Celebrating Mother’s Day When Mom’s Gone, Turn Bitter Into Sweet

Mother’s Day ican be bitter-sweet if your mom’s no longer here.

It’s so hard to say the word, “dead,” and in many ways, our loved ones live on–in thoughts, in stories, in how they continue to impact our lives.

For many, Mother’s Day can be so painful that we do all we can to avoid it. That avoidance is part of grief, and it’s necessary for a while. Grief is like a good soldier, but there comes a time when you say “Thank you, you’ve served me well,” and you let that soldier be released from duty. 

After my mother died from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, I felt incredibly lost. I had been her daughter and her caregiver for so long and had invested so much time, energy, and heart into that role. After months, if not years of longing for my freedom, of griping and complaining, all of it felt so trivial in comparison to my mother no longer being in my life.

I knew I had to get my bearings. I asked myself over and over, ”Who am I? What was I doing before caregiving? Do I go back to that–or move onto something else? I’m now the matriarch of the family…does that mean I’m…old?: I’m now the Mama figure, the one everyone turns to, the one who holds the family history.

Feeling lost lasted awhile, but it didn’t last forever. I began to move beyond my grief. I began to grow hungry for life, for a routine, for something to sink my mind into. I returned to college. Someone else telling me what to do seemed to work. I started writing again.

An Excerpt from Mothering Mother:

I put Mother’s wallet and glasses in the top drawer of my dresser today. They’ve been sitting on top of it since she died four months ago. Mother kept Daddy’s wallet, pocketknife, comb, and a small Bible in a heart-shaped cedar box he gave her the second time they went on a date in 1925.  Something about these wallets left intact creates a sort of bubble holding time and memory in perfect stillness. Their licenses, credit cards, photos and slips of paper remind me that they had everyday lives.

This makes me question this whole “here, not here” mindset we have. Giving a friend a bit of humorous advice prefaced with “as my Mama always said…” is a way of keeping her here. Will there always be a bitter side of sweet?  Will death and dying burn away, so that I don’t have to run straight into them before retrieving a remembrance?

I hear Mother all the time and quote her daily. My friend Debbie’s teenage daughter asked her mother, “Don’t you trust me?” The age-old question every parent is eventually asked, the question we all secretly know the answer to. My southern mother answered that question when I asked it two decades ago, “ Honey, I don’t trust myself in the dark.” Hearing her words echo in my head was somehow comforting.

Perhaps this is your first Mother’s Day without your mom. If it is, be easy on yourself. This can be a tough day. I know I didn’t want a lot of fuss. I needed a hug and a card, and then I needed it to not be Mother’s Day anymore.

But in time, the bitter painful part subsided a bit, and I began to remember the good times, the funny times, the crazy-chaotic mother-daughter moments that made us pair. I could talk about her again. I could tell a story and then smile.

It takes time.

~Carol D. O’Dell

“Honey, Grandma Died” Talking to Your Children About Tough Issues

It’s so, so hard to have to tell your son or daughter that their grandfather, grandmother, or parent has died. We dread it so much that we avoid it, but this is a time when our children need us to most. They need us to be clear. They need us to answer their questions.

How Do You Tell a Child That a Loved One Has Died?

Keep it simple. Use “died”, not “He is sleeping.”

Allow your child to express raw feelings freely or ask questions.

Answer questions honestly and simply. Do not go into detail, unless asked.

If the death was due to a violent crime, explain that they are safe now, nd you will do all you can to make sure they stay safe. 

Offer a comfort object–blanket, doll, teddy bear. Even if they’re “older,” something cuddly can reduce anxiety.

If the body is suitable for viewing, allow the child to see your deceased loved one, if requested. Prepare the child for what he or she will see.

Tell your child what will be happening in the next few days.

Give your child choices in what to do. Some children want to go to school the day of the death–it’s comforting and feels “normal.” Give them a choice. Whenever they return, inform the school of the death before your child returns.This makes their teachers and classmates more sensitive. Most schools have a school counselor that can also assist and be made aware of the situation.

