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.

My new favorite room in the house

Panorama of the newly decorated room. Notice Blaze photobombing with a bath.

The newly decorated room in our house holds significance for me. It has had many roles since we moved into our house about 14 years ago. Jordie and Hart shared it when they were little. Then Hart took it over when he reached middle school. Then Jordie took it when Hart went to college. And for a couple of months last year, Dorsey and I occupied it while Mom and Dad lived in our normal quarters.

It has remained Jordie's room all this time, but he has reached a stage (sadly) in his life in which baseball keeps him away. He doesn't and won't come home every weekend anymore. <sniff>

Since Hart had the room, it has not been repainted. Need I say how badly it needed it? I decided to overhaul it completely. I was tired of the "dark" decor before. I needed light and bright. I needed clean-looking. I wanted it to have the same blue and white color scheme (although not seascape) of the bathroom Dorsey and I had redone just the previous year.

I think I managed, so I'll show you in pictures. (I apologize for the arrangement. Blogger sucks at this!) This room is all about family and family history, inspired by Mom and Dad. :-)

This comforter and pillows had at one time been on my parents' bed.
The bedside table is part of the once-navy blue furniture that belonged to my dad's dad. Mom had painted it from its original blonde to navy. I repainted and put new hardware on it. I love the water lilies painting above the bed. 

I painted this once-unpainted TV stand red
many years ago. Here, I have repainted it.

I saw this cabinet a few weeks ago in a consignment
store. Had to have it for this room. 

This cabinet holds favorite children's books.
The bottom cabinet holds more books and photo boxes.

My Great Grandmother Cummins painted this lamp. It's Kim's. I'm just holding it for her.

This dressing table is now a mismatched distressed blue with Chippendale hardware. (I know, the styles don't go together.) Underneath the glass I have made a collage of old family photos, as far back as 1900. The bulk of the photos are currently in separated boxes that someday I intend to organize in photo albums. That's what Mom always wanted to do. Those photos are stored in this room, as well.  I didn't use the original mirror with this table. Didn't like it! The new one is from Kirkland's ... another mismatched, distressed blue.

The dresser, with another painted lamp, and a older family photo. 

Colored pencil drawing of a young Hart. (Sun shadow, sorry.)

Colored pencil drawing of a young Jordie.

The hope chest belonged to my dad's side of the family. It's art deco, not really my style, but it's family. The quilts also all are early 1900s from the Childress side of the family. Those cats on the top are actually a hooked rug I bought.

The oriental rugs for the room haven't arrived yet, and I'm sure I'll continue to change and refine as I go along. I need photos from Dorsey's side of the family to complete the family theme of this room. (Hint hint, Mary.)

Anyway, I've had a lot of fun and experienced many memories doing this room. I worried when doing it that it wasn't going to be the 18th Century style of our antiques business. I worried that the Chippendale hardware I was putting on the old but non-Chippendale furniture was stupid. But as I went along and enjoyed what I was doing with the things I have, I stopped worrying. I remembered a friend saying that she had heard from someone else in the decorator world that anything in your home that brings you joy should be in your home, regardless of matching or mismatching styles.

This now my favorite room in the house. It brings me joy.

Change change change change change ...

Yep, here I am sitting in the middle of the utility room floor, painting.
I'm trying to accommodate for our cats. That old carpet had to go!
I need something I can easily clean!!

Mom and Dad's house is scheduled to close this week or next. We had offers on it within a day of it going on the market. I really didn't expect that, but I suppose that's good if it's time. Obviously, it is. The house is going to what appears to be a nice young family who will bring life to this house my parents loved. (Thank you, God. And you know the funny thing? The husband of the family owns a lawn business. My parents adored and doted on — built — that backyard. I just know this family will make it even better. And Mom and Dad would be so happy.)

Selling our parents' house is the last big thing for Kim and me to do with their "things." As we have checked off each of these tasks, I have surprisingly found myself in deeper depression than in relief. There's finality in all of this. There's the absolute, "They aren't coming back!" in all of this. (I certainly understand why some people put these estate things on the back burner for years. Kim and I are just extremely task-oriented, and well ... property taxes aren't fun to pay, especially when they're for no good cause.)

New cabinet for the newly-redecorated Jordie room — which was once Hart's room.

I continue think to myself, "It wasn't suppose to be like this."

Because it wasn't. Not in my child-like mind. Sure, most people assume they will outlive their parents (and that's how it should be, for the sake of our parents), but when it happens, it's a huuuuuuuge shock. I mean, Mom and Dad should always be there, right?

