Grieving....Just Grieving...

“Grief is the conflicting feelings caused by the end of or change in a familiar pattern of behaviour.”

My life has changed drastically in the last 6 months. My mom’s passing in November started a tidal wave of events and ideas that hit me hard, throwing me around, and leaving me feeling confused, lost and helpless.

At 61 years old, I feel grief for the first time in my life. My valued Rabbi and good friend, Tina said to me “This is not new grief, Amy.” I didn’t know what that meant when she first said it to me. I am beginning to think I do now.

 

I have come to understand that, for me, grief is about loss. My mom’s passing created an explosion that grew into a massive sense of loss. I will never have a verbal conversation with my mom again. My brothers and I will never share sibling play and have fun together without screens. My son and I will continue to struggle to relate to each other with any kind of depth and meaningful authentic conversations. I will never win the “Teacher of Year” award. I will never finish a marathon. I probably will never see China or Japan. There just isn’t enough time in my life to do those things that I might love to do, and that aren’t necessarily a priority.

I’m guessing that grief takes many shapes and forms. It happens at all ages and in various ways. How we experience grief varies depending on who we each are and what we’re ready to embrace and feel.

Grief is mostly about dealing with loss. When my dad died in 1999 I experienced a tremendous sadness. I suffered for many weeks. I cried a lot then and found so much comfort in my familial and spiritual communities. I think, though, that, at that time I was not ready to really experience grief. Grief is different.

People say “Grief subsides with time.” “It gets easier.” I am finding that this is not to be true. In fact, I’m finding that this is a unique characteristic of grief. Grief is forever. It’s about loss and, in fact, mostly the loss of those things that I never really had in the first place. In terms of longings that I’ve held onto for my whole life, grief presents the realization that I never will have them. As I age into my elder years, mortality presents itself and I must let go of those things for which I no longer I have the time or the passion. My teaching practice has grown into a series of workshops and a commitment to school boards for training. My marathon run has morphed into Yoga, swimming bicycling, walking, and climbing and maintaining physical strength. My relationship with my children is no longer daily, but involves constant attempts to gather together at some time during the year and ongoing visits with individuals when we can.

 

As I let go slowly and surely, I leave myself open to receive. And, as I transition into older age, there is so much left to embrace. Changes, yes! Changes that will enhance, fulfill and help me grow. Grief doesn’t go away, and, in some ways, it can help me to feel more complete.

In just a few more weeks, Paul and I move into our new, beautiful house, leaving our Yurtville space open, free for retreat and peaceful sanctuary. In the physical realm, at least, it is a sign for a new beginning. And I welcome that with an open heart and mind

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A Naomi Meditation

My life is changed forever! It will never be the same…and it’s all because of you, Naomi! You actually changed my life!!!!!

Meditation takes many forms. For a week in the fall and several days in the spring, my meditation takes the form of oyster shell cleaning. I’ve been doing this for several years now, ever since I discovered a natural and unique way to adorn our outside garden.

It started when I fell in love with your and Eli’s gardens. Various flowers grow wildly all over the property. Fresh vegetables of all sorts and gorgeous lush berry bushes are all encased in unique and creative fencing, lovingly built by Eli. He is such an exceptional and accomplished wood sculptor and as I walk through your property, I am amazed at the variety of little hideaways, each reflecting a special natural commodity. Pebbles pile up the circumference of your trees! Marbles fill in some of the depths of the holes in your gardens. Natural decorations border the lovingly designed bushes. Structures enhance the outdoor furnishing.

But it was the oyster shell garden that really blew me over that day many years ago in the Spring. Hundreds of bright white oyster shell halves, carefully placed around your trees. Bright, white shells, lying carefully upon each other, blanketing the ground create artistic splendour in your yard. I decided then that I wanted that too!

That summer, I collected hundreds of oyster shells, most of them from the bottom of Brickyard Hill, the welcome mat to The False Narrows on Gabriola Island. Many afternoons I walked alone or with friends, gathering shells for the project. That first summer I carefully layered the shells one atop of the other, like shingles on the ground of our garden. A moon-like shape developed there, an area of oyster beauty surrounded by rounds of logs and wild growth of trees and bush. Artwork - paintings on glass and sculptures of cloth, wood and jewellery that I created during the years, accessorized the décor. It is beautiful and different in its natural expression and its unique presence. We all revel in its beauty and regularly appreciate its uniqueness. What a surprise when in the fall that first year, you told me that each of the shells needs to be removed, washed, and stored for next season!

