please offer me what I really don't "want"
Garren Katz
My Great Aunt Happy died yesterday at 94 years of age. We were with her last week in Tucson, AZ. It was brutal emotionally and such a wonderful gift to be able to experience that heartache of truly begin with her as she neared the end of her life. The nurses said Clodagh coming to visit shifted my Aunt's energy in a profound way. In fact, having Clodagh in the rehabilitation center shifted the energy of the entire place. It was amazing. One little person can do so much. It was raining essence in that facility. :)
I share her passing with you all because I found myself not wanting to share it with you all. I got very present to the feeling that I didn't want to hear back from any of you. I didn't want sympathy or heart. Said another way, I didn't want connection. Thankfully, I am smart enough to realize that is a pretty good indicator that what I really need IS to hear from you. I need to get responses and hear your heart and sympathy. I don't want it mind you… but I need it.
My story is that "no one gets it" and therefore there is no point to have anyone reach out. Well, no shit, no one would completely get it. But that is not the point. I don't get what Michelle has gone through with the loss of her mother. I don't get what Lacey is going through with her Grandma, I don't get what Laurie is going through with her father, but should that really be cause for me to not reach out or send my love or my heart. NO, it shouldn't and that is something that only now am I becoming fully present to. Much like our work, we don't need the answers or the solutions, we simply need to give of ourselves and lead with our heart.
On top of all of this, I contracted the worst cold/flu I have had in probably 5 years. I have been in bed for 2 days with a shredded throat, ringing ears, a bad caugh and the chills. I got knocked on my ass emotionally and physically this week. Hum… dinger!
So, please, because I DONT WANT YOU TO, respond to this email and give me whatever it is that you feel.
Thanks and I will see you tomorrow morning.
Love,
Garren
Aunt Happy, My Mom, Myself and Clodagh last week.
Michelle Akin
On December 18th, 2011, after a two-year battle with brain cancer, my Mother passed away.
Right off the bat, I was able to speak and write about it quite eloquently. This was largely owed to the fact that I had -and still have- an incredible ability to operate on top of my feelings. Ironically, I learned to do this from my Mom.
Many people commented on my strength.
I sure fooled them.
In January of 2012, I made a video where I spoke about my Mom and our relationship. I remember writing out what I wanted to say on a little white notepad and weeping the entire time.
Then, I turned on the camera and delivered my speech completely dry-eyed.
Again, so many comments flooded in about my strength.
There was one person, however, who saw right through me.
They said something along the lines of
"You don't have to pretend like you're okay for our sake. You're obviously very sad and pretending not to be."
It's likely that they had experienced a similar traumatic loss and knew full well that no one could be THAT at peace a mere month after the death of their mother. I shrugged off the comment: "What do they know anyway?"
But somewhere inside I knew it was true.
It wasn't until the one-year anniversary of my Mom's death that it all hit me; I had spent the year numbing out. My drugs of choice: video games, listening to Stephen Fry read the Harry Potter series, beer, weed, and generally avoiding the topic.
Around the anniversary, I took a trip to Sweden to speak at a YouTube gathering. Consequently, I didn't have access to many of my numbing agents.
While there, I had the incredible first-time experience of getting on stage as "Michelle Vargas: Life Coach."
I felt like I'd come home.
I belonged on that stage talking about life! I couldn't believe how long I had waited to do so. That evening, after my talk, I laid down to go to sleep and brought Mr. Fry on audio book with me. I was saddened to realize that I was nearing the end of the very last chapter of book 7 in the Harry Potter series. Fear came bubbling up.
I heard the last words in my head even before he spoke them.
"All was well. The End."
I remember being very aware of the deafening silence in the room after hearing those words.
Laying on an unfamiliar couch in a strange country, I suddenly felt terrified. I grabbed my iPhone and hit play on an album recently sent to me by my good friend, Joel: "Everything is Expansive" by Esthero.
He said it would be my new favorite album; he was spot on.
As each song passed, I felt as though the lyrics were telling my story. One of loss, growth, strength, and inspiration.
The next bit doesn't make sense unless I explained what happened earlier that day:
At the end of the gathering, attendees and performers had come together and asked one another to go up on stage and perform something. Most people went up and sang, some did comedy bits. I was so inspired by the willingness and generosity of these lovely European people. I mustered up the courage and offered to sing something. Having just fallen in love with Esthero, I thought it fitting to pay her forward to everyone here. I sang Track 6,"You Don't Get a Song", acapella. I remember being so much more nervous to sing than I had been to speak. Everyone loved it, and I was so glad that I did it.
Fast forward to me laying on the couch in the darkness, re-experiencing each Esthero song as if for the first time...
Track 5 ended and as soon as the first note if Track 6 hit, I had a knot in my stomach and a shortness of breath.
