I Lost My Mom When My Grandma Died

On Good Friday of this year, my grandma died. She was in her 90s and it was expected, but it was still hard. She had been in hospice care, and my mom and my aunt were there by her side until the end. My dad, brother, and I headed out that weekend for support and the funeral.

I can’t imagine how hard it was for my mom to deal with that. Knowing that the end was coming but having no idea when. How much stress was she under thinking that every breath my grandma took could be her last? How many questions and doubts ran through her mind? How often did she wonder if they had made the right choice? How much guilt coursed through her thinking that there was something more they could do but weren’t doing it?

Not only is that type of situation emotional, it’s traumatic. It’s something that stays with you for a long time. Having to make those decisions and going through the heartache and pain day in and day is life changing.

Before my grandma went into hospice, I had been facing some of my own challenges. I would talk to my mom every day, sometimes multiple times a day, looking for support, advice, and empathy. She was always there to provide.

When she headed back to be with my grandma, I reduced my contact. I didn’t cut it off completely; I sent her inspirational quotes and let her know that I was there if she needed anything. I stopped talking about my problems. The last thing she needed was that on top of everything else.

It was at the moment that I realized I had been depending on my mom too much. Part of me wanted—and hoped—that she would do or say something that would make all of my troubles and issues go away. It was unfair to expect that of her—and unrealistic. I realized then that I had to figure things out on my own. I had to learn to depend on myself.

Coming to this realization was difficult. It didn’t mean I had to cut my mom out of my life completely, and it certainly didn’t negate all of the wonderful things she had done for me. But it changed her role, how I viewed her. I knew I could still talk to her and that she would still support me, but it changed how I depended on her. That was my decision. One I came to on my own. I never said a word to her.

When I went back to be with my family for the funeral, emotions were high. There was sadness, but there was also joy. Pain, but also relief. If you’ve ever experienced a death, you know that all emotions often get mixed into the moment.

I had a hard time dealing with it. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I had no idea how to support my mom or be there for her. I felt out of place. That’s a strange thing to feel around your own family, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I did what I could, but I never felt like my actions were right or enough. I was trying to find my place after the decision I had made and working through the issues that had existed before and never went away.

A few months after the funeral, things changed again. My life spiraled further into despair. I was back to texting and talking to my mom pretty much every day. Then, she had to deal with more tragedy. So, once again, I reduced my contact and refrained from heaping my issues on top of hers.

My mom and I have always had a good relationship. She has always been my support, my inspiration, my idol. She is an absolutely amazing woman, and she has always been so strong. It was hard for me to see her hurting. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. I did what I could, but it never felt like it was enough.

Again, on top of all of that, I was dealing with my own trauma. Not having my mom be there like she had always been in the past was hard for me to handle. It left me feeling alone and isolated. I felt abandoned.

As unfair and awful as that sounds, I can’t deny my feelings. It made me angry—both at her and at the universe. I did the only thing I could: I withdrew into myself. I cut everyone off, including my mom. I shut out the world.

When my grandma died, I lost my mom. I lost her to tragedy, grief, and stress—both hers and my own. All of those things have changed me, and they have changed her.

I don’t think either of us know how to be there for each other right now. There are hurt feelings on both sides, and we are reeling from loss.

It’s hard to lose your mom. Mine is still around physically, but there has been an emotional disconnect.

It’s probably unfair for me to be upset and angry, but I don’t know how to let it go. She is also entitled to have those feelings, and to feel lonely, isolated, and abandoned. If she feels these things, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

Logically, I understand how terrible it is for me to feel the way I do. But at the same time, dealing with change is hard. No one is going to come out of this loss being the same person they were before. How do you negotiate that?

I want to get to know my new mom once things have calmed down. I’m sure that we can once again have a relationship and talk. But that is going to take time—for both of us.

It’s Okay to Feel

Photo from Pixabay

We humans are such complicated creatures. We have been gifted with two traits that allow us to rise above the other animals: our intelligence and our emotions.

Our intelligence has allowed us to mold, shape, and develop the world into a place that works for us and gives us the best opportunity for survival. For the most part, we are not at the mercy of the elements, and we don’t have to struggle day after day to find food or shelter. We even have technological luxuries that keep us entertained and developed advancements to prolong our lives.

With all of our advancements and our gift of superior knowledge, our emotions keep things balanced. They knock us off our pedestal and remind us that despite our knowledge and refinements, we’re still figuring life out.

The vast majority of humans strive for happiness. They want to feel good and smile and know they are secure. There’s nothing wrong with wanting happiness, but it’s a misguided notion. Complete happiness is also impossible to attain.

No matter how hard we try, we cannot escape the other emotions. Anger, sadness, jealousy, and everything in between are part of who we are as humans. Like happiness, there’s nothing wrong with these emotions, but the vast majority of us try to ignore this side of ourselves and deny that we feel what we feel.

