What Does Grief Look Like

What does Grief Look Like? I think about grief daily. Sometimes it sneaks up on me in the shower and slides down my cheeks. I find it hidden between my ears, in the voices that rob me of sleep at 3am. They tell me about the way things used to be. They promise it will get better. They are not dead, just sleeping and I need to do the same. I feel grief like a heavy, wool coat that suffocates me on a hot July day. It’s a crashing, wide ocean wave that takes me off guard and slashes at me with a stinging mist of spray. I see grief in the bending branches of the Oak tree in my parent’s front yard. It slings low around the base, minutes from collapse. It wants me to come back into its abyss where I once felt safety among the foliage. Grief is the Rollie Pollie bug I cup in my hand. Its grey armored body extends wide and quickly pulls into itself. It is afraid to open its eyes and see. I feel sorry for it, so I set it in a patch of wet leaves and apologize. Grief is the line where the heavy rain begins. I can see it coming ahead and charge into its bottomless chasm. I have no fear anymore of what will happen when I pass from the quiet into the storm of grief. It envelopes me and I am soaked with its pelting promises that soon it will all be better. Sometimes grief is a happy thought. I hear a song that my mom and I used to sing together in the car on road trips, or smell the Chanel #5 that she dotted on the back of her ears. Grief is the beautiful, Jonquils that popped through the dying grass this past spring, or the purple blossoming Azalea bushes and, green Hastas that hug the sides of the house. Grief comes and grief goes like the phases of the moon. As each phase occurs, it evokes a new emotion that pulls and tugs us into all directions. For each of us, grief is different. It is not supposed to be the same. Grief is a one-of-a-kind thing. I recently asked my friends what grief looks like to them, and quite a few had the beautiful courage to share. My sweet friend, Jenny had the courage to share her grief journey after the death of her mother, Jean who used to work with me. The first time I met Miss Jean Riggan, was when I started working at Barnes and Noble in 2006. She was the kindest woman I have ever met, with a pure heart. She was delightful, genuine, and caring. She loved all her friends and would do anything for them. The day she told me she had cancer, she held my hand and told me to not worry, because everything was going to be ok. We both knew what the outcome would eventually be, but we hugged and she remained hopeful. A few months later, Miss Jean was transferred to her daughter’s house with Hospice to wait until the Lord would come to take her to her eternal home. I started going to her house almost every day for a couple of weeks to help her daughter, Jenny Toler cook meals or take care of her children. I would sit beside her and hold her hand why she smiled with her infectious smile wearing her sunny, yellow nightgown. I bonded with her entire family. I became friends with her sister, Sharon, and sister, Charlotte. I watched all of her sisters whisper words of comfort in her ear, and shower her with comfort and love as she transitioned to her end. It was not as scary as I thought it would be. With family huddled around a birthday cake and a sparkling candle in a dimmed room, love beamed from every corner and my heart felt warm. Miss Jean went peacefully when her end came. Jenny struggled with her mother’s death, much like I did. The day after her death, a beautiful flower arrangement arrived and the card was from her mom. The moment she saw the card, she collapsed into sobs in her husband’s arms. The weight of grief was palpable that moment, and I knew one day that this pain would find me too. We have both lost our best friend, our mentor, our soulmate. With that light extinguished from our life, we became numb for a long time, unable to fully digest the fact that our compass was gone. We are grief warriors and grief bonded us as friends. I thinks this created a pure friendship that I am grateful for. We do not get a chance to see each other as often as we used to, but keep up with each other via Facebook. Even after years pass, the pain doesn’t. It fluctuates and blows in the wind like Miss Jean’s favorite yellow flowers. For Jenny grief is still real and raw: “What does grief look like? Grief has so many stages, chapters and phases. Sometimes, I think it looks like the beach, and a storm. The water represents life that is still for the living. The sand represents the soul, who you really are. And the storm...is grief. That storm sometimes comes in knowingly, the "weatherman" told you it was coming. But sometimes, that storm just appears. Seemingly out of nowhere. The water is covered in a darkness and water beats down on it, beating into it...reminding it that the storm is there, that their loved one is gone and each rain drop is a memory of the person who is no longer here. On really bad days, grief (the storm) will throw lightening at you and will rattle down into your sand (your soul) with thunderous sounds. And though through this storm that just keeps going and going and going...sometimes leaving and coming back again....the sand may shift, move around...some may wash back into the water, redirecting our moods and thoughts, but the sand stays strong. Even when we think the storm is going to wash it all away. As long as there is one grain of sand left after the storm has passed for the last time, then we still have a part of the person we lost as well as a part of who we were with them. And....while the storms may come and go, the sun will break out in between....but when the grieving process has been survived...that sun shines brighter than ever. Occasional storms may remind us that it's ok to still having grieving times...but we know by this point that the sun is going to come out tomorrow...”

