Dear Friends....

Dear Friends:

The holiday season is a time of peace and happiness; a time of family gatherings, and a bond of closeness felt more strongly than any other holiday of the year.

There are also very different emotions surfacing now for those of us who have experienced the death of a parent. I may be angry, depressed, fearful, or I may just not care. There may be a deep consuming anguish for those having their "first" Christmas, to a few tears and the remembrance of "how it used to be", for those experiencing the second, third, or twenty-third holiday.

There are times when it is too painful to tell you how I feel, or why I act a certain way. Sometimes I don't know myself. I can't tell you why today, hearing a song, seeing a child going into a store or seeing her favorite food, should bring memories and tears, when yesterday it didn't.

I may want to change things this holiday, do them differently than I have in the past. This is my way of coping the the holiday. Please take my feelings into consideration when making your plans.

For some of us, shopping, buying gifts, can be difficult or extremely painful. It seems you always have to pass, or find yourself in, that section of the store where you no longer need to be. Small tasks that I did last year, this year remain undone. They may not seem important; I may not have the energy; or they are just too painful to do. "Put up a tree? I just can't. I just can't use those ornaments."

Please don't tell me to turn off my memories, to snap out of it, that she is dead and life must go on. I, more than you, know my loved one is dead. But my love for them doesn't end with death. All I have left of a very special part of my life are the memories, and they return at unexpected times, filling me with the intense longing for what is no more. Yes, I fully realize that she is dead, gone forever, and that is what hurts.

Please have patience with me. Try to understand why I am acting or feeling the way I am today. With a small look or gesture, let me know it is all right with you for me to love, to cry, to remember. I'm not doing it to make you uncomfortable or to gain sympathy. I am just trying to cope. Please help me "make it through" this holiday season.

Megan

(excerpt taken from Franciscan Hospice Bereavement Services)

Dear Body...

A Letter To Any Woman Who Thinks She Needs A Different Body To Be Loved

(stolen from: http://www.mindbodygreen.com)

"You have a light inside that shines so brightly. If you could only see yourself the way others do, you would feel the love and energy you exude organically and effortlessly 

You have a natural glow around you that illuminates the room. Your smile warms our hearts and your eyes light up with passion when you talk about what you love. 

But I sense your pain. I know you fall into sadness. Hopelessness. You feel unworthy. You feel you are a burden as you carry around guilt from mistakes. It's OK: you are here, now, and the past is behind you and behind us all. 

I feel your need to be seen. Like you, I also want to be appreciated. You are not alone in any of the feelings you have. Your sadness is part of a collective human consciousness. To be human is to feel — sad, happy, angry and so on. Your emotions are glorious reminders that you are indeed alive. So honor the intensity of them, even if it is uncomfortable. 

Consider everything you have ever done up until this point in your life has actually prepared you for who you really want to be. Please forgive yourself for what you think was a wrong choice or disruptive situation. There are no mistakes. Just growth. You are right where you should be. 

You are making a difference just as you are, but I sense you don't see this. Instead, you close the blinds and fall into your habits, addictions and negative self-talk. 

You carry around open wounds from your childhood and failed expectations from situations gone awry. You think it's your fault. But it's not. You get mad at yourself and say harmful things, mad that you can't seem to get it right. Furious you are still trying to break that habit or reach that goal. It's OK. You have done nothing wrong. 

Everything is as it should be. Trust the process. I see you fall into self-sabotage by attacking yourself mentally and berating your body. I know it's hard for you to look in the mirror and love what you see. I know you want to change yourself. But your physical presence is perfect as it is. 

You resist, hate, pinch, squeeze, yell at and condemn your beautiful body. You want to change it. If only you could lose weight you'd be loved, feel appreciated, be seen. If only you had the surgery to enhance the body part you are insecure about, then you could be proud of your body. Then maybe people would see you for who you are. 

But here's the thing: we already see you for all of your grace and glory. You are so beautiful in this moment, your love and kindness can move mountains. You have no idea how amazing you are. You have no idea how much of an impact you are making on the world by you just being you. 

I know some days it is hard to get up. To move forward. To say something nice. But it is worth it, and you can do it. If you could trade places with those who love you for you and see how others see you, you would be amazed at how perfect you are. I don't say "perfect" to endorse perfectionism, but to emphasize that there is nothing about you that you need to change. You are your own worst critic. But you are dearly loved. You are seen. You are appreciated for you just being you. 

