Transitions

     Transitions. We all go through them. When we're little, we change at lightning fast speed from a newborn, to a toddler, to a child, to a teen and then we're suddenly "adults" and things seem to slow down for a bit.
     Until we get swept up in the next storm of college, career, marriage, kids--maybe in that order, maybe not. Maybe we go through all those steps. Maybe not. Typically, most of us experience at least some of these things.
     If we're fortunate enough, we eventually hit "middle age." Most people I know don't like using that phrase to describe themselves. I suppose it's the same as a young person who hates being referred to as a "teenager." Labels are just not fun.
     At middle age, we literally start to creak and our eyesight starts to go. When it first happens, it's rather amusing. We quickly discover that many of the stereotypes of getting older are true. We may try to deny it at first or even fight it. Until we slip into some form of acceptance. We choose fashionable reading glasses and try to dress "our age" (whatever that means), We go to the doctor regularly, try to eat better, try to exercise more, but we know our bodies are simply aging.
     It's kind of sad but it's kind of no big deal. After all, we've experienced something similar before. Remember puberty? Our bodies suddenly betrayed us, churning our hormones around and turning our smooth skin into bright red pimples. Now our knees are giving out sometimes and our smooth skin is become a little less firm. Oh well.
     What's truly sad, however, is when we begin to see our parents really aging. Their bodies seem to go right before our eyes. They may still be "Mommy" or "Daddy" and they may still have a sharp mind and quick wit. But the inevitable is happening. And there is nothing we can do to stop it.
     Many of us are in the "sandwich generation" as it's known. We have children to take care of and we're trying to help our parents, too. I can attest that it isn't easy to balance all of this. Especially while trying to keep up with a full-time job, take care of a home, maintain a happy marriage, and (maybe) visit with friends every once in a while.
     Let me state the obvious: all of it is worth it but none of it is easy. I can remember very vividly feeling so "harried" for many years. I felt as though I was just being thrown from day to day, spread too thin, chronically sleep-deprived, with no time or energy to make any conscious decisions.
     Then everything slowed down. I was able to catch my breath a little. The pressures were easing up a bit.  I crossed a lot of mile markers in my life--graduations, anniversaries, and other accomplishments. But this is a very bittersweet feeling.
    Tragically, many of my loved ones are gone now. Crossing this mile marker in my life is absolutely nothing to celebrate. So I sit with these feelings of heartbreak and loss, missing people who I love dearly and can never replace. At the same time, knowing there is nothing I can do to change these sad truths, knowing I must continue to move forward into another chapter of my life.
     But what do I do with myself? What is my identity now? For decades I was "Daughter" and "Mother" so who am I now?
     I will always be my mom's little girl and I will always be my children's mommy. Logically I know this. But my heart is a bit achy.
     As a woman of the 21st century, I know labels don't hold all of my identity. After all, I am so much more. However, these labels are ones that I wore proudly (still do) so they're not easy to let go of.
     I am stumbling into my "new" life now, a little at a time. I am re-discovering my younger self within my older self. For example, I am reading books again, writing more, walking more. I am getting back into nature, focusing on my pets again (because after all, they still need me!) My husband and I are dating again, enjoying quiet down time. We're playing Yahtzee, having deep conversations, eating leisurely meals.
     One of the best perks is that my "little girl" Alexandra is now an adult. She has become one of my best friends. We enjoy hanging out together, doing girl things, having grown up talks. I still do a lot of mothering (and sometimes probably smothering!) because it's a hard habit to break. But she doesn't seem to mind.
     After all, she is transitioning, too. We all are.
   

So this is what "normal" grief feels like

      My mother died less than a month ago. She was 75 years old, she had been sick for many years, and she died in her sleep at hospice surrounded by family. Since she was my only parent (and I didn't have aunts or uncles or other adult family members with whom I was close), my mom was my life. Quite literally. My childhood was always just three of us--Mom and my sister and me.
      It's been eight years since my oldest daughter, Alicia, was killed. Right now I am grieving my mom and I miss her very much. But her passing has triggered immense grief pains for my Alicia. I wasn't expecting this but I believe it is due to the extreme contrast.
     The way Mom passed seemed so peaceful. Sad, of course, but it made sense in the big scheme of life. I can't help but be reminded how terribly unfair Alicia's death was. She was only 19. Mom was 75. Mom lived a full life. Not a perfect life, not a problem-free life. But there wasn't much Mom didn't get to experience.
      Mom also died relatively pain-free as far as I could tell. She had nurses surrounding her with pillows, blankets, medicine, and I don't think she was even conscious when she passed. If she was aware at all, then she could hear us telling her how much we love her and that it was okay if she wanted to go. We were holding her hand and thanking her for all she had done for us.
      My daughter was killed--she didn't "pass." She was brutally beaten. I reel when I imagine it. Sometimes I picture the terrible event in my mind--what it must have looked like, sounded like, felt like for her. I can't help it. It is torture for me but my mind goes there sometimes. I hope Alicia died quickly but I know she didn't die peacefully. I know she experienced pain and fear. Sometimes I like to think that adrenaline kicked in and she was shielded biologically. I like to believe that God took her soul before she was able to experience the horror and she was shielded spiritually. But the truth is, I just don't know.
     Losing Alicia caused me to experience "complicated grief." Now that Mom has passed, I am experiencing "normal grief." I almost feel guilty that I am not more upset about Mom but I know this is healthy. I have so much acceptance, knowing that my mom was ready and somewhat relieved since she was in pain for so many years. This experience has made me feel extra bad about Alicia's death. I am devastated about how extremely unfair it was for her.
     I'd like to believe Mom is with Alicia now. It is a beautiful thought. In fact, I had a vision of Alicia dressed in white with a huge smile on her face, lifting mom from her bed as she passed. Was it wishful thinking? Or was it a spiritual experience? I don't know but I am going to choose the latter.