In a lot of cases, this becomes incredibly evident when tragedy strikes. We may allow ourselves some time of tears and sadness, but often, before we are ready, we tell ourselves it’s time to move on. We convince ourselves that we have to be strong for others. We shove the negative emotions down deep and tell ourselves and others that we are okay.

This does not make the emotions go away.

Pretending everything is all right doesn’t take us one step closer to happiness or coping.

If we don’t deal with our emotions when they arise, they will manifest in another form.

Oftentimes, we aren’t even aware of this new manifestation of emotions. We may feel isolated—like no one else can possibly understand what we’re going through—and we tell others that we are fine. Yet, we then lash out unnecessarily and uncontrollably. We tell ourselves that it was the other person’s fault because we are coping just fine. They are the problem, not us.

 Photo by Kristina Tripkovic on Unsplash

These actions become self-fulfilling prophecies. By mindlessly and needlessly lashing out at others, we do end up pushing them away and becoming isolated. This, of course, leads to more negative emotions and believing that something is wrong with the world.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be happy. It’s a good life goal to have. But it’s also important to realize that with the light, there has to be the dark. We can’t appreciate one without the other.

We also have to realize that if we feel anything less than happiness, that’s okay. We haven’t failed at life if we are sad or angry. We are human.

When we deny our emotions, we let fear and worry take over our lives. More often than not, we don’t realize this has happened until we wake up one morning and feel different. It is at this moment that we take the time to look back at events and realize we weren’t handling things the way we thought we were.

In some cases, we may have caused a lot of damage—said mean and hurtful things to the people who were trying to help—and it may be impossible to undo those actions.

We humans have been given some amazing gifts, but we don’t always know what to do with them. There is no shame in having emotions, including negative ones, and it doesn’t make us weak to experience them. I repeat: having emotions DOES NOT make us weak. It makes us human.

No one is perfect, and no one is above their emotions. Instead of trying to conquer them, let them be part of who you are—they are anyway. Instead of looking for happiness, strive to be content. It acknowledges that life is full of ups and downs and gives us the ability to accept the good and the bad.

Don’t deny your emotions. Acknowledge them. Let them be heard. Let them run their course. Nothing lasts forever. Not happiness, not anger, not grief, not anxiety. I know it feels like you are losing control through this act, but you’re not. You’re actually gaining a better understanding of yourself and developing strength.

Photo from Pixabay

Attempting to Hold Back the Anxiety…and Failing

Tomorrow, my husband and I are going to pick up Floki, a Corgi fur baby we are adding to our family. He is in addition to the female that we should be getting in a few weeks. I’m both excited and scared to death to bring him home.

I just found out yesterday that he’s being flown in.  That makes me even less comfortable!  I’m not a fan of flying, so no doubt I’m projecting my fear onto him, but still!  He’s going to be on a plane all by himself for 10 hours!  We don’t get to pick him up until 11:07 tomorrow night.

When I spoke to the airline, they assured me that they do this all the time and even though it’s a long day for him, he’ll be just fine.  I really want to believe them.  I hope they are right, but I won’t know until tomorrow.  Gah!  This is soooooo stressing me out!

Rolo’s death really shook me, and as someone who deals with anxiety and panic attacks, it’s hard for me to shake the illogical and look at the situation logically. I’m terrified the same thing will happen to Floki—or that something will happen to him on the plane. I’m afraid of going through the heartache and loss again.

I’ve been worrying about what’s going to happen in the future. I know I shouldn’t, but—again—I can’t always shut off my brain. I know I need to take it one day at a time, and I will, but some days will probably be harder than others.

Wish me luck. Two puppies at one time is going to be a challenge. My one and only hope is that they both live long, healthy, happy lives.

Moving Forward

Earlier this week, my family and I decided that we are going to get another Corgi.  We'll be getting her from the same breeders that we got Rolo from, and it's the same parents, so technically it will be his sister from another litter.

Originally, we were going to name her Rollo, with two Ls, but I decided that Siggy sounded better.  (And yes, for those of you who noticed, I'm a huge Vikings fan.)  We don't know which one we're getting yet, we want to let their personalities develop, but one of these lovelies will be our new fur baby.

I thought long and hard about this decision, and weighed the pros and cons.  My heart is still broken from losing Rolo, and I'm fully aware that a new dog will never replace him, but the house feels so empty.

Life is full of uncertainty.  What happened to Rolo was a freak occurrence, and the possibility exists that it could happen again--or a million other scenarios could occur.  I live with anxiety and panic disorder, so believe me when I say that my brain comes up with some ridiculous worst-case scenarios.  But I don't let them rule my life.  I can't.  I would never leave the house if I did.  I wouldn't let my family leave the house if I let my imagination rule my life.