For today, try it out. See yourself the way the world sees you. A beautiful human, graceful and kind. You matter and you make a difference. There is nothing to change for you to fit in. You're perfect just as you are. We love you. Please love yourself."

the meaning of friendships

When one door closes another one opens? Is that how the saying goes? Well...I feel it to be true in my life right now...literally and figuratively. The doors closed to Mom's house two weeks ago and they reopened to a new family last weekend. As I reflect back over the 19 years in that home I can't help but feel sad about the loss but I hope for many more memories created there by a new family.

Some days it is harder to count my blessings...some days it is relatively easy. More days than not though I struggle to see what's good. However, the past week I have been able to reflect on how faithful God has been. He hasn't left my side for a single second, which is evident! My life eight months ago was not even close to how my life is now. I feel like a completely different person...someone living with a second chance at life. The one area I have been been extremely blessed in is friendships. I've never felt I have had genuine, authentic friendships, mainly because I always hid behind my ED and never allowed for intimacy in relationships. I have had one or two best friends along the way but never a full circle of people I can call 'close friends.' My fault? Probably. But the grace of God overcomes anything I have ever done (or not done). The Emily Program has given me some lifelong friendships. The other day I realized that for 13+ years I was surrounded 100% by people who didn't truly know me, know my hidden struggles, and understand the depth of pain and agony of an ED. I look back and see an imposter. Today, I am surrounded 100% by people who do truly know me (inside and out), know my hidden struggles, and authentically understand the hardship of recovery. The friends in my life are on the path with me. Some walk in front of me and some walk just a few steps behind me but we are all in this together. I have never had such intimate friendships. These will last a lifetime.

Back in February, when I had my intake, my therapist told me that people with an eating disorder and those in recovery are part of a tribe. I looked at her, laughed, and said "I don't want to be a part of that tribe." Well, for the one thousandth time, my therapist is correct. It is a tribe. A band of people who all fully understand each other. We can look at one another and just know. A text as simple as, "I'm struggling," voices a hundred words. We get it. We understand. And we value the struggle because we want the outcome for each other.

God has been extremely faithful in blessing me with more friends right now than I have ever had before. True friends. Faithful friends. Encouraging friends. It is an odd feeling to know I can pick up my phone and call one of 25 people. They get it. They are part of my tribe.

Recovery IS possible!

words not my own

I couldn't bring myself to write anything yesterday in honor of Mom's 6 month anniversary of her passing. Sometimes other people express what I am feeling better than I can. Right now it seems that my sister and I are experiencing a mirror image of our feelings, emotions, and struggles. It is comforting to know that we understand each other during this difficult time. Here is what my sister posted yesterday about our childhood home selling, which is almost identical to what I could have written. I love you Sis and so grateful I have you.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

A House, No Longer a Home

"The only way I know how to write this 6 month anniversary post is by sharing what has happened over the last few weeks.

4 days before we left for Europe, we received news that someone had placed a generous cash offer on my mom's home. A home where my aunt still lived, where memories were created for 21 years and where mom's belongings still had a place in every room. A home that wasn't going to enter the housing market until spring and a home that I still had time to sort through carefully and thoughtfully, when I was ready.

4 days before Europe, I was alerted via text message about the surprising cash offer and was asked to move my things out before our trip. It was strictly business, no ounce of compassion was conveyed by any of the characters that were spelled out on the screen of my phone.

After chaos settled, emotions were set aside and everyone came to an agreement that we could move our belongings out after our trip. It made the move rushed because time was limited and a closing date was in sight. Sorting, sharing and remembering each belonging was no longer possible. We were on a deadline.

When I would to try to explain how I felt about losing the house so soon, many responses hurt me even more. So I stopped.

"It's just a house."
"Well, it makes sense."
"It was going to sell anyways."
"It's frustrating to tell you such good news and have you react negatively."

The house officially closed last Friday and I am sure the new family has already settled in, enjoyed a few meals and hopefully gathered around the fireplace. Mom's siblings seem to be excited that the "long process" is over. Was that home really more of a pain than a joy for everyone else?

The article I posted yesterday empathized with the emotions I still struggle with and made me realized that the house is another gigantic loss and another hole that cannot be filled. However, she mentions that these problems are no longer at the top of everyone's mind. Can I blame others and be mad at them? I want to, but I can't.

I could continue to babble on, but want to keep this post short. Hopefully, it gives you a glimpse into the life of someone who is still mourning months or even years after a loved one has passed. Maybe you can consider placing another person's problem at the top of your mind for a few minutes. Maybe you can even relate?

6 months down, many more to go."