Reassure your child that he or she will be cared for and explain the plan.

Children sometimes open up easier if they’re doing something with their hands–playing cars or helping bake cookies–it can take awhile for them to feel safe–and they feel less on the spot if they don’t have to look at you but can pretend to be “busy” with their hands.

In the United States, approximately 4.8 million children under 18

are grieving the death loss of a parent.

 Don’t Know How to Talk To Your Child: Here’s some Easy Conversation Starters: 

 I’m sorry your grandmother/papa/mom/dad/sister died.

 What was your dad/mom/brother like?

 Tell me about your__________. 

 What was his favorite food/book/thing you did together?

 What do you miss the most? What is the hardest time of day for you? 

I cannot know how you feel, but I remember how I felt when my __________ died.

 Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.

 I’m thinking about you especially today because I’m aware that today is your mother’s birthday (anniversary of the death, your birthday, etc). 

 If you don’t want to talk, we can still spend time together.

Words That Can Hurt: 

“I know just how you feel: (Do you? Everyone’s sorrow is different. “You’ll get over it. It will be okay. Don’t think about it.” “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” ”God took him so he wouldn’t be in pain.” “Tears won’t bring her back. Be strong.” “Forget about it. You are the man/woman of the house now.” “You should feel: ….(proud, relieved, happy, sad, etc.)

Children May Express Grief Differently Than Adults:

Children have even a greater capacity to push away painful thoughts. Their emotions may experience highs and lows. They may laugh inappropriately–even at the memorial service. Don’t think this is because they don’t care. It’s difficult for a child to figure out how to handle their emotions. They may avoid sleep–or a teen may sleep all the time. They may zone out and not seem to hear anyone talking to them. 

They may become clingy or panic if you’re not home on time or don’t pick them up on time. They may act rough or violent toward a sibling or friend. Defiantly disobey. Teens may become daredevils–drive fast, extreme sports, breaking and entering–anything to feel “alive”

They may even try to “test” your love.

When Do You Seek Professional Help?

When the symptoms (lack of sleep, depression, aggression) continue for weeks or months and grow in intensity.

When they can no longer function in school or around other people

When they isolate themselves for too long

When they become dangerous to themselves or others

They fixate on death, experiment on animals, or are exhibiting cruel behavior

What do you do if you suspect your child or teen is not handling grief well?

Talk to the school counselor, your pediatrician, or clergy

Get a recommendation for a therapist who has helped children through grief.

Don’t settle for just a prescription. Talking and expressing their emotions is crucial to the healing process.

Don’t go just one or two times and think your child is “better.” Follow through and be consistent.

The Best Advice?

Be patient. Expect some some highs and lows. Share your own grief journey. Listen. Reassure. Be there. Provide help if or when it’s needed. Let them know it’s okay not to be able to handle this all by yourself–we all need each other. Be understanding of yourself. You’re grieving too.

Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother

Helpful sites:

www.opentohopefoundation.com

www.childrensgriefnet.org

www.kidsaid.com

Are You Dreading the Death Date of a Loved One?

No matter how much you try not to think about it, you dread the day your loved one died. It’s especially hard, those first couple of anniversaries. Perhaps you spent years caregiving and you’re dealing with the void in your life. Perhaps it was sudden and you feel as if the bottom fell out of your life. It feels as if you’re going to get physically ill, dreading this day.

Even years later, a dear friend of mine wonders what’s wrong with her come late May, early June. I remind her that’s when her father died. He commited suicide and took the life of her step mother as well. No wonder everything in her repels this awful day. Who would want to remember? Once I remind her, she can relax. Her anxiety has a reason for being there, and that fact alone is ironically comforting.

My friend has learned to let grief wash over her. Once she recognizes it, she lets it be a part of her again. She knows it will pass, but she also knows that fighting it will only make it worse.