One of my friends from Kiwanis, Deb lost her husband of 47 years due to a sudden heart attack. He was asleep, woke up with chest pain and died in his wife’s arms. How hard that must have been to see. Deb shared her thoughts of what grief looks like to her: “I lost Andy after 47 years together...only man in my life ....we grew up together. To me, it's like losing an arm or leg and now having to learn how to live with this handicap......how to live without a part of you. Empty heart and also as your friend Terrell put it the" quite absence".....suddenly gone in the night and no longer in my life ...Family functions are not the same ....something is always missing ..I had to leave our home we had together ....everything reminded me of our great life we made together” My Uncle Frank Carnevale died just a few short months ago. My Auntie Vilma and Frank were married for many years and were each other’s soulmates. When they were together, the room lit up with beauty, serenity, and love. His laughter was contagious. He was funny, generous, loving, and kind. For Auntie Vilma, she is learning how to navigate a world without her other half. Everything seems off balance and fuzzy. I am sure when she looks in her son’s eyes, she sees Frank. I can only imagine how beautiful and hard at the same time seeing part of him here can be. You are not alone in your struggle. Vilma was able to share how she is managing the early stages of grief: “I'm right in the hardest part of my life at this time because I just unexpectedly lost my husband in April after 52 wonderful years of marriage. I find it so hard to explain because I don't think anyone understands how I feel.” For my friend, Terrell grief is many emotions all wrapped into one: “Grief is a circle. It ebbs and flows. It's a cold hunger in the heart. A fiery pain running through your nerves. It is the acute awareness of a quiet absence. It is periods of relief and good memory that last longer with time. It is the pain our heart feels while it is healing after loss.”

For my friend, Ruby, grief is a selfish and peaceful act much like a yin yang. She also sees that grief is not just missing and hurting over a loved one who is gone, but grieving for the people she loves who are still alive, but obstacles are in the way: “Grief has so many meanings. The last and one of the most important person I lost sent so many emotions through me and still to this day, I selfishly grieve for her. However, at the same time I am at peace knowing she no longer suffers from the pain and misery the world cast upon her. It’s a personal pain within a person. I personally I grieve for and over people and things that are alive. I grieve for children that have anything to do with me because they want me to continue a life of codependence and dysfunction. I grieve for my grandchildren I am not allowed to see due to their continued dysfunction. I can do on and on.”

Grief is and will always be a changing image, emotion and experience. Each person sees death differently, and each person grieves differently. But, the one thing we all have in common is the pain that comes along with losing a loved one. We each board our personal ship of grief. Some may falter and end up back on shore for months or years, and some may be able to steer their ship to calmer waters. There is no right or wrong journey. The Journey is yours alone, but the destination is what we all seek. Thank you everyone for sharing your inspiring thoughts of what grief looks like to you.

