt, and feel like my roots have been hacked away. Before you question it… I’m an adult and yes, my mama taught
me well, I am independent and I can stand alone. This doesn’t negate the fact that at times I feel very
alone. I have wonderful friends
and am grateful for all of them. I
have wonderful children and am grateful for them as well, but they're not my
parents.
To anyone who hasn't lost
their parents, here's a bit of news: you never get over it. I'm not trying to frighten you. You get through it, yes, and you'll
probably get used to it, but you’ll not get over it. A piece of your puzzle has been removed and, however much you
rearrange the other pieces, they never quite fit in the same way ever again. They say change is good… perhaps there
is some good in this as well. I’ve
learned to not only find my own happiness but to savor my many moments of WayBeyondZ joy and I appreciate those
moments even more because I've also experienced the lows of sorrow.
There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe,
stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.
~ Winnie the Pooh