But your body does whether you do or not. Our bodies have “muscle memory.” Just like poison ivy, grief and sorrow gets in your system and comes full circle the time of year your loved one died. You have to give into the grief.

How do you get through that death date?

Everyone has a different way of dealing, so find what works for you. Here are few suggestions to consider.

Instead of avoiding, give in. Have a day to cry, to grieve, to remember your loss. Write your loved one a letter. Write them a angry letter if you need to. Perhaps you’ve put off facing the fact that you are angry and hurt. Maybe not at them, but that they left you with so much to deal with. Maybe you are furious with them, some left over business. So be furious. Write that letter. Stay home that day and yell at them and finally have it out.

Trust your gut. Whatever you need to do, do it.

For others, it’s a bittersweet time. Get out those photos and say goodbye all over again. The day your loved one died or the day of their funeral or memorial service may have been such a shock that you were out of it. You could have been so nervouc, so zoned out, so medicated that you didn’t “feel” your grief the first time around. So do it again. Have you day to say goodbye. Visit the memorial gardens or place you spread their ashes–or create a new place for you to go. Make “right” on saying goodbye to your loved one.

Or maybe you need to avoid. Running feels right, and I won’t tell you not to. Eventually, yes, you’ll have to face all this–but you’ll know when. It may hit you one day and you can no longer avoid upir sorrow. Until then, do what you have to do. Yes, it’s healing to face our grief, but we’re all on different times.

Death dates get easier. Maybe not sequentially–you might have good anniversarie and bad anniversaries. But you will come to a place where you can breathe again.

~Carol O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother

I’m Not Sure I Want to Attend a Caregiver’s Support Group

Creating Memorial Services with Heart, Part of the Caregiving Journey

Creating a meaningful memorial service for your loved one is cathartic, and you don’t have to wait until your loved one passes to begin to think about what they–and you–want and need.

It’s a part of caregiving you’d rather not thnk about, but it’s the last thing you can do to honor their wishes and gather everyone around to reminisce, consol each other, and share precious memories.

Planning funerals and/or memorial services takes time, and you’d rather spend those last few weeks and days your loved one has on earth at their side.

You may find that planning your loved one’s memorial service feels good in a way. It’s proacive. It’s exercising a little bit of control, and it feels good to honor the one you love. Don’t feel like you’re giving into death, and only do as much or as little as feels right to you.

Have you and your loved one talked about cremation or burial?

Even if you choose cremation, there are options. For some families, talking about this, even with the loved one who is dying is somehow relieving. It feels good (in a strange way) to make one last decision together.

Here are some tips to help you create a meaningful service:

If you choose to scatter your loved one’s ashes at sea, from an airplane or other location, then make a few calls. Depending on where you live, you may have to wait for this portion until later. There are also laws regarding this practice, and there are companies (charter boats, etc.) who can assist you with this.

One of the most beautiful services I’ve ever attended was on a sailboat with just a handful of loved ones. Someone played the guitar and his wife scattered his ashes behind the boat at sunset and his sister broke rose  petals on the water at the same time. It was truly touching.

• Decide if this is a somber/grieving occasion. It’s okay either way. Sometimes it’s just heartbreaking–our loved ones suffer before they pass, or it’s way too soon. It’s perfectly okay to gather to cry, hug, and hold each other.
• You can have a funeral type service soon after they die, and a memorial service months or even a year later–after the initial hurt and shock has worn off.
• For others, this is a sweet, playful time. Make it your own and reflective of your relationship. Hire an Irish band, do whatever is right for you.
• Know that you can’t please others. Don’t get caught up in this vortex. Don’t even listen to the snide comments–and trust me, there will be some. Your family and friends will just have to understand. Let them talk, if they must. This is one time when you need to follow your heart.
• Ask someone who needs a job to do to contact out of town relatives and friends and let them know that your loved one may be passing soon.
• If you do decide on more of a memorial/celebration type gathering, then let people know. Some families prefer people to wear colorful clothing, that joyful music will be played and people are encouraged to share humorous stories. It’s helpful to let people know this so that they respond properly.
• If you’d like to forego flowers, then begin to think of charities that people can donate to–but do some research and offer website or address info that can be placed on the program or sent by email.