The Brightest Star

Where do you go when you die? I remember asking my mom this when I was ten and my neighbor, Uncle Ron Sykes died. She picked me up from catholic school and said she had bad news. Mom told me Uncle Ron went to heaven. I remember wondering where he was in heaven at that exact moment. I already knew he had died, I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. I already knew he was sitting on some big, puffy cloud with Jesus sipping chocolate milk and waving at everyone below as they floated across the sky. The thing was, I was young and didn’t understand what death really meant. I knew it meant that the person was gone in a body sense but, I still needed more answers. I did not know the lingering path that death creates. It would take many years before I would be once again asking myself questions about death. A few nights after my neighbor Ron died when the sky was clear and the air crisp and cool, I asked mom again where you go when you die. She told me to look up into the night sky and pick the biggest and brightest star. Once I found the one I liked best, she told me that that was Uncle Ron. He was now a big, bright shining star and he would never stop glowing. He would live forever. This was such a profound moment for me. I loved the star analogy that she told me. It has always stuck with me and now I have found that all these years later when I look up in the sky on a clear night, I know all my friends and family that died before me are shining stars, burning bright. I thought of my conversation with mom back on November 15, 2010 as I stared up into the night sky on a once again, cool and crisp night. That morning at 6:30am, my best friend of fourteen years, Michelle died. She was 41 and died of lung cancer. She fought a two and a half year battle with cancer and it won. That night, I drove to her house to help her husband write the obituary and to pick out what she will be buried in. I said I would help tell her three year old son, Grayson about death. I remembered the serendipitous moment with my mom and the star talk. I knew what I needed to do. On the ride over, I thought about that morning remembering that it was gloriously beautiful outside. The clouds were perched high in the sky, there was a magnificent fall breeze and golden leaves swirled around me. The smell was heavenly, and I thought, what a beautiful day to die. The night of her death was clear and stars burned bright across the sky. I remember thinking that in a few moments, I will get out of my car and go into her house. I will have to take her son by his sticky little hands and tell him about death. I will do it while remembering that talk my mom and I had. A few hours later after dinner was cooked, dishes cleared and half an obituary written, it happened. Michelle’s husband and a few family members came and went, calls came in and calls came out. Doorbells rang, and the dishwasher sang its somber wail. Grayson looked up from his coloring book and asked me if mommy was in heaven now. I simply said “yes, sugar bear, she is and you know what, she isn’t sick anymore and she is sitting on a big, puffy cloud with long flowing hair and looking down on you right now smiling.” He looked up at me and said “really” and then smiled. It broke my heart to think of all the things that she would miss in the physical sense, but I knew he needed to know about the stars and that this was the time for his star talk. I told him that mommy was now a big, bright star and she would shine forever. Whenever he wanted to talk to her, he just needed to go outside, find the biggest and brightest star and that was her looking down on him. He smiled again and simply said, “Ok” and went back to coloring. Two hours later, I finally finished Michelle’s obituary, picked out her funeral attire and tucked her son into bed. I talked with her husband and eased his fears, and hugged family, and shed a few trapped tears. Grayson fell asleep to Wonder Pets and I cried my eyes out on the way home; my sobs engulfing the car.

What did I learn that month after her death? Although death happened, life remained. It had to go on. Eggs were scrambled, toast buttered, school bags packed, and my own home chores and obligations met. Seasons changed, anniversaries and birthdays came and went. Blue balloons were held by four-year-old hands and floated to the heavens to mommies and bright starts. I had to sit down with Grayson one night to explain the clouds and that even though it was a cloudy night, the stars were still there, but just hidden. And, there was no need to have a gigantic panic attack in the bookstore parking lot. Death circled me for weeks like a buzzing bee that I was scared was going to sting me. I flung my hand at it and swatted it away at every chance I got. The months after my first real, death encounter, Grayson became OCD, and thought that if he even smelled a cigarette, that he would breathe it in and die. He became obsessed with expiration dates on food, and would ask his father and myself if it was ok to eat and if it would kill him. He clung to his blankets and special toys and searched for his own way to cope with no longer having a mother. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to have been a 3 ½ year-old boy, yearning for his mother’s warm arm crook to pull him in and inhale the smell of safety. He was so young and searched for his mother in every woman’s eyes he met. He once asked if little boys could get more mommies because his mommy was needed by God for good things. He needed a mommy again. I told him you only get one special mommy and even though you can’t see her, she is always there. Grayson once told me as he was preparing for his bath that mommy came to see him the night before. He had a beautiful grin upon his face and said it was wonderful. He said his mommy came to sleep next to him at night like she did when she was alive. They told each other stories and fell asleep under the cool, blue light of his space-themed nightlight. I asked if it scared him for his mommy to visit, and he said of course not. I think the beauty and the pain of a watching a child cope with a parent’s death, made me change the way I lived life. I cherished conversations with my parents more and loved my boyfriend with a ferocity that I had never showed before. I wanted to make sure I told my mom all the things she needed to know just in case.