NET day

National NET Cancer Awareness Day

November 10, 2014

I wasn't aware of what yesterday was until my cousin sent me a text, letting me know she was thinking about my Mom today. Yesterday was national neuroendocrine cancer awareness day. This is what took my Mom's life. A form of NET cancer called carcinoid cancer.

It makes me mad to think about. It also makes me sad. But more importantly, there are times when I feel glad. Glad to have known her and glad to have been her daughter.

A friend sent me this article the other day. At first I didn't want to read it but then just felt a burden to do so. I read it through, without a tear, sitting back in awe of how TRUE this author's words are.

9 THINGS I LEARNED IN THE YEAR AFTER MY MOTHER PASSED

(ALYSSA SAMSON)

Scars: They are a testament to injury, proof of survival and, at times, as indiscernible as a line etched delicately along the crevice of an eye. Although not all mar the physical appearance, they are all there, emotionally and mentally etched upon the skin like a latticework of fragmented memories and barely-remembered moments.

As badges of both honor and dishonor, scars are forever, branded on the heart, and as time continues, we soldier on, somehow stronger.

It was a Sunday. November 3, 2013 inflicted a wound like none other, reaching inside of me and tearing out what was left of my beating heart. It was the day I shattered to a million pieces without a hope in the world to piece it back together.

It was the day I lost my mother.

I’m not sure how one describes the jumble of emotions, the racket of wailings or the enduring isolation that follows when a mother passes. The very fabric of life seems to buckle and cave in from the sheer burden of it all. Sense no longer works as a blanket of indifference that separates you from the raw emotions and delight of life.

Breathing is an effort. Organs go on strike. And then, life lurches forward with a momentum so strong that it defies physics. Suddenly, I found myself lost and alone, suffocating in a world of white noise.

It didn’t matter if I was in a crowd of people or surrounded by those I had left. I felt a visceral separation and an undercurrent of another seething emotion.

I was angry. That day had taken my biggest supporter and my number-one fan from me, and I wanted to give up. Words fail to exhaustively articulate the painful parting of mother and daughter… or having to write your mother’s eulogy at age 24… or the knowledge that you’ll never hear her voice again.

Or, the desperation of listening to every voicemail you ever saved on repeat, just to capture a last lingering moment with her.

Losing someone so significant, inspirational and influential is an experience no textbook or novel could begin to teach me to comprehend. Now, as a year without her approaches, I count my moments by breaths and no longer by hours or minutes.

As I look back on the breaths I have survived, struggling to cross that bridge of adversity and pain, I have figured out how to survive. Here’s what I’ve learned:

I learned the world won’t stop for you.

There are many days that still leave me defeated, but life isn’t a video game. You can’t pause the moment or rewind time; you are not given an infinite number of lives.

You are given one life, and the world will continue to move on, despite the fact you may feel like your whole world has stopped. The only way to heal is to keep moving.

---

I learned your troubles will not always be at the forefront of everyone else’s mind.

When you are fighting your own internal battles, it seems surreal when no one else notices the torment raging just below your surface. You may feel as though you are screaming and railing against the bars of life, but still, no one will hear you.

Through this experience, I learned people will move on quicker than you will. Sympathy is fleeting when you are not the one with an injured wing — and that’s okay.

---

I learned love knows no boundaries.

I used to fear that moving away from those I loved most would hinder my relationships and somehow fade with physical distance. Now, I fear the unrequited stream of communication with the person I love most will cause those precious memories to slip through my fingers, like a wisp of smoke.

But love — unconditional love, at that — knows no boundaries; it will never be lost, regardless of the distance in time and space.

---

I learned that though people can’t be replaced, you can still find peace.

Justifying death can put you on a journey with a revolving door. It is endless and forever spinning. No amount of begging, crying or yelling could possibly right the wrong you feel.

While it will take a lifetime to recover from the emptiness I feel, I have taken a step down the path of self-preservation to find peace within myself.

---

I learned there is strength in perception.

You could spend years wondering why the world chose to plague you with misery and misfortune or you can pick up your head and see the heartbreak around you. Someone else may be willing to give everything to have the gifts you overlook in your own life.

When sadness and despair begin to close in around me, I find myself redirecting those thoughts to others who are struggling elsewhere. Reevaluating the negatives in your life with a different perspective can often bring you a step closer toward reconciliation.

---

I learned to be grateful for what you still have.

The happiest people are those who value what they have rather than focusing on what they lack. How can you appreciate the good without the bad? If you lost something or someone dear to you, take a moment to appreciate everything you still have within reach, regardless of how big or small.

---

I learned you still have control in your life.

Understanding you have control over your emotions and actions is the first step toward overcoming any obstacle.

