Who Says Halloween’s Just For Kids? Easy Tips for Caregivers and Their Loved Ones to Enjoy the Fall Festivities

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

Caregiver: Do You Need a Fresh Outlook on Life?

Let’s face it: Caregiving can get ugly, and I do mean that in a literal sense! (Smile)

Have you let yourself go a bit? Do you need a fresh outlook? Physically and emotionally?

There were times when I was my mom’s full-time caregiver (my mom had Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s) when I’d go days without looking in the mirror. On purpose.

Yes, I was busy, tired, overwhelmed–and that lead me to feeling frumpy, puffy, and in a rut–and then I used that to go into denial and avoidance.

I told myself I had more important things to do, but it doesn’t have to be an either-or situation. 

It’s good to forget about yourself for awhile. It’s good to give of yourself, even to push yourself to the edge. Sometimes you just have to in times of stress and grief.  

Generosity, patience, and tenderness gives you a glow no money can buy.

And face it, you can let yourself go to the point to where you don’ t feel good about yourself. 

I gained close to 40 pounds during my two+years at a full-time caregiver.

I don’t blame my mom for this. Honest. I take full accountability. I could have put down the bags of Oreos and Fritos. (Notice how all tasty snacks tend to end in O’s? I could have walked more.

Even with my mom and kids and a big house to manage, I could have gone for two fifteen minute walks a day and eaten more veggie soup. No one was forcing sugar down my throat.

Yeah, I was tired, frazzled, and distracted–it comes with the territory–but I used that as an excuse not to pay attention. I’m just saying I contributed to own “junk in the trunk.”

It also helps to lighten things up a bit (metaphorically speaking) and think about haircuts, color, make-up and clothing takes the emphasis off the heavier aspects of life. Being able to feel good about yourself, to smile with confidence with a spring in your step helps not only you, but your loved one.

Being serious all the time isn’t good for you. It doesn’t mean you’re a better caregiver, and your loved one would probably enjoy your company more if you feel good about yourself.

Depression doesn’t like color, light, and laughter–so let’s flood the room!

Now you’ve seen the light (aka seen yourself with the lights on!) and you’re ready to do something about it, I’ve got a few simple suggestions.

First, don’t make it hard, but let’s stage your comeback and surprise your loved ones with a fresh outlook.

 Easy Solutions for a Fresh Look: (for the ladies)

• Fixate on your health, not your weight. Take it from Queen Latifah, the new spokesperson from Jenny Craig. She’s not trying to become America’s Next Top Model. She loves her curves. Love yours–and focus on your health not your flab. We all have flab.
• Nix the elastic waist pants. Why? They’re comfy, I know, but it’s too easy to keep on snackin’ when you’re not feeling a pinch in your side. Put on real pants. Even if you have to go up a size. Beauty is not a size, it’s a state of mind.
• Set very small goals. Walk ten minutes twice a day. Stretch–even encourage your elder/loved one to do some simple stretches with you. Don’t bring home the snacks. If you must, get a snack pack at the gas station–one of those bags for 99 cents. Eat them and throw the bag away. Don’t worry about the money–the economical size bag will cost you more in the long run (health, Weight Watcher’sfees, cholesterol meds).
• Get your Vitamin D–and how? By heading out the door for those ten minute walks! That’s all it takes. And your elder needs their Vitamin D., so at least have them sit on the porch for a few minutes per day. There are supplements, too, and recommended for elders. 
• Go look in your closet. Anything that’s been in there for more than five years–toss it now! I mean it! Go to it. It doesn’t matter if it’s the dress you wore to your daughter’s wedding or your 25th anniversary. Come on, let it go. Guys–this is for you, too. Even three years is long enough. You’re not a museum–you’re a living work of art!
• Now, match up three outfits that look nice that you could wear every day. Stop waiting for an excuse to dress up. Dress up for yourself. You deserve it–and your loved one deserves to look at a person who takes pride in their appearance. I know you’re tired and you think this doesn’t matter. It does. No high heels, but a nice pair of jeans or slacks, a decent shirt that’s not all stretched out and something that has some nice color. Spritz with some perfume and comb your hair. You’ll feel better.
• Plan a daily tea time. Crazy, I know. It’s English, so pretend you’re English. Choose a time–say, 4:00, and set out a cup for the two of you. Have tea and two cookies. Just two. You can even say it’s medicinal–all tea is good for you, but go for a green tea variety and get your antioxidants. Sit out on that porch to get your vitamin D., or sit in the living room. Chat for ten minutes and sip tea. Your loved one will feel special, and you’ll begin to relax. It’s just a simple tradition, but it’s soothing–and something to look forward to.

