Bittersweet

Following is a guest post written by my sister Nancy:

Bittersweet...

I've often heard that word but have never felt that I had an appropriate time in my life to use it, until 6 weeks ago. 

Giving birth on March 24, 2013, to my firstborn was hands down both the most amazing and the scariest thing I have ever experienced.  I had envisioned the moment of his birth in my head many times over the previous 9 months and it always played out perfectly, except for one crucial part ... my dad wasn't present.

The day I found out I was pregnant, even with as much excitement as I felt, I remember thinking to myself, "This sucks - it's so unfair that my dad won't be here or ever know his 7th grandchild."  I tried not to let myself dwell too much on that fact over the months ahead, but always in the back of my thoughts I felt very bitter.

On the day of my son's birth, I tried to keep it together so as not to make the special day sad, even though Dad wasn't there, but to make sure it was memorable.  I grasped tightly to one of my dad's handkerchiefs (or "hankies," as he called them) during my entire labor process.  I kept hearing my oldest sister saying to me "Remember this, remember this!" and I wanted to focus on especially that.  My whole life I strived to make my dad proud of me and he always told me that he was, and I know without a doubt that he was with all of us in that delivery room that day at the exact moment of my child's birth and that he was so proud of me, my mom, and my sisters knowing that life really does go on - just not always the way we envisioned that it would.  There was complete joy and happiness, and there were big smiles again in our lives and yet another legacy to carry on the family name. 

The nurses allowed Nancy to wear her Brain Cancer Awareness bracelet during the entire labor and delivery process.

I look forward to having Crosby's aunts, uncles, cousins, and Gran-Gran telling detailed stories in honor of his Gramps so that my son will know my dad.  I've decided that I'm not going to waste precious time being mad or even bitter that Dad wasn't physically there for that big moment in my life; instead I will embrace the fact of all the people I love most on this earth were by my side. 

Bittersweet...

Grand Canyon Memories

This is a guest post written by my mom, whom I asked to tell the story of when she and my dad went to the Grand Canyon several years ago on vacation ... 

One year, for our vacation, we decided to go to see the Southern Rim of the Grand Canyon. Wanting to absorb the full thrills of the National Park, Bill was really looking forward to running some of the trails along the rim.  After spending the night in the historic lodge at the top of the canyon, we planned to ride mules down the trail to spend the night at The Phantom Lodge at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and then to ride back up the trail the next day, a Bucket List item for me. 

Along the mule ride down, we had to wear hats that were secured so that they wouldn’t blow off and scare the mules or litter the park and loose clothes that would protect us from the sun but later be warm enough as the temperature would become much cooler as we approached the bottom of the canyon.  I was concerned about what to wear and the steepness of the trails, and so, for my security and peace of mind, early on the morning of our ride Bill ran the trail for about three or four miles down and then back just to check things out.  He came back with a report for me. (Side note: He often did this while we were on vacation or in a new place in order to locate playgrounds for the kids or interesting things for us to see and do.)  The trail was about three feet wide and gravel and the weather was great – about 75.  I was thrilled!

I was assigned a mule named Ida who was short and sturdy.  Bill’s mount was a gigantic gal by the name of Madonna.  He was placed near the end of the mule train.  Everyone was given canteens to hang on our saddle horns and a small switch that the cowboy leader called a “motivator”.  We used both of these items quite a lot. 

We began our adventure on the gravel trail just as Bill had predicted, but after the first few miles the path became very narrow with lots of stones.  The mules were very sure-footed, but the stones often didn’t provide much traction for them.  We had been told to never lean in the saddle and Bill found this impossible.  As he suffered from a fear of heights, he kept leaning into the mountain, away from the opening to the drop off into the canyon. His mule was much taller than any of the others, and it must have made it more difficult for him to trust her as he was sitting up so high.  We had to stop and cinch up his saddle a few times.  Eventually, the trail led many times to a switchback turn, which caused the mule to project its head out over the canyon in order to turn its body.  For an instant, it felt to the rider almost like hanging in space while the mule repositioned itself to go another direction.  Can you imagine how much Bill disliked that maneuver? Sometimes even I closed my eyes on that part of the ride. 

