Letters to Cassidy
The first letter to Cassidy came from the inability to find the support I needed. This post is the raw reality of when helping becomes hurt from those around you.
“All the times I had stood in the wilderness solo and free where no one knew where I was, was now my emotional reality. Nobody knew what was happening in my heart and in my head. There was a loneliness that is as acute as the early days of Cassidy's death, so I did what worked. I wrote to her.”
In the early mornings of my grief I found myself standing in a world that was racing. I was frozen. I had no way to regulate, to get out of the way of anything that was coming at me, or any way to impose any reason and context to the on-goings of my surroundings. I knew the basic principals of wake up (from repeated night terrors), put my feet on the floor and go from there. There was nothing else. In retrospect I can see the helping hands as my sister took me to my job to arrange my work days, as my friend called and asked for my email and paid my mortgage, as my partner took on parenting in a very new relationship as he watched me sink. Unfortunately, the ebb and flow faded quickly in my grief world and everyone else, they had the privilege of moving on. The reality is that the grace period is almost as short as the flower deliveries. Maybe even shorter. When my people moved on, I was in the tundra's elements alone. All the times I had stood in the wilderness solo and free where no one knew where I was, was now my emotional reality. Nobody knew what was happening in my heart and in my head. There was a loneliness that is as acute as the early days of Cassidy's death, so I did what worked. I wrote to her.
I am aware people do not know what to do
As aware as I am that people don't know what to do for their griever, I am aware as to how hurtful the 'help' can be. I was a working single mom who had lost her daughter. As I attempted to get my youngest special needs child in the bath and set a laptop for her with a movie that was not working, my friend stood in my kitchen and cried stating "It hurts to see you this way" as though I had the capacity to attend to her feelings. She then proceeded to tell me there was medication that could help me. Medication. After her exit I mustered the energy to let her know she was not welcome to come back. What I want her to know is that there is no medication that will heal my heart. I am supposed to be sad. There is also no way any person in my position can attend to the feelings of another. Like many relationships, it dissolved and was added to the list of people who asked me to support them in the midst of the most difficult time of my life. There is nothing beyond the inner workings of grief to a griever. Nothing. I did an audit of my relationships and soon, any person who could not take hold of the concept that this was not the time for them to have my support were cast off the list of people to reach towards. Unfortunately for me, it was the majority of those around me, including family. Some I drew a map to the answers by offering books to guide the way but was met with, "I am not sure what you are getting at, but everything is fine over here". As though I sent the map to help their own neurosis, I went on my own way knowing that the point was not only missed but wasn't even comprehensive to someone who had not shared my experience. What I want her to know is that there is a world outside of herself that sometimes requires her to look outward.
I too am aware that this sounds like blame. From me expressing how I was told my daughter resides in hell to the breaking of the olive branches I stretched from my own incapacity, it surely sounds like I am angry. I am. I am absolutely disappointed. I want my disappointment to reach if my need can't. I want grievers to be loved and not hurt by human error. We need to do better than that. I have often felt frustrated with myself for having a grace of my own that allows me to remove instead of react, allows me to lean into discomfort and hurt until it softens, and stands beside gratitude instead of the tragedy of it all. If I was reactive I would be unable to support from a whole different place in the eyes of others. But that is not how my mountain was built. It was built upon my ability to care for myself, which includes removing what does not. I could not ask for help. I was too busy helping myself. Instead of being honoured I was used as a leaning post. This is not ok.
In the early hours of the night I felt the worst. It was as though an alarm would sound and I would quietly make my way to the bathroom with my phone to write it all away. After all of the human error, I just wanted to be alone, back in the tundra that scared me as it was better than the misunderstandings. I knew the place to reach was to her. I knew it was the safest and softest place to land how I felt. I knew she would hear, and I knew I would be understood.
Letter 1
I sat next to you in that silent chair, my legs folded at aching knees, the bottom half of my legs asleep, in an attempt to be close to you. Much like meditation, I only shifted if I absolutely had to. Your shift change would come and most nurses would kindly request I come back later, but not Kookie. She would work around me. She must be a mother. She is soft quiet compassion. I would stroke your hand, and shift between watching you and watching her. She cared for you with greatness in her heart. Each task was a commitment to your well being. I would ask small questions and she would always give me an arrow like answer. Her eyes would hold tight, so not to swell... for my sake. She took her stethoscope and washed the ends that allowed her to listen and then she put them in my ears. The cold circle pressed gently against your warmest heart. The compression of your lungs swished in the distance of your heart beating on its own. I closed my eyes and realized that I would listen to your heart before you came into this world, and as you would leave. A full, incomplete enso. Your heart was the sound of rest and fight. Determined while open. I loved sitting there and I imagined you sitting on the sideline watching and resting for the next round. That solid heart had always beaten to its own drum without apology. Yet, the restful peace of your heart sounded like a flow of vinyasa. Gracious. I laid my head down on you and just ... listened. Kookie continued to work around me and when she needed her stethoscope back, she brought me another. Just the same, like the necessary shift when time is of the essence. These are the teachable moments that time is ALWAYS of the essence. As Buddha says, “All conditioned things break down. Walk the path with care.” Kookie knows this. You know this as you bloom outside your window, as I am learning what it means to truly let go.
I miss your heartbeat. I am a mother after all. A conditioned human mother in equanimity.
No person can feel this weight and support another. Ever.
With metta,
L.
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