Ladies, if you’re ready for a real comeback, have I got a book for you!

Staging Your Comeback by Christopher Hopkins is for real women over 45–primarily focusing on women in their 50s and 60s is really amazing. It isn’t downgrading or patronizing. He’s been featured on Oprah and Today Show, and he isn’t your run of the mill “I’ll make you look 20″ kind of salesman.

There are lots of pics and the most astounding before and after photos you will see. My 21 year-old daughter was with me at Target when I bought the book, and even she was amazed. (I heard the make-up in the book is heavier than he would normally recommend and was only done that way for the book).

 The book is designed to be interactive with his website that has downloadble worksheets to help you plan your comeback. 

Is all this frivolous? I don’t think so.

We have to balance out all we’re dealing with–disease and death are not the only things in life.

We need balance. We need hope. We need to relax and enjoy our one wild and precious life, as the poet Mary Oliver would say.

I’m Carol O’Dell–come visit again soon!

Carol is the author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

Her website is www.mothering-mother.com

Have You Taken Caregiving Too Far For Your Own Good?

I was recently at an event where a woman received the caregiver of the year award for her community.

Her daughter wrote a lovely letter about all her mother did for her mother.

The list started at about 5am and ended about midnight–with frequent middle of the night interruptions as well. The list went on and on. Daily baths, attention paid to her mother’s nails, lotions, pulling chin hairs…on and on and on. She got a standing ovation, but my heart ached for her. She was in her early 50s and looked in her late 70s. She was smiling but looked as if life had beat her with a crowbar.

It sounds vailiant. And it is, in some ways, but caregiving can be taken to the max–it isn’t so good for you–or even your care receiver.

You have to give your loved ones their daily medication.

You have to take them to the doctors.

You have to bathe and them and change their clothes.

Right?

And yes–you do. But are you caregiving too well?

What do I mean?

You can become obsessed with caregiivng and use it to avoid other aspects of your own life.

You can ruin your health and your relationships on this noble “holy grail.”

I’m a big proponent of family caregiving, but some cultures are so tightly bound to a sense of duty that people (particularly women) have few options and caregiving becomes a noose that’s winds up snuffing out lives and dreams. 

And let’s face it, we bring our entire family history into our caregiving roles. OUr past experiences are like a bowl full of fish hooks–you can’t pull up just one without getting a whole mess of them.

Was your mother/father/spouse controlling?

Did you feel as if you could never totally please them?

Carol Bradley Bursack who writes a great blog at www.MindingOurElders.com reminded me that deep down we (all of us whether we consider ourselves obsessive-compulsive or not) struggle to achieve our parents love. We try to “earn” their blessing when in truth, we need to give ourselves our own deep sense of love, mercy, and acceptance.

No one can ever give to you what you need to give to yourself.

You can use caregiving:

to avoid your marriage

your health

your financial setbacks

your relationships with your own children or relatives.

You can use caregiving and family duties to avoid:

going to work, building a career

returning to school

or finding a mate

You husband or wife, mother or father can become your “living doll.”

Don’t be embarrassed. It’s easy to do.

You may even have a natural propensity toward being a nurturer, and you’ve become “good” at caring. Too good. (This applies to men and women–men like to feel needed too). Being a parents for 20+ years–or not having the opportunity to parents can also contribute to a deep sense of needing to be needed, to belong and connect, to be good at something.

How do you know if you’re obsessed with caregiving?

• Your caregiving duties continue to increase–more baths, more attention to detail.
• You tell yourself it’s necessary, but others seem to question you.
• You are an expert in your loved one’s illness but are ignoring your own body’s warning signs.
• You haven’t taken a day off in months.
• Your other relationships are dwindling.
• You feel as if you have nothing in common with the outside world.
• You constantly think, “they don’t understand.”
• You take a deep sense of pride when someone says you’re a great daughter/son/caregiver–and you actually try to create situations (subconsciously) where someone would be prompted to say this.
• You never sit down because there’s always something to do.
• You’re getting less than 5-6 hours sleep a night on a regular basis.
• You fear when your loved one dies and almost feel frantic at the thought of wide open days with no one to pick up after, watch, feed, or medicate.

I know, this just sounds like normal caregiving! What’s the difference?

It’s more about intensity, urgency, and an underlying, almost imperceptible sense of fear–you’ll be found out, your loved one will “die on your watch,” they’ll take your mom from you, you’ll have to put her “in one of those places.”

***

What’s your unsaid driving force?

Fill in the blank…”I’m afraid that if I don’t ________, that __________will happen–and it’ll be my fault.”

*****

Now, be rational. Talk to yourself as if you were your best friend. Is this really true? Wouldn’t you (your best friend you) cut you a little slack?