My brain started to go over and over my performance. "I hit that note wrong. I fucked up that lyric. I didn't do Esthero justice. That was a dumb idea, going up and singing that without practice. What was I thinking?"
And then, suddenly, my inner chatter was interrupted by my Mom's voice. I heard her loud and clear, but I couldn't tell if I was hearing her in my mind or out loud in the room. It didn't matter, it was definitely her voice.
"You did great."
I burst into tears. The knot in my stomach disappeared instantly. The tenseness in my shoulders melted. My heart swelled the way it had any time my Mom had hugged me.
I sobbed hysterically as the song played in my ears. I blasted the music and continued to weep. I'm not sure when it happened, but eventually my tears were coupled with hysterical laughter.
sob sob lol sob sob lol.
I remember feeling the most intense joy I ever experienced. Not just since her death, but, like, ...ever.
Think of the way you feel when you can't find that precious family heirloom anywhere and then, suddenly, it turns up in the most unexpected place. That's how I felt, except multiplied by one million. I felt like I'd gotten my mother back. This eruption of emotion lasted a little over an hour. Then, I dried my last tear and fell asleep more peacefully than I had in 3 years.
When I returned to the US, I recounted this story to my then fiancé, Justin, in great detail. I cried as I told it (a first for me; tears were previously reserved for my within my bathroom walls).
I realized I no longer needed my numbing agents. For quite a while, I didn't even have a social sip of alcohol. My intuition was telling me I needed to stay uninhibited and open. What if my Mom wanted to tell me something and I wasn't connected enough to hear it? More than that, I didn't need them anymore, like a group of friends you grow apart from.
It's now almost one year later, and though I can't say I haven't numbed out to the pain ever since, what I CAN say is that I do it about 99.9% less than I did last year.
Still, I always seem surprised by my grief when it comes up. "Oh, you're still here, huh?"And I'm finally beginning to understand that the grieving process has no end. There's no correct way to do it; there's no time limit or rule book. There is, however, a line in the sand.
My life cannot and will not be the same.
And if you take a look, you'll notice that this is true of all of our lives. You will never be who you were as a child. But somehow, losing my Mother made that final, like a jury's verdict.
No Mother for life; a sentence I wish upon no one.And yet, I feel like I'm a part of what author Hope Edelman calls the "Unsought Sorority" in her book, Motherless Daughters.
As I write this, I'm on a plane. During taxi and takeoff I was reading the book "Letters from Motherless Daughters" - (compiled by Edelman after her first book) after about 5 letters, I put the book down, but only because my tear to tissue ratio was getting dangerous. There was a time when I could have stoically read through all 212 pages, but not anymore. Something has forever shifted in me. I don't mind so much that I have emotions. I don't mind so much if a stranger sees me cry. I'm willing to share my feelings because they are the truth.
This is the unexpected result that's come from losing my Mother:
I've become more myself.It's a gift, and, perhaps, it couldn't have been given to me any other way.
The cool part is, I feel like I have a better relationship with my Mother now than I ever did. My experience of her is of calm presence. Reassurance and warmth. Love and comfort.
Any time I need her, she's there in less than a heartbeat. This is quite a handy resource when I remember to call upon it. She's simply there. With her hand on my shoulder, assuring me that I did great. That everything is going to be fine. That she's proud of the woman I'm becoming. That she's happy.I had heard people talk about posthumous relationships before, but I never quite understood it. I don't know that it's possible to fully "get it" unless you're in it. I feel immensely lucky, to tell you the truth. Sometimes, because I lost my Mother, I feel like I have a special secret that makes me unique. It feels so weird to admit that.
What I'm hoping you take away from this is that everyone has a process. No process is good, bad, better or worse than another.
And... relationships are never-ending.
It doesn't matter if someone moves to the other side of the world, or leaves this world altogether.
No one is ever truly gone if we choose to keep them in our hearts.
<3
M
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West, Jim
Garren, Michelle,
Thank you for your share, it is very powerful.
Garren, thank you for being connected and trusting us to support you in the way you request. I acknowledge for acting on something so uncomfortable with such transparency. My spirit is lifted by the picture of your family because it does represent the circle of life. I am saddened by the loss and grateful you had that time with Happy.
Jim West, Ph.D., PMP
Senior Project Manager
Process Owner
3505 W. Sam Houston Pkwy. N.
Houston, Texas 77041
Office: (713)469-7438
Cell: (281)684-4287
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Laurie Crosley
My thoughts and prayers are with you and with your family. I'll see you in the morning and I hope you are feeling much better.
Laurie Crosley
Crosley & Company Coaching
410-905-4674
lau...@crosleycoaching.com
www.crosleycoaching.com
It's your life and you can make it a great one… what do you choose?
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