It has been five years since Michelle died. Her mother died about a year later, and Grayson did much better with her death. He still struggles, but is doing great. I told him missing someone is ok to do all the time. It’s normal, and necessary to help you grow up better. I told him you need to always remember, because this keeps their memory alive. I think of this now when I remember and miss my mother and my father. I miss them every day, but like Grayson, I can go outside on a clear night, look up in to the sky, and see them again in the brightest stars.

Nostalgia and Grief

This past Christmas, I celebrated with Craig. We sat next to our Christmas tree and watched old videos of my childhood. I found several old, dusty, VHS tapes and had them made into DVD's. I came home, popped in the DVD's one after another and laughed, smiled, and shed a few tears. It warmed my heart to hear my parents’ voices, to see my mom and dad open Christmas presents and kiss by the tree in our living room. It was the same living room that last week I stood in alone vacuuming the dust and mold from the room. The same room that long ago held laughter and Christmas trees and now was void of life. Now all that lives there are 1972 rust colored-curtains and green carpet matted down from 45 years of memory. I stood in that living room, closed my eyes and prayed that when I opened my eyes up again, I would be that ten-year old girl opening up my cassette tape player, porcelain doll, and seeing mom and dad. When I opened my eyes, I only saw pain and heartache. I watched a video of myself putting my great-grandmother, Ada St. George's hair in curlers back in 1990. I also watched as I laughed with my Auntie Vilma, Uncle Frank and snuggled on a couch with my Auntie Betty. It was the first time I watched a video where most of the people in the videos have passed. I was blessed that I found such a treasure in my mom and dad's house. I watched my dad driving down the road as we were all huddled in our white, VW van at Emerald Isle, Beach. I watched as I swam in a pool and my mother leisurely sat poolside in a lounge chair and soaked in the sun and a book. My mother was a voracious reader and watching her reading soothed my scarred and hollowed heart. I saw my dad dressed in his best shirt and Miami Vice white had with the black rim at my brother's birthday party. I saw myself as a naive, young girl, with the world in front of me. I watched as I walked in the Frazier fir trees in a Vermont field behind my uncle's house and soaked in the warm, earthy smell of Lake Champlain and the silly warming laugh of my grandmother. I only cried a few times during this second Christmas without my mom and the first without my dad. I laughed more than I had in months. It was great to feel my chest full with the coolness that laughter brings my insides. I was afraid that laughter was never going to find me again. It is strange how much death has changed me. It has curved and reshaped the landscape of my memory. The layers of memories are wide and full and trying to help me fill the holes of grief.

New Year's Reflections

Every time a new year rolls around, we make our list for all of the things we want to change or make better. Some people vow to stop eating junk food, exercise more, and some people decide to change their attitudes, or even their jobs. However, there are some people like myself, who just wish that sunshine and happiness will find their way into the coming year. The last two years of my life have been filled with bump after bump and shrouded with sadness, death, rebirth, and learning to live a new way of life. In 2013, I came face-to-face with cancer and watched as it grabbed a hold of my mother and she wilted from me. I quit my job in June of that year and worked part-time, which allowed me more time to spend with her. I savored every moment that I could with her as cancer ravaged. I saw her the day before she died, squeezed her hand and told her I loved her and it would be ok. I could not be with her when she took her final sweet breaths of life. I chose to remember her in the day when her cheeks were pink with happiness and her smile warmed any bad day I had . I chose to keep those memories close to my heart. A few shorts months after mom died, my dad left this world tragically to join mom in heaven. I held his hand and kissed his forehead as I know his mother, Josephine, came down, scooped him up and brought him home. Even after my miscarriage a few months later, I promised myself that I would do the best I could to go on. I promised my mom I would continue my life, and to make sure that happiness remained no matter what adversity I was met with. I sustained and moved slowly through the last two years because my parents taught me about courage and standing up, and no letting anything get the best of me. The last two years have also been a scary time, when I feel my wobbly feet start to become firm and planted, shooting up like an Oak tree and I realize I am now totally in control of my life and no longer have my parents as my wingmen. It has been during these past few years that I finally realized, I may not have my wingmen, but when they left this earth, they gave me their wings, so I could fly. They gave me a great gift of a future with no boundaries, no nets; just freedom. This year, I added two beautiful memory ornaments to my Christmas Tree. I bought silver wings for mom, and gold wings for dad.