There were times when I did get this sort of sick sense of pride that I was the “best caregiver in the world,” while underneath I felt like a sham–and in reality I felt like I never could do enough. I never could “fix” or manage my life.

Alzheimer’s really does a number on you–you feel like you owe it to your loved one to do everything you can for them–that this is such a horrible, horrific disease that you want to counter it in some way, but you can’t.

I had many arguments: ”If I’m going to do something, I might as well do it well. This is where God wants me and needs me. She’s my mother–and wasn’t this the right thing to do? Any of these sound familiar?

I couldn’t help it that my caregiving duties never ended.

I also know there are some of you out there who say you’re a perfectionist–you can’t stand a mess. You can’t relax until everything done and cleaned up.

Really? If that were the case, then I could never relax because I’m not sure I’ve ever been “caught up” even once in my entire life?

It’s funny that we call that being a perfectionist.

I’ve changed that word in my mind to mean something different.

A perfectionist sees the “perfect” and the good in everyone and everything that sounds me.

I came across this mindset in a book by life coach and inspirational speaker, Allen Cohen.

This is who I choose to be–and how I choose to see the world. (It’s a work in progress and a daily, moment to moment choice).

Sometimes you just have to let the chaos rule!

No, an adult doesn’t have to have a full bath every day.

It’s okay to have a frozen meal, pizza, or eggs for dinner.

It’s okay if your there are dishes in your sink when you go to bed at night.

It’s okay to take a day–or (gasp) a weekend off and arrange for respite care.

It’s okay to sign up for a class once a week.

It’s okay to call and invite a friend to lunch.

It’s okay if you don’t take your loved one to follow up doctor appointments–just for a recheck.

It’s okay to notice that there are areas of caregiving that you might have taken too far.

Laugh! Take a deep breath, and make a new choice. Find the perfect in the imperfect.

You won’t be able to turn off your caregiving gene, but with some forethought, you can learn to balance out the needs of your loved one–and still find time to build a life outside of caregiving. You will begin to value the few moments you give yourself and look forward to taking a class, or even taking a walk.

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

Does Caregiving Affect Women Differently?

What is Shock? What to Expect That First Month After a Loved One Dies

Losing a spouse, a parent, a child is devastating. But somehow, you will get through.

As crazy, lost, alone, scattered, numb, and frantic as you feel in those first months, know that as hard as it is to believe, it won’t last forever.

I know you don’t think you will ever get through this. 

But there’s this little thing called breathing. Your body does it whether you want it to or not.

Your heart can be breaking, your gut wrenched, and you can feel as if you will truly lose your mind–and your body will continue to take its next breath. There will be times when you don’t want to breathe. You don’t want to live–the pain is so intense. Just let your body get your through for now.

It’s a divine design–to keep our heart and lungs on automatic.

I’m sure I would have either forgotten or opted not to breathe, not to allow my heart to pump if I had any say in the matter. But this sheer involuntary response is the only way to go on during those early days of grief.

Death comes in many forms–by way of an accident, or after a long agonizing illness–it’s never easy.

Even when you’ve been caregiving for years and you know your loved one is no longer suffering, almost everyone has a difficult time letting go.

Why? Why is it so difficult to watch death take those we love–even after pain and suffering, and even old age?

I believe because there’s something in us that deeply believes in the eternal.

Our brains do not compute that life is simply cut off. I’m not basing this on any particular religion or theology–I’m basing this on biology–we cannot comprehend that someone we know and love was here yesterday–and is not here today. Those who look at this purely scientific would say that it’s mere habit–but something in me feels that it’s more.

Why, after practicing a lifetime of faith, and believing with all our hearts that we will see our loved one again–is it still so hard to stand next to their lifeless, breathless body and kiss them goodbye?

The same reason a toddler cries for his/her mother. We don’t like separation.

And those early days of separation are very, very difficult.

What’s it like? That first month?

Experiencing a death of someone we love–at any age, and for any reason, usually means that we go into shock. Not only have I experienced the death of several loved ones, like you, I have many family and friends who have also experience grief and loss.

By looking at these first few days and weeks, we can begin to see a pattern–in ourselves and others. It’s less scary to know that we’re not alone, and that our bizarre thoughts and actions are something others experience as well.

What is shock?

It’s our body’s response to trauma or pain.

Physically, speaking, shock is when the body isn’t getting enough oxygen. It can occur after an injury when the body shuts down (the blood stays close to the heart to preserve life at its core level–or it can occur after a severe emotional trauma.

WebMD desribes shock as this:

1. A sudden physical or biochemical disturbance that results in inadequate blood flow and oxygenation of an animal’s vital organs.
2. A state of profound mental and physical depression consequent to severe physical injury or to emotional disturbance.