There are no rules. Create a memorial service with heart. There’s nothing more healing than to celebrate your loved one, your life together, and all that they mean to you.

~Carol O’Dell, Author, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

www.mothering-mother.com

• E-vites to the service is totally acceptable and a great way to contact people without trying to make a zillion calls. Again, a great job for someone who wants to help.
• Be aware that you may have a “dry run.” By that I mean that your loved one could rally around again. Don’t be surprised if this happens. After you let everyone know, get all sad, start to make arrangements–and then they seem to get better. (My mom did this and I felt kind of foolish). This is common, and in general don’t expect them to miraciously get better. This is often temporary, but of course no one can know for sure. All the work and prep you did can be put on hold and if you’re fortunate enough to have a few more days, hours, weeks, or months with your loved one–then of course, it’s a good thing.
• Many families and cultures have a dinner of sorts after the service. For some families, they like to get creative–I heard of one in Atlanta catered by the famous Varsity restaurant. The lady passing already planned and paid for it–and it was such a send off for her loved ones, and such a relief. Most people do something in someone’s home–a potluck. The point is, you get to choose–do anything you want. Cater it, serve deli sandwiches, serve filet mignon–doesn’t matter, just do what fits you and the occasion.
• Another special touch is to give attendees momentos–I heard of one funeral in which everyone received a baseball cap from the collection of hat’s the father left. What a better use of a collection that to share it with those he loved!
• Be aware that funeral/memorial services are people’s business, but it’s your time of grief. If you have a budget, then let them know up front that you have a maximum you will spend. Don’t get suckered in by allowing someone to use your emotions. While you want to make this special, you don’t want to pay for it for years to come.

Let people help, but don’t let them take over. You have the ace card, and if you need to be firm or difficult, you’ll be forgiven. You can’t possibly do all this alone. You’re going to have to let go of some of your perfectionist tendencies (and we all have them), and let others pitch in to make this day special.

State clearly what you and your loved one want, but then let others deal with the details. Creating a funeral or memorial service with meaning takes thought–and heart–and it’s part of the healing process of the caregiving journey.

Is This Your Last Christmas Together?

Aging and Fear: Choose a Different Path

Has Caregiving Changed You?

Has caregiving changed you?

Do you no longer feel like yourself?

Has a part of you died?

I know. I felt this too. I felt like I lost myself in some way.

I lost my spontaneity, at times, my hope, and most days, my freedom.

But I’m here to let you know that it won’t always be this way.

Yes, caregiving disrupts your life.

Yes, caregiving dumps stress on your life by the bucket load.

Yes, caregiving will test every physical, emotional and moral fiber you have–and it hunts for frays and weak spots.

But I’d still do it again. (I wince to even think about it!)

And I know what I’m talking about–I cared for my mother who had Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s–and she lived with my family and me for the last almost two years of her life. I cared for her for about 15 years before that–everything from going to see her once or twice a week, to a combination of hired care, community care, overnight stays, and her coming to my house. We tried to keep her in her own home, her own church and neighborhood for as long as possible.

So, my point is, I’m no wuss, and when I say I’d care give again, it’s not because I have so romanticized version of family life stuck in my head. And I wouldn’t jump up and down volunteering either. Why? Caregiving has to come to you out of genuine need. I know that one day, I will, or my husband will care give. We will care for each other. I know that–the love, the commitment are already in place.

But I’m not not going to care give the guy down the street. I might make him and his wife some meals, but my marital relationship warrants caregiving. And still, I certainly don’t look forward to it–because it’ll be one of us is sick, or we’ve aged to the point to where our bodies are breaking down–that death is coming all too soon.

Caregiving continued to change me even after my mom passed away, and all those negative ramifications finally began to leave my system.

Caregiving has done something to me. I’ve changed again-in good ways.

