Making New Christmas Memories

So after the past few days of tears and grieving for Christmases past, I am ready to make new memories. Talking about that grief lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. I am surprised how good I feel this morning. (I know, I have the month of December to go, but I feel I made a great break through. It still won’t be easy. I can do it and, do it well!)

The neighbors across the street put up more lighted decorations yesterday and their place looks great. I want lights, too, especially now that I have a cute farmer’s porch to make pretty. Colored lights bring me joy. I loved my summer solar lights – brought inside for the winter as they are not receiving enough sunlight. Now it’s time for holiday lights.

I threw out many big boxes of Christmas decorations when I moved; all the old lights, ornaments, and garland of the past 20 years along with a four-foot tree. (I had a lot of stuff!) I kept only a couple of small items and a fake wreath. I don’t regret getting rid of the old. It’s one thing to have nice memories, but I don’t need a constant reminder of what was. It’s time for changes.

Now I have to buy new decorations – not a lot. Maybe I’ll even get a small tree for inside. I ordered a few things online and I’m eagerly awaiting their arrival. Small steps, as right at this moment, I am still planning on spending Christmas day alone. Still, I can surround myself with beauty. That I can do.

Being around others on Christmas day will take a lot of courage and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. The last thing I’d want to do is to have a meltdown in front of grandchildren. I don’t feel comfortable around excited, happy people on this day. But I’m getting better.

I really am making new Christmas memories.

Grieving for Christmases Past

I’ve been an emotional wreck these past three days. For three days, I’ve spent the mornings dissolved in tears; my heart ripped open bleeding more tears into my soul, and my head pounding from the stress. 

I’ve struggled with the holidays since my mother’s passing in 2011, but this year it sneaked up on me. I thought I was OK. This is my second holiday season in a house that does not have memories of her (except for her picture which I keep close by where she can watch me working). I have a lot going on and I keep happily busy.

Thanksgiving morning it hit me as I wondered if my sons would call to wish me a happy day. I’m usually the one to call them first, but on holidays, I would like them to call me. My oldest messaged to wish me a happy day and somehow that set me to thinking about past holidays and how, since my mother passed away, I choose to isolate.

Today it dawned on me that my vision of Christmas morning is of our house in Kensington with the tree in front of the picture window and sparkly garland tacked around the main living spaces. Presents (we always went overboard at Christmas) would extend from under the tree, to in front of the TV and fireplace, into corners of the living room. I picture my dad standing tall in his green, black, and white plaid flannel shirt, my brother and his wife, and the aunts and uncles. Mum and I would be in the kitchen getting dinner ready; the aromas of roasting turkey and various vegetables and more wafting through the house. And my sons would show up with wives and grandkids. 

Christmas was basically the same year after year – it was Christmas. It had been that way since I was young and Don and I were the only kids. But changes came as changes do. The older people started leaving one by one. My mum and I tried to carry on, but others wanted their own Christmas celebrations at their own homes on Christmas day. Yes, we were invited, but mum was stubborn and would not leave the house and I guess I’ve picked up that same trait.

So, five years after my mother’s passing, I realize I’m not just grieving losing her (and having her pass on Christmas Day!), I’m grieving for all our Christmases past ... because they can never be the same. I have total respect for other family members making their own choices. I certainly make my choices and stand by them. 

There’s no going back. New Christmas memories need to be made and while I may still choose to be alone Christmas day, today I have a better understanding of the grief encompassing me around the holidays. I’m getting better. 

A Brief Exploration of Grief

I start my morning pages and the subject of grief permeates my thoughts. Yes, it’s Mother’s Day, and I miss my mum so much, but that’s not what today’s subject is about – not totally.

This is also a continuation of yesterday’s “Chasing the High.” Questions arise. What is the opposite of that high? Is it grief? Grief over what? I let my mind sink into the topic. What makes people unhappy? And when they are unhappy most of the time and the deep-down unhappiness outweighs the good times, what then? Does it turn into grief and the grief turns into frustration and anger and then people need to medicate to feel good?