“No,” I thought to myself. “That’s not gonna happen.”

So, when the fall came and the rains poured and the winds blew and the pearly white shells began to look messy and cold, I remembered your instruction. I visualized you picking up, scrubbing and putting away each one of the oysters from your garden. I felt negligent! I experienced guilt! I called myself ‘lazy’! I wanted to be just like you without the effort! So finally, I just knew I had to do it too! And it began! My Naomi Meditation.

Each year, as I remove, soak, wash and store our oysters, my attention focuses on you - a most unique, eccentric, energetic, smart and productive woman. At 84 years old, you have earned the role of Poet Laureate in Nanaimo, B.C. and you’re busy with presentations and workshops and consulting gigs around Vancouver Island and the Lower Mainland.  Prolific in your writing and engaged with presentations, you are an inspiration for many.

The interesting thing about you, Naomi, is that you published your first book when you were 60 years old. Since then, you have published over 50 titles, everything from poetry collections to descriptive narratives. You write alone and collaborate with others. Do you have any idea how much you motivate all kinds of people to create, to express and to get out there? You have touched so many!

Interesting, dynamic, beguiling, dramatic, funny, genuine, simple… this is who you are to me. And each year, as I rearrange and create our oyster garden, dear Naomi, you are the focus of my intent.

 

And I also want to let you know, Naomi, that I have come to embrace the task of cleaning our oyster shells, mostly because it brings me closer to you! My Naomi meditation, a chance to absorb the energy that you put out! Thank you!

Holding On as We Learn to Let Go

My birthday is here yet again! I turn 61 tomorrow. The plan is to celebrate with two of my daughters and Paul. They are taking me away for the weekend. I remain in the background as they plan, organize and pull together a weekend for me! I feel so special, cared for and loved!

This past year, my 61^st, was challenging. It began with disappointments regarding my last year’s birthday celebrations. I experienced several physical issues resulting from a scooter accident in the spring. Complicated dental procedures kept me focused on healing. And of course, coming to terms with how my body is aging and ‘acting’ differently has become a constant reminder of the inevitable changes that come with getting older. My mom passed away this year and the experience of grief has been profound. Several relationships in my life have changed drastically. My work is settling in to a comfortable niche that no longer requires the same kind of energy and focus. The past year has created shifts in my dealings with my world and myself.

I have meditated intently, practiced Yoga with enthusiasm and purpose, and engaged in workshops and programs to assist me in learning ways to grow up. I have pondered, reflected, and processed. I feel an emergence into a new phase of my life with a new refreshed outlook.

Following the wisdom of great spiritual teachers, family, close friends and colleagues (not to mention the brilliant posts on Facebook), the term that repeatedly comes through is “Let go! Just let go.”

I have come to believe that “letting go’’ is a great skill. And it’s definitely not easy. As social beings and inhabitants of this grand Earth, the initiation into our journey of letting go begins with the physical disconnect that occurs when the umbilical chord is cut. As parents we learn to ‘let go’ of our offspring, hopefully with appropriate speed and at the right time. I remember the first time I left my first newborn baby with a babysitter. Or that first day of kindergarten. I reflect back on the time when my children, one by one, left our home and went off to create a life. Challenging and rewarding all at the same time! Paul and I remind ourselves often that we brought up our children to be independent and self assured. They are no longer in our backyard, yet they are strong, confident, healthy and happy. We miss them sometimes, and, feel good about who they’ve become. And, for the most part, they still like us and each other, and enjoy our infrequent and wonderful gatherings together.

Sometimes, in describing that process of ‘letting go’, I press the palms of my hands together at my belly. I slowly expand the space between my hands symbolizing how much we let go. By the time my arms are completely spread out, the child’s life I am describing is well into adulthood. And I explain, “My arms are still there to fall into if necessary. But they’re far enough away to allow for complete independence.”  Sometimes they will even come closer together in a gentle embrace. “I’m here, and you’re okay on your own,” is the message. “I got your back!” is the reminder. I am still “holding on”.

I have come to believe that the process of ‘letting go’ is not quite enough. What’s the point of ‘letting go’ if we flounder through space unattached to anything meaningful and real? “Holding on” is just as important.

What I have learned is that letting go becomes easier when we ground our selves to what we already have. Lately I strive to accept the way things are, “It’s not a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just the way it is.” I have found it helpful to change the way I think, shifting from “I want” to “I hope” or “I wish”…. Finally though, it’s just about accepting the way it is!

