Five things about grief and moving forward in healing NOW!

The last time I posted was a year ago, on May 24. As I told someone recently, I haven't much felt the desire to write since Mom and Dad went on to their Heavenly home. Besides, most of my posts after they died were grief-filled downers or "boring" stuff about starting my new business, Tin Cats Antiques.  I didn't know what to do with myself anymore, so I couldn't write. I've been immobilized in my grief, plain and simple.

And, people, in general, stopped reading my blog. Readership when the blog was immensely popular consisted of wonderful, supportive fans of Mom and Dad, and friends kept up with their sad and painful journey through my writings, as well as the difficulties Kim and I faced in the caregiving process. We received so much support, I felt both overwhelmed and grateful.

My readership reflected exactly what happens with emotional support after someone you love dies: It died. I don't mean people stopped caring, I just mean people are people, and it's difficult to watch someone suffer and to believe you don't have the right words to say or to know how to help. We tend to turn away from that which makes us feel uncomfortable. That's just human.

So a couple of weeks ago. I posted an apology of sorts on Facebook about dredging up my grief again. It's anniversary time for Kim and me: Mom died three years ago on May 13, and Dad died three years ago today. I used to work with grieving people in my counseling career, and, of course, I saw people struggle hard when anniversary dates rolled around. It's just a well-known, given thing that happens to grieving people. Research supports it, as well.

And now I know it.

I apologized in my post because I don't want to wear people out with my stuff, but I posted anyway that, yes, it's anniversary time, and yes, I'm feeling it. (And for some reason, it's been worse this year than last.)

I received responses from friends I think I intuitively knew would come from my friends: "Don't apologize for your feelings." "Friends will be supportive, regardless."

That's true, of course. Totally true. True friends will be supportive, no matter where you are. I'll take it even a step further to say that probably if you find yourself grumbling in your head or wherever you grumble, "Get over it already" to anyone who is grieving, you might want to "unfriend" that person, both Facebook figuratively and Real-Life literally. Blunt, but true.

Five truths crystalized for me that day. Actually, they are absolutes I've learned about grief, grieving people, and friends of grieving people:

1. Grief never goes away. Ever. The pain can lessen, and then it can come right back and bite you unexpectedly. But the pain remains forever, and I would submit that the amount of pain is in direct proportion to how much love you have for the people (and pets) you lost.

2. We do not "get over" painful losses. As I was told by experienced others and now know to be true, we instead must learn how to live differently, without the loved ones in our lives.  Therefore, never tell a grieving person something like, "Don't you think it's time you moved on?" My response to anyone who would say that to me now is, "No, but I do think it's time I moved on from you."

3. No two people grieve alike; therefore, never tell someone how he or she should go about grieving. There's no right or wrong way, (although we do need to be mindful of getting stuck in unhealthy ways; that's a post for another time.)

4. Grieving people loved their lost ones so much that we want everyone else to love them that much, too. Seriously. We want you to know just how special and awesome they were. We want their lives to keep mattering, forever and ever. We want their legacies to live. Therefore, let us talk about the loved ones we've lost, as much as we want. And you can talk plenty about them, too. We desperately crave hearing your stories and memories about the people we've dearly loved. Do you find yourself annoyed by this or uncomfortable with it? Well ... you might want to rethink that "friendship" thing ...

5. There are no right words to say. Therefore, you don't have to avoid us out of fear of saying something wrong — except "get over it," of course. All you have to do is be there. Just listen. Just hug (or virtual hug). Just tell us you love us. Just tell us a favorite story about the ones who are gone. Check in every once in awhile. Just let us know you're thinking about us. And if you really think you have to have the right words, then the right words are these: "I don't know the right words. I just know I care about you, and I'm sad you are hurting right now."  It's not hard at all.

In addition to clarifying those five absolutes, something shifted positively within me when one of my mom's friends told me in those Facebook responses that my mom was very proud of my writing talent. My writing talent? Really? I thought I mostly practiced word vomit — at least that's been my style for the past three years.

And here's the coolest thing: On May 12 (the day before the anniversary of my mother's death), I was cleaning out the back house for an upcoming garage sale when I started rummaging through the two boxes of memorabilia, pictures, school assignments, essays, Little Dribbler's uniforms, report cards, calendars, artwork, BARBIES!, "Toddy" bear, my Audrey doll, letters and cards (email didn't exist then!) from family and friends — from birth through graduating with my bachelor's degree — that had been stored for years in my parents' attic. I found things that made me bawl hysterically, but I equally discovered things that made me laugh hysterically or smile with happy memories.