It does seem like this is a trend and what makes it harder, and the worst, is that most people can’t talk about it. Oh, they might gripe and groan over a situation, but they seldom let themselves admit fully how they feel. They let off steam, but bottle up the true turmoil until there is an explosion or they break down and turn to other ways to numb the pain.

 They can’t talk about it because they can’t really identify what it is. And that’s because it’s emotional; it’s that stuff we bury inside, we hide, and while there are similarities in us, emotions can be very individual.  

Where does the grief come from? Fear is the major base of negativity. What do we fear? That we won’t get chosen for the team? That others won’t like us? That the thing we want most, we can never have? The list can go on and on, some items could turn up on everyone’s list, however, the disappointments pile up. Disappointment on disappointment and we strive harder after that proverbial carrot.

Even those who seem popular suffer the same fears. Celebrities will occasionally talk about stage fright, but for the most part, everyone will try to put on a “public face” for the outside world. They bottle up their fears and frustrations and after time, those feeling will either erupt in an angry outburst or they will fester, turn sour, and become grief for all the things they could never have, never accomplish, never become. Inside becomes one big pit of despair with occasional moments or a high depending on each person’s life.

Again, I feel I am just touching the outside edges of the situation. Emotions are so interwoven with the fabric of life. It’s what makes us human and it’s what makes it so hard to understand. We, as humans, are also interwoven and yet, we are individuals. We are not cookie cutter (to use the popular term).  

So what does this mean? The challenge can seem insurmountable. I know I am developing my own way of dealing with issues. I listen to people’s stories. I tell my own stories. There is a connectedness within this fabric of life and I believe the answers lie there. Not one single answer, but perhaps more the tools we need to help us be whole and balanced. 

I truly believe that the more we can talk, the more we heal, and in the talking and healing, we are not only healing ourselves, but we are helping others heal, too. This doesn’t mean we can go and talk to just anyone. We need to find those we feel safe with to talk about issues. 

I don’t know why I know what I do, but these concepts have been building in me for a long time. Maybe it’s because I’ve been studying life for a long time. I’m just going about it in an untraditional method – because I no longer trust the commercialized, conventional ways (which is another entirely different subject).

And again, I’m just touching on topics. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the entire issue. Perhaps this is stuff that can only be taken in bits and pieces. I’m learning. I remember a conversation, read something, or see something and my mind mulls on it and I have to interpret it into my language. This might be a key. Something is said and I don’t have to do it exactly as the next person, but I can take the concept and make it fit who I am.

Think about it. What do you grieve and what have you done to heal it?

A Year of Letting Go

I wanted to wait until year’s end before thinking about what 2015 meant and set goals for 2016 and now that it is New Year’s Eve, my mind is relatively blank. This is unusual after the gush of words this past week. Am I all worded out?

My plan this morning was to list my goals for the coming year, but I realize that I should close out 2015 first. What has 2015 meant for and to me? It certainly has been a highly emotional year.

The major highlights included the trip to Florida in late January-early February, the selling of the Bradford house in June, and the finding, purchase, and move to the house in Hillsboro in late August. The settling into the home the latter four months of the year have left me feeling shaken up, turned inside-out, and thrown down. My head is still spinning. The pieces haven’t settled (picture a snow globe). I struggle to get back on my feet.

2015 has certainly been a year of letting go. That letting go started on the trip south when plans changed. I had to let go of the preconceived goals and get into my usual ability to be spontaneous. Then on Mother’s Day, an unexpected turn of events led a buyer to the Bradford house. I wanted to move, but there was always the question of whether I’d pull it off. With a buyer showing up at my door out of the blue, I let the signs fall and grabbed the opportunity.

Then came the huge task of downsizing. Talk about letting go! There were years of accumulation – of mine, plus some of my mother’s stuff. What do I get rid of? How do I let it go? Thankfully, I had help, lots of help. I could never have done it on my own. Much was given away and thrown away. It was heartbreaking, but I had to do it. I had to close down and not allow myself to feel to get it done.

