{"id":1392,"date":"2019-03-17T22:15:06","date_gmt":"2019-03-17T16:15:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/?p=1392"},"modified":"2021-06-19T20:18:14","modified_gmt":"2021-06-19T14:18:14","slug":"me-and-my-grief","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/?p=1392","title":{"rendered":"ME AND MY GRIEF"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I know as an English major that the title of this blahg is not grammatically correct.<\/span><\/strong>\"Scott<\/a> I’m going to ignore that rule because in this scenario I want to come before my grief. I have to have top billing. It’s selfish I know but I’ve had a hell of a couple of months and I need things to be this way.\u00a0 This blahg is about my grief.\u00a0 It’s dirty and sad and all the things I don’t want to put into a blahg but it’s part of my healing process.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I’m going to post a new poem below about my grief.\u00a0 It’s what I want to say and I’ve drafted it to the point where it summarizes, at least for me, everything that I’ve been through.\u00a0 The poem is words expressed the way I want them to be.\u00a0 They’re clipped and short and concise but this blahg will flesh them out for those of you who don’t understand or don’t enjoy my poetry.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Before I start though, I want to point back to a couple of blahgs.\u00a0 Obviously this is about the loss of my Father which you can read about in “The Passing Of George Henderson<\/a>” but some of this also links back to a blahg from three years ago “The Balancing Act<\/a>“.\u00a0 It would probably be very helpful to all of you if you read both of those posts because they add a great deal of context and bring things full circle to this blahg.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 My Father, George Arthur Henderson, passed away on January 19th, 2019.\u00a0 I had to make the tough decision to let him go because there was no quality of life and dad wouldn’t have wanted that.\u00a0 It was a sad few days and we all got through it but there were things to be done and I powered through them and went back to work.\u00a0 Work was always a place I could go to for the “white noise” of everyone and everything else that I could focus on while I healed.\u00a0 For a time that worked.\u00a0 I got things done at work and at home but all the little things about handling the estate, banking, life insurance, wills, government forms, some of which I’m still working on, began to take a toll on me.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In mid-February we had a tragedy at work where one of the clients I worked closely with killed another of my clients.\u00a0 It was devastating and it sent the world of our work reeling and we could focus on nothing else.\u00a0 A grief counsellor, Yvette, was brought in to meet with our team but I only saw her for five minutes before the call of business as usual pulled me away.\u00a0 I had only started to tell her about losing my Father in January and I was a little weepy.\u00a0 That morning I had to take another client to the hospital for some tests and it was the first time I had been to the hospital since my dad died.\u00a0 It naturally brought up some sad lingering feelings about his passing.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What happened next was something for which I was not prepared.\u00a0 Grief fell over me and for the next few weeks I found myself drowning in sorrow.\u00a0 In my job I do some counselling and sometimes I relate a story to some of my clients who are struggling.\u00a0 I talk about an episode of the early 1990s show “Get A Life” with comic Chris Elliott.\u00a0 The episode is appropriately titled “Pile of Death”.\u00a0 The description for the episode is “To save his childhood park, Chris raises money by trying to break the world record for having things piled on you.” <\/em>\u00a0Chris lies on the ground in the park and people come along and pile things on top of him.\u00a0 At some point the representative from the Guinness Book of World Records comes along and tells Chris\"A<\/a> there’s no record for the most things piled on top of yourself.\u00a0 Chris points out a particular picture in the book but the representative tells him that’s an after photo of when the pile for the most things stacked up fell on top of the person trying to stack them.\u00a0 So I tell my clients there’s no prize for piling things on top of yourself.\u00a0 The prize is for stacking them up to the side and then dealing with them so they don’t fall on top of you.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I thought I was dealing with my pile.\u00a0 I kept working and tackling those things I had to deal with as a result of dad’s death.\u00a0 At some point that pile became unmanageable and it came crashing down on me and trapped me underneath.\u00a0 That’s when the grief kicked into overdrive and I felt sad and angry all of the time and crying because I didn’t know what else to do.\u00a0 With everyone at work trying to make sense of the homicide and how it affected each of us, I found that was something near the top of the pile that I couldn’t process because I still was dealing with dad’s death.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I began to play the same song over and over in my vehicle like a death dirge because I didn’t want to be happy.\u00a0 I wanted to continue to pile everything on top of me even though I knew there was no prize.\u00a0 The song I played was “Why It Matters” by Sara Groves:\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n\nhttp:\/\/www.falseducks.com\/theblahg\/audiofiles\/Why%20It%20Matters.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don’t know what Sara Groves meant by the lyrics but in my grief I needed to know why anything mattered.\u00a0 I didn’t have time for anyone else’s pain and sorrow at work and when I came home I didn’t want to talk to my daughter or my wife about any of this.\u00a0 My grief was mine alone and I wasn’t just trapped in it, I gave into it willingly and let it swallow me.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It would be about ten days before I could get a chance to sit down with Yvette again.\u00a0 I had reached out to her myself because I knew I needed something.\u00a0 Her schedule didn’t allow her a chance to meet with me until then so I kept on going.\u00a0 Things kept being added to the pile that was on top of me and I couldn’t tell people to stop because I’d always been a source of strength to others and they needed to give me their stuff.\u00a0 So I accepted all of their stuff but kept telling people I didn’t want to talk about anything because I would just be spewing until I got a chance to talk to Yvette.\u00a0 Little bits came out and people reacted but I kept asking them not to react because I was still processing everything.\u00a0 It was a tough time.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The weekend before I met again with Yvette, I had a bit of a breakdown and told my wife that I needed to spew and for her to just listen to me.\u00a0 She had been sick that week and so physical intimacy wasn’t there.\u00a0 I cried and told her about all the grief and the pain and how I was feeling and she just listened and rubbed my back.\u00a0 It was better for a few days but then I had to go back to work and that chaos came flying at me all over again.\u00a0 Eventually I sat down with Yvette and for two hours I gave her all of the back story of my dad and my sorrow and my grief.\u00a0 There had been no memorial services for dad so part of talking with Yvette was sharing with her everything I felt about my dad and how his death was threatening to swallow me up.\u00a0 I can tell you there’s nothing like someone not connected to your life, listening and hearing what you need to get out.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I felt better after I talked to Yvette.\u00a0 Part of her challenge to me was to find a way to express everything I was feeling.\u00a0 I told her about my blahgs and she said it sounded like writing was a release for me and that maybe I could find a way to release everything else through my writing.\u00a0 I thought about that and I thought a blahg might help but words began to swirl in my brain and I knew they were words trying to come out as a poem.\u00a0 I was at work for two more days and things felt a little better.\u00a0 I was then given a week off to deal with things and I gladly took that time, being Spring Break and my wife being off for that week, to connect with my wife and make that part of my life better.\u00a0 We did.\u00a0 I also allowed the poem to develop and this is how it came out:\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