So, here I am, in the remaining days of wrapping up Mom and Dad's estate, and taking care of my own.

The former Jordie/Hart bedroom is in the process of becoming a guest room.
I have repainted furniture (from my grandparents' that my mom repainted for Hart's room).
When it's all said and done, I'll share some pics.

Although I always knew this, the notion that I don't have control over much in my life finally began to sink in about three years ago.  This became more and more clear as my parents became ill and then passed. Life last year became a matter of "do what you gotta do today," and that was absolutely it.

Here we go again.

You know if you've followed my life/blog recently that Dorsey was laid off from his job a little more than a month ago. This is scary stuff. Yeah, I know God has the solution all worked out and it's all good. That doesn't mean I always appreciate God's timing. I'm like, "C'mon, God. I know you've got this, but can we have this joblessness thing end sooner rather than later? Thanks!"

The truth is, we don't know where Dorsey will end up, job-wise. Yes, I'm finally willing to move from Amarillo. But I don't want to. It's not necessarily Amarillo itself. I mean, Amarillo is what it is. It's my home, good and bad. So you know what that means ... But it's home.

And I love my house ... my home for the last 14 years. I'm finally getting it into the shape I want it to be in ... the shape that matches the things we have, plus our style. I'm finally furnishing and making this house exactly how I've imagined for a very long time. (OK, yeah, I have even bigger picture ideas, but let's start small.)

And now, we might (likely) have to move, just to follow a job that will insure our livelihoods for at least a little while longer.

Such irony.

All this stuff I'm doing now — the ONLY things I have control over each day — is either for us or for whomever buys this house in the event we are forced to move from Amarillo.

Oh, the metaphors for life and homes and houses and all that ...

Everything but the grief

The garage sale at our house to let go of more of our parents' things went well. I'm still shocked by the amount left over.

So I will say it again: Every year, I'm going through our things and ridding us of whatever we don't use or enjoy anymore.  I told that to anyone and everyone at the garage sale who would listen.

I decided to keep a few more of my parents' things ... chairs that go so well in our living room (so we sold a love seat), some small fiesta dishes and a little dish "thingy" my mom bought years ago from the ABC Catalog. That bowl set is symbolic of the many, many, many Mexican Pile-on dinners we had at my parents' house. It just has to stay in the family and carry on with its beloved duties, I guess.

Today we boxed up and delivered the rest of the things to Downtown Women's Center.

It's over. That's over. (I hate garage sales, and people sometimes simply make me go ... "hmmm.")

Kim and I accepted an offer on my parents' house. It appears that if all goes as planned, that will be over in mid March. I cried when accepting the offer. I only want the house to go to people who will love it and take care of it. My parents poured themselves into it; it was the first and only home they ever owned. That backyard was their pride and joy.

Then it's over. Really over.

Everything but the grief.

Truly, I can't believe it's almost been a year since Mom and Dad died. It feels like yesterday. I cry sometimes like it was yesterday. I cry every time I take Indy for a walk, so lately, that's been about 5 days a week.

And if you're tired of hearing about it, sorry. I'm tired of living it.  What I am learning from others who have been through this is that the pain never goes away ... no matter how old you are or how old your parents were when they died. Instead, you somehow just move on to living life without them in it.  Woo - effing - hoo.

Whatever. I'm so not in the mood for grief.

*****

Dorsey is still job-searching. It's been a month since he got laid off, and he's worked hard every day in his quest for something new. He's treated the job search like a job. Thankfully, he has a few irons in the fire, which keeps us hopeful and emotionally able to keep going. Of course, we hope something works out soon; it's quite scary to be in this position. I try not to think about a time when no fish are biting, and he's just casting his resume into the big black hole, as he calls it.

Not knowing whether we're staying in Amarillo or moving somewhere else is unnerving to me. I don't know why. I just don't care much for uncertainty. There was a time not long ago when I was adamantly opposed to moving because we were just getting to the point where I could do things to the house I would love. Our home is perfectly designed to house early American antiques, some of which are quite primitive looking. (Plus, I've always thought about how much crap — after 14 years of living here — we would have to sort through, which seems daunting. But I have done a great job of unloading things lately.)

Now, while I still think about those things and have determined I might as well still go on with the low-cost home improvements (painting, etc.) ... one, to stay busy and the other, to help resale potential ... I have resigned myself to moving.