I’m more patient. When I’m with someone now, and I know they need me, I just let go of all the other crap of life.

I’ve learned to be present. I don’t know if I did this so well when my mom was alive, and maybe this happened because at times, I wasn’t present at all with my mom. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Some days, I would have gnawed my own foot off to get free. And here I am, tell you, I’m glad I did it.

I’ve learned to take every, every, every opportunity that comes my way. I’m like that old TV show, My Favorite Martin–my antennas go up whenever a great thing comes my way. I can’t NOT try something new, dance when music plays, make a fool of myself if the occasion calls for it.

I’ve learned that the only regrets at the end of life are not all the things you screwed up. it’s all the chances you didn’t take. Since this caregiving revelation, I’ve eaten squirrel, kissed a snake, held a giant stingray in my arms, skinny dipped on more than one occasion, taken two a.m. bike rides and made out on a pier under the moonlight (with hubby, FYI). I simply can’t let life pass me  by. Death did that to me. It singed me and I have to live and love big and hard. I refuse to mewl about my unlived life when I can do something about it…now.

I’ve started speaking  my mind. I’m tired of being a coward and taking S**T. I don’t have to blast people, but if you bully me, corner me, or shame me…get ready cause I am too old and I’ve gone through too much to not stand up for myself.

I’ve learned to be easier on myself. I’ve given up worrying about housekeeping–a nap is infinitely more important. A swim on a perfect day is by far, a better use of my time.

I’ve learned not to sweat so much about money and jobs. In the end, these things matter so, so little. I’m still learning this one, but I’m grasping onto this bigger thing: if I do what I love, what I’m gifted at, what I’m passionate about…people value me and pay me pretty darn good for it. And I can’t seem to stomach the idea of paying my dues and feeling like I have to suffer.

I’ve learned that I really do like to do good work. I want to do something, some small thing that matters. i want to write and speak and encourage others. I want to somehow contribute to the good of the world.

And finally, I’m learning to let go of grudges, hurts, and resentments. They really do fade in time. Things I was so heated about 20 years ago don’t faze me now. People I despised and feared are now toothless old lions, and we’re all in the Savannah together just trying to find a little shade and water. it’s not so big, scary and important as I once thought it was.

Where are you? Still in the dark nights of the soul? Has exhaustion and cynicism taken its toll? it’s part of the journey.  It won’t last. Caregiving will continue to change you–let it  

I’m Carol O’Dell, and I hope you’ll check out my book, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir, available at Amazon

Caregivers: You Don’t Have to Like Your Mother to Love Her

Newsflash: You don’t have to like your mother to love her.

This, for some of us is a relief. We feel like bad sons or bad daughters if every thing’s not warm and fuzzy, but caregiving isn’t about your emotional barometer reading for the day.

It’s no coincidence that we start out tethered to our mothers. The umbilical cord is the first of many. It sustains us, feeds us, is a highway of blood. It’s tough too. I remember my husband cut our daughter’s umbilical cords and he said he really had to work at it.

And after all our mother-daughter ups and downs, we eventually find ourselves back together. Our moms need us–and we need them, even though we don’t know it or admit it. Caregiving comes along and gives us another chance to work at this ancient relationship. 

I have a friend I’ll call Jess, and she’s in her mid-thirties, and like most women that age, she’s already racked up a couple of decades of mother-daughter angst. It starts early for us girls. 

Jess shared with me that her mother recently asked, “Why were you always so angry with me?”

Now, that’s an age-old question…why are we?

Is it because of hormones? I’m sure.

Is it years of not being able to speak our minds? Absolutely.

Is it that our moms control our lives and even at a young age we want to yank the reigns and drive our own demons? Sure, but it’s even more than that. It’s biological, and it’s necessary–at least for some of us. I do know a few people who have always been sweetsy and close to their moms–and I mean always. I think they’re from another planet…

I finally got to a place of acceptance, but it took awhile.