And again and again I read Hallmark cards from Mom and Dad signed, "We love you." "We're proud of you."

New ideas for blog posts started to flow that day, so I'm going to do my best to write again. I would like to honor my English teacher/Librarian mother's enjoyment of my writing.

I don't believe in coincidences. I believe that day I spent blanketed by memories, plus your supportive responses to my Facebook apology, edged me forward in my personal healing. That's just how it works, and that's why we cannot judge another person's grief journey.

Thank you for continuing with me on my journey. I hope you get something helpful from me now and then.

And I'm so grateful to report that the new ideas I gathered for future blog posts have little to do with debilitating grief. Thank you, God ... I think I get to move forward now.

Baptism by fire

Stuff EVERYWHERE! The cats are totally bent out of shape.

Here we go, folks! Dorsey recently posted on the Wilmarth's Tin Cats web site that everything is about to get real ... his perspective.

Of course I get my two-cents worth.

I've been told by fellow dealers I'm getting to know that I'm nuts for debuting our business at a show like Round Top. It is, after all, HUUUUGE! And a big deal. And respected.

And lasts for six days instead of the usual two to three!

Here it all goes, then. Call me brave, call me stupid. It's happening.

I'm totally stoked about this late 1700s hutch table from New Hampshire. If it doesn't sell in Round Top, well, darn, I guess I just get to live with it for a while. :-)

I have spent the last several months plotting and planning my merchandise. I have had all of my "smalls," as we call them in the business, and quite a few furniture items, but my main pieces, the ones I've been extremely excited about, finally arrived after a touch-and-go, nerve-wracking few weeks of truck driver serious illness, bad Louisiana flooding and broken trailer parts. Still ... it's all good now. Besides, what would life be without drama ... always some drama.

I love the grain-painted mustard dry sink (top left). The top right shows a celery painted hanging cupboard.
The green-painted basket and tall wall cupboard came from my new friend in Sedona.

Arizona finds. They all came from New England, of course, but I found them in AZ.

And I found a few bonus items on an unexpected trip just the previous week when I traveled to Arizona to see Jordie pitch in a Tucson baseball tournament. Who would have thought? After all, my stuff is early American, mostly country antiques. Arizona wasn't even founded until 1912 ...

During the first week of March, I set out to get everything on my checklist for my booth and the trip ... much of what was learned after we visited the Round Top Winter Show in January, and from my mother-in-law's vast experience.  My new dealer friends have given their input, too.  Wall paper, tool kit, lights, packing stuff, hooks, nails, screws, signs, bags, various tapes, tax registration info, receipt book, pens, money, tape measure, step ladder, rug ... and all kinds of things I would never think of on my own.

This past week has found me battling a migraine (thank you, West Texas wind) while enduring my torn up house and packing for the show. (Not to mention Dorsey was gone a day or two for job interviews ... still working on that.)

Two kitties think they should go, too.
Socks is guarding all the tools and other important things.

Oh, and then there's the whole planning-what-am-I-going-to-wear-for-six-days-straight? To me, that's the worst part.  I hate packing. Really, really, really hate it. What if I forget something important, like the hanging clothes that aren't packed in my suitcase? Which black sandals do I take? The strappy ones or the wedges? Or both? Both pairs of boots or one? Will this top look OK with that skirt? What about these jeans? Boot-cut or narrow? How about a couple of each? Ugh!

Dorsey picks up the U-Haul trailer in the morning, and we load, with the help of a friend. That's when we run through the checklist one more time and then hit the road. I'm glad to have Dorsey with me this time. That trip to Arizona (and back pulling a trailer) by myself was quite a drive and an adventure!

We'll spend the night with Kim and Vince tomorrow night in Flower Mound and then head on to Round Top Saturday for set up. The show starts Monday. (I still think it's strange this is all happening Easter weekend ...)

And meanwhile, our friend Carmen will be holding down our fort and taking care of our crazy herd.

What a strange new world this is!

Saddest but best lesson learned about grief support

Sadly, I have reached the age when others in my age range also are losing their parents. It's just the cycle of life, I know.

But that doesn't make it any better or even OK.  I have discovered in the two years of watching my parents suffer and then pass that not much is harder than this process. Not much rivals the difficulty and the grief of becoming an orphan, even at the ripe old age of 46. I believe I have said this before, but there is something childlike in all of us that reappears strongly when we lose our parents.

