Grief over the loss of a loved one cuts deep to the core; sometimes there just isn’t enough time together.
My guest today, Kathryn Clarke, writes eloquently about allowing pain to polish us as we journey through grief.
Terry Tempest Williams wrote that endings are often difficult to detect. This one, though, I saw coming. My mother’s belly enlarged as if she were pregnant, but her cheeks were sunken, her eyes glassy. When her oncologist called me on a sunny afternoon in November and told me there was nothing more that could be done to treat her lymphoma, my voice was steady, although I found it difficult to breathe. “Yes, I know. Thank you for trying.”
Denial can be an enticing elixir, but I didn’t need to be a nurse to know my mother was dying. She had received care from the finest doctors in the finest cancer centers in the world. And she was dying of her disease.
Years earlier, when I was 14, we had traveled to Mexico to escape the Minnesota winter. Coming from a land of frozen lakes I immediately sought out the beach, where the ocean glistened in the afternoon sun. Without hesitation I flung myself into the warm, foamy water. A wave almost immediately crashed about me and sent me tumbling beneath the surface. I tried to swim away but there was nothing I could do.
The water churned and churned and I spun somersaults under the surface until suddenly, as if I were a toy tossed away by a tempestuous toddler, the ocean deposited me on the beach with sand in every orifice of my body. My mother laughed hysterically from her safe spot on a beach towel. Next time, she cried, dive UNDER the wave!
We speak in oncology of battles: the war against cancer, the fight for a cure. And it is a fair metaphor; some live, some die, and cancer changes everyone touched by the diagnosis. But sometimes we are faced not with a battle, but with a tsunami, a massive earthquake, a smothering volcano.
We can drip water on the roaring blaze, we can dive deeply and swim with all our might, we can desperately throw sticks at the mountain. But in the grip of great and terrible forces, the most earnest of human efforts are futile. In the grip of these terrible forces, we become aware at how helpless we really are.
I wish my mother was still alive. But the anguish of her illness and death has tumbled me into a new and better life.
I was helpless to save her, but I can make decisions in my life which promote my own happiness.
I may not be able to swim against the tides, but I can soak up the warm sunshine and dance in the rain. I cannot save those that I love from illness, but I can fully appreciate the laughter of friends, a bird-song piercing the silence in an Aspen forest, the juice of a ripe strawberry. I have seen in these murky waters who I really am: helpless yet powerful, fragile yet resilient.
I believe we can shine in the wake of those losses which shake us to the core. Fierce currents may pull us from our safe havens of peace and contentment, and we will be spun into a chaotic tumble. And we will fall and we will be knocked about and we will feel pain and lose direction. But these currents will bring us to more beautiful shores and polish us into lovely sea glass if we let them.
How about you? How have you been polished by loss?
You can find Kathryn Clarke blogging at “Born by a River”.
Aug 31, 2013 @ 03:02:39
This is amazing – the strength in this. I’ve never had to face grief (my mother’s suicide when I was 6 is just sort of barred from my recall). I don’t know how I would cope with loss, I really don’t. But this is inspired.
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Aug 31, 2013 @ 07:21:00
Kathryn’s piece is very powerful, isn’t it Noeleen?
It is incredible how our minds can bury something so big as your mother’s suicide. It is a marvel that never ceases to amaze me.
Thank you for stopping by this morning.
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Aug 14, 2013 @ 10:33:39
Another beautiful post, Kathryn, and thank you for the turn on to Denise’s blog.
Losing my mom to lung cancer and finding my way to lasting sobriety after she died, I can relate to this on so many levels. Thank you for sharing with us. Love, Christy
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:05:55
Hi Christy,
Thank you for visiting and supporting Kathryn’s guest post.
I’m not sure how long ago your mom passed away, but I imagine the pain lingers. Your blog name is intriguing and I’m looking forward to heading over to check it out! 🙂
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 11:47:57
Just shy of 2.5 years, Denise, and yes the pain lingers daily as I imagine it will the rest of my days. But her love lingers also, as I hope it will the rest of my days too. (My blog name is play on Jackson Browne’s “Running on Empty”, 🙂 , thank you dearly.)
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 22:09:26
That’s such a great perspective, Christy “But her love lingers, too.” I imagine your mom would be touched and proud to know you feel that way.
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we are all made of stars | born by a river
Aug 13, 2013 @ 20:40:42
Aug 12, 2013 @ 09:15:01
Having lost my mom to pancreatic cancer, I can relate to what you wrote. For me, I saw my mom’s death coming. I watched her die slowly over 349 days, until all that was left was a skeleton, a shell of who my mom once was. But her illness and death still hit me very hard and left me in shock. As the healthiest person I knew, someone who took care of herself, my mom’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and her death were very unexpected for me even though I had almost a year to process it. It’s hard to explain, but for me, the expected still was the most unexpected, and it took me years to recover and start moving forward again. Thanks for sharing. Great post!
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:06:46
Kathy, your healing journey and self reflection always inspire me. Thank you for sharing here.
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Aug 08, 2013 @ 20:06:46
Polished, I’m not so sure though I understand and appreciate the metaphor. Losses do give however, I truly agree with you and Clarke. The biggest for me was when my brother took his own life which happened on the day you posted this, August 7. His funeral is tomorrow on the 9th. Days of the year I always relive.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:11:19
Hi Rebecca,
Please accept my condolences in the loss of your brother. This must be an incredibly difficult time for you and your family.
With the pain so fresh and raw, this post may not have come across to you as Kathryn intended. My take on her post is that with time, the edges of loss can be polished smooth and we may not look/feel the way we were before, but we can be ok.
Thinking of you and your family…please stay in touch.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 13:02:04
Denise I totally agree. The idea is to remember and use the past as a guide, not as a place to live. As you know, people who become stuck in grief lose not only the loved one, but themselves as well.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 22:08:27
Well said, Rebecca, well said.
It’s hard to see when we’re in the thick of it, but so obvious when we’re finally able to step back a bit.
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Aug 08, 2013 @ 16:35:20
It is a beautiful post – I am still being polished and molded.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:12:02
Patty, your polish shines for the rest of us. Thank you for being here.
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Aug 07, 2013 @ 20:36:02
This is a lovely piece. Thank you for sharing it.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:12:38
Thanks for supporting Kathryn’s piece, Bill.
You both had such great insight to share.
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Aug 07, 2013 @ 09:00:55
Thanks for the descriptions. I am yet another piece of sea glass. When sorrow that great washes over us, it puts into perspective the lesser disappointments and frustrations that are inevitable in our lives.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:13:14
What a great point, Esther. I’d not really thought of it that way, but you are so right!
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Aug 07, 2013 @ 08:27:53
Loss teaches us exactly that; we are helpless, and we are powerful when we surrender.
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:14:19
I feared surrender was a form of weakness until I experienced the freedom it brought. Thanks for the reminder, Yaz.
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Aug 07, 2013 @ 03:47:51
Loved this: “I have seen in these murky waters who I really am: helpless yet powerful, fragile yet resilient.”
Yes, I too have been polished in those abrasive waters of loss. You’ve described it well.
Thanks for sharing!
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Aug 16, 2013 @ 06:16:50
Hi Joe, thank you for supporting Kathryn’s post. She wrote about a difficult topic in a touching way.
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