July 12th, 2016
I didn't have to wonder what to write about tonight. Two years ago today, my husband and I were in a car crash. We went out for a date and had a great time. On our way back, mere blocks from our home, a teenager, texting while driving hit our car from behind. I hit the back of my head so hard, my sunglasses flew off. I found them weeks later in the wreckage. I went for massage therapy then physiotherapy and biofeedback. I am much better now but I still have reminders of the accident when I can't find the word I am looking for, when I am exhausted at the end of the day, when my head or neck hurt or I feel dizzy. However, I feel grateful to be alive.
Today, two years later, my husband and I received some terrible news. A friend of ours has lost her husband. Our babysitter and her sister have lost their dad. He died from a heart attack at work. We found out from one of his co-workers who just happened to be my husband's friend. He was only 52 years old, he wasn't ill, there was no warning, he went to work and didn't return. We were all shocked, wondering, hoping it was a case of mistaken identity. It wasn't.
My husband and his friend went out for drinks as they do every two weeks. They talked about their lives, reviewed their decisions and assessed their priorities. It was a sobering evening to say the least.
I was at home with our daughters. They were very sad to hear that their favourite babysitter's father had died. They couldn't believe it was true. They thought about their own father who was out for the evening. The possibility that he wouldn't come home felt excruciating and frightening. As I spent time with them, I felt so grateful to be alive, to have the opportunity to create memories with them.
Throughout the evening, I did my own soul searching. If I died today, what would be left undone, what would I regret? The biggest loss would be not being around to raise my daughters. I love them so much and I want to be here for them every step of the way. I started to mentally create a bucket list. What do I absolutely want to do before I die?
Here is what I've come up with so far:
1-Raise two confident, compassionate, kind and generous girls
2-Travel through Canada, the USA, Australia and Europe
3-Learn to live sustainably-grow my own food, use solar energy, have an eco-friendly home
4-Take care of my mother financially so she can enjoy her golden years
5-Become a published author
6-Give at least one Ted Talk
7-Master at least one art form
8-Grow into a fit older lady
9-Find a way to ensure every child in my town has food and warm clothing in the winter
10-Empower women to support their families
When someone dies, it is a wake-up call. Are we wasting time or do we use each day to create something good? Have we set goals? Are we progressing toward them? Does our life truly reflect our values? Take a moment to create your bucket list. What would you like to accomplish in this lifetime? Stop putting it off. Start now.
Anne Walsh
www.artnsoul.org
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Tuesday, 12 July 2016
Wednesday, 20 January 2016
Grief, at any Age
January 20th, 2016
Last Friday, I visited my youngest daughter's class to offer a "Have You Hugged Your Alien?" workshop. There were two classes combined into one which meant 38 grade 2 students having a blast! I love doing these workshops however, I have noticed a pattern. Every time I go to a school and offer a workshop, whether it be about creativity, self-care, stress management or healthy emotional expression, children start telling me about the pets, grand-parents and parents who have passed away. They share stories about their loved ones, how they died and what people said or did after the death.
At this last workshop, a little girl said her dad had passed away. In response to a comment about that being very sad, the little girl explained: "Well, it's been two years". Her tone was very dismissive. Does she think she should be "over it" by now? That is very sad. The thing about children is they don't always understand what has happened to their loved one. They may expect to see them again. Their family is grieving as well so they may not be able to take the time to explain everything to them. We also try to protect the children so we may keep them in the dark, exclude them from funeral services and conversations. When children express grief, we may try to make them feel better. Only time will do that. We can't take away their grief, only be present and honest. We may hide our own grief from them because we "don't want them to see us upset". This further confuses them because they feel all these emotions and the adults around them are going about their business as usual.
It's not just children who are not allowed to grieve. I witnessed this first-hand when a close relative had a miscarriage, just how awkward it can be to grieve while everyone encourages you to move on. She had just had a miscarriage. The baby was quite advanced. She was upset, obviously. It was another relative's birthday. We all went out for supper to celebrate. As we sat at the restaurant, everyone was happy, giddy etc. acting as if nothing had happened. I looked over at her, in shock. She had this empty look in her eyes. I asked her if she'd like to come outside with me. We sat on a curb and I gave her a tiny compass on a chain. I told her I think about her all the time and, if she felt lost and alone, all she had to do was look at this compass and know that I was out there, waiting for her to call. We sat together quietly and she was ready to go back inside. She seemed a bit lighter and she was excited to share her compass with the group. They were not receptive. She was dampening the mood. How dare she, on this person's birthday? Once again, I sat there in disbelief. We looked at each other and she put on her necklace.
Another example of our negation of people's right to grieve is the move to a long term care facility. I have seen it many times. A family arrives with their elder. They empty the boxes and set up photo frames and decorative comforters, maybe hang some art. They try to create a festive atmosphere but they are stressed and worried. The tension builds in them throughout the day as the moment to leave approaches. The older adult is also stressed and worried. They join the other residents for lunch or supper and, just like the first day of school, they try to find a friendly face. They are suddenly alone. They look around their room. This is their new home. There are a few tokens from their full life but the room feels bare. They have held their emotions in to save their children from their own feelings of sadness and guilt. They know this was a difficult decision for them. They no longer live in their home, in their neighbourhood with all their stuff, accumulated over the years. They generally move in without their spouse who died a few years ago.