After five and a half hours of awesome views of the Grand Canyon and the crossing of the Colorado River, we arrived at The Phantom Ranch.  We had a delicious steak dinner and slept in a cabin that fortunately had blankets on the beds as it was indeed very chilly. The next morning, the mules were ready early to leave for the ascent, but, as we were packing up our stuff, Bill told me that he just didn’t enjoy the ride down and would rather run back.  I told our cowboy leader that Bill wouldn’t be joining us, and so his mule was tied to mine. The rest of the group gawked as Bill ran by while they were mounting up. 

We stopped a few times along the ride to rest the horses, but not for long.  Bill said that he stopped for water once, but we didn’t see him until we got to the top.  He had already showered, changed clothes, and was waiting for me, Ida, and Madonna beside the mule corral.     

Feels So Good

Following is a guest post written by my sister, Jennifer:

While Dad was sick, we tried everything we could think of to make him smile, to help him relax, and just to take his mind off his worries.  During one of our middle of the night conversations (that I wouldn't trade for anything), we started talking to Dad about music, a subject about which none of his kids is particularly knowledgeable, but one that Dad had always been passionate about.  Dad played the trumpet very well as a young man and always loved listening to big band music, as well as Barbra Streisand and more recently Josh Groban.  That night, I asked Dad what his favorite song was and he said he didn't really have one -- he wasn't really that engaged in the conversation.  But I clearly remembered his having a favorite song when we were growing up and I wanted him to remember it, too, and so I started trying to hum the tune (it didn't have any lyrics, just instrumental, with a beautiful trumpet solo).  I have zero musical ability, however, and no one had any idea what song I was describing. 

A few days later, after I found the name of the song ("Feels So Good" by Chuck Mangione), my husband Peter bought it on iTunes and emailed it to me so I could have it on my phone in Nashville.  I played it for Dad, and he smiled just briefly and said that he remembered it, but he really didn't have the strong recollection of how much he loved it that I had expected.  I kept insisting, "Dad, it's your FAVORITE!" and he just kept agreeing with me, I think not wanting to make me feel like I had gotten it wrong.  No one else remembered it as being one of Dad's favorites or particularly special to Dad at all.

Fast forward a few short weeks later, and Dad was home on hospice care.  On the night he died, my mom, sisters, and I were with him, sometimes all at once, sometimes in pairs, and at times one at a time.  During one of the moments when I was alone with Dad, I crawled into his bed with him, cramming myself between his body and the guard rail of the hospital bed, and I started humming the song into his ear.  Dad wasn't able to respond, but I felt sure he could hear it and that it might ease his mind in some way, still insisting to myself that Dad loved the song.  Then I remembered that Peter had emailed it to me, and I got my phone and played it quietly, holding the phone right next to his ear.  I'll never know if it made Dad feel any better, but it made me feel more connected to him (whether he remembered the song as having been a favorite of his or not!), even when he couldn't reply.

A few months later, on a random spring day in L.A., I reluctantly went on a Home Depot errand with Peter.  Peter loves Home Depot, and I really can't stand Home Depot, so as Peter was walking up and down the aisles looking for certain items he needed, I trudged along behind, working on my own to-do list in my head and not really paying attention.  The store was crowded, and the only sounds I could hear were parts of the background noise of busy shoppers and the occasional store announcement.  All of the sudden, as I came to a display of a truck bed with a fancy waterproof stereo system that was for sale, a song started playing, loud and clear.  At the exact second that I reached this display, Dad's "favorite" song started playing: Feels So Good.  From an aisle or two away, Peter heard the song, too, and knew of its significance to me, and he rushed over to find me with tears pouring down my face but with a big smile.

Dad always worried about us kids, and he always wanted to know that we were settled -- especially in our jobs and our homes.  Since we'd moved to the L.A. area about two years before, Peter and I had been renters, and that bothered Dad.  He wanted stability for us and for our children, and he knew I was anxious to buy a house that I could make into a home.  Even during his illness, Dad continued to ask me about whether there were any houses for sale that I liked and whether we planned to make an offer on any of them (then rolling his eyes and telling me they were all too expensive, in his practical, conservative way.)  It wasn't until March of 2011, two months after Dad's death, that we found the right house, and that was the reason we were at Home Depot that day -- to buy things for our new house.  It felt like Dad knew, and he was happy, and he wanted me to know that.

