I had to read an article in Psychology class and write a reaction
paper on it. I looked through the titles and found the one that sounded
interesting enough to write something on. Once I read it, my
perspective totally changed and then realized I wasn’t the only one that
felt this way.
The title of the article was “The Stage of Grief No One Admits To:
Relief.” I didn’t understand what it meant, and then I read it. A
lady’s husband had died in a car accident – the day after she told him
she wanted a divorce – and she was ashamed that she felt relief at his
funeral. Their marriage had not been the best the last few years and
she was ready for a change. But when the accident happened and after
the funeral was over, she realized she was able to get on with her life.
Although she grieved for the good times they had, she was ready to move
forward and begin what she hoped would be happier times.
So … here is my take on the paper and my reactions to some deaths and funerals I have been to in the past few years.
My first reaction to this paper was “Wow, I can’t believe she felt
that way.” But after reading it a couple more times and taking an
inventory of how I felt at past funerals and deaths, I realized I felt
the same way at times. I know at the time I felt guilty to feel that
way, but I also knew there was a reason I did.
When my father died in 2004, after being paralyzed in a car accident 9
months earlier, it was like a weight was lifted off my step-mother and
my shoulder. We no longer had to worry about changing his diapers,
making sure his catheter was clean and operating properly, or
transferring him from his bed to his wheelchair so he could try to do
everyday tasks. I loved and admired him for the strength he showed after
his accident, but I knew he was tired of being taken care of like a
helpless child. There is not a day goes by that I don’t wish he was
still here, but only if he could be the whole man he was before his
accident.
My grandson was born 12 weeks too early in 2010 and we were pretty
sure he wouldn’t make it but a few days. He was born March 28 and died
April 15. It was devastating, not only to his young parents, but the
three sets of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and the rest of family and
friends were at a loss when he died. In the same breath, I was thankful
he was out of pain and his single mother that already had a young child
to care for wouldn’t have to deal with a lifetime of doctors and therapy
and who knows what else. I miss him, his tiny body that fought for
those few days to live, and his precious smile when you spoke to him.
But I no longer feel guilty about the relief I feel about his death. I
know it was inevitable and in the long run, the best for him and
everyone involved.
I believe that admitting to the relief is part of what scares us, but
I also think it’s an important part of the healing process. In both of
the deaths I described, without the relief I don’t think I could have
begun to heal properly. I don’t think there is a proper way to grieve –
we all do it differently. I am very quiet about mine and prefer to be
alone and handle it in my own way. Others are very vocal and have to
include everyone around in their healing process.
I’m really glad I read this article. It brought to light a lot of
what I’ve thought about in the past but never knew how to react to it
without feeling guilty. It’s always nice to know you aren’t alone.
Thoughts??
Saturday, April 19, 2014
My Identity: Who Am I?
Identity is defined as the distinguishing character or personality of
an individual, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. I see the
identity of my life being shaped by many things, but most importantly
through being adopted, a survivor and a musician.
I was adopted at four months and have always seen that as being special. I used to tell my sister when she would tease me about it that I was picked and they were stuck with her. Not exactly the truth. My parents received a phone call on a Thursday night that a child was available for them and they could come see me and pick me up the next morning. They frantically called friends and family to tell them the news and gather the necessary items needed for a newborn. Friday morning, they came to the Kansas Children’s Home to meet their new daughter. My mother said I reminded her of a baby bird, opening my mouth to eat, big brown eyes that noticed everything, but no smile, cooing or tears.
Erik Liu, author of Notes of a Native Speaker, wrote, “In many ways, I fit the psychological profile of the so-called banana: imitative, impressionable, rootless, eager to please (Liu 95).” This describes my young life to a tee; I didn’t know who I was or where I came from, but I tried to fit in wherever I could. I didn’t ask to be adopted and as I grew older, I often wondered why my birth parents didn’t want me. My mother had a small amount of information from the court when my adoption was final, but nothing in concrete. When I turned eighteen, I began to search for my birth parents but after many doors being closed in my face, I quit. It was an empty space I would have to live with until many years later when the Internet would bring me face to face with my past and my humble beginnings. I don’t know if finding my birth parents made me feel like I finally fit in somewhere, but I think it brought some closure to the many questions of why I felt I wasn’t wanted anywhere.
I think the beginning of my life, knowing I was different because I was adopted, helped me down the road to become the survivor I am today. I survived childhood abuse, marital abuse, two rapes and the horrific pain of burying two children and a grandchild. Because of this, I have become an avid supporter and speaker for women’s causes. I understand the pain they have endured. I’ve walked a mile in their shoes and bought a new pair. I found a place in this world through talking to and through these women that have gone through the same things I have and identified themselves as survivors. “If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again (Truth 146)!”
