I was ready, last week, to share the Grief Reflection on my February 15 trip for this third anniversary of Dave's death. This is an amazing time of my enlightenment and change in a healthy direction. Since stepping into the new year of 2105 I have felt and noticed a big personal shift. I know this is important even if I can't quite articulate the entire picture right now. I look forward with hope, excitement and anticipation.

And then, no matter how expected, somehow we are never really prepared.  (Warning. The following may bring up strong emotions.)  

On Friday, February 27 I slept in late, for me. The phone ring woke me at 7:30 am. It was my brother calling with the news of my mother's passing. The call was supposed to be about me flying in on Monday. At least that was what we had talked about the day before. And that would give me time to send my newsletter as I pondered being a direct caregiver again. And recall the last week I spent in January with her. And relive going-on-hospice with her (She said, "I can always get off hospice if I don't need it."). And remembering hospice care was for a long year with Dave. And questioning how would I balance caregiving from 650 miles away? All those thoughts disappeared in an instant.

Now I ponder how new loss brings up old loss. How I really don't like memorial services! How thankful I am to have brought so much cathartic death experience to this one. How much healing we did in the last years while she was alive. How important it was that each of her children spent quality time with her in the last month (and that we did so individually because a combination of us in the room at the same time is insanity!). How final and quiet death is. How every kind of emotion surfaces. Good, bad, judgmental, forgiving. Again. Damnit.

So until I stumbled across this quote, I didn't know what to write today. Now I do.

When I arrived at my mother's house the night after she died, I sat in her bedroom. She had just moved to this new retirement community on January 15th, which we all knew was a ridiculously stressful idea. But I also knew it was her way of going "home" to be surrounded by the woods in a profoundly needful act. I was there to help the week after the move. I prepared her house but more specifically her bedroom - I rearranged furniture, set up her personal space, made it "flow." We finished a decorator project waiting to be accomplished for two years brought over from the last home. We bought soft hangers for all her clothes, neatly rehanging evening gowns we both knew were for memories only. She was happy and breathing easier. Her surroundings matched her - in control, esthetically beautiful and meaningful - yet lots of emptiness as the move left the drawers purged and then unfilled. We created space that would accommodate anticipated needs of the dying - for later.  

I left knowing that this time I really might not see her again. She called hospice the next week.

So that night after her death I sat in her chair and held a bean bag frog. One of her mementos from travels around the world, this little frog often resided on her desk or bedside table. I also sat in the atmospheric changes of the ambiance we created together for her. I could feel her being there and her not being there. Other family members came and sat and talked, gathering in her room like around a kitchen table.  

After I arrived home I had a dream which included interesting imagery that represented me turning into a frog. Dreams, and writing, are a voice for subconscious activity, the all-knowing inner self but sometimes oddly cloaked. When I was asked by my coach what I thought about frogs my answer was immediate - they are amphibians, that particular word - water and land creatures. Adaptable. A symbol of transformation. (Just to start...) 

When we listen, everything is connected. My dream, sitting with my mother's frog, opening to my intuitions (see the anniversary reflection), watching for signs, a timely quote. (Read another dream reflection here)

When we listen, there are deeper meanings seeking to be connected.  "Humans are amphibians," I read randomly from a huge collections of quotes I maintain. Spirit and animal; eternal and earthly time. My frog leads me to the analogy I am spirit and human. My mother is spirit and human. The connection is always. It is found in listening.

~ Peace,

 

Coming up... Spring is a time of renewal. You deserve a happy and healthy life. Mind. Body. Spirit! If you are inspired through my journey to take a deeper look and listen to your own transformational healing journey through grief, I would love to guide and walk with you as your coach.

I will be out of the office quite a bit until April 7, so I suggest you connect sooner than later. I will be limiting the number of private clients this Spring as I dedicate some time to pursue additional writing activities. A reply to this email with comments or inquires is direct to me. Email or call 360.534.0203.