I learned on my new grief journey last year that I am not alone. I met many people who have taken the same journey through grief. Myself, as well as several other people I met in France at the writing retreat had recently lost their fathers. Somehow, we met thousands of miles from our grief, joined together, and opened up our notebooks and let grief in. When we did, we opened up the battle scar, we examined its uniqueness, and saw it had beauty. It had merit, and having it made us warriors for the future. I bonded with my sweet grief warriors and will always hold a special place in my heart for my friends, and the beauty of friendship and laughter, which we all really needed. One of the beautiful ladies I met in France was Nannie Flores. She too, had lost her father to cancer last year, and has a mother who was diagnosed with cancer as well. As the New Year approached, Nannie made her own reflections on grief and the past few years and has gratefully allowed me to share her message: “In 2013, both my parents got diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. I painstakingly watched my mother lose her hair, her crowning glory. And I held my dad's skeletal hands as he slowly drifted away in eternal sleep. I had to be strong for my family, especially my then 10-year-old brother. 2014 was a little less morbid. I met my soulmate, climbed Mount Pulag, bought my first car, traveled Europe alone, went to a writer's retreat in the French countryside and started a new, more challenging career. I've come to learn that once you've hit rock bottom, there is no way to go but up. May 2015 give us all the driving force to move forward Oh, and hug your parents today, and every day from here on out.”

We should take the beautiful memories of the people we love and imagine the New Year as a promise from our loved ones above to help guide us to good things. “Where there is death, there is life.” Let beauty and happiness come back into your life and sunshine will soon find its way to your cheeks and sink into the new holes in your heart. Happy New Year Friends!

