Life Lessons

As I sit here thinking about my blog and topics of interest, my passions and my experiences, I am reminded of the greatest lessons I have learned. Although these lessons came from an incredibly difficult journey it changed my life in a positive way. We are trained to assess needs and provide tools to help people through life transitions, difficult situations, and crisis. Some of us may become experts in a field of study in which people turn to you for guidance and education. What happens when you become the victim, when you hurt, when you need help? Can you use the tools you offer others? Can you do the things you ask others to do if it happened to you? I couldn’t. This is my personal grief experience.It was about 5:30 AM when the phone rang. “Damn phone is going to wake the baby”, I mumbled in a whisper. Then I realized what time it was and thought this can’t be good, who calls at 5:30 in the morning. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought it was my father calling to tell me he needed me to take my mother to the E.R., her stomach again, the ulcer is acting up and she is in pain. My father lost his eye sight a few years earlier and could not drive so when my mother was unable to drive, I would. She had trouble with her stomach ulcers for years so it would not have surprised me if it was her stomach acting up again. That’s not what he said, “She’s dead, your mother is dead!” What? I can’t breathe for a moment and then the baby wakes up. I grab him to comfort him or for him to comfort me and began to shake. The baby giggles, he thinks I’m playing because I am shaking and crying, but I’m trying to catch my breath. I manage to get dressed and leave to go to my father who needs my help. I help people all the time who are grieving, this isn’t any different, is it? But when I got there, I couldn’t look at her. That’s what I remember more than anything, I did not look at her. We bathe and dress our patients before they leave the home, but I couldn’t, I was not prepared. I couldn’t remember what to do, or who to call, which mortuary to use, my mind went blank. It’s been six years since she died and I can still smell the propane heater that was lit in the living room when I arrived. You might be wondering why I’m sharing this and I’ll explain. After she died I buried her, the experience, the memories, the pain, deep within. I did not cry after that morning, I did not speak about her to anyone, I went on living or should I say pretending. The thing to know here is that my mother and I did not have a good relationship. I carried a lot of anger and resentment. I blamed her for the pain of my childhood. If she was paying attention, if she cared things wouldn’t have happened and I would have been protected. We had a strained relationship for years and I could not communicate with her. I separated myself from her and always thought she should have done more. She tried at different times to say she was sorry and that she cared but the words were not easy for her and I wasn’t listening. Things started to change after I had my son. She wanted to be part of his life and she was different now. We began spending more time together and she began building a relationship with my son. It was nice. I realized I didn’t do much to show her I cared and  I could do more for her and I would, someday. Here is part of the lesson I learned, you don’t have tomorrow, you have the present moment. I thought I had time and that we would work it out, someday. I realize now how heavy the pain of unfinished business can be. The burden of guilt is paralyzing. The pain if you allow it to enter your mind even for a second will take your breathe away like a punch in the stomach, so I didn’t allow it to enter my mind, I couldn't. For two years I went on pretending I was fine. Carrying pain and guilt is like carrying hundred pound bag of sand, the longer you carry it the heavier it gets and eventually your knees buckle. It is easy to not deal with pain, it is not easy to allow it in. About two and a half years later I traveled to Santa Rosa to attend a bereavement facilitator’s training for work. By this time I’ve moved on, at least I thought so. In this training we learned about different techniques for working with people who are grieving. Along with the techniques we where asked to participate in a couple activities that we could use in our work. This is the part that changed my life. The first exercise was to write for ten minutes about someone you’ve lost beginning with the words I remember. I began cautiously writing a few things about my mother and before I knew it I was sobbing and had written three pages. I looked up from the paper embarrassed because I had been crying and I noticed everyone else at my table was crying too. We went around the table and discussed what the experience was like and how we were feeling. I felt exposed and vulnerable but also a bit relieved. The experience was powerful for everyone at the table who were all remembering someone special who had recently died and some who had been gone for years. After a discussion we were asked to participate in another exercise. This exercise began as a visualization exercise. I don’t remember the instructions word for word but I remember the basic idea. Visualize a familiar safe place, stay there awhile until you can almost smell the room and you are warm and content and safe. Now visualize your loved one as they were when they were healthy and strong, they enter the room and they are happy, happy to see you, they cannot talk to you, they are there to listen, what do you what to say? Now I decided at the beginning of this exercise that I had done enough emotional work and I wanted this one to be lighter, besides it’s just for educational purposes, right? I decided to visualize my grandfather; I could remember his house clearly. I saw his large worn and battered brown recliner, I could even smell the scent of his tobacco, but I could not visualize him in the recliner. Instead as if in an actual dream my mother sat down. I don’t know how to put into words how real this experience was for me in that moment. I was completely focused on this visualization, I could see her and she looked good, she was smiling. Then we were asked to write what we wanted to say to them and they would listen. The letter I wrote that day released me from my pain and guilt. You might wonder how that is even possible and I wouldn’t have believed anyone that it would work but it did. This exercise allowed me to apologize. I was able to say everything that I never said when she was alive. It was powerful. I didn’t realize until a few days later that I had been freed from the weight of my grief, it was gone, I felt lighter, happier and at peace. I was able to talk about her again and I truly believe it was because of the experience at the conference. This sparked my interest into journal writing. I began to research the benefits of journal writing and how it can be incredibly useful in trauma therapy. This is why I developed the journal group that I facilitated in my first internship. A couple of the participants described a similar freeing experience like the one I had. Not everyone will have this experience but for some it may be life changing. I believe journal therapy is a powerful tool in the work that we do as social workers and can be utilized in many different areas of social work and research has proven it.

The lessons I've learned are to live in the moment, life is short and anger is wasted energy. I try to make sure my family and my children know everyday that I love them. The important lesson I was given was quoted best by Robert Frost, “The best way out is always through.”