So…what can I hold on to as my 62^nd year looms?:

Focusing on my physical health and establishing and maintaining balance in my life is essential. I hope to continue to learn and grow, read, watch and listen, both inwardly and out, and to continue to seek the love…that inner child that I have inside.

I hope to spend precious time with my children and growing family. I love teaching teachers! So many are amazing human beings who profoundly influence ‘our future’. Sharing my Yoga practice with others remains a priority. So is sharing my love with authenticity and skill and focus, so that those around me feel the love!

Our universe needs our help! I want to remind myself about the simple things that make a difference in the world. Taking care of the earth. Using water frugally. Smiling to others when I’m out in the world. Somehow connecting with people and letting them know I care. I do care. I really do!

That’s the best gift I have to offer! And I intend to keep going…”Ad mea v’esrim”!

Family Circles

While in L.A., I went with my grandson, Oscar, to see The Happy Dinosaur. It’s a beautiful Pixar (I love Pixar) movie about a dinosaur family.  With the animation in Pixar, so much of what is said is presented through facial expression and body language.

Arlo, the youngest and runtiest of the family, strives to be like everyone else in his family. He struggles to achieve what he perceives as a demonstration of love and acceptance, and, ultimately, to ‘make his mark’ in his natural world, especially with the members of his family of origin…the world of his parents and siblings. He searches for ways to prove himself to others and struggles with the natural events in life that jeopardize that pursuit.

According to Developmental Psychologist Eric Erikson feelings of acceptance and love develop within the first 5 years of life. Initially, our relationship with mother determines our sense of trust vs. mistrust in the world. Both parents are influential from 3 months to 6 years for our sense of autonomy and our development of strong will.  Our relationships with mother and father, brothers and sisters, sometimes even grandparents and aunts and uncles, reflect the development of confidence and self worth that initially drives our psychological development and grows our sense of purpose and efficacy in the world. Virtues of hope, will and purpose are determined during these early years.

The Good Dinosaur portrays a graphic illustration of family. In the sandy terrain of the desert, Arlo and his new acquaintance and buddy, Spot, draw a circle around the members of their families. Within Spot’s illustration are two large branches representing his father and his mother. Himself, he shows with a small twig. Arlo places two large twigs and three smaller ones, each lined up according to size, with himself showing up as the smallest. Once Spot knocks over his two largest twigs, suggesting that they no longer exist, Arlo sadly does the same to his largest branch, his father, who had died during the latest storm.

 

As we sit watching this scene in the theatre, I feel Oscar’s little body leaning forward and I can sense his head twisting 45% until he’s looking directly at me. That I am uncontrollably weeping, I know, is not the only cause of his attention.

Rather, Oscar is remembering two days ago when he and I were sharing time together and talking. At that time, he asked, “Safta, do you always carry your journal with you?” “Yes, Oscar. I do. And if, for some reason I don’t have it with me, and I have something I want to write, I write it on a scrap of paper or a kitchen napkin, and when I am with my journal again, I glue it in.”

“What else do you have in your journal?” he asks with sincere curiosity. “Oh, lots!” I reply, and I go immediately to grab my journal to show him some of the things that are inside. Photographs, an admit ticket to see the Dalai Lama in Vancouver, a red autumn leaf that a friend gave me recently to remind me of the beauty of autumn. I showed him the lists I made, diagrams I created, mind maps and circle graphs and pictures. I showed it all to him.

“What’s this about?” Oscar asks as he points to a diagram I had just recently created. It was of 3 circles, each one within the other. The outer circle, I explained to Oscar, represents my family of origin. My mother and father and siblings are all part of that circle. The next inner circle, not far from the first, is me and all that I am. That means, daughter, sister, mother, grandmother, wife, friend, colleague, From there, all the way to the centre, I describe as my family of creation. Here are all the children who make up my offspring…all those to whom I have given birth, or adopted, and all their children too. That’s where you fit in, my Oscar!”

I tell Oscar, during our conversation, that I needed to draw this diagram because I was feeling something I could not describe in words. “What does it mean?” he asks.

“Well” I said. “Now that your great grandma (my mother) has died, I no longer feel sense of my family of origin. The outer circle is gone. I, now, am that outer circle. There is no one and nothing that tethers me to the outside now. It’s something I must do alone. I have my own integrity and morality to help me determine how to live and how to be. I have myself to attend to, with a heavy understanding of the effects that my behaviours have on my inner circle and beyond. I feel different now…less stable, less secure, more vulnerable and cautious. And alone.