We always want and need our parents. If the relationship has been a loving and healthy one — even with the typical dysfunctions — or if the relationship was estranged or strained, we want our parents. We either want what we had, or we want what we always wanted to have in a parent.

It makes no difference, so I will say it again: Losing your parents is difficult, no matter what. I have learned much, changed much, hurt much, grieved much and continue in all these matters. I will never be the same.

I am writing this particular post because I need to share something that has been on my heart since Day 1, pretty much. I have often hesitated to write it, fearing it might sound bitter. I hope this one doesn't come across that way.

I now know that when my classmates and school friends — people with whom I once was close or spent much time with in school, sports, work or church — lost parents or a parent at far earlier ages than I did must have been as hurt by me as I have been by some of my former associates.

Here's why: I didn't "get it." I didn't understand the devastation of losing parents. I didn't consider that all support, any support from others but especially people they might have expected to respond in such a time would be and was eternally appreciated.

I failed to be a friend in several of my friends' lives, and for that, I will be forever regretful. If they noticed my absence, I am so sorry ... much more sorry than they might know, because now I do get it.

I hope to someday, maybe soon, make it right with those people who come to my mind immediately. And I know that besides those, God will make aware to me whomever else deserves an amends.

I realize there are all kinds of reasons people fail to attend funerals: conflicts, they live too far away, can't bear funerals, they were out of town, they didn't know until after the fact.  I've had all of those reasons myself. Some are quite legitimate, but really, we can generally work around most.

While attending a funeral for a friend truly might be out of the question, never is there an excuse for not offering condolences or a kind word. Ever.

I'm not sure I failed in that, but probably I did, being human and all. If I did, I will do my best to make that right, as well.

I have so much appreciated all the love and support and kindness people have shown me during this time. People came out of the woodwork! People I didn't know. People I had lost contact with. Even people I knew don't care that much for me. Just people everywhere. That is the best feeling in the world. It's also so important during the early grieving process, and especially as the grieving continues and peoples' lives go on.

Remember that. Let's try to be there for our friends and associates. A kind word and the smallest gestures travel miles.  Attending funerals in support of families and in remembrance of the one who has passed is ... I have no words for that ... Let's just do it if we can.

Mom and Dad are everywhere

Dad gave Jordie his Tundra last November. 

Jordie and I spent most of yesterday together while he was home for the weekend. The time was special to me because we actually talked quite a bit. We even talked about our grief, and some of the things we have experienced in the past year. (Oct. 16 will mark the beginning of what I truly believe was a traumatic experience for us all.) I also felt like my parents were right there with us, because everything we did and said seemed to circle around, right back to them.

We visited Dale and Connie Blaut at the hospital; it's been two weeks since Dale had a series of heart attacks and then surgery. Hopefully, he will be going home soon (just so he can heal enough to have another surgery in a couple of months). Dad and Dale were tight, tight, tight. If men had BFFs, I would call Dale one of Dad's. They coached, they golfed, they ate foods their wives wouldn't approve of, they drank coffee ... everything. Only God knows what the heck they talked about! And Dale was with Dad almost every day until Dad died. I grew used to seeing Dale in my house every day, as if he were just part of the family. It was the same with Leslie Broadhurst.

I realized when sitting with the Blaut's yesterday that Dad's friends had become family to us. They were always there, both physically and emotionally. I did not know how much I missed those coaching buddies of his — and their wives — until we sat with Dale and Connie yesterday. I loved catching up, and I wanted to hear more. I have really, really missed the Blaut's, the Broadhursts, the Weese's and the Lombards. And yesterday, I saw a post from Ronnie Glenn on Facebook and thought, "Awww, there's Ronnie!" (Facebook has been a great tool for keeping up with people, if only just a little bit.)

Dean Weese celebrated his 80th birthday Saturday with a surprise party. I told Jordie yesterday that I should call Dean and sing him the "Very Merry Unbirthday" song to him, in memory of Dad. Dad's tradition was to call us after our birthdays and sing the song. I loved seeing the pictures of Dean with his family, and his great big smile. I had only seen a very sad and troubled face before.  When the Weese's came to visit us during Dad's illness, one of our caregivers, Barbara, whispered to me, "Mr. Dean is taking this so hard."

Jordie and I had to run to the store yesterday, too. I got some cash and handed it to him. He said, "No! I don't need this!" I told him to take it anyway. He said, "Well, OK. Thanks, Granddad." I told him somebody had to take over! (My dad was notorious for stuffing wads of cash in Jordie's pocket every time he came to visit.)