One thing that has shaped my life and brought me through many of the trials I have dealt with is my love of listening to, writing and performing music. I began playing piano when I was four years old and not long after that took up the violin, bass and guitar. I’ve written and performed music in many genres from standard gospel to my current love of blues. I try to convey my heart and soul through the words I write and the voice that God has given me to minister to others. I was in a coma for many days in my early life and it was music that pulled me through and gave me something to strive for. I wanted to play the piano again and continue singing. I had to work hard, physically and mentally, to be able to do this. As I listened to tapes of myself performing on a stage, I learned to talk, walk and eventually play the music I had been taught as a child. Music was a lifesaver for me and is used in many forms of therapy in hospitals and other treatment centers today.
Gloria Anzaldua, author of Beyond Traditional Notions of Identity, wrote, “Though most people self-define by what the exclude, we define who we are by what we include.” There are other things in my life that have shaped my identity from being a mother of handicapped children to an older student coming back to college after thirty years of working. But I feel being adopted, a survivor, and having my love of music that I do have formed my identity more than anything else has.
I was adopted at four months and have always seen that as being special. I used to tell my sister when she would tease me about it that I was picked and they were stuck with her. Not exactly the truth. My parents received a phone call on a Thursday night that a child was available for them and they could come see me and pick me up the next morning. They frantically called friends and family to tell them the news and gather the necessary items needed for a newborn. Friday morning, they came to the Kansas Children’s Home to meet their new daughter. My mother said I reminded her of a baby bird, opening my mouth to eat, big brown eyes that noticed everything, but no smile, cooing or tears.
Erik Liu, author of Notes of a Native Speaker, wrote, “In many ways, I fit the psychological profile of the so-called banana: imitative, impressionable, rootless, eager to please (Liu 95).” This describes my young life to a tee; I didn’t know who I was or where I came from, but I tried to fit in wherever I could. I didn’t ask to be adopted and as I grew older, I often wondered why my birth parents didn’t want me. My mother had a small amount of information from the court when my adoption was final, but nothing in concrete. When I turned eighteen, I began to search for my birth parents but after many doors being closed in my face, I quit. It was an empty space I would have to live with until many years later when the Internet would bring me face to face with my past and my humble beginnings. I don’t know if finding my birth parents made me feel like I finally fit in somewhere, but I think it brought some closure to the many questions of why I felt I wasn’t wanted anywhere.
I think the beginning of my life, knowing I was different because I was adopted, helped me down the road to become the survivor I am today. I survived childhood abuse, marital abuse, two rapes and the horrific pain of burying two children and a grandchild. Because of this, I have become an avid supporter and speaker for women’s causes. I understand the pain they have endured. I’ve walked a mile in their shoes and bought a new pair. I found a place in this world through talking to and through these women that have gone through the same things I have and identified themselves as survivors. “If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again (Truth 146)!”
One thing that has shaped my life and brought me through many of the trials I have dealt with is my love of listening to, writing and performing music. I began playing piano when I was four years old and not long after that took up the violin, bass and guitar. I’ve written and performed music in many genres from standard gospel to my current love of blues. I try to convey my heart and soul through the words I write and the voice that God has given me to minister to others. I was in a coma for many days in my early life and it was music that pulled me through and gave me something to strive for. I wanted to play the piano again and continue singing. I had to work hard, physically and mentally, to be able to do this. As I listened to tapes of myself performing on a stage, I learned to talk, walk and eventually play the music I had been taught as a child. Music was a lifesaver for me and is used in many forms of therapy in hospitals and other treatment centers today.
Gloria Anzaldua, author of Beyond Traditional Notions of Identity, wrote, “Though most people self-define by what the exclude, we define who we are by what we include.” There are other things in my life that have shaped my identity from being a mother of handicapped children to an older student coming back to college after thirty years of working. But I feel being adopted, a survivor, and having my love of music that I do have formed my identity more than anything else has.
Certainty
Certainty. Are we ever really certain about anything? Do we know
for certain when we wake in the morning and see a sunrise that it is not
going to rain? Do we know for certain if someone tells us something,
they are telling the truth? How can we ever know for sure and what
happens if what we think we are certain about ends up being a lie? I
don’t think it is possible to be one-hundred percent certain about
anything.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the definition of certainty is: 1) something that is certain; 2) the quality or state of being certain especially on the basis of evidence. Certainty means a state of being free from doubt.