At the end of the movie, Arlo recognizes his triumphs even before he receives his reward. It is Arlo, “The Good Dinosaur” who learns to appreciate himself, even before others do so. That is my struggle now too. Love begins from within, however we are able to initiate that process. Seeking approval and love from others doesn’t always work. I hope Oscar gets to learn that early, and still maintains humility, grace and compassion so that he can share what he knows with others. As for me…I’m still working on it. That’s my vision for 2016!

Pushing Through

My Yoga practice informs me on ways that I can manage my life. At times, I avoid getting onto my mat. I’m too busy, not in the mood, waiting for an important phone call, too tired. When I push through my reluctance and ease in to some form of engagement, Yoga becomes my teacher. The inspiration it offers becomes the focus for the effort to engage. At times, simply forging into my practice provides the reward and satisfaction I need.

I always remember the first time Sajee, my Yoga teacher in India, taught me how to get into a scorpion pose. I thought I would never be able to get there. “My balance isn’t good enough.” “My shoulders aren’t strong enough.”  “My body isn’t stable enough.”  “I’m too old.” “I’m too tired.” “I’m too hot and sweaty.” Sajee would hear none of it. He ‘took my hand’ and walked me through the journey. In days I was up in an inverted scorpion. It hurt some. I kept getting back up each time I toppled over. It was frustrating, frightening and humbling. I needed to persevere. And I did! Now I’m able to keep doing it years later. I’ve addressed it, faced it and accomplished desired results. My body remembers. I might choose one day to take it further, (putting my legs into lotus while inverted), but for now, I’m satisfied. I can live with it the way it is. I’m comfortable. When I’m not anymore, I’ll consider changes.

Sometimes intense changes in life happen simultaneously! Lately, for instance, I have been confronted with several life and death events, serious changes that profoundly affect my existence. My mom’s death, two grandchildren being born in two different cities, changes in primal relationships, easing into aging, adjusting to work responsibilities, these are all issues that I have had to integrate, all at the same time, over the last eight weeks. I don’t get to choose which ones I’ll deal with and which ones I’ll put aside. They are all necessary now! It’s how I choose to engage with each of them that makes the difference.

Much of the time, feeling good is easy! Giving thanks for the simple things in my life readily and often occurs.  The acuity of my senses, my connection with nature, relationships with my kids, social time with friends, my job and my openness to take time off, my extraordinary life partnership with Paul, and my ability to work through issues are all things I appreciate regularly. The challenge comes in finding the good even in the midst of hardship and pain. Settling in to the pain…accepting the hurt…welcoming the changes that come from growth all require different energy. Obstacles present an opportunity to push through, perhaps, or even just to accept that things aren’t always good and easy. Using recreational drugs and alcohol, keeping our selves busy, always having some event planned, socializing constantly, or clouding the boundaries between work and family, are all ways we evade having to soul search and connect to our inner child.  We try to run from discomfort, stuff the conflict, distract ourselves from the pain that we feel and just “carry on”. Ultimately these very obstacles provide the material to expand and grow and make us more resilient and stronger. Finding the gratitude in these toughest times, though way more challenging than ignoring them, allows me to become more of who I am.

My life is blessed! When I take the time to imagine how my life might be so different, I remind myself to appreciate that I do have what I have and that I am who I am! It could be different. Everything I have could be taken away at any time. The challenges I face sometimes bring me to my knees. I am not faultless. Not everything is laid out perfectly for me. I am meant to struggle and battle. Facing humbling experiences and rebuilding myself regularly reminds me to reflect more clearly about the kind of person I want to be. And through this work I keep coming back to the gentle lessons of forgiveness, compassion, respect and acceptance because, when it comes right down to it…. that’s exactly where I want to be. So today, when I approach my balancing postures, which are sometimes impossible, or my handstands, which require so much arm strength, or even my simple crow posture, which necessitates calm and focus, I welcome the challenges that these postures bring me. I identify, concentrate and struggle to achieve my goal. I can only try, and accept wherever I land…. for now.

Waiting For Death

The nighttime darkness has yet to lift even though the clock on the ceiling says it’s morning. The rain continues to pound on the roof and sides of our yurt. It’s been raining through my intermittent sleep. The crackling of fresh fire replenished from last night’s embers provide warmth, and flickers generously. I am about to face another day. My first cup of coffee. My new computer.  Fresh opportunity to receive what comes. My mother is still dead.