"Wild" by Cheryl Strayed

Attention my grief-stricken friends. Are you looking for a tender, soulful book that will help you deal with the stages of grief with clarity and beautiful insight? Then, you need to read the best-selling nonfiction memoir "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed. It's one woman's journey alone on a 1,100 mile hike on the Pacific Crest Trail after the death of her mother. The author starts out as a weary, promiscuous, depressed 26 year-old woman four years after the loss of her mother and moments from the end of a marriage. She happens across a book at an REI store one day about the Pacific Crest Trail; a mostly desolate stretch of national hiking trails that starts in New Mexico and runs the entire length of the west coast all the way up to Canada. After dabbling in drugs sleeping around and divorce, Strayed spirals out from grief and makes a decision to hike 1,100 miles alone on the PCT in order to deal with her grief. What she finds in herself, in others, and in nature will stay with you long after she puts her brown hiking books away and packs away her writing pen. You will have the opportunity to explore grief, journey with the author, feel the weight of grief in her 40-pound backpack, and might be surprised what you find at the end of the journey. I could relate to the author in regards to the loss of her mother and realizing pretty early on in her journey that the worst thing in life has already happened so why not hike a trail alone. "The death of my mother was the thing that made me believe the most deeply in safety; nothing bad could happen to me, I thought. The worst thing already had" (Strayed). "Wild" was an incredible book. It had a hypnotic, cathartic rhythm that I felt deep in my soul. It was heartwarming, heartbreaking, and poetic. The author has a way with words in exploring the past and shedding new light on her life as she hikes through New Mexico all the way up the western seaboard until she reached "The Bridge of the Gods" in Oregon. As I read through the miles with Strayed on the trail, I too was on her journey learning how to take grief and use it to create positivity. The book has many important lessons for people in life dealing with the loss of a loved one due to death, the loss of a loved one due to divorce and lastly, the loss of yourself and how to find your way back. I finished reading the book during the same week in September that Strayed finished her hike some eighteen years earlier. I laughed, cried, sobbed, wailed, and breathed with Strayed. Her prosy narrative was just what the doctor ordered for my weary, grief-stricken soul. The earthly, poetic language washed over me like holy water at church and the words were Band-Aids over my fresh grief wounds.This book was fantastic! You know a book is fantastic when you cry at the end because not only was it life-altering, but you’re sad it's over. Before I read this book, I lost my mother, my father, and an unborn child. I was at a crossroads in life. I was not sure where to turn, who to turn to, and not sure what the future without my parents would hold." I may not have hiked a trail for 1,100 miles alone but I too took a journey in order to heal and found myself. I journeyed 3,500 from home alone to join other women on a healing, restorative journey to find myself and I found my mother instead. I found my mother in the trees that were wide-open and full of hope. I found my mother in the wind. I heard her call to me in the laughter of little children one afternoon as I meditated in the wet, green grass. I found my mother joining me during evening yoga sessions and when I opened up my hips and raised my arms to the sky, I let grief out. I found my mother in the photos I took throughout my journey, showing up as a beautiful purple light that swelled around my face and comforted me. I found my mother's spirit in other women on my journey who made me feel the love only women can radiate out from their souls. I found my mother on the Eiffel Tower in Paris as rain trickled out of the sky and formed goose pimples on my bare arms telling me I should have worn long sleeves. I found my mother staring at me through the deep, charcoal eyes of a French horse named Romeo. I found my mother in English breakfast tea at a Café in Chantilly, France as the warm, soothing feeling washed over me when I drank it. I found my mother staring back at me when I looked in the mirror after crying and for the first time in my life, I was happy I looked like my mother. I found my mother in the brillantly colored vocal Rooster that woke us each morning and welcomed us each night. I found my mother in the yellow and black Butterfly that floated into our writing salon, and delicately balanced on the wooden coffee table for over eight hours. And, I found my mother literally in the subway station in Paris when the locket containing her ashes fell off and I finally found her laying behind me on the ground. I found out I do not have to let her go, because she never left me. Award-winning actress, Reese Witherspoon a few years ago picked up the book “Wild,” and read it in a single day. It moved her so much that she called the author and told her she wanted to make a movie based on the book and that she would play the lead role based on Cheryl's life. She promised the author she would keep the integrity of the book in-tact. On December 6, 2014 "Wild" hits movie theaters nationwide. So far, the movie has been favorably reviewed and critics are talking “Reese” and “Oscars” in the same sentence. I saw the movie trailer the other day and it looks like it will be a beautiful and restorative journey for everyone who has ever lost something themselves and will go to any length to get a piece of themselves back. You can view the YouTube trailer here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tn2-GSqPyl0. Thank you Cheryl Strayed for telling your story. Thank you for letting people in, for opening up your hips while falling down and letting grief out. You let your grief run onto the pages of your book and I am so grateful to you for writing every bleak and painful moment that you had the courage to share. You helped me grieve well. To learn more about Cheryl Strayed, please visit her website: http://www.cherylstrayed.com/. Grieve well friends, read "Wild," and then go see the movie. Christina

