Grief makes you dress like SHI@!!! Am I alone?

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I left the house to the grocery store wearing faded black work out pants, a black tank top, no bra (I really should wear a bra), a black and white poncho, leopard print flip-flops, and no make-up (no one should ever leave the house with at least mascara).  I didn’t care.  Until, I was bumped into by a very handsome man in the produce section. I think he was single– No ring! (but these days you really never know).

He smiled at me, and said, “Excuse, me.”  Scanned my face, then asked, “Are you okay?”

I said, “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just– you look a little pale,” he answered.

I looked at myself in the mirrored wall behind the produce, and I saw a ghost of myself. Pale. Sad. Broken.

Never in my life would I consider leaving the house looking at least somewhat presentable.  My long hair was strands of stringy mess strewn over my shoulders, hidden under a hat.  I have beautiful hair, at least I did once.  Thank god, I still bathe.

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I politely moved on, but it was at that moment that I realized how broken I really am. How much grief has taken its toll.  I simply don’t care about myself or how I physically appear to others, and I should.  This is not me.  My dear mother would be horrified if she saw me in some of the outfits I’ve thrown together, while forcing myself to leave the house for basic necessities. Sadly, this outfit is actually one of the better ones.  Granted, leaving the house for groceries is progress considering all I’ve been eating is take-out or delivery, but, I think, I’ve finally had it with feeling tired and malnourished.  My mother taught me to be put together, to be neat in appearance, to dress well.  I look like a slob and this is a dishonor to her.

Hopefully, next time I leave the house, I will look civilized and not homeless.

My new mantra is to be, “Stressed, depressed, but well dressed.”

What grief outfits have you worn? How bad have you looked? Hopefully,  I’m not alone.

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Mom: The Loss of a Super Hero

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It’s been one year seven months and ten days since my Super Hero, my Mother, passed.  She was amazing. Up to the end.  She slipped away in her sleep– kidneys gave out after being on dialysis for three months.  She was only 69 and I was 39 when she left us and I have never been more devastated. Tragically, I was supposed to be her kidney donor, and sensing her growing frailty I wanted to push the transplant along, but we never got the chance.  Deep down, I suspect that my mother didn’t want to put me through the operation.  Deep down, I suspect she felt her own mortality and was prepared to die. 
Her passing occurred while I attending grad school at UCLA.  I took a whole two weeks off to be with my family in Texas before I returned to California…

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Stages of Grief. Where are you in your grief?

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After much reading and a lot of concern, I think, after 18 months since my mother’s passing, I am slowly coming out of the “Depression and Detachment” phase.  I am finally reaching out to friends.  Accepted some dinner dates and am hoping to find meaning in my life.  I miss my mother so much.  I am barely able to look back and smile at the life we shared, but still with a deep sadness.  I do think that I was fortunate to have had such a close relationship with my mother and am happy she was on Earth as long as she was.  One of the last things she said to me was, “I don’t have to worry about you anymore.”  Maybe that’s when she decided heaven was a better place for her.  I miss her so much, this is indeed the deepest heartbreak.

It’s the little things….

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I have this calendar hung on my wall from 2012, it’s theme is “How Much I Love Being Your Mother”– my mother gave it to me and I never take it down.  She passed in January of 2013. In it, is documentation of her trips to the hospital that year.

How could I not have seen it coming?  It’s sad to lose a mother and my mother was a great mother.  Funny how the little things moms give us, amount to so much.

That November, I distinctly remember feeling so utterly disappointed, displeased, shocked by my brother.  My mother had brought up that she would need a kidney transplant to my brother.  He had the audacity to say, “Mom, I can’t.  Because of my anxiety.  I don’t think I could handle a transplant.”  Then, my mother asked me, and I said, “Yes.”  My mom asked, “Are you sure?”  My answer was, “Yes.  Now if you ask if I want you or me to get operated, then, no.  But if it means having you around a lot longer, so you can finally eat some of the things you like.  Then absolutely, YES!”

What saddens me about my brother or the situation, is that it wasn’t me and my brother going at it on who would give the kidney, in my mind we should have been fighting for the honor.  But he so easily backed out.   I was scared, but ready, and he was okay to say, “No.”

Now, as I look at the calendar, I’m taken back to that time.  Telling her over Thanksgiving that she needs to get better, that we need to get her better, that we need to get the kidney thing going, because the only reason I ever visited home, was for her.  It was true.I miss her.  As I look at this calendar, it is a reminder of how limited our time is, of how limited her time was, for the sake of not ending on a platitude, it is a reminder that life is not what we do, but who we “do” it with.

I miss you, Mom. Thank you, for all the little things.

Mistress NO More!

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I’ve always known better. Heck , I was raised Catholic, not that that means much these days, but I did it— I had an affair with a married man. He is 12 years older than me and his wife is 7 years older than him, which technically means his wife could be my mother. I’ve seen pictures of her, she’s definitely older, but that’s neither here nor there, this is an affair.