If you’ve ever experienced shock (yourself or by witnessing it in another person), one of its prime characteristics is that you’re probably not reacting to pain (physically or emotionally) as you would expect.

Car accident victims can walk around with a head wound or internal injury–and only after minutes or even hours does the body “compute” the damage and begin to react. This may give the person time to rescue a child or get out of a fire.

Emotional trauma shock can present with similar symptoms–the person may talk or act rather normal, even when you would expect them to cry or scream or fall apart. They might eventually do all those things–but it may be weeks or months later. The mind has the ability to stay “in shock” much longer than the body–and it will usually only allow the person to really feel and experience the deepest levels of grief when it’s safe.

The movie, Reign Over Me is a great example of emotional shock.

Adam Sandlerplays a man who lost his wife and children during 9/11. He spends years in “shock,” and the exploration of how this man deals with grief in an unconventional way–and the arguments that the social and mental health community make to try to “fix” him, is interesting.

Every person’s journey with grief and loss is different. Honor yours.

Trust your gut, your shock will get you through.

During the first month you might: (no two people are the same)

• Be able to plan an elaborate funeral or memorial service
• Hold yourself together–be courteous, thoughtful and polite
• Look healthy and strong
• Go back to work days or weeks after your loved one passes
• Feel euphoric–an urgency to get on with life
• Plan a trip, go shopping, or other ordinary things
• Go off with friends and do things you haven’t been able to do in a long time

But…if you observe grief and shock a little closer, you’ll notice things aren’t quite what they appear on the surface.

You might also:

• Feel high strung, nervous, agitated
• Can’t pay attention, get bored or antsy with people
• Suffer from insomnia
• Have a panic or anxiety attack when you’re out in public
• Zone out and not remember where you are
• Feel guilty and think you caused your loved one to die (by taking them to the hospital, or not taking them, or a myriad of other decisions you had to make)
• Forget things–your keys locked in the car, your wallet at the gas station
• Avoid falling apart or crying because you may feel like once you start, you won’t be able to stop
• Have nightmares, even scary dreams of your loved one coming back alive–but not alive
• Become obsessed with something–putting your affairs in order, doing something your loved one nagged you about but you put off–but now you’re doing it to excess
• Do something, anything to feel alive–gamble, go to Vegas, visit online chat rooms, shop too much, eat too much
• You may start to snap at people–or cling–can’t let yourself be alone
• Your emotional pendulum keeps swinging wider and wider
• Feel as if you are truly losing your mind

Practical Things You Typically Do The First Month:

• File for and receive the death certificate (that’s tough)
• Contact your life insurance
• Decide when or if to go back to work
• Comfort others around you–children, friends, even when you don’t feel like it
• Cancel credit cards and put your house or car in your name only
• Pay the bills associated with your loved one’s passing–funeral expenses, etc.
• Decide to buy or sell certain items
• Figure out how to pay the bills or deal with repairs–whatever your spouse/loved one did that you now must do
• Catch up with your lfe–if your loved one was ill, there may be many things that need your attention now
• Write thank you notes
• Grapple with how to have a simple conversation with someone

Emotionally You’ll Have To:

• Make calls and let businesses know your loved one has passed
• Talk to many family and friends–and some of them will be awkward and say the “wrong” thing
• Walk back in your house, your bedroom, drive his car–feel his/her presence and be faced with your loss
• Sleep in the bed he’s/she’s no longer in
• Deal with clothes, cars and other personal items–even if you don’t start sorting and deciding what you keep, they are with you–in your house and your life
• Allow your brain and heart to assimilate that your loved one’s not here for you to call–to talk to
• Wake up and think he’s/she’s still there
• Feel alone and lost even when you’re busy
• Figure out who you are now and what to do with your time and energy
• Think about that “first” that is to come–first birthday without him, holiday without her–and make a plan
• Literally survive the best you can
• Know when to ask for help (that’s another blog post)

For most people, the first month is a blur.-and this is a good thing.  

At times, you’re in bone crushing grief alternting with an odd euphoric gotta-get-out feeling.

You can bite someone’s head off or not even care if the shoes on your feet were on fire.

There’s a lot to do, and that list of wrapping things up and starting anew at least keeps your keep moving. The good news is: you probably won’t remember most of this.

Shock does a whammy on the brain. You may feel like you’ve put your skin on inside out–and your nerve endings are exploding–but later, there will be many things you can’t recall.

Your body is protecting you. Let it. When all else fails, breathe.

Carol is the author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon and in most bookstores

Carol is a family advisor at www.Caring.com