The Grief Edumacation Group

     Since Dad died, I haven't really felt any agonizing grief or deep holes within. I do miss him. I also understand that he was done for long before he actually died. The Lewy Body Dementia in his brain dictated that to be so.

     I did have a month or two where I did sleep a bit more than usual. Yeah, I also respected my needs to be alone or to socialize. I did need a bit more solitude and so I stuck to smaller gatherings rather than parties. I wasn't in a party mood and that was fine.

     Three months and a few days out. 

     I've been to the grief support group at the hospice that meets monthly. It's a small group throughout the winter but nice.

     I saw that hospice was offering a six-week once-a-week grief education group so I signed up. I was expecting education. But it really wasn't.

     The composition of the group is made up of several siblings who lost a parent, several spouses, the moderator, and me. Tears and tissue boxes. And the sentiment expressed was, "It's nice to be with people who understand."

     I think I was the only one not crying out of the bunch.

     And although I am not a separatist of any description, I did learn a couple of things. When my mother buried my step-father and didn't tell me until two weeks later, I experienced "disenfranchised grief." And every once in a while, thinking that I don't have to rush back to check on Dad, that's called "adjusting to not having a caregiver role anymore." It's nice to have the word labels.

     And I really do like the Grief Education Group, in spite of the fact of it being somewhat mis-named. Just as well really. Had it been named something else like "Early Grieving Support Group" I would not have signed up. I reluctantly admit that the group is helping me. I'm not in the same place or even close by as the other folks in the group are. Then again, I've been pegged before with the "marches to her own drum" so this should not be a surprise. I do feel miles away in terms of where my grief is compared to that of the others there. Also not a news flash.

     There are differences in belief systems-- I don't have one-- to be sure. That much is evident by what other folks there talk about. I don't make an issue of my non-belief out in public unless someone is trying to convert me or verbally attacks me or asks me about my religious practices outright. There has been no reason for me to self-identify as an atheist at the grief group so I haven't.

     The similarities. I am the youngest one there. But not by much. We all say yes to coffee or hot chocolate or tea. None of us have touched the food brought in for us. We all speak English. [I don't know if anyone speaks other languages or not like I do]. All of us have experienced the death of a loved one since December 2015. All of our loved ones died with hospice services and supports. We are all human beings. That will have to be enough.

     Life is incredible. And I love living.

sapphoq on life

Mirror

     Yes you can save it to somewhere on your computer and use it on the internet at will. Credit and link back not necessary. Oh, and copyright troll monopolists, bugger off.

     Headlights flash by on the front window. I cannot sleep. It is a cop car going after who or what I do not know. I shush the two year old cat whose name is Sirius Black the Cat, with apologies to J.K. Rowling. Although if she were to meet him, she would understand and nod in approval. Sirius continues to play with the free-form cement like object I found on a construction site under a bridge near some train tracks. It hangs from the curtain rod on a red string. He finds it irresistible.

     The housemate snores. The bedroom is too hot. Sirius has shifted to a pillow at the bottom of the bed. I stretch my legs. He bites one of my feet. Yeah, that hurts.

     I toss the blankets away. Still too hot. Aspirin substitute I think. I stagger out of the bed and through the living room. The vertigo is moderate. Whenever I first start walking after sleeping or not sleeping, my body is awkward. I am used to it by now. The world spins and bobs to the left. When I do fall, I fall to the right. A swallow of soda from a half-emptied can in the fridge. And so here I am.

     I am glad that the housemate buys cheap light bulbs. That used to infuriate me. Now with the increased light sensitivity-- pure photophobia the t.b.i. eye doc called it-- I celebrate dimness. And quiet. But there is hardly any quiet. I can hear people farting from a block away. Go figure.

     It does not take extraordinary sense to know that my father is dying. I'd gone to see him before dinner. He was slouched in his easy chair in the bedroom. Even on his death chair, he was plotting how he could go back to work. "The partial plate didn't cost me any money," he said. [It did. But his rep payee takes care of his bills now]. "I want to go back to work. Part-time. I think full-time would be too much for me to handle." I nod. A concession made to his deteriorating physical and cognitive condition. Part-time will have to do. I hate it when he does these things. He worries about money. All the time.

     "What would you do with the extra money?" I asked. He wants better quality clothing. He is a stick figure now. His shirt and pants hang off him like rags. I want to run away. Dad was always such a sharp dresser. Damn.

     After the visit, I drove to the gym. Burned up seven hundred calories on the treadmill. Punished my muscles for his pain.

     Before the visit, the hospice social worker called me to check in. "Are you wanting a visit?" she asked tentatively. She is young. New. I've only met her once. "I appreciate the phone calls," I told her. I am exhausted. I don't think I can show up for one more thing. It is too much.

     Everything is too much. Not sleeping. Dad dying. The noise. The lights. The irregular sleeping and not sleeping. Sirius playing and banging around. It is all too much.

                           ~ sapphoq on life