But with Jess, I’ve noticed how things have begun to change. Jess is engaged. Jess is truly grown now, on her own financially and emotionally–and I think she, and her mom now recognize this fact.

Jess talks about her mom differently now. There’s no animosity. It’s simply gone as if somone had unhandcuffed her. Jess’s mother is flying in for her wedding shower and they’re going shopping all day at the outlet mall while she’s in town. She calls her mom several times a week as she’s driving home from work–just to chat. This wouldn’t have happened even three years ago. Her mom hasn’t changed. She still says certain annoying things any daughter would cringe at, but Jess no longer lets it get to her.

Why the change?

The mother-daughter bond is resilient.

It’s not a warm, cuddly blanket, but a sinuous cord that connects us and keeps our relationship alive through the turbulent years. At times, our anger is the jet fuel we need to grow up and move on with our lives. We “use” our mothers.

We hate them in order to love ourselves. We swear we will never be anything like them. We despise them when we don’t want to admit we despise ourselves. We lash out in words and actions knowing it cuts like a serrated knife. We think it will always be like this–us, way over here–them, way over there.

The resiliency of the mother-daughter relationship that grows stronger over time isn’t a surprise. Pennsylvania State University conducted a study of midlife daughters and their elderly mothers. Researcher Karen Fingerman, Ph.D., found that “despite conflicts and complicated emotions, the mother-daughter bond is so strong that 80 percent to 90 percent of women at midlife report good relationships with their mothers—though they wish it were better.”

After all those years of bickering, name calling, not calling at all, we find out that underneath all that bravado, there’s love. And…we actually want a better relationship with our mother! I never throught that day would come for me, but it did.

Suddenly, through birthing a daughter, a woman finds herself face to face not only with an infant, a little girl, a woman-to-be, but also with her own unresolved conflicts from the past and her hopes and dreams for the future…. As though experiencing an earthquake, mothers of daughters may find their lives shifted, their deep feelings unearthed, the balance struck in all relationships once again off kilter.

~Elizabeth Debold and Idelisse Malave

We are defined by our mothers and find our identities, in part, in them and their life-lessons. 

We push off of our mothers like they’re a springboard–the laws of physics at work in relationships. Our “you weren’t there for me’s,” and “why are you always so controlling” finally leave our systems and we get sick of our own whining. The longer we live, we see our mother’s strengths unfold. We view past events in a new light. We turn to them for guidance, even if it’s a “don’t do what I did.”

I love the mother-daughter relationship portrayed in the movie, Spanglish. Tea Leoni and Cloris Leachman are the daughter and mother, and both are a mess–but they’re together–through it all. There’s a scene in the movie when Tea is about to leave to go see her lover (she’s married) and her mother knows what she’s doing–and she tries to stop her. She’s standing by her car pleading with her–and I don’t remember the words–I don’t want to, but what I do remember is her actions. She finishes her sentence and with both hands on the window ledge, she slaps the ledge. Like, I’m done, I’ve said my peace. I know that gesture. I know that feeling of my mother speaking into my own life–having her say.

Our mothers can tell us things no one else can.

Were they bad mothers? Perhaps. At times. But that doesn’t diminish their power or our need to have them in our lives. Even if for a few, our mothers are object lessons, they are still in our lives for a purpose.

Eventually, most of us learn to make at least a measure of peace with mothers–and mothers with their daughters. It’s not a conscience thing. It just is. It’s biological.

Mothers and daughters can fight, argue, cry, blame, and complain–and their bond gets stronger. You don’t even know it’s happening–you think you’re a million miles away. We can even ignore our mothers and go on with our busy adult lives, and that bond is still there. Genetics is one powerful pull.

I’ve seen it countless times–family members who have been hurt find a way to forgive. Daughters who are disgusted with their mother’s choices begin to understand why, and through their own poor choices, they offer a morsel of mercy.

Mothers who seemed hard, controlling, and fussy finally become real people to their daughters. Their daughters begin to realize the that their mothers have lives, dreams, and quiet heartbreaks no one knows about. Mothers loosen up over time and become somone their daughter confides in.