We talked about Dad's truck and how I've enjoyed driving it, and that I no longer see myself with a BMW instead. I just like the truck. :-)

And I spent a big part of yesterday afternoon hanging out in the yard with Blaze, our newly adopted kitty that my mom adored; Blaze is one of three kitties my parents took care of in their backyard, although one would run off for months at a time, so he almost doesn't count. It was like Mom was there with Blazie and me.

Of course, not all the memories that came back were happy ones, although I'm grateful that now I have the good ones that make me smile and not just cry. I was able to recognize that growth yesterday, too.

When we drove into the BSA parking lot, the same way I always drove in every day for two months after Mom's stroke last year, I felt nauseated. Walking through that hospital, into that elevator, seeing all the healthcare professionals coming in and out of Dale's room, and especially noticing the pullout bed where Connie had been sleeping were enough to send me back to ugliness for awhile. How, other than by God's grace, did we get through that? What a terrible, horrible, awful, traumatic time. There is no other way to describe it.

In spite of that, yesterday was amazing, once again thanks to Jordie and Dad's friends. And I suspect another corner has been rounded in being able to notice and relish the happy times.

This time ... it's the big things

I spent almost three hours Wednesday with a good friend who drove here from her home in Denver to come to Dad's funeral.

Her name is Amy, and she was one of my earliest childhood friends. She was truly part of the "good ol' days!" She was so much a part of our family for so long during our younger years that my parents considered her their third daughter. She was like a sister to Kim and me.

But as life would have it — life happened — and we took two very different paths. She became a star athlete and college basketball player at the University of Texas, and I settled into a somewhat less "exciting" life. She had her life; I had mine.

Plus, you know how it is, when kids part ways in high school by going to different schools, circles of friends change based on who you see the most and spend the most time with. That's basically what happened with Amy and me.

All ya need is love, love. All you need is love.

We talked yesterday about how we regretted drifting apart, but I told her I knew somewhere inside of me she would always be there. There's a saying that the people who are meant to be in your life and stay in your life will always find a way to be back in your life.

This seems to be playing out now, and I could not be happier.

We reconnected a few weeks ago when she came to see my parents, Kim and me. She's been close by ever since ... and she and her family are planning to move back this way in a couple of years. Even better!

Reconnecting with Amy has been one of the greatest blessings I've experienced during my parents' illnesses.

But Amy's not the only person, although she's the most significant person from my past.

One of the other great relationship blessings has been in getting to know all the people who were so special to my parents — from the coaches and their families to my parents' high school classmates. These people have been amazing! They have treated Kim and me so well and have been so kind and loving. They have all helped out in so many ways, but specifically, emotionally. I've had some nice text, e-mail and Facebook conversations with many of them. I feel as if I've gotten to know my parents better by hearing about them from their friends' perspectives.

I can't fail to mention many of my dad's former players, too. So many have been so wonderful and supportive and friendly. It's been a beautiful thing!

Family that we have not been particularly close with — I think mainly due to geographical distance — have come closer, and we've had some great, intimate conversations. We've even learned a thing or two about family secrets. Ah, drama! What would a family be without drama?

My sister's good friends from high school and college have all been so kind to reach out to me, as if I were a part of their bunch, too.

I've even somewhat reconnected with a few friends besides Amy from my past, although not quite so intensely. Some former coworkers have stepped forward, as well.

And, of course, there are those folks who have been active in my life in the last couple of years.

All of this relationship "love" has been the silver lining for me.

And all of it has solidified for me exactly who and where my attention needs to be in my life. Remember that 10-80-10 rule I've talked about, taught to me by someone way wiser than I?

It's that first 10 percent — that 10 percent who do and will love you no matter what — that deserves your time and energy. They love you no matter what you've been through. They love you no matter what you've done and have forgiven you for it, because they believed in you enough to know you could straighten up. They love you because they know your heart.

It's nice if along the way you add a few more to your 10 percent from the 80 percent that currently doesn't really care about you one way or the other, but, eh, that's just icing on the cake, I guess.

But you're being just plain foolish to give any kind of thought, attention or energy to that last 10 percent — that percentage of people who are going to dislike you no matter what. Get over those folks. It's their loss, and it's about them, not you. Get. Over. It.

Tough times like what I've recently encountered remind you (ok, me) — again and hopefully for the last time —to whom and where to give myself.

And it's also the sharpest (and shameful) reminder — again, to me anyway — about the kind of friend I should be and need to be to others who are and have been important to me.