Finding a new home came down to the wire. I had to be out of Bradford by the end of August and I managed to pull it off (again with lots of help and support). It wasn’t my dream house. It wasn’t where I wanted to be. And again, I had to let go. I had let go of that dream of what my perfect house would be and change the plan to what I could live with.

I moved in with boxes packed just about floor to ceiling and spread out into the yard – far too many possessions which meant more stuff had to go. It was hard. Some things tore my heart strings to put out to the curb free for the taking. I watched possessions walk away or get thrown away. I could not keep everything. I had to let them go.

It took a few months, but I began feeling better about the entire experience. I started feeling settled in my smaller home. Then came Christmas; a time of year especially difficult for me. As I sat alone on Christmas Day, there came even more letting go as I realized that situations and beliefs that I’d held onto these past years were really not valid anymore and it was time to let those go. 

Wow! It feels like a lot of the old has washed away. I’m standing on the precipice of a new year and I’m not even sure where it will take me. This letting go process of 2015 has left me feeling more open and free. I face 2016 with excitement and butterflies in my stomach. After all this letting go, what will the coming year fill me with?

Cannot Move Forward Holding Too Much onto the Past

I spent yesterday, Christmas Day, exactly as I planned… but something shifted within me as the day went on.

I wrote the morning journal pages and blogged. I posted a Merry Christmas to all on Facebook. Then I cleaned of the table and got out the game of yap. This was my mom’s favorite and after her passing on Christmas Day 2011, the ensuing Christmas Days were spent playing as three people – as if she, my aunt, and I were playing the game just like we used to. It was my way of honoring their memory, especially my mom’s. She would like that.

However, within half an hour, or less, of playing yesterday, I was bored. I’ve never been bored playing yap before. I even talked with them about “their” plays, but for some reason, my heart wasn’t in it. This year, it felt meaningless. It didn’t feel like they were with me.

What did that mean? Does it mean that it really is time for me to let go? Ma certainly wouldn’t want me pining myself away over her memory. I certainly miss her every day of my life, but perhaps I no longer need to honor her by playing a game. The honor is in always loving her. She was my mum and there’s something special, so very special about mothers.

Maybe it’s about layers. Yes, there was a letting go a couple years ago when we scattered their ashes in the Merrimac River at Salisbury Beach Reservation, but I still held onto her. There has been the getting rid of possessions; a little each year, but I still held on to her. This year was a big letting go when I sold the house where she and I last lived together; a place where my heart wrenched every time I looked out the window at the flower garden I’d made for her.

This new home is another phase of the letting go process. I’ve spent the past few months getting rid of excess possessions. But mum and I ourselves have to move on and how can I do so if I am not willing to let her go? I will always honor my mother and will always love her and miss her forever. I will keep her picture nearby, but I no longer need to let the grief of her loss cripple me. I have to let her go. She needs to move on, too. 

I’m still processing this. Yesterday, another Christmas of letting her go. And yet, there is more of a release and understanding. I’ve run out of words to explain this. I’m sure I’ll come up with more the next few days.

I tried to write a poem:

Holding on to Her

Her consciousness slipped away

I clung to her hand

patted her arm 

wept, and held onto her 

Next morning phone call

she was gone

peacefully, the voice said

broken, I held onto her

Time passed

I got rid of her possessions 

I did not need

in memories, I held on to her 

A couple years went by

she asked to go home

ashes spread

I still held on to her

The house we shared sold

I moved away from sights

that brought tearful memories

struggling, I still held onto her

Downsizing more

possessions all mine

another Christmas arrived

I fought to hold onto her

A difference sparks:

she is not here

I cling, I cry

and desperately hold on

A subtle time-space shift 

a moment of release

she will always be part of me

but I no longer have to hold on

She is my mother

I will always love her

and I will miss her forever 

I set her free

I love you, Mum.