My point is that its better to take a chance than live with regrets.  Yes, something bad could happen.  But you know what else could happen?  Something good.  She could turn out to be an amazingly wonderful dog that lives a long life and makes everyone in the family happy.  Her life with us is going to be awesome--no matter how long she's in it.  I'm going to spoil her rotten.

Life can't be about the what ifs.  It has to be about the what happens.  Yes, it's painful.  I will probably worry every day that I own her, but I have to give it a chance.  I can't live in fear.

I'm happy with my decision, even if I'm not completely confident with it.  I'm looking forward to what the future with Siggy will bring.

Getting Back into the Groove

The past few weeks have been both emotionally and physically draining. Being stressed and then getting sick led me down the path of no motivation. Even thinking about writing anything longer than a blog post made me want to curl into the fetal position and cry. But then I felt the agonizing guilt of not writing when I should have been.

That vicious cycle, coupled with everything else that was going on, pretty much shut me down. I couldn’t function. I didn’t do anything but stare at the TV and think about how I needed to get some writing done.

And then, I did. I picked up my pen and put it to paper, and relief washed over me. I felt like everything was going to be all right with the world and that I could get my life back on track. It made me feel like things were finally getting back to normal.

I’m working on my grandfather-in-law’s biography, and it has been interesting. I’m going to be honest, I’m nervous about doing it. I’m nervous that he’s going to hate it when I’m done. But I’m doing my best to tell his story.

Figuring that out took me a little while. I was thinking that I needed to have tons and tons of historical information and stats and names and places from the war. And the book will have those things, but the main focus will be Dale’s story. It will be about his experiences with historical information to back it up.

Until it’s done, I’m not sure how he’ll react to it, but I have to get something down on paper first. It’s been a rough few weeks, but I’m getting there. The words are coming, and that makes me very happy.

Answers

Last week I talked to the vet, and she had some answers about what happened to Rolo.

The preliminary investigation didn't indicate any obvious signs of death.  There was nothing wrong with his internal organs or any signs of trauma, so they had to dig deeper and do a toxicology report and bacteria cultures.

The bacteria cultures were incredibly revealing.  Apparently, Rolo had a strep infection, and that led to Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS).  (This is a good article that explains the disease if you're interested.)  They have no idea where he got the strep infection or why his body reacted the way it did, but that's what led to his death.

This type of reaction is extremely rare.  It had nothing to do with his breeding, and it can't be transferred to my boys or the other pets.  It was a freak occurrence.  There was no way it could have been prevented, and no way to treat it.  Even if they had known it was TSS when I brought him to the vet, they couldn't have saved him.  Antibiotics wouldn't have helped.  All they could have done was make him comfortable, and that's exactly what they did.

Even though this information won't bring him back or unbreak my heart, I'm glad to have it.  I don't have to worry and wonder anymore.  One of my biggest fears was that someone had poisoned Rolo and that substance was still in my yard, accessible to my kids and anyone else who visited.  Thankfully, that wasn't the case.

I still miss him every day, but at least my questions have been answered.

I'm thankful for what the vet did for him, and for what the vet lab found out.  I'm thankful for my family, friends, coworkers, and strangers that supported me in finding answers and continue to support me through a difficult time.  I'm thankful that I can bring another dog into the house and not have to worry something bad will happen to it (although I'm sure I still will).

Most of all, I'm thankful for the short amount of time that Rolo was part of our lives.  He made us so happy, and I spoiled him rotten.  It still amazes me that a small furball could mean so much and make such an impact, but I'm grateful he did.

Thankful for What I Have

The past few weeks have been really tough for me.  The death of my puppy has affected me deeply, but there have been other things that have been going on in my life that I won't go into here.  But through it all, I've been trying to focus on the positive, and here are a few things I've tried to focus on recently.

My family, friends, coworkers, and strangers are amazing.

In my time of need, when I felt like the world was crashing down on me, they were there with a helping hand and loving arms.  They let me know that I wasn't alone and that I had support.  I don't think they'll ever know how much that means to me.

Life is way too short.

I refuse to spend it being miserable, but I also refuse to spend it not feeling.  Life can be tough and unfair and throw sadness, anger, and confusion at me, but I have to take it all in stride.  Without those moments, how can I experience happiness?  It sucks, and going through it is the worst thing ever, but it makes me appreciate what I have.

What are my priorities?

I've been thinking a lot about this one lately, and it ties into the notion that life is short.  I'm still figuring out what I want and need to do.  This is certainly not something that will happen over night, it will take time, and I hope that it will help me be happier.

Life has its ups and downs--that is certainly not a secret.  I have to deal with whatever comes my way, but I'm going to do it on my terms.  I'm not going to let anyone tell me how I should feel or react to the situation, I'm going to do what I have to do.

Time will make everything all right, and while it will never erase the bad memories, it will dull the hurt and it will make me stronger, and that's what it takes to get through life.