The Mission of The Grief Project

Thank you for wanting more information about the “The Grief Project” blog. The last seven months have been the toughest months of my life, with the loss of my mother last December, the sudden death of my dad in February, and my miscarriage at 2 ½ months this past May. I did not fully understand the depths of grief until this past year, nor have I learned more about how resilient the human heart is. I am also grateful for the out-pouring of love and kindness that all of my friends (you guys) have given me and for the constant support you have shown. With your kind words and caring letters, emails, and generosity, I have tried to grieve well. For when we grieve well, we heal. Healing does not mean, we can ever go back to the person we once were before tragic loss, but we can find ways to take our grief and move forward finding a new way of life through the ups and downs that the loss of a loved one will do to us physically, mentally, and emotionally. My hope for this new blog is to share my journey through grief, and showcase a guest blogger each week, who will share their journey into grief and how they were able to cope initially and how they are doing now. Grief is hard, whether it’s been a day, a month, a year, or thirty years. Grief never goes away, but we can learn how to not let it in. Recently, at a yoga and writing retreat in France, the yoga instructor said as we sat with our hips and arms open, that when we open our hips, we let grief out. A few days later during a moving afternoon meditation session, full tears rolled down many of our cheeks. After class, we felt better. We let grief out. Join me in this project and grieve well. I will be posting a different guest blogger each week and topics will include the loss of a parent, significant other, child, close relative, or friend. Grief connects those of us who have lost a great burning light that once in our life and now is physically gone but not gone from our hearts and minds. I will also be reading and reviewing books on grief that readers might find helpful when dealing with tragic loss. We are all connected. Death binds us in a cosmic way. I hope through my stories and other encouraging stories of hope through grief, you will not feel alone. I hope this blog will offer others a chance for healing and light. Take this light and let its healing energy burn in you bright and strong. If you would like to take part in this blog, please tell me your story. You can use the questions below as aguide to help you tell your story. If you have a blog, website, or have published works, please let us know this as well. I also need an email address, so I can get written consent from your prior to posting your blog entry. You may also send one or two photos that will accompany your blog. Queestions: 1. Your name, age and gender 2. Who was the loved one that died? 3. How did they die and when? You do not need to give all details, just general information. This part is hard for many to write, so if you choose to not complete this part fully, that is ok. 3. How did your initially grieve? 4. How has death changed you? 5. How do you deal with the loss now? Blessings, Christina Ruotolo

Memories of Mom and Dad

I was one of those naive people that believed my parents were immortal, even though my biggest fear in life has always and still is the death of my parents. It was something I used to have nightmares about. I would wake-up covered in sweat screaming in the darkness of the night for them. I was afraid they were dead and I would never get to hug them again. Once I knew it was only a dream, my mom would lie next to me, hold me close and whisper in my ear, "don't worry sweetie, I'm not going to leave you for a long, long time." Then, she would rub my sweaty hair from my head and hum as I felt back to sleep. Maybe this fear of death is why I was never a good sleeper and slept on the floor in a sleeping bag in my parents’ bedroom for more years that I would like to admit to. I felt safe next to them. I knew if they were there, nothing bad could happen to me. My parents were everything to me; the two most wonderful people that graced this planet. I have never known two more loving, generous, kind, selfless people that my mom and dad. They taught me so many things. They taught me how to be a better person by helping feed the homeless, or getting less presents at Christmas, so others who were less fortunate could have more under their tree. They taught me how to love people the right way, and we never ended a phone call or visit without saying "I love you." They taught me how to show kindness, give to others in need when I can and not judge people because you never know what things they are secretly dealing with. They also taught me to value friendship, to be how to be respectful, and to be kind to even your worst enemies, because they are probably hurting inside and dealing with things we may not realize. They wanted me and my brother to grow up with love and compassion in our hearts for ourselves and for others. With compassion and love for life and people, we would succeed in this world and they said, that is what they wanted to teach us. If you were lucky enough to know my dad, then you knew you would never go hungry. This was the Italian way and my dad lived this philosophy until his final days. If you needed food, he would show up with bags of canned chicken, rice, soup, and especially bags of toilet paper. My dad also had a little hoarding problem with buying socks and underwear, so if any of my brother's friends, or my boyfriend came over, they always left with a bag of new underwear and socks. I laugh when I think about this, and I think I finally understand what dad was doing. Not only did dad want to feed your soul with food, he also wanted to make sure your butt was always clean, and your feet were always warm. I guess now that I think about it, this must be the recipe for a good life. I know this sounds strange, but I have been blessed the last 15 years since I moved away for college, with never having to buy my own toilet paper. Every time mom and dad would come for a visit, or I would go home, I always left with canned chicken and toilet paper. I just looked in my pantry last week, and cried when I saw the last 12 pack of toilet paper sitting there, sad and lonely on the bottom shelf. It made me sad to think after it's gone; a piece of him will be gone from my home. I am contemplating whether I should keep just one roll and encase in a plastic cube with a mini hammer and a sign that says "in case of emergency, break and use- Love dad."