    ---Sasha Wolfe 2015

I’m not totally happy with this poem…

I AM Somebody Even When I’m Alone

This morning I was journaling about being alone on Christmas Day to play my mother’s favorite game. I set up three sets as if she, my aunt and her twin Margaret, and I are playing and I take turns playing for the three of us. This is my way of honoring them; especially my mother, and I’ve done this for the past years since her passing on Christmas Day 2011.

Yet, even though I look forward to doing this, there is still part of me that feels lonely about spending Christmas alone. I insist on doing it this way and I am stubborn about it! On this, I am not willing to give in. 

So, while writing about this in my journal, I also got into how Ma always seemed to need people around her to make her happy. Did this mean she was an unhappy person on the inside, that she needed others’ attention and company to make her feel worthwhile? Is this why I am so adamant about my solitude?

How unhappy was my mother? Was she? I know Don and I were her life, along with her twin and brother. And of course, this wasn’t anything she would ever discuss… these types of things were secrets, not to be talked about. (Again, is this one of the reasons why I spend so much time researching emotions and the whys behind them?) 

Did my mother only define herself by who was around her? Did she need us to make her feel like she was somebody? Did she feel useless when she was alone? Maybe this is why I feel the need to define myself and acknowledge that I am OK alone as well as when I am with others.

I may be sad and in tears while writing about this, but I also find it very interesting. Is there a part of me deep down that knows my mother was in those places of sadness when she was alone? Of course, as a child, I wouldn’t know that, but now… is that why it is so important to me to play “her” game and insist on my solitude? There is that part of me that feels I need to prove to others that I am OK being alone, that I need solitude – and I do – but it must be balanced with the company of family and good friends.

So, once more I get a bit of understanding, a little snigget of wisdom, in this journey of humanness. 

There’s something about the love of one’s mother… I miss her so much!

Decorating for the Holidays

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and a time when many start putting up Christmas decorations. Years ago, I waited until the first of December, but I have to admit, it is nice to have pretty lights shining when the days darken early. The few times I am out after dark, those lights bring joy during the cold, dark winter.

Christmas changed throughout the years once the kids grew up and moved out. I used to go all out decorating, but when people stopped visiting, I lost interest. It didn’t seem worth the effort for Mum and me and by that time, she no longer cared either. Then her passing away on a Christmas Day totally destroyed any joy I had around the holiday. (Tears are falling even in the writing of these few lines. For me, my mother WAS Christmas! Four years later and the thought of Christmas without my mother is still unbearable.)

But I am healing. Last year I got back into sending cards. Christmas cards are time consuming because it is important to me to handwrite a personal message in almost every one and the bonus was that these were Christmas cards that I made from photographs I had taken. This is my gift, my giving.

The year 2015 brought more major life-change with the big move and downsize. Boxes of Christmas ornaments, fake trees, and decorations went in the dumpster or were put curbside, free for the taking. And there were boxes! At one time, I had almost an entire corner of the basement in Bradford full of Christmas supplies; some still in individual boxes, only used once. All are gone now except for a dozen small pieces.

And so, I sit in this new home, this home where I did not live with Ma (except I have her picture placed so she is looking at me most of the day). Yesterday, I pulled out the decorations that are left and last night I plugged in the little lighted purple Christmas tree and today I hung a wreath on the front door.

The few decorations I saved are two stuffed Christmas unicorns, three ceramic rocking horses (I’ve always loved horses), and a few purple and pink ornaments. Did I get rid of too much? I’ll have to see how December proceeds and how I feel.

My emotions, at the moment, are all over the place. Part of me wants a new beginning. Part of me still feels empty and lost. I think I need to find a new meaning for Christmas… new for me because the Christmases of the past are no longer, nor can they be. And for this year, I still choose to be alone.

Transforming another Old Writing

Here is another piece I came across while going through old files. It was written after my last boyfriend left. I like it. The words speak volumes and transcend many kinds of loss.

