Renee Charles
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To Whoever Needs to Hear This, Let Yourself Grieve.

1/17/2020

10 Comments

 
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I have not written a blog or newsletter in a while. I could make excuses, but quite frankly I set everything down last fall and am now just picking it back up. Writing projects, the book I was reading, everything. I lost my father suddenly on November 1st. And for those of you who have experienced loss, you know that limp feeling that takes over, where nothing tastes right, nothing feels right, and there is no creativity or light in your day? That is where I was. For those of you who have not experienced it yet, you will at some point. And I am here to tell you it is okay to allow yourself the grace to grieve. 

​There really was so much more to that moment in my life. My MIL was already battling Breast cancer. She'd had a double partial mastectomy and developed MRSA infections in both surgery sites. I, being the only female in the family, became her main support. My 15-year-old dog was struggling with day to day life. My roof was leaking. I was planning Christmas already because my son was coming home from college for the month. I was working on a couple projects for clients, planning an author extravaganza in December. You get it, life was happening. And I was managing it all. That’s my personality. Bring it on. I can manage it. Between oncology and veterinarian appointments, I received a call that my father, who lived in another state, had been diagnosed with cancer and given a year to live. So, I began to shuffle priorities. I would see him when my brother got married in a few months so I still had control over enerything I needed. Then the next day my brother called and said the Doctors were wrong, dad had a week. I shuffeled faster. And the next day he was gone. It happened that quick.

At that moment I literally sat down. I figurately let go, and everything I was ‘managing’ toppled to my feet. Nothing I did mattered. It was as if I had fallen into a river that rushed around me, and the one branch I struggled to keep a grip on wasn't helping. Trying to hold on only seemed to force my head under. So, I let go. I had no fight left. I didn’t care enough to make a decision about what I would have for dinner, let alone a business decision. I called any obligations and explained I needed a hiatus. I knew it could cost me dearly, but I also gave myself permission to just accept the consequences of letting go. 

Despair has movement like a river. It speeds up and swirls all around you at times. Then there are moments dark stillness. I rode out the rough spots, and sought peace in the quiet. I felt myself floating freely, finding solace in the ebb and flow of the torrent around me not caring where I ended up in the end.

I happened to have a doctor appointment of my own scheduled, one which I had no choice but to keep. When the Doctor heard all that had happened, she said I showed symptoms of depression and offered an anti-depressant. I declined, not because I am brave, or have anything against taking anti-depressants. But I found her offer strange. I thought, or felt, I had every right to be sad at that moment. That sounds like a strange statement, but it is accurate none the less. 

I kept envisioning this river of sadness I floated in. Happiness. Life. Joy. It all sat on the far shore. Every once in a while, I’d get the impulse to swim for that shore. But my arms were heavy and the strokes were difficult in the beginning. I mostly gave up before I even got started. So I worried that taking anti-depressants would cause me to get comfortable enough to stay in the river rather than even attempting to swim for shore. I thought perhaps what I felt was not the same as chronic depression that many people suffer from, that my sadness was a result of loss, a process I had to get through. And that taking the anti-depressants would just prolong that process. Perhaps if I didn't work through it now, it would just be waiting for me later when I tried to stop taking the anti-depressants. Or worse, I would lose site of the shore entirely and never leave the river. This may sound weird, but I chose to embrace the sadness, to drift in it until I felt like swimming.

When I spoke with my brothers, we wondered at how the world didn’t seem to notice. How everything went on as usual, and how we felt numb to it all. And I continued to drift.

It's been three months. And I find swimming toward that shore is easier. This week I picked up one of the items I dropped that day. I finished the book I had been reading. It felt good, like reclaiming part of my "normal".  Sometimes I think I am free from the river. Other times I realize although my feet touch bottom, the water still tugs at my legs trying to reclaim me.

​We talk about things like self-care and mental health as if they were goals to be met rather than things to experience. I tell you, whoever needs to hear this, you do not need to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get on with life on anyone else’s schedule. You have a right to feel whatever grief you feel. It is part of the healing process. If you need help from those around you, ask for it. But do not feel bad or ashamed for taking the time you need to swim to shore. You don't have to hold the world together while you grieve, it will be there when you get to the other side. 


10 Comments
Debbie Lang
1/20/2020 08:20:00 am

Thank you for this, I did need to hear it. I am sorry for the loss of your father, I know how difficult it is. I lost my mom a few years ago to cancer, I found out the day before my birthday that the doctors thought she had cancer, on my birthday that it was in fact cancer and the day after that is was already at a stage 4. We were told on November 10, 2015 that she had a week to live and she passed away 2 days later. I still grieve to this day, my mom was my best friend and I miss her dearly. Some days are easier than others, and some days the grief hits out of left field and takes over. I don't think that one ever truly gets over the grief, they just learn to live a new normal.

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Renee Charles
1/20/2020 11:04:44 am

I am sorry for your loss as well. Thank you for commenting. I am pleased my words reached you.

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Cherie Stokes
1/20/2020 12:31:35 pm

Thank you for this - I really needed to hear that. I also have been floating along after some losses at the end of 2019. It's a struggle, and just when you think you are ok it pulls you back in. I agree with you that its ok to grieve your own way and it doesn't have a time limit.

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Renee Charles
1/20/2020 08:34:16 pm

You are welcome. :)

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Hannie van den Berg
1/20/2020 12:37:49 pm

I'm sorry for your loss. I completely understand what your talking about. My mother had a heartattack at 47 and was gone . This week it's already 20 years . 12 years ago we lossed in 3 months time 2 nephews age 8 and 1,5 and our grandmother. That periode is still a blurr. You learn to live with it but it's still unbelieveble that everything can change in a blink forever......All the deaths in our family were sudden......My sisters said we are going to lock you in a room with a lot of books so nothing can happen to you....They both lost a son in that 3 months. I am still scared when people call after nine o clock at night.....

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Renee Charles
1/20/2020 08:37:04 pm

I am sorry your family went through all that. I can't imagine loosing a child.

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Teri Jo
1/20/2020 03:09:33 pm

January 7 th was 5 years since I lost my Dad. I know how you feel. For me it got worse on March 25 th same yr my Mom died. My parents had been divorced for 44 yrs. But the nurses told my Mom was talking to someone called Freddie. That was my dad. I will not say it gets easier cause that is not true to me. Take all the time you need.

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Renee Charles
1/20/2020 08:40:15 pm

Interesting your mom felt conected to him still. I think that is how it works sometimes.

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Mary Treace
1/20/2020 07:26:38 pm

I am so sorry for the difficulty you faced this past year. Not trying to compare, but when I lost my Father-In-Law 3 years ago (who I was very close to) my world changed for a while also. We took him on trips with us, we would take him to Florida with us every year (there is family down there) and he was just a great guy. His wife didn't travel with him and didn't like the same destinations. I love to listen to music, but after he died I had no "appetite" to listen to music. It took a while but I eventually found myself again and was able to move on. Now, when we go on trips, we take "vacation hat" with us so he is always there.

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Renee Charles
1/20/2020 08:42:43 pm

No appetite is a good way to describe the feeling.

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