Doubt is seen in many forms. When tragedy happens to a child, doubt begins to form in the mind of the parents. Did they do something wrong? Were they bad people? So many dreams of life that were certain before are now filled with doubt and uncertainty. There is no basis of evidence to remove the doubt, only questions as to why. The only thing certain about the outcome of a tragedy like this, is that is does not make sense. Eventually there will be hope and an understanding, but their life will have changed forever. That … is certain.
As a child being raised by Christian parents, I was certain that God existed and could answer every question I had. I had faith enough in my parents and my church that this was true. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” But on the other side, Friedrich Nietzsche said, “A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.” As I grew older and things happened in my life, I began to doubt and no longer knew for certain what truth was and what to believe. Perhaps it is because I had no evidence of an all-powerful being that could answer all my questions like I believed with no uncertainty as a child. The only proof I had was what I was taught through the Bible, a book written by men, who are, at best, fallible.
But one would argue that if not God, who created the earth in seven days and put us here to live from the bounties that abide? I do not know the answer. I would like to know, but I am not sure that is possible. I do not believe that anyone can be certain that one person, God, created this remarkable place we call home. So the debate goes on: did a single being create the earth or was it formed when particles from somewhere in the universe collided and where we live today became as it is? Once again, my proof is from men, who may be geniuses in their thinking and reasoning, but still imperfect in every sense of the word.
Does life afford us certainties? Are we given an extended warranty to make sure everything we hope for is what we achieve? Vaclav Havel, a Czech playwright, said, “Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” I believe the only thing that is certain about life is that we are alive at this very moment. We cannot say, without uncertainty we will be here tomorrow. We cannot see the future and know whether or not our life will end today. That is not ours to comprehend, to know the exact time of when we take our last breath. But I believe we can be certain, with a little bit of luck and careful planning on our part, we have the hope that we will be here another day. Henri Poincare, a French philosopher of science said, “It is far better to foresee even without certainty than not to foresee at all.” We should live each day to the fullest with hope, not with fear of the unknown.
I do not believe is it possible to be certain about everything in life. I think we need to have faith and be certain about what our convictions tell us instead of what someone is forcing us to believe based on their evidence. “For my part I know nothing of certainty, but the sight of the stars make me dream – Vincent Van Gogh.” And of that, I am certain.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the definition of certainty is: 1) something that is certain; 2) the quality or state of being certain especially on the basis of evidence. Certainty means a state of being free from doubt.
Doubt is seen in many forms. When tragedy happens to a child, doubt begins to form in the mind of the parents. Did they do something wrong? Were they bad people? So many dreams of life that were certain before are now filled with doubt and uncertainty. There is no basis of evidence to remove the doubt, only questions as to why. The only thing certain about the outcome of a tragedy like this, is that is does not make sense. Eventually there will be hope and an understanding, but their life will have changed forever. That … is certain.
As a child being raised by Christian parents, I was certain that God existed and could answer every question I had. I had faith enough in my parents and my church that this was true. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” But on the other side, Friedrich Nietzsche said, “A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.” As I grew older and things happened in my life, I began to doubt and no longer knew for certain what truth was and what to believe. Perhaps it is because I had no evidence of an all-powerful being that could answer all my questions like I believed with no uncertainty as a child. The only proof I had was what I was taught through the Bible, a book written by men, who are, at best, fallible.
But one would argue that if not God, who created the earth in seven days and put us here to live from the bounties that abide? I do not know the answer. I would like to know, but I am not sure that is possible. I do not believe that anyone can be certain that one person, God, created this remarkable place we call home. So the debate goes on: did a single being create the earth or was it formed when particles from somewhere in the universe collided and where we live today became as it is? Once again, my proof is from men, who may be geniuses in their thinking and reasoning, but still imperfect in every sense of the word.
Does life afford us certainties? Are we given an extended warranty to make sure everything we hope for is what we achieve? Vaclav Havel, a Czech playwright, said, “Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” I believe the only thing that is certain about life is that we are alive at this very moment. We cannot say, without uncertainty we will be here tomorrow. We cannot see the future and know whether or not our life will end today. That is not ours to comprehend, to know the exact time of when we take our last breath. But I believe we can be certain, with a little bit of luck and careful planning on our part, we have the hope that we will be here another day. Henri Poincare, a French philosopher of science said, “It is far better to foresee even without certainty than not to foresee at all.” We should live each day to the fullest with hope, not with fear of the unknown.