How it started. Seven months after my mom passed, I was reunited with HIM in a production staff meeting. I was brought on to a show to help write a TV pilot. HE happened to be producing that pilot. I had worked with him previously on other films and we had the same boss for eight years, until I left the production company to pursue my own writing career. He hit on me then, and I refused him because he was MARRIED, which didn’t matter much to him anyway because he found another side-dish to play with, but we became friends and I became privy to all the women he dated on set.

Even then he said his marriage was over, that he and his wife stayed together for their son. His wife is an airline stewardess and they made the agreement for her to fly during the weekdays, if he would be home on the weekends with their son. A perfect space for infidelity.  He would spend 4-5 nights a week with me.

After we caught up, he confessed that he’s always been in love with me and felt this reunion to be serendipitous, “meant to be”, whatever—and so it began. He said that he was separated, intent on getting a divorce, once his son left to college.  But recently, I found out that this was not that case, that the divorce wasn’t even on the table, that I was in fact his mistress.

His weekday concubine.

He claimed that once his son left to college this year, and got the divorce finalized things would change. That he would be with me on weekends. That we would have a life together.  All the cliches.  We have not had one weekend in 10 months. It’s been three weeks since his kid left to Berkeley, and I’ve learned that he is currently a financial disaster and has had to borrow money from family and friends just to pay bills, a difficult task since he was accustomed to make over 500k a year.  Now, his wife pays the mortgage and he pays simple bills.  He says, now, without money he cannot get a divorce.  How convenient.

All this came as a surprise, because we would go out on elaborate dinners on one of his credit cards. Card he could be using to pay his house. He busts his ass working in a job that pays a fraction of his income to pay towards the house he and his wife built and apparently plans on keeping, AND  in my experience, if you really want out of a relationship, you get out. If they were really separated and getting a divorce, wouldn’t they logically sell the house, split the profits and move on?

Pain and humiliation finally set in, when I found out I had been duped.

Oh, he was skillful with his life.  He had me convinced he was separated, made it even seem like they had an open relationship and were merely waiting to get the son off to college.  That they slept in different rooms.  Didn’t have sex. How could he  if he spent 4-5 nights a week with me? How could a divorce not be in the making?

Deep down, I knew something was off, but I ignored my instincts.

Why?  Because I didn’t want to be alone.  And he also having lost his father years ago, could relate to my grief.  He knew how much I loved my mother.  He would hold me. Tell me he loves me. Endure my depressive states. Kiss me.  Hold my hand.  Let me cry. He made no judgements.  He also presented a good case for staying in the facade of the marriage he didn’t want to be in– for not divorcing immediately —for his son.  Given that my father figure has been anything but amazing to me, this got me, this lured me in.  I believed him.

But boy did it hurt when I found pictures of him with the wedding ring he claimed not to wear. When I found Thanksgiving pictures of him and his wife, her with a ring he claimed she didn’t wear. I confronted him and he said, “It’s for the kid.” — I still believed him.

Yeah. I know. Stupid. Naive.  Me.

I told myself it must be true, I mean, what kind of husband can get away from being home four to five nights a week? What husband can get away with spending tons of money on dinner on his mistress?

He claims he doesn’t have sex with his wife.  That he sleeps in a separate room, that that’s how it’s been for years. That her sex drive has diminished and he has no desire for her anyway—yeah, I don’t believe it either, I’m sure they have some sex. I asked him if he still loved her, even just a tiny bit. I begged him that if he did, to go back to her and leave me alone. To work it out, not for his son, but for him and his wife, after all they have built a life together, but he said there is no way it would ever work out, that he’s been emotionally and physically out of his marriage for over ten years and there’s no going back and divorce is imminent, but from what I see, not right now.

I realize none of this matters. I realize I was wrong. I sinned, even if he was “in the process” of divorce, he was not divorced.

I was weak.

I couldn’t bear being alone.

Grief without a partner is bad. Sometimes all you want is a body next to you to reassure you that you will be okay. Someone to hold you and love you, even if it means losing your self-respect and ignoring your morals and values. I didn’t want to go in as a mistress, in fact, every Monday, like clockwork I would tell him I didn’t think what we were doing was right,  that we should be together when the divorce is finalized, that it was not only affecting me, but his wife and his son.  That is was wrong.  But he convinced me otherwise.

I didn’t want to go through this ending, but that’s what happens when you look for signs from the afterlife.

I swore my mother would bring my husband to be. I prayed the sign would be a number, possibly something related to her birthdate. My mom was very keen on numbers and numerology. When I found out his son’s birthday was the same birthday as my mom’s, I was sure this was the sign. Especially when he confessed that he’s been in love with me since the moment he met me ten years ago. Yeah, I bought it.  I bought it all.