when my father died<\/strong><\/h4>\n

when my father died
\nsorrow eluded me<\/h4>\n

the anger at an unexpected
\nyet accepted passing
\ntwo day decline
\nto death
\nshadowed
\nby the chaos
\nof this life
\nand to do
\nforcing the stack
\nhigher
\npushed to the side
\nhoping for each thing
\nto be swallowed
\nas natural compost<\/h4>\n

when my father died
\nthere were no services
\nno prolonged goodbye
\nno chance at words
\nan anagram perhaps
\nof a life summed up
\nrearranged to a sign post
\nthat way onward for him
\nor this way for the living<\/h4>\n

when my father died
\nI carried on
\ntackled some things
\ntossed others to the tower
\ntried facing forwards
\nsometimes a sideways glance
\nto the pile
\nchecking that it was still there
\nall the things that still bound me
\nto my father<\/h4>\n

weeks passed
\nafter he passed
\nand the pile shifted
\nfell
\ntrapping me beneath
\ngrief appearing
\nfinally
\nagain unexpected
\nyet accepted
\nall consuming
\na sad song
\npurposefully on repeat
\nall things
\nthat were just things
\ncollapsing over me<\/h4>\n

grief and I became close
\nburied together
\nhating and fighting
\nbiting and scratching
\nhating mostly
\neverything and everyone
\nselfishness and pain
\nmy true friends
\nnothing else<\/h4>\n