If you were lucky enough to know my mom, then you knew, you had a steadfast friend and supporter for life. My mom was a cheerleader for everyone who was lucky enough to know her. She was generous, kind, loving, protective, supportive, and made sure everyone else's needs were met before she did anything for herself. My mom was that mother who worked a full-time job, and would be up until 3am frosting 100 cupcakes for the bake sale or baking her famous "Yankee Bean bake," for all her friends when they celebrated something great, or mourned the loss of a loved one. My mom loved books and once she read a great book, would often give it away so someone else could enjoy the journey. Mom would be so tired when she put me to bed for the 5th time, but always had the strength to read me as many bedtime stories as I wanted. As a child, she was poor, and they did not have enough money for books, so she spent many of her days huddled in the corners of the library reading everything she could get her hands on. When she had children, she told me I could always have a book, and many times I chose a book over a toy, because it meant so much more. I like to think this is why I am a writer, because mom was generous enough to give me the gift of stories. My mom was also a skilled multi-tasker, managing to run a large department at her job with ease and efficiency. Many people told me how much she did for that company and her employees that went above and beyond her role. I was in awe of her every time I watched her in action. I would see her sitting in a navy blue chair in her office the size of a closet typing away on one project and taking to a client on her earpiece. Then, she would run to the copier, grab a paper off of it, run back to her computer, and furiously type things in in one foul swoop. No matter how cluttered her desk was, she knew exactly where everything was at. She also made sure every employee felt important. She was secret Santa every year to the dozens of workers, making sure they had a little something special in their box for several weeks. She would give them note cards, fuzzy socks, bookmarks, books, mini snow globes or mini stockings filled with the "good chocolate." Mom always wanted people to feel special. She gave gifts that always had meaning behind them. I cherished our shopping trips, which happened often. We would be in a store, and she would be looking for a specific kind of candy or a particular item at Hallmark, because she had overheard a friend/employee say he/she liked that item. She wanted to surprise them with it, even if there was no special occasion attached to it. Mom was also involved in so many charities and events around town; she spread herself thin, but loved every minute of being a Red Hat member, a Dazzling Diva, or raising money for the Red Cross and serving on their board. She even was a Senior Reagent with the Moose Club. I am now a proud member too!

So, as dad made sure your belly was fed, butt was clean, and feet were warm, mom showered you with the warmth of a hug, a special treat, and a warm heart and you knew you had a friend for life. The last few months, my brother and I have had the daunting task of cleaning our parent’s house out. It is a small, modest brick home; with very few updates that had been made in the 42 years that they lived there. As I sift through the boxes of memories and find cards people wrote mom thanking her for a gift or a note to dad thanking him for a good deed, I finally realize the answers to so many questions that I had over the years. Why did they not get a new washer and dryer when the old one broke? They knew the lady who owned a local laundry mat and supported her business by going to do their laundry there every Saturday. They didn't own nice furnishing, just basic tables and chairs, and a non-formal, brown couch. My mom and dad shared one car for years so my brother and I had reliable cars when we moved away for college. They wanted to make sure we had money for groceries or enough money to take piano lessons, or buy art supplies drum sticks or enough money to go on the class field trip to DC. This is why they went without getting the dishwasher fixed, instead washing the dishes by hand with no complaining. My parents lived without many things, so others could live "with." Today, I thank them and remember them every time I pass rows of toilet paper or sock displays in stores, or feel it in my heart when I volunteer at the shelter or give my friend a special gift, I know they really wanted. As I pack my bags for my up-coming trip to France tomorrow, I made sure to pack a bookmark and writer's kit mom gave me, and plenty of the socks and underwear dad gave me. I may still be lacking a proper French vocabulary, and my Yoga is still a little wobbly, but my soul will be fed by the food of France, my butt will be clean and my feet, toasty warm. Thanks Mom and Dad. Bon Voyage! 8-5-2014