Twenty Hours into the Grief

The moon shines through my window like a huge street lamp. Full, the rays spread out over the land, and if it were warmer, it would be a good night to dance naked.

I can’t, though. Not tonight. Not when my heart is aching and I am feeling such a loss. Not when my soul suffers the fresh scars of emptiness and abandonment. The lure of the moonlight is only a tease of what could have been.

She reaches for me. She wants to hold me, envelop me until I am well. She wants to tell me that I am finally free; free to be me, free to do what I want. 

But for now, the grief is too heavy. Her arms are not real arms; warm arms, human arms. Her arms are not the solid arms that once held me tight and made me feel safe and loved.

How can I possibly think of freedom when I am feeling terribly alone? I want to be held, but there is no one to “snuggy” me. I am alone in this big king-size bed feeling the loss. I can still smell his scent on the other pillow. Part of me feels numb, empty. Grief feels frozen on my skin.

There were things I loved about him besides the “snugginess.” He’d pat me like a cat until I practically purred. He played with my hair with a comforting touch.

He had his own special names for me. I don’t think he ever called me by my real name. When we were first together, he called me, “Girly,” until the other guys at work did so, too. When we were alone, he called me, “Tit-kit-pussy” and “Woofie.” Most of the time, he called me, “Poffie” (his spelling for it although he pronounced it “Poofie”). It was kind of endearing the way he’d say these names. Sometimes he called me “Piglet” or “Pig-head.” He didn’t use his demeaning voice, but I wasn’t too fond of these latter two names. 

I wonder what he calls his new love. I hope he uses new names for her.

Later tonight, the moon will pass over the house as I lie in bed. I’ll be able to see Her light through the skylight. She will remind me of things I am when I cannot sleep during these long dark hours. And although I will not fully listen, I am glad She is here.

I don’t want to think because to think is to feel and be lonely. Instead, I just might float on endless moonbeams hoping to get lost – but knowing I won’t. Perhaps, for now, floating in oblivion would be a good thing.

For over 20 years, my weekends and vacations were devoted to him. It feels strange not to have that to look forward to any more. What will weekends mean to me now? What will I do for vacations? It feels strange. What do I have to look forward to?

I have always wanted to hike, but he never wanted to. This could be my year for hiking.

There are all the art projects sitting in various stages of work in progress and ideas never put into reality. Maybe I can be the artist I always wanted to be.

I will let myself dream on the moonbeams and forget this loss. I am glad he moved on. Now I can, too.

Looking back on that night; that night over15 years ago, that night – I still remember how it felt as if it was yesterday, and yet, it almost feels like it happened to someone else. That me back then, that isn’t quite me, and yet, is me and the same me of today. I still feel the emotion because feelings of loss and abandonment are always recognizable and transcend time. I can change a few words and a bit of the situation and it is another loss with the same type of feelings. 

Monday Morning Blues Blog

April 7 and the bird feeders are out. I only put them out when I am sitting here and can keep an eye on them. Just a week or so ago, I thought it would be May before all the snow melted, but a surprisingly amount has melted within a week. The majority of the field is now bare and half the back yard. The front yard is still buried because tall spruce trees block the morning sun.

It now really feels like spring and I remember my first spring here in Bradford in 2007. I’d never been a gardener, but when Ma and I bought this house with its little greenhouse on the side, I thought I’d start. I went out and bought wagons and gardening tools and by March of that year when the snow melted, I was outside in the gardens pulling away the past years of neglect and the winter debris. There were 10 sections of fence along what we called the Long Garden and as I had 10 grandchildren, I named each section after a grandchild.

As more snow melted, I cleaned more of the area until it the groundcover vinca was clear of old leaves and twigs. New shoots of… lilies, probably, as I wasn’t sure what else was in the garden. What a time of discovery waiting to see what would come up and blossom. I checked the guidebooks often and began making charts and drawings of each section and noting what plants grew there.