Again, why?

You can’t make peace with yourself, with who you are, with all that you’ve done that had made you ‘you,” until you can begin to accept your mother, your past. She is your key.

What the daughter does, the mother did.  ~Jewish Proverb

Our mothers, our daughters define us. We are who we are because of them–good or bad. We look into their faces and we see ourselves–past and future.

Caregiving comes at just the right time. We don’t think it is. We’re busy. We’re moms, and just got our act together. We don’t want to deal with death and dying, with power struggles and forgiveness. But oh, we do and we just don’t know it. Begrudgingly (sometimes) we lay down our grievances and come toether–again. 

Caregiving gives us a reason to make up, to let go, to “get over it.”

Whether our relationship is strained or easy, hostile or amiable, we need our mother if only in memory …
to conjugate our history, validate our femaleness and guide our way.

~Victoria Secunda

Something happens when our mothers lives begin to grow smaller either physically, emotionally, or financially–a power shift occurs.

We (the daughters) gain strength and power–and this time to “be on top,” allows us to feel less threatened–and when we’re not threatened–we can be generous with our love.

Eventually, the scales balance.

After years of our mother’s having dominance over our lives (the childhood years), we’ve built up resentment, and finally, as time rolls along, we come into our own, we tower above our mothers for a short time, and that isn’t as fun as it sounds. If we’re lucky, and our mothers live a little longer, we become equal bookends, each of us strong in the broken places and worthy of respect.

And then, just when we make peace, our mothers die. It surprises us. It shocks us. This is too soon, we cry. We just got here, to this place of acceptance, to the point to where we can sit in the same room and breathe the same oxygen. We realize how ironically close we really were–all along–even when we thought we weren’t. We love our mothers in a deep-bone way.

We lose ourselves in grief. We just found ourselves in and through and mothers, and then they leave us. We feel abandoned, lost, maybe even angry. But don’t worry, all that we’ve gained grows inside us.

Looking back, I realize I’ve lost two mothers four times.

My birth mother had schizophrenia and I was taken from her as an infant when the voices told her to hurt herself and her children. I lost her again when I was adopted at the age of four. I didn’t know it would be forever. I lost her again when I was 23, and found my birth family only for them to tell me that my mother was dead–she had died one year before I found them. I cried that day, that week, that year–I cried for the mother I would never know.

I lost my adoptive mother to Alzheimer’s before death took her. To look into the face of someone you know so well–someone who you’ve screamed at, cried and fought with, only to have a disease eat away at her brain like battery acid–and to know that she doesn’t know you, remember you, you hold no emotion, no connection. You might as well we a cardboard box. It ravages your soul and all you believe.

And then death came. In a way, a welcome relief to the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s. I knew it would never give me my mother back.

Why now? Why do we lose our mothers just at the point when we can sit beside them and feel at ease, a give and take? Just when we can be ourselves in the presence of our most formidable foes, our most dependable ally, we lose them.

The woman who bore me is no longer alive, but I seem to be her daughter in increasingly profound ways.  ~Johnnetta Betsch Cole

I have no answer for this. The only solace I can give you is that my mother’s life is now my example, her stories, her “ways” ripple through my own life. I don’t idolize her or think she was perfect. That would be an insult to such a great woman. I see her as complex and confounding as ever–but that’s what I like about her, about me.

In a bigger sense, I haven’t lost her, or lost me. We sit side-by-side. Equals. I hear her so much more clearly these days. I feel her respect. I listen.

And now, I have three grown daughters. The torch has been passed. They rail against me at times. I let them. I know the journey they must take to get to their own place of acceptance and strength. I’ll be here. Waiting.

I’m Carol D. O’Dell, the author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir, available on Amazon.

“Grandpa’s Dying:” How to Talk to Children About Death

Every day, a child’s mother, father, grandmother, grandfather or sibling dies.