I do not believe is it possible to be certain about everything in life. I think we need to have faith and be certain about what our convictions tell us instead of what someone is forcing us to believe based on their evidence. “For my part I know nothing of certainty, but the sight of the stars make me dream – Vincent Van Gogh.” And of that, I am certain.
My Mythic Journey
Life begins somewhat the same way for most
of us. Our mom and dad meet, fall in love, get married and then … here
we are! Born into a life in which we have no clue what it holds for us.
And at any time, the journey in which we started at birth can be changed
to go in various directions depending on certain life situations that
occur.
My life began sort of the same, but in a little different order. My mom and dad met, fell in love, got pregnant, lived together and then came me. They never married and “happily ever after” was not a term they understood. I was born December 18, 1962 in Kansas City, Kansas and put up for adoption not too long after.
I was adopted by a wonderful family in Independence, Missouri. My new parents received a phone call on a Thursday night that a child was available for them and they could come see me and pick me up the next morning. They frantically called friends and family to tell them the news and gather the necessary items needed for a newborn. Friday morning, they came to meet their new daughter. My mother said I reminded her of a baby bird, opening my mouth to eat, big brown eyes that noticed everything, but no smile, cooing or tears.
Erik Liu, author of Notes of a Native Speaker, wrote, “In many ways, I fit the psychological profile of the so-called human banana: imitative, impressionable, rootless, and eager to please.” This describes my young life to a tee; I didn’t know who I was or where I came from, but I tried to fit in wherever I could. I didn’t ask to be adopted and as I grew older, I often wondered why my birth parents didn’t want me. My mother had a small amount of information from the court when my adoption was final, but nothing in concrete. When I turned eighteen, I began to search for my birth parents but after many doors being closed in my face, I quit. It was an empty space I would have to live with until many years later when the Internet would bring me face to face with my past and my humble beginnings.
I met my birth father Memorial Day weekend in 1996 and I asked him how I came to be adopted. We lived in an apartment in a very poor part of downtown Kansas City, Missouri. My mom and dad fought constantly. Day after day, she would take me out on the streets in my carriage and tell people, “Isn’t she pretty? Would you like to buy her?” My father couldn’t take any more and made her leave the house. He tried his best to raise me on his own, working as a welder from 3 to 11 five evenings a week. I was left with a babysitter who lived in the same building and my father would pick me up, put me to bed, and in the morning play with me until he had to leave for work once again.
One night when he came to pick me up from the babysitter, she told my father that my mother came during the day to take me to the doctor and never brought me back. My father knew this wasn’t the reason she came to pick me up and asked the babysitter if she was going to take me anywhere else. She told my father she didn’t think so and that she only took my sweater, a small pink blanket and my teddy bear with me.
My father made phone calls trying to locate me, but to no avail. He had no idea where she had taken me. He found out later she had taken me to the Kansas Children’s Home and put me up for adoption. But year after year, he would think about me and wonder where I was, who I was, and if I was being taken good care of. He put ads in the newspapers on my birthday, but until I was 18, I didn’t know what my birth name was. I don’t know if finding my birth parents made me feel like I finally fit in somewhere, but I think it brought some closure to the many questions of why I felt I wasn’t wanted anywhere.
I think the beginning of my life, knowing I was different because I was adopted, helped me down the road to become the survivor I am today. I survived childhood abuse, marital abuse, two rapes and the horrific pain of burying two children and a grandchild. Because of this, I have become an avid supporter and speaker for women’s causes. I understand the pain they have endured. I’ve walked a mile in their shoes and bought a new pair. I found a place in this world through talking to and through these women that have gone through the same things I have and identified themselves as survivors.
Gloria Anzaldua, author of Beyond Traditional Notions of Identity, wrote, “Though most people self-define by what they exclude, we define who we are by what we include.” There are other things in my life that have shaped my identity from being a mother of handicapped children to an older student coming back to college after thirty years of working. But I feel being adopted and a survivor have formed my identity and set my feet on the path that I travel more than anything else has.
Tell me what aches … What do you ache for and what aches for you?
Writing Prompt ~ Tell me what aches.
Start first with the concrete – your back, knee, toe, ear, wrist, head. What about a stomach ache, when do you get them?
Now move on to the other, less obvious injury: heartache.
Then other things that ache : trees, history, mountains, war, bicycles, roads and the sea. What do you ache for and what aches for you?
Go for ten minutes and then share what you discovered. Here is what I found – I would love to hear what you are thinking about!!!
