One Week Later... Expressions of Grief

It's been a little over a week since Mom died. At first, I thought my grief wouldn't be so bad. I had spent so much time with her that I didn't have any regrets. I said good-bye to her multiple times, in different ways. And I knew that she was going to be in a better place, with her arm and all of her other issues finally healed.

In fact, I was a little concerned that I wasn't more upset. There were times I thought that something might be wrong with me. 

I think it was at least partially because I stayed incredibly busy with her Celebration of Life. I can't let anything be the standard if I can help it... I must make it special, even over-the-top. 

So, not only did I pick out (and edit!) photos for her slideshow that would run during the service, I ended up with about 340! Not only did I choose what she would wear, I put a lot of thought into it. She had already picked out the gown she wanted to wear (of course, she wanted to be comfortable) but I put a lot of thought into which robe and slippers to get for her. 

Someone in my household had joked about giving out dominoes to remember her by... and so I once again went above and beyond. My husband said we should write her name on each domino. That sounded like a great idea and I realized it wasn't enough.

I thought we could add a saying on each domino along with her name. Then I went even crazier. I used AI programs and searched with many keywords to find very short expressions (dominoes are tiny) that summed up her characteristics. I ended up writing tiny phrases and Mom's name on about 90 dominoes!

One day when we were discussing the Celebration of Life, I shared my first post in this series with her, "The Roller Coaster of the End of Life." I just wanted it to be a sweet moment between us. To my surprise, she insisted that I read it during the service. She had wanted all four of us siblings to speak... instead, I chose to sign the song "Scars in Heaven" by Casting Crowns. She wanted me to do both.

It was an incredibly long post (which you know if you read it) so I needed to edit it. Add that to practicing the song, which had a lot of metaphors that I had to translate into ASL and learn several new signs.

Then I decided I really wanted to add "Make it Well," by MercyMe, which meant another song to learn to sign. I decided to sing it too (with the regular track) so that was a challenge as sometimes the signs don't match the words.

But the big project was her program (I never did figure out what to call it.) I found a copy of my dad's and realized that it was very, um, basic. It did the job, but that was it. Mom wasn't basic in any way. Her program had to be much more. 

Instead of four pages (regular paper folded in half, front and back), I did eight. The first page had her picture, dates of birth and death, and the service time and place. The second page was what went on during the program (which was a debacle in itself) and a thank you for those who interpreted the service for my Deaf friends.

The third (or seventh depending on how you looked at it) was the lyrics for "Scars in Heaven." That song fit Mom so well that I wanted everyone to be able to read it. The last page listed the pallbearers, a thank you to everyone who came, and a note about how people could download any of the pics from the service from my website (after all, many of them were in them with Mom). 

The insert included special photos of Mom on one side and the obituary on the other, each basically taking up two pages.

Even with Canva, it was a lot. I'm very perfectionistic when it comes to work like that and there were several changes that meant I had to redo parts I had already finished. 

Then there was the paper issue. I had card stock I planned to use to print it, but it was a cream color, and the photos and graphics looked washed out. It wasn't expensive to buy some white card stock, so I did... three times. The first was out of stock. The second never showed. So, it took three tries to get it. I was nervous that I wouldn't get it in time, but I did.

Thank goodness there wasn't an issue with the ink. ;-)

Anyway, I didn't mean to go into all that. I just wanted you to know how busy I've been - and why I wasn't grieving. I had too much to focus on.

Then the service was over, and I felt lost.

I was on our worship team that week and even though I didn't feel a bit like going to practice, I went.

However, on Sunday morning, I woke up with my stomach absolutely killing me. I think it was the stress of the week plus extreme exhaustion after the adrenaline was finally gone that got to me. I wanted to play so badly... it was the first time in, well, in decades since I was on a team in another life, that I could go to church without worrying about Mom. 

But I couldn't go. I felt so nauseated I had to put a garbage can by the bed. I ended up staying in bed until my husband got home from church and he wanted to eat lunch together. I still felt bad but sleeping all morning gave me some energy and I was able to get up and do a few things that afternoon.

Was that an expression of grief?

That I still can't sleep through the night just like when she was so bad that someone had to be with her all of the time - is that another expression of grief?

In fact, was staying so busy with everything that didn't actually have to be done - but I felt it had to be done - last week also an expression of grief?

Of course, I have the "typical" expressions of grief... wanting to tell her good news, and then crying when I realize I will never get to do that again; wanting to ask her opinion, and then crying when I realize I will never get to do that again; wanting to find out what she wants for supper, and then crying when I realize I will never get to do that again.

I've been going through her clothes. It has to be done and I'm the one to do it. I'm keeping more than I imagined I would. My daughter had a good point and one that after she shared the idea, I remembered I did it with her baby clothes. We keep anything we might want. We can always donate some of it later - but we can't ever go back and get the things that we remember her by once we've given them away. 

In fact, being so methodical when going through all her things - is that one more expression of grief?

I have one more thing I want to share before I leave this and get back to all the different expressions of grieving... one of the last really fun things that Mom and I did together were to pick out some new glasses online for her. Totally unlike the past, well, I guess all the pairs of glasses she had ordered before, she wanted something fun.

We ended up picking out purple, octagonal oversized glasses. It took a couple of weeks to get them. I was so worried that she would pass away before she ever got to wear them.

In fact, it ended up that she was able to. She got them on about the third day of her last few weeks - when we all knew it was a matter of time. She looked so cute in them! We took several pictures and showed them off any time a friend came by to visit (to say good-bye). She loved them so much.

However, as much as I wanted to keep them, I knew that I probably could get a refund for them. After all, she didn't need them and they cost about $100. That much money is a big deal for us. So, I went the practical route and got on a chat with Zenni, where she bought them, to see if an exception could be made on the return policy since it was slightly after a month.

During the chat, I realized that it was going to be much, much harder than I thought to send them back. But I was torn - the money was important too. After all, I had the memory... did I really need the tangible glasses?

I knew I did.

So, I was brave and I asked if I could have the refund and still keep the glasses. I reminded the person that was helping me (who was AMAZING, by the way) that they would just be destroyed anyway. They couldn't reuse them at all. In fact, they would lose money because they would provide the shipping label. 

I did this while I was ugly crying. Of course, it was a chat. She couldn't see or hear my ugly crying. But she felt my heart.

At first, she didn't think she could do it, but she tried. I asked if she could talk to her supervisor about my situation and see if an even greater exception could be made. 

AND THEY DID IT! 

It's truly one of the happiest moments I've had in the last month or so. I'm so thankful to Zenni for listening to me, empathizing with my situation, and giving me both what I needed and what I wanted.

Just another expression of grief... but this one turned into joy.

Maybe that's what happens as time passes. More and more of these expressions of grief turn into joy. Instead of being sad that I'll never see Mom in her favorite robe again, I'll be able to smile about the times I did see her in it. Instead of being sad that I can't talk to her anymore, I can be happy about the many conversations we had. 

And even though I might not get to see her wear the glasses that we had so much fun picking out ever again, I will always have the memory of that day and how cute she looked when she finally got to put them on. 

Maybe there is hope, peace and joy even within the expressions of grief.