When a child loses a loved one to death, that loss can have a profound effect that can even last a lifetime.

Emotional, psychological and physical trauma can occur and effect how a child views the world. 

If grief is talked about and a child is given the proper coping tools, is surrounded by love and support, then the negative impact can be lessened. 

How Do You Tell a Child That a Loved One Has Died?

Keep it simple. Use “died”, not “He is sleeping.”

Allow your child to express raw feelings freely or ask questions.

Answer questions honestly and simply. Do not go into detail, unless asked.

If the death was due to a violent crime, explain that they are safe now, nd you will do all you can to make sure they stay safe. 

Offer a comfort object–blanket, doll, teddy bear. Even if they’re “older,” something cuddly can reduce anxiety.

If the body is suitable for viewing, allow the child to see your deceased loved one, if requested. Prepare the child for what he or she will see.

Tell your child what will be happening in the next few days.

Give your child choices in what to do. Some children want to go to school the day of the death–it’s comforting and feels “normal.” Give them a choice. Whenever they return, inform the school of the death before your child returns.This makes their teachers and classmates more sensitive. Most schools have a school counselor that can also assist and be made aware of the situation.

Reassure your child that he or she will be cared for and explain the plan.

Children sometimes open up easier if they’re doing something with their hands–playing cars or helping bake cookies–it can take awhile for them to feel safe–and they feel less on the spot if they don’t have to look at you but can pretend to be “busy” with their hands.

Don’t Know How to Talk To Your Child?

Here’s some Easy Conversation Starters: 

 I’m sorry your grandmother/papa/mom/dad/sister died.

 What was your dad/mom/brother like?

 What was his favorite food/book/thing you did together?

 What’s the hardest time of day for you?  

 

I can’t know how you feel, but I remember how I felt when my __________ died.

Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.

 If you don’t want to talk, we can still spend time together.

What Not to Say:  

I know just how you feel….I know just how you feel…my dog died last year.

You’ll get over it…It will be okay…Try not to think about it…Don’t cry…God took him so he wouldn’t be in pain…Tears won’t bring her back…e strong…Forget about it.

You are the man/woman of the house now…You should feel ….(proud, relieved, happy, sad, etc.)

Children May Express Grief Differently Tnan Adults:

Their emotions may experience highs and lows. T

hey may laugh inappropriately–even at the memorial service. Don’t think this is because they don’t care. It’s difficult for a child to figure out how to handle their emotions.

They may avoid sleep–or a teen may sleep all the time. They may zone out and not seem to hear anyone talking to them. 

They may become clingy and panic if you’re not home on time or don’t pick them up on time. They may act rough or violent toward a sibling or friend. Defiantly disobey. 

Teens may become daredevils–drive fast, extreme sports, breaking and entering–anything to feel “alive”

They may even try to “test” your love.

When Do You Seek Professional Help?

When the symptoms (lack of sleep, depression, agression) continue for weeks or months and grow in intensity.

When they can no longer function in school or around other people

When they isolate themselves for too long

When they become dangerous to themselves or others

They fixate on death, experiment on animals, or are exhibiting cruel behavoir

What do you do if you suspect your child or teen is not handling grief well?

Talk to the school counselor, your pediatrician, or clergy

Get a recommendation for a therapist who has helped children through grief.

Don’t settle for just a prescription. Talking and expressing their emotions is crucial to the healing process.

Don’t go just one or two times and think your child is “better.” Follow through and be consistent.

The Best Advice?

Be patient. Expect some some highs and lows. Share your own grief journey.

Listen. Reassure. Be there. Provide help if or when it’s needed.

Let them know it’s okay not to be able to handle this all by yourself–we all need each other.  

Helpful sites:

www.opentohopefoundation.com

www.beyondindigo.com/children

www.griefnet.org

www.childrensgriefnet.org

www.kidsaid.com

 

I’m Carol O’Dell, author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir, available on Amazon. I hope you’ll visit my blog again.

www.mothering-mother.com

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