then someone sat with me
\nlearned of
\nhis death
\nmy struggles
\nheard the spewing
\ntook it all in
\nlistened
\nto the stories
\nand all the grief
\ngiven out
\nin gasping breaths
\nuntil it had been shared
\nand the rubble was just
\nrubble
\nflotsam
\neasier to pick through
\nsort into importance
\nor not<\/h4>\n

when my father died
\nI had no time
\nno
\nmade no time
\nto break
\nto grieve
\nto fashion truths
\ninto a grave marker
\nor a trail marker<\/h4>\n

when my father died
\nI accepted
\nwhat needed to be done
\nthe list
\nat once unmountable
\nbut somehow
\nmanageable
\nuntil that last thing done
\nreleases him from me
\nand all I have
\nis memories
\nand my grief
\nthat guides me
\nfrom here to there
\nthis place to that place
\nwhere he has gone
\nand sends his beacon<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It took a few days of editing to get it just right.\u00a0 I lived with it for a few more then I went to see Yvette again.\u00a0 She had asked me to see her again before I went back to work after my week off and was to bring my wife.\u00a0 I assured my wife it wasn’t couple counselling.\u00a0 It wasn’t.\u00a0 It was about my grief and how I was getting through it and how my wife was on that journey with me.\u00a0 At the end of the session I pulled out the above poem.\u00a0 But before I read it, I read another poem “the balancing act”, which you can read in my previous blahg “The Balancing Act<\/a>“.\u00a0 See, everything links back.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In that blahg I talked about attending a workshop in 2016 on Grief and Loss.\u00a0 Yvette had been the main speaker at that event.\u00a0 I found that I wasn’t really connected to the topic because I hadn’t had anyone close die on me in about forty years.\u00a0 Most had been relatives who had aged out or pets that were part of my family but allowed me to open our heart and home for our new pets.\u00a0 The last real death was a friend who died tragically in high-school.\u00a0 I moved past that a long time ago and have had nothing to draw on since.\u00a0 So I didn’t take to the grief and loss section but when I heard about “the tree of life” section I was inspired.\u00a0 I told that to Yvette and then read “the balancing act” and “when my father died”.\u00a0 Both Yvette and Jeanette had tears in their eyes.\u00a0 At last all the spewing and sharing had been summed up and set free.\u00a0 Grief was still with me but more like a companion than part of that great big pile.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I know there will be deaths again in my life and now I’ll have something to draw on when grief looms large again.\u00a0 I’m still pecking away at all of those tasks still to be done but I’ve realized why there was so much anger attached to those tasks.\u00a0 One day, I think next year when I file dad’s last tax return, the final task will be done and all those tasks that bound me to him will be done and it will just be memories of my dad.\u00a0 That’s what the poem says best.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In my first blahg of this year,\u00a0Welcome 2019…I’m Ready For You!<\/a>, I said I was ready for 2019.\u00a0 That dip in the frigid lake seems so long ago but it really didn’t prepare me for what was to come.\u00a0 Maybe I’m not ready for the rest of 2019 but having made it through the first three months and an all consuming grief, I’m readier.\u00a0 Is that even a word?\u00a0 When I told my dad that we were going to release him and he would die in a few days, he indicated he was ready.\u00a0 He’s gone on his final journey but I’ve still got more journeys to come.\u00a0 And I’ll draw from the lyrics of one of Paul Quarrington’s last songs, “Are You Ready?”\u00a0 One of the last lines of that song is “Am I ready?\u00a0 I believe I am.”\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\nhttp:\/\/www.falseducks.com\/theblahg\/audiofiles\/areyouready.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Am I ready?\u00a0 Hell no, probably not if I think about it.\u00a0 But sometimes it’s not about thinking about it too much.\u00a0 It’s a leap a faith.\u00a0 Some kind of belief that with new experiences I’m readier than I’ll ever be.\u00a0 Am I ready?\u00a0 I believe I am.
\n<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I know as an English major that the title of this blahg is not grammatically correct. I’m going to ignore that rule because in this scenario I want to come before my grief. I have to have top billing. It’s selfish I know but I’ve had a hell of a couple of months and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[110,4,109,111,59,3],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1392"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1392"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1392\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4871,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1392\/revisions\/4871"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1392"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1392"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1392"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}