Grief comes in all forms

One of the down sides of being a senior citizen is that you begin to experience loss in your life and with loss, grief.

Parents may pass away, a child who never should dies before you, a spouse, maybe a sibling or friend are lost to you. When you were younger, these losses didn’t even occur to you — now they are a daily possibility.

Death is an obvious loss, but there are many other losses that bring grief as well — such as just aging itself, loss of a job, divorce, loss of a limb, loss of a pet. There are as many examples of loss as there are individuals in the world.

When my mother died, I remember that deep, in-my-gut wrenching pain. I would never, on this side of heaven, be able to tell her how much she meant to me. I’d never be able to see that little 4-foot, 11-inch, red-haired stick of dynamite again. (Her nick-name was “Big Red”). I would no longer be able to enjoy her beautiful rose garden. I grieved a long time over her death 15 years ago.

At this point in my life, I learned the five stages of grief whether I was ready or not:

1. Denial and isolation. I couldn’t believe she had died. She had always been so full of life. I wouldn’t allow my husband to comfort me at first, I felt alone and almost frozen in place.

2. Anger. I was angry that I hadn’t taken care of her. My sister lived in the same town, so I let her do it. My mom had to move back with her family of origin, as she could no longer live in the altitude of Montana. I was also angry because she didn’t take better care of herself. She had emphysema and refused oxygen.

3. Bargaining. For me, there was no bargaining because there was nothing I had to bargain with.

4. Depression. I became depressed to the point of needing medication to stabilize me.

5. Acceptance. This came after believing she was no longer suffering and was, indeed, in a better place and I will see her again some day.
I have gone through grieving the loss of middle age (my youth wasn’t so hot, not much to want back).  Last July, I retired from my 14-year career as a medical transcriptionist and although I love the free time and ability to do activities I love or to be able to come and go as I please, I also grieved the loss of my ability to earn a paycheck. (My Social Security wouldn’t support any lifestyle).

Recently I lost a lower molar — yes, a tooth — and I lamented its loss to my husband.

Lee laughed.

“But, honey, I’ve had that tooth a long time and it won’t grow back,” I whined, shocked that he would be insensitive to my trauma. I don’t think I’m alone in my feelings. Have you noticed how many dentists specialize in whitening, straightening, implants and caps?

How about hair loss, aside from the effects of chemotherapy? You can now find wonderful human-hair wigs and hair can be transplanted.

Anyone suffering from life-threatening illnesses, in my opinion, have the right to grieve — I have found those are the souls who complain the least and make the most of the days they have.

I expect many of the small things in life we grieve about are fleeting and most people probably don’t even stop to think about them, as they are too busy with important matters such as family, friends, making a living, and so forth. The grief over my tooth has long been replaced by the wonderful realization that it no longer hurts.

A scripture verse I love comes to mind that is both a comfort and a promise, “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning,” Psalm 30:5b. I pray your grievances are small, but if not, you will take heart in the love of God for you.

As always, pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Children are a blessing

We were so lucky recently to have our daughter, Jeanette, visit. We had a ball. We got to be the tour guides this time, not the “tourees.”

Jeanette has always been a very special person. From the first time I laid eyes on her, I just knew she was special. She was a really beautiful baby and was born with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen.

When she was around 2½ years old her father and I thought something was not quite right. She should be walking, but every time we put her on the floor to stand her up, she would scream bloody murder. This began our entrance into the very long journey into discovery of uncharted mental, physical and spiritual waters both for Jeanette and us.

The first step was with Jeanette’s pediatrician, who could find nothing physically wrong with her. She was given all the tests given at that time to find whether she was perhaps mentally disabled. I remember her lying on a table at the hospital where the chromosomal blood test was performed. She had these tiny little arms and when I saw the huge needle I thought I would faint.

We all expected her to be terrified, but she didn’t even whimper when they inserted the needle and took out what I thought was more blood than her small body could spare. The test turned out negative — she had all the right chromosomes.

When it was time for Jeanette to go to kindergarten, the thought of putting her on the bus without me really freaked me out. She was really excited to go and so I put her on that big school bus without incident, that is until she got into the classroom. I received a telephone call from a very distraught, tearful teacher, asking me what was wrong with Jeanette.

“She won’t talk and won’t respond to anything. We really need to talk,” she said.

This brought the psychiatrist, Dr. Bach, from the Bach Institute in Minneapolis, who was one of the consultants for the school district, into our lives. Our whole family went through counseling, Jeanette was tested for autism, which again turned out negative, and still there was no diagnosis for why she couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to anyone but us and not in complete sentences.

We were living in Minnesota, at that time, where special education was very good and accessible to us. My husband had just gone through retraining after a work-related injury, and we had no money. Jeanette was able to go to a school for exceptional children and received physical, occupational and speech therapies. Still no concrete diagnosis.

Finally, when she was 11 years old, a physician specializing in hearing disorders said he felt that only every other word she heard registered on Jeanette’s brain. She had some sensory problems as well. She would close her eyes and stretch out her arms and I could touch her somewhere on her arms and she wouldn’t be able to tell me where I was touching her. She could not judge distances. Because of these problems, Jeanette was not supposed to be able to ride a bike and do many things youngsters could do at her age. They also told us that at some point she would not be able to learn any more.

Jeanette is our “don’t tell me I can’t do it” child.

She learned to ride a bike.

One summer, when Jeanette and her sister, Carri, were in sixth grade, they were to run in a mile race at an invitational meet. I watched as Carri’s nemesis and she finished first and second and Jeanette was dead last, but she wouldn’t give up and quit. I was really proud of both girls, but tears streamed down my face as Jeanette, mottle-faced, hot and pressed to her limit and cheered on by everyone there, crossed the finish line.

That has been Jeanette’s life. She is not a quitter and she has not stopped learning. She is an avid football fan and can tell me stats that amaze me. She has come through many hard things in her life, but she keeps going. Jeanette is married to a really good man.

I read the story recently about Deb Dennison and her son Dane in last week’s New Mexico Free Press. I can’t even imagine losing a child before their time. I am really disappointed in President Obama’s statement referring to his bowling score as “someone in Special Olympics,” and also in the bureaucratic system that would not give crisis support to Dane which perhaps could have saved his young life. My prayer is that her story will get the legislation needed to prevent the same tragedy for others in need.

The bottom line is these children are a gift from God and we have been much blessed by having them in our lives.