But my mother wouldn’t want this for me.

So, today, I took matters into my own hands, via text,  who needs a face-to-face these days with all our social media.

Maybe some of the fog of grief is lifting and I’m beginning to think again.

I basically texted him a message saying that I need to move on, that he has clearly chosen the life he wants to be in, and I can’t be half in anymore. That we can be friends someday, but not until I’m in love with someone else and I have my life back on track. I’m not really sure if we can be friends, but I didn’t want to make it ugly. This is already ugly enough. He was supposed to be with me on Sunday, per the plan,he didn’t even cancel and that was it for me, reality hit me like a ton of rocks— he’s really not getting a divorce.

He lied.

So, today I realized I can’t be his beck and call girl anymore. That maybe it’s time am alone.  Really, alone. I can’t be a mistress or a weekday concubine. I deserve better, so does his wife and kid. Please pray that I continue to be strong in my resolve.

Ego and grief and the spirit.

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Recently, in my time of introspection I’ve had an awareness, that there is more at work in my life than simply grieving the death of my mother.  Yes.  My mom is no longer her, but I am becoming more aware of her spirit.  Although I cannot see, feel, touch her.  I know she is in me.  It is undeniable.  My mother is in spirit.  And her spirit in me.

This “new” me, will be a part of her spirit.

But I’m not going to deny that I’m scared to death.  I no longer have my mother to anchor my identity.  To tell me if I am wrong or right, I can only draw from what I’ve gained from her spirit to guide me.

Ahead is a passage I found related to grieving through the ego.

Please click the link at the end of this passage if you want to read more.

1. Grieving through the Ego.

This kind of grief is found in these words: “life begins and ends here,” “life will never be the same,” “my life is over.” Although there are elements of truth to these statements, there is a limited worldview attached to them. They are statements people use to express their ego needs no longer being met due to the loss that takes away from them a part of their world.

When I hear the voice of ego grief in a profound way, I realize I am dealing with someone attached to the world of form. The ability to become abstract enough to find hope beyond this world in their relationships is challenged by the death of a loved one. In doing so, the deceased loved one becomes a pathway into the soul of those in ego grief.

2. Grieving through the Integrative process.

You may hear these words in this path to grief: “life is different,” “my loved one is in a better place,” “I will be O.K.” Do you hear how these statements reflect a sense of knowing their loved one’s body is gone, but their spirit will remain in their heart? This type of grieving allows a person to have a sense of knowing. It is a knowing that only the body is dead. The relationship with a deceased loved one remains in place. It may even be such a connection in soul that some feel closer to their loved one than when they were alive in physical form.

To be known as we are truly known is not an afterlife experience. To be fully human and fully divine is one of the best kept secrets we all pretend we are not aware of until the afterlife. There is no afterlife. We came from eternity and to eternity we return. When we let go of the notion that eternity begins at death, we are free to utilize eternal resources to help us live in the here and now.

The instant we realize we live in the world AND the world lives inside of us reveals a sense of awe. The world and our part in it have neither beginning nor an end. This integration from individual awareness to collective awareness carries within it hopes. It is the hope in knowing that all belong to an unending stream of consciousness. As humans, we have predictable stages of development indicating where we are in human maturity.

As we age, our psyche or our soul integrates its being from individual awareness to universal awareness. The journey into eternal awareness allows a sense of hope beyond the sense to withstand grief. Eternal Awareness integrates the self into the Universal knowing that the power which leads us into the world knows how to take us home.

http://www.pathintohealing.com/healingcare/grieve.htm

Wishing for my Mother’s Ghost.

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It’s been a lonely couple of weeks. I’ve spent so much time looking at mom’s pictures and ruminating on the life we’ve shared. Her last days. The last two weeks in December I spent with her. Our long talks. Thinking she was strong enough for me to leave her and continue with my life.

I’ve spent the last few days and night asking her to visit me. Be it in my dreams. My thoughts. As a ghost. I’ve been begging for a message that she is still with me. But nothing. I don’t know if this means she has already crossed over. If this is the case then she crossed over quickly and easily and maybe it’s better that she is not here.

But now I find myself wondering if there really is an afterlife. A heaven or a hell. Is this place we cross over to real? Or is it a place of hopeful imagination. A place we all hope to visit and reunite with our loved ones.

Throughout my grief I’ve consulted with three mediums. They all seem to pick up on my artistic ability particularly my writing. Two of them got my mother’s name and one of them didn’t pick up on my mother at all—but it was more of a reading than a meeting to speak to my mother. The readings weren’t amazingly accurate, although I wish they were and fueled by my mere wish to speak to my mother. To have a tie with her, now, even if she is in the spirit world. However, I’m not sure if it is real or if it exists.

Has anyone reading this post had a significant experience? If so, please share.