The staff welcome this new resident, oblivious to who this person is, what they have been through in their long life and what fills them with joy. Everyone is getting acquainted. The resident learns to eat whatever is served, three times a day, at the time it is available, they are bathed weekly, sometimes by the same person and gender, other times it's someone new, they may not have a car to get out, run errands or catch a movie. They wonder what has happened to their stuff. Who got the fine china?
As an art therapist or activity professional, you do your best to read their social history, taken from the social worker, to find other residents who might enjoy being friends with them, to organize a welcome party, to plan activities that might be enjoyable to them and to spend some time with the new resident and help them adjust to their new surroundings. They have gone through so many losses and now they have all the time in the world to feel the impact of each loss. We try to keep them busy, make them laugh and, convince them that this facility is "the best of its kind". However, just like children who have lost a parent and women who have miscarried, all they need is someone to be present, be honest and acknowledge that this is very challenging.
Grief is natural, it's painful and it takes time. We don't need to stop it, fix it or say something particularly deep. We just need to accept it, breathe into it, give it time and space then, show compassion for ourselves as we ride the wave of grief.
Anne Walsh
www.artnsoul.org
Last Friday, I visited my youngest daughter's class to offer a "Have You Hugged Your Alien?" workshop. There were two classes combined into one which meant 38 grade 2 students having a blast! I love doing these workshops however, I have noticed a pattern. Every time I go to a school and offer a workshop, whether it be about creativity, self-care, stress management or healthy emotional expression, children start telling me about the pets, grand-parents and parents who have passed away. They share stories about their loved ones, how they died and what people said or did after the death.
At this last workshop, a little girl said her dad had passed away. In response to a comment about that being very sad, the little girl explained: "Well, it's been two years". Her tone was very dismissive. Does she think she should be "over it" by now? That is very sad. The thing about children is they don't always understand what has happened to their loved one. They may expect to see them again. Their family is grieving as well so they may not be able to take the time to explain everything to them. We also try to protect the children so we may keep them in the dark, exclude them from funeral services and conversations. When children express grief, we may try to make them feel better. Only time will do that. We can't take away their grief, only be present and honest. We may hide our own grief from them because we "don't want them to see us upset". This further confuses them because they feel all these emotions and the adults around them are going about their business as usual.
It's not just children who are not allowed to grieve. I witnessed this first-hand when a close relative had a miscarriage, just how awkward it can be to grieve while everyone encourages you to move on. She had just had a miscarriage. The baby was quite advanced. She was upset, obviously. It was another relative's birthday. We all went out for supper to celebrate. As we sat at the restaurant, everyone was happy, giddy etc. acting as if nothing had happened. I looked over at her, in shock. She had this empty look in her eyes. I asked her if she'd like to come outside with me. We sat on a curb and I gave her a tiny compass on a chain. I told her I think about her all the time and, if she felt lost and alone, all she had to do was look at this compass and know that I was out there, waiting for her to call. We sat together quietly and she was ready to go back inside. She seemed a bit lighter and she was excited to share her compass with the group. They were not receptive. She was dampening the mood. How dare she, on this person's birthday? Once again, I sat there in disbelief. We looked at each other and she put on her necklace.
Another example of our negation of people's right to grieve is the move to a long term care facility. I have seen it many times. A family arrives with their elder. They empty the boxes and set up photo frames and decorative comforters, maybe hang some art. They try to create a festive atmosphere but they are stressed and worried. The tension builds in them throughout the day as the moment to leave approaches. The older adult is also stressed and worried. They join the other residents for lunch or supper and, just like the first day of school, they try to find a friendly face. They are suddenly alone. They look around their room. This is their new home. There are a few tokens from their full life but the room feels bare. They have held their emotions in to save their children from their own feelings of sadness and guilt. They know this was a difficult decision for them. They no longer live in their home, in their neighbourhood with all their stuff, accumulated over the years. They generally move in without their spouse who died a few years ago.
The staff welcome this new resident, oblivious to who this person is, what they have been through in their long life and what fills them with joy. Everyone is getting acquainted. The resident learns to eat whatever is served, three times a day, at the time it is available, they are bathed weekly, sometimes by the same person and gender, other times it's someone new, they may not have a car to get out, run errands or catch a movie. They wonder what has happened to their stuff. Who got the fine china?
As an art therapist or activity professional, you do your best to read their social history, taken from the social worker, to find other residents who might enjoy being friends with them, to organize a welcome party, to plan activities that might be enjoyable to them and to spend some time with the new resident and help them adjust to their new surroundings. They have gone through so many losses and now they have all the time in the world to feel the impact of each loss. We try to keep them busy, make them laugh and, convince them that this facility is "the best of its kind". However, just like children who have lost a parent and women who have miscarried, all they need is someone to be present, be honest and acknowledge that this is very challenging.
Grief is natural, it's painful and it takes time. We don't need to stop it, fix it or say something particularly deep. We just need to accept it, breathe into it, give it time and space then, show compassion for ourselves as we ride the wave of grief.
Anne Walsh
www.artnsoul.org
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