My head, not just the usual headache, but my sinuses blocked up. The pain reminds me of a fight between Mario and Luigi on Super Mario Bros. One side gets smashed with a sledgehammer and then the other side gets hit. Back and forth, like ping pong or tennis game, wondering if it’s ever gonna stop.
Heartache, an excruciating pain. It’s not physical, one that someone can see, but enough to make me clutch my chest when something tries to break my heart. The last one that really hurt was a few weeks ago when my goddaughter took her life. She left behind a 2 month old angel and a devastated mother, my best friend. The earth shattering cries that came out while I held her tore my heart into so many pieces that I’m not sure it will ever be put back together.
I ache for the clean, brisk air of the lake and the wide open 5 acres we have. The babbling brook running through the back of the property is full of frogs that sing in harmony with the crickets and birds. We are off the beaten path so no one is around to watch us bathe in our redneck hot tub or sit out in our jammies around the Mexican Chimnea to feel the heat of the fire within. The silence brings peace to my soul while I watch the millions of stars in the midnight blue sky. They call to me, asking me to come back and sing my songs and wish another wish. And all the while, the moon shines bright, lighting my way along the gravel road to our little peace of heaven at the lake.
Start first with the concrete – your back, knee, toe, ear, wrist, head. What about a stomach ache, when do you get them?
Now move on to the other, less obvious injury: heartache.
Then other things that ache : trees, history, mountains, war, bicycles, roads and the sea. What do you ache for and what aches for you?
Go for ten minutes and then share what you discovered. Here is what I found – I would love to hear what you are thinking about!!!
My head, not just the usual headache, but my sinuses blocked up. The pain reminds me of a fight between Mario and Luigi on Super Mario Bros. One side gets smashed with a sledgehammer and then the other side gets hit. Back and forth, like ping pong or tennis game, wondering if it’s ever gonna stop.
Heartache, an excruciating pain. It’s not physical, one that someone can see, but enough to make me clutch my chest when something tries to break my heart. The last one that really hurt was a few weeks ago when my goddaughter took her life. She left behind a 2 month old angel and a devastated mother, my best friend. The earth shattering cries that came out while I held her tore my heart into so many pieces that I’m not sure it will ever be put back together.
I ache for the clean, brisk air of the lake and the wide open 5 acres we have. The babbling brook running through the back of the property is full of frogs that sing in harmony with the crickets and birds. We are off the beaten path so no one is around to watch us bathe in our redneck hot tub or sit out in our jammies around the Mexican Chimnea to feel the heat of the fire within. The silence brings peace to my soul while I watch the millions of stars in the midnight blue sky. They call to me, asking me to come back and sing my songs and wish another wish. And all the while, the moon shines bright, lighting my way along the gravel road to our little peace of heaven at the lake.
Sounds ... What sound sent your life spinning?
The next few posts you see are things I've written for classes or just more "random thoughts" I've decided to post. So just posting various things ...
Writing Prompt ~ What sound sent
your life spinning? Write for ten minutes.
Don’t forget to keep the pen moving
and follow wherever your thoughts lead you. Please share what you are thinking.
Phone calls at my office. I received
three that changed my life. The first one said, “Mrs. McGill (my first
marriage), there’s been an accident and your son is in the hospital.” My
oldest, who has Muscular Dystrophy, was swimming and his head went under while
floating on his back. He sunk to the bottom of the pool and was under for
several minutes. A fireman was standing outside the fence of the pool, climbed
it and jumped in the pool to save my son. He was in an oxygen tent at the
hospital for two days and came through the experience with flying colors.
The second phone call was my
step-mom telling me my sister had a massive heart attack and they were taking
her to the hospital. I left work and while in my car, the words of a Josh
Groban song came across the radio. “To Where You Are” let me know in my heart
my sister was gone and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. She was only 48 and
healthy. It made me realize how short life can be and to make sure we say what
needs to be said to the ones we love.
The third phone call was my
half-brother telling me my 80 year old father and step-mom had been in a bad
car wreck and my father was being airlifted to a local trauma center. Once
again, I left work and rushed to the hospital, getting there just as my father
was being wheeled into the emergency room. He was talking and laughing with the
crew from the helicopter, but he wasn’t moving. We found out he was paralyzed
from the waist down. This was in September, 13 days after his birthday. I spent
six weeks in ICU with him and the next several months in and out of rehabilitation.
He finally came home in April and I wondered how long he would be with me. The
Friday before Mother’s Day, my step-mom called me at home to let me know my
father didn’t wake up. My best friend was gone and once again, my heart was
broken.
To this day, I hate phone calls that
start with Mrs. Whatever my name is at this point or from family members with
bad news.
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