May came and Ma and I visited nurseries and bought flowering plants. She loved annuals and I preferred perennials. I lined the front walkway with pansies, gerbera daisies, and marigolds. I planted a variety of azaleas. The section around the deck outside Ma’s room and around a nearby tree, I made into gardens for her. Later in the year, I dug up excess day lilies and made other gardens around the property and for that year, Ma would walk around the yard and check on my progress. She, who once had fabulous flower gardens in the yard no longer wanted to do the work. However, she still always asked for lawn ornaments for birthdays and Christmas.

The next year, she sat on the deck or watched from the window while I worked. I’d put the rows of little feeders and lawn ornaments along the walkways and in areas where she still could see them. Her interest waned and I was finding I did not like gardening so much. I love flowers and plants and I love the excitement of spring when new shoots first start showing, but once it starts getting buggy and hot, I don’t like being outside. Plus, the type of work I do (art and writing) mostly keeps me inside.

Ma declined and my interest in doing any gardening dropped further. After her passing on Christmas Day 2011, I don’t even like going out in the yard any more. I go out long enough to put up a couple of bird feeders. I look around and see the fancy feeders and other lawn things she loved and that I never took care of and my eyes fill with tears. It breaks my heart to be out there because I look around seeing the things we bought together. I keep thinking that I will fix the things that are deteriorated or broken. They could still be useful. Yes, I feel guilty, but I just can’t…

And so, it is coming up to the anniversary of her birth and we are planning a memorial service. We will spread her ashes at her most favorite place, a place of her childhood, one she spoke of often. A final goodbye and I will return to this house that no longer holds joy for me.

I have to get away from this house! It’s time for me to move on, too.

The Ultimate Letting Go

Yesterday, as I was driving to drop off pictures, it hit me. Last year, I had visited my brother and his wife while they were camping at a place that had been the childhood home of my mother’s family. Should we have scattered Ma's and Margaret's ashes? I started to cry thinking about it and tears are flowing now as I write this. That would really be finally letting them go, letting my mother go. Can I do that?

Both my mother and her twin talked often of Butler’s Toothpick, a landmark on the river where they grew up. They had fond memories and as they got old, they’d often talk about their childhood saying they’d like to see the area one last time before they died. It never happened. I never found the time to take them. Margaret passed in 2010 and my mother on Christmas Day 2011.

They would be so happy to have that childhood area be their final resting place. I know they'd be pleased that we would do that for them?  But can I? Can I let her go?

I do have guilt because we never had a memorial service for my mother. My aunt had had her wish of a military service although I kept some of her ashes in a little urn in my mother’s room because she also wanted to be with her twin. My mother never wanted a wake or anything. I couldn't put one together although my son had planned a speech. Emotionally, I couldn't do it and I don't think my brother could have. I had told my sons we would do something in warmer weather, but of course, I never did. I couldn't. I couldn’t and not fall totally apart. So, she, too, is in a box on special shelf I set up.

Am I stupid for hanging on to them? Am I being selfish keeping them here? This place meant nothing to them whereas their hearts were in Salisbury where they grew up. My original plans had me planting them in the flower garden when I get a new “forever home,” but that's stupid, too, because that wouldn't be THEIR home. And then when something happens to me, then what? They would be stuck in some place that meant nothing to them. It's selfish of me to want that. I have memories and pictures. I don't need to keep their ashes and at this moment, it feels wrong to do so.

And what about my phenomenal cat Freyja, whom I lost this past summer? She was part of the lives of the three of us and she is also in a box on that special shelf unit in the back room. I think she is with them in spirit, so can I let her go physically with them?

So now, I am wondering if we should do this for them. Should we make their final resting place one which gave them wonderful memories? It would be most difficult for me, but I think it's selfish of me to be hanging onto them like this. I need to let them go.

BUT, this would be the ultimate of letting her go!

Sometimes doing the right thing hurts really bad. My heart bleeds…