In fact, sometimes I enjoy thinking about making a new start in a new place with new people who know absolutely nothing about me. This is popularly known as the "geographical cure," which really doesn't exist, you know. Still, there could be some fun things about it. But if we're going to move, I hope it's closer to Kim and Vince; our family seems awfully small right now. And I hope that someday, Jordie will settle close to us, too. Doesn't much look like Hart will (he's in Maryland), but you never know.

*****

Speaking of Jordie, baseball is going GREAT for him. (School has never been an issue.) He is doing well in his pitching, and old injuries are staying out of the way. His team is doing well, and I have been able to see him play. When he's been on the pitcher's mound, I've pictured his granddad looking down from Heaven's portal, Grandma by his side, and they're cheering him on. I know my dad would be so pleased. Interesting fact: When I've actively watched Jordie in a pitch, imagining my dad watching, Jordie has thrown strikes.

*****

We finally launched our new business! Wilmarth's Tin Cats Antiques. http://www.tincats.com
Yes, please visit the site, shop, refer it to others and help us to carry on. This business has been the key to my moving on at all during the past several months. And, ironically, it has only been possible because of my parents. My mom would be so proud, I know this is true ...

.... time to go wipe my eyes and blow my nose ...

Grief sucks.

More letting go

The estate sale went well. Still, so much stuff remained, especially furniture and clothing.

Normally, Jan (who did our estate sale) would determine with us a plan to unload the items still left. That could be auction or donation or whatever. And then she and her crew would clean the house and get it ready for sale, because the house goes on the market today.

Instead, Dorsey and I decided we would do a garage sale at our house. We had already planned to have one ourselves, because we have figured that when Dorsey gets a new job, it will not be in Amarillo.

So Monday and Tuesday, I cleaned out the rest of Mom and Dad's house. Jan had already done the hardest part of sifting through and organizing. I really just packed and boxed things up to get them ready for our sale. My mom really liked dishes and serving platters ...

I hadn't really expected the task would be so emotionally daunting, but it was.  The first day, I came home and spent the rest of the night in a stupor on the couch. The second day wasn't much different.

Our housekeeper, Anabel, cleaned the house to ready it for sale. Anabel has cleaned our house and my parents' for several years. She started cleaning for Mom and Dad after Mom had her first stroke in 2013. When Anabel walked into the house, she said in her timid English, "Smells like Nicki," and she smiled broadly.

While sorting through my parents' things, I thought about the things left over. These were once special and/or important items to my mom. Or, they were things she had kept from both sides of the family when relatives had died. I wondered how much of the things left were something she would sell in a garage sale. I found myself wondering frequently why certain things hadn't sold. In fact, a few things were left behind that I took home myself ... things I missed the first time. Maybe that's why some were left.

Going through the clothes to donate to the Downtown Women's Center was without a doubt the most difficult experience. Both of my parents took great pride in their clothing. After Dad retired from coaching, he became quite a sharp-dressed man. He had his style, and it was all Dad. On the other hand, clothes to my mom had always been important. I remember reading a series of letters she wrote to her parents when she was away at college. She talked about all sorts of stuff, of course, but "cute clothes" were included in her writings. I remember my mom reading the letters again and saying, "I can't believe how shallow I was!" But we laughed.

I found myself carefully and gently boxing and bagging up their clothes. I was struck by how, when I've donated my own clothing in the past, I just hurriedly tossed them into bags, and that was that. I could not do that with my parents' clothes. The majority were dry-cleaned and perfectly pressed. I wound up packing 15 bags and seven boxes of clothes. And I decided right then and there I would go through my own things once a year to weed them out! That was just way too many clothes!!

I noticed how all of my mother's clothes were "teachery," because she was a teacher/librarian. She had so many holiday-related sweaters! I recognized many of the things she wore and thought, "I remember that!" I pictured her getting ready for school every morning.

It was no different with Dad. Our cowboy. Boots, jeans, hats, shirts, slacks, golf shirts ... All of it quite expensive.

I felt sad to let it all go. It was as if I were having to let go of them ... a huge part of them and their personalities. I told my sister that I hoped whomever would be getting these clothes took good care of them and appreciated them. I've never thought that about my own donated clothes.

While painful, this process was necessary for my own grieving. I think it was a significant task in the letting go process. But as I have thought for some time now, I know my grieving will never completely end. I will just learn begrudgingly how to live with it. I know I will never stop being that little girl inside who wants and needs her parents. A part of me will always think, "This isn't how it was supposed to be."

So here I am again ... gathering things from our house for the giant sale, which will be next Saturday, Feb. 20.  It will be more letting go, both literally and symbolically.

But really ... it was never supposed to be this way ...