You may not be able to change everything that happens to you in life, but you can change how you react and behave in challenging situations and the direction you choose next.

---

I learned adversity isn’t an excuse to give up.

Motivation. Dreams. Goals. Focusing on forward movement will not only keep you from remaining stuck in the past, but also help to purify your thoughts.

In the end, after you overcome those struggles, you can look back to see the strength in your pain. You can rarely recover what you lost, but you still have everything to gain.

---

I learned it’s never truly goodbye, only see you later.

I know in my heart my mother will never be gone, even when I’m aging in my rocking chair. As the one person in my life who is irreplaceable, I know she will always be there. So, it is not goodbye, just see you later — until next time.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I think about you every hour of every day. I still can't believe you are gone from this Earth...for most days I am constantly in disbelief. Shouldn't I have already gone through that stage of the grieving process? Just know that the disbelief comes from a tender spot. You were the best mother and still contributed a nurturing motherly figure at my old age of 27. Your kindness stretched far, which is why I sometimes do not want to believe that Jesus has you right now. There is a gigantic hole in my heart that truly cannot be patched...at least not yet.

I still feel like yesterday was May 12th. Mom, I know others have moved on but to Molly and myself the grief is still that heavy. We sort of feel as if we are in our own world...mourning you minutely, hourly, and by the second.

The past month has been one of the hardest. You have missed out on a lot already. You would be so proud though. So proud. My birthday weekend was filled with laughter, pumpkin donuts, and smiles! However, the day of my birthday I sat around waiting for you to call. I could just hear you through the phone, "Happy Birthday Meggie!" You always made birthdays the most special day of the year. This year was the first time I didn't want it to be the most special day of the year. Mom, I don't want to be 28. I refuse to be any age but the age I was when you passed away. I am stuck at being 27 years old. Is that normal?

Halloween was last night too! I couldn't help but grieve the empty house sitting on 361st place. The house that contained so much life...especially on Halloween! It was your favorite! You loved the trick or treaters so much and cared for them as if they were you own. The gate you had built so trick or treaters wouldn't fall off the front porch is still there...showing your care and concern.

Today is November 1st. I can't believe how quickly the months have flown by. The house is selling this month, which means a new family at 138 S. 361st Place. New memories will be created there. I don't like it. It scares me and it is sad. That is YOUR house and I have to let it go. This is such a hard journey Mom.

 

I.L.Y.T.P

❤️

Today.

Today seemed like a fitting day to sit down and journal about what’s happening inside of me. I’m feeling turned upside down and tossed a bit from the weekend and from having to say goodbye to my childhood home of 19 years. It was an emotional experience and surely doesn’t feel real. It feels as if I will drive back over for Thanksgiving and pull into the driveway I just pulled out of yesterday.

I am so grateful that I got to see my sister, spend some quality time with my Aunt, and celebrate my birthday with all of Craig’s family. It was special to have some healthy family time carved out. And it was extra special that my Aunt came with us to Craig’s family’s dinner, because that is something my Mom would have done.

As I loaded the Budget truck, one box at a time, one mattress at a time, and one chair at a time, I couldn’t help but reflect over the memories that come with each item. I’ve come to realize that I have a strong connection to materialistic things. They hold meaning and value – I associate life and joy to tangible objects. This is why saying my goodbyes to each and every room in my Mom’s house was so hard. The memories are not being sold too, but yet at times I feel like they are. The gathering place is now gone. It is time for new traditions and new homes. Mom is officially gone. This is a concept so hard to grasp right now.

I’ve been challenged to move forward. To mourn the present, recognize what is sad and what hurts, and to ask myself, “what can I do to still move on with life without getting stuck?” This is a hard question to ask myself right now. I feel a bit flooded and overwhelmed with how I should be feeling, what I should be doing, who to connect with and open up to, and what is the healthiest move for me right now.

I can’t help but think of my Mom with all of her stuff dispersed around our house. We had our amazing Bible study come and help us unload a huge truck full of stuff last night, rewarding them with pizza! As the men moved items into our house the women stayed inside to rearrange, rearrange, and rearrange some more. It warmed my heart to have so many people around us, supporting us during this difficult and emotional experience. Yet I think this also confused me. I had pushed all sadness aside and refused to acknowledge any of it this weekend, only turning around to bite me in the butt today.

What do I need? I’m not quite sure. I know I need people around me (which I have!), I need to continually reach out for support (outside of the Emily Program), and I need others to connect with me on an intimate and emotional level to let me know it is going to be ok. This is by far the most difficult journey I’ve been on.

But I feel blessed at the same time. Oh so blessed.