It’s been a challenge.  Remembering my 11-day vigil at Norwalk Hospital, being with her as she transitions from life to peace, has become a comfort and gift to me. Together, with my brothers, making a decision to discontinue artificial nourishment and hydration, meant the eventual demise of my mom’s living system. Without food or drink, the journey can take up to 3 weeks. In hospital, with incredibly devoted nurses, doctors, patient advocates and Hospice specialists, I too, want to protect her and comfort her as she passes away. I set up camp next to her bed, and engage in every bit of her activity.

I watch her as she lay on her comfortable, crib-like bed, slowly shifting one leg at a time to one side or the other. She seems to want to climb out. Where would she be going really? Doesn’t she know she doesn’t have to do anything? She can rest now. Death will be coming for her. Death will do all the work.

I think she does know. Mom lies in her bed engaged in 
animated and spirited conversations with her angels. With eyes wide open, a fine, cloudy layer of film separates her from this world. She
dramatically engages with others with whom 
she plans to be, arms gesticulating and hands waving freely towards the ceiling until, finally, in prayer fashion, she rests her clasped hands tenderly on her heart. She speaks continuously. It’s not language that I can understand. But, for sure, ‘they’ do…her angels. Together, plans are being made. Plans to finally let go…. release her worldly commitments…be free!  I promise to be with her until the end. 

Occasionally, the babble is interrupted with some familiar words. “Where’s the fire”? pops out in the middle of a babbling monologue. Or “Let me ask you a question” which startles Paul and me. That was something mom would say before dementia complicated her speech. Sometimes I think I hear familiar patterns like, “….just go through the kitchen…” or ….Moshe….”.  Moshe was her father’s name.  I laugh sometimes when I listen to her soft babble. Her intonation modulates as she reaches, and her tone changes depending on the plans she is creating with her angels. I am comforted by this. Mom is moving on to join her angels. She might even reconnect with my father!

Mom does not eat or drink. Her body and brain are no longer communicating. She lies in her bed, struggling to breathe. Her eyes are mostly open, staring up towards the ceiling, and I suppose right through to the heavens. She waits. So do I.

My 61 years with my mom haven’t always been easy. Leaving home at an early age allowed us to recreate a new relationship. From various long distances, over the years, we talked always, visited with each other often, fought and laughed and shopped and shared. There are some places in the world we explored together, sharing adventures and new experiences. It wasn’t always easy…but she was always my mother. No longer bottle feeding me, or doing my laundry or making my meals. She no longer takes me to theatre or grabs me for a quick movie. She hasn’t called me on the phone in 10 years, and she sometimes doesn’t even know what my name is. But…. my mom was always my mom. She changed. She no longer serves me the way she did in my childhood (maybe that’s actually a good thing). But Roberta Hirsh Block was my mother. Always! Right until the very moment she took her last breath.

I love you mom! And…crazy as it seems…. I miss you too!

The nighttime sky is still dark. The clock on my ceiling has progressed, but the morning light has still not arrived. Maybe today will be dark. Maybe tomorrow too. The sun might take some time to brighten my world right now. I will give in to this…to sit, to cry, to pray and to remember…at least until the sun shines again.

Cycles of Life

Life is an eternal cyclical movement between birth and death. Birth is deeply committed to newness and return. Death is final and absolute. Both are profoundly real!

My mother is dying. Yesterday we received a call from the doctor in Connecticut confirming that dementia has progressed and mom’s brain no longer connects with her body. She is never hungry or thirsty because her brain doesn’t let her body know these things. She has trouble swallowing and easily chokes when she drinks. She can’t walk anymore or talk either because the brain is completely disconnected.

Right now mom is joined to tubes to rehydrate her body and bring her sodium levels down from the dangerous stages of yesterday. Once at a good level, she can go home, but, without those tubes feeding her, she will undoubtedly return to the stage where she is now. Without further assistance, she will die. Mom is 91 years old. She’s lived for a very long time and right now, I think, she’s ready. I know that. It’s her time. For me, it’s still hard.

Simultaneously, two of our sons and daughters-in-law are having babies any day now. Our 3^rd and 4^th grandchildren are expected in the next two weeks, one in Toronto and one in L.A.

The timing of my mother’s demise is auspicious. There is something beautiful about the wholeness of the life cycle. One person leaves the earth. Someone new is born. Mom’s death is dramatically linked to the birth of these two new grandchildren. There is real spiritual symbiosis occurring. I feel that strongly and rely on my own trust in God that it is intended to be good. My new grandchildren will be born strong and wholesome and will live lives that clearly connect them lovingly with others with a strong regard and respect for our wonderful universe. I believe that! And may it be so. And may it be so.