Time – Part 2

A follow up to Time - Part 1

My husband asked me recently what I want for Christmas.  My first instinct was to say this:  I want my dad.  Nope, can’t get that, so on to my next “out there” wish:  I want more time.  Obviously, I want more time with my dad, but I guess I can lump that in the same category with the first thing – a category that is probably best entitled with one or more curse words, out of frustration and anger and hurt.  

As for the time for which I long on a regular basis – there’s just never enough!  Time to do more things I need to do, time for more of what I want to do, time to be with the people I want to spend time with.  Some days it’s tough even just finding time to try to figure those three things out.  Is that another impossible wish?  Is constantly feeling like I am running out of time just another one of those weird but commonly experienced parts of grief?  I don't remember being quite this obsessed with the concept of - or desperate for - time before my dad went on ahead.  Like a lot of things these days, I’m just not sure where this is coming from.  I guess I need more time for contemplation, too.

Another grief-centered blogger, Kara L.C. Jones, also known as Mother Henna, recently wrote this in a blog about grief … 

The cliche says, "Time heals all wounds."  But most bereaved [people] I've worked with over the years don't really find this to be true.  It might be closer to the truth to say something like: time gives us the opportunity to look at grief from all sides and integrate what we discover in the exploration of various perspectives.

We can think about this idea creatively. If you were an artist and had an object or model you wanted to work with to create a new piece, what would you do?  Well, whether you are sketching, painting, sculpting, or doing photography, you'd probably want to create as much opportunity as possible to explore all possible perspectives on that object or model.  You'd want to look at it from all side.  Find the best light, best position, a good angle.  If you are truly practicing your art, you'll want to see the worst light, most off balance position, and the ugliest angle, too.  You'll want to see all the perspectives in between those two extremes also. 

Why?  Well, it isn't that artists are wasting time.  It isn't that they are being difficult to work with or procrastinating on doing the "real" work.  It isn't that they are avoiding the "finished" product.  Rather they are exercising their skills.  They are working their artistic visioning muscles.  They are living a practice, not a perfect!  And they are getting a handle on the scope of the object or model, finding the edges, integrating an understanding of what they see and how they can create from what they see.

What if we were to do this with grief instead of trying to "get over it" or "heal it" or "get better" as if grief were a germ based sickness we were trying to get rid of?!?  What if instead of avoiding the shattering of our hearts, just what if, instead, we were to pour ourselves a cuppa and have a good long look at grief?!? What if we were willing to stand on our heads to look at it upside down?  What if we climbed high up on a ladder to look down at it?  What if we closed our eyes and used only our fingertips to explore the shape of grief?  What if we purposely looked for the best lighting, position, and angle from which to film grief?  What if we purposely looked for the worst lighting, most off balance positioning, and the ugliest angle from which to photograph grief?  Might we then be finding ways to approach living life after grief in a heart-full way instead of living a life of avoidance?  We could be discovering new ways to integrate all that has happened instead of trying to "get over it" with some false hopes of "returning to normal" -- as if it were possible to return to being exactly the person you were before experiencing loss!?!  If we take this exploratory path instead, we actively start living a practice of permission, giving ourselves opportunity to look at grief from all sides as a way to begin to integrate all that has happened to us.  At the very least, we are approaching grief in an active way instead of sitting back hoping against hope that the cliche is true and time alone will heal all wounds.

Well said, Mother Henna.  I’m so glad I found the time to read it.

Click HERE to read Time - Part 3

Guest Blog Post - Emotional Support

I’m pleased to share the following guest blog post by David Haas, who contacted me recently to ask about contributing to this blog.  I fully agree with David’s remarks about the need for emotional support for those who have or who have had cancer, and I will add that I personally have also experienced great benefit from grief support groups and grief counseling services since my dad went on ahead.

Besides support groups and individual counseling sessions, emotional support for individuals with cancer and their families can come from social networking – in cancer-specific formats like The Cancer Buddies Network (www.cancerbuddiesnetwork.org) and general formats like Facebook – as well as from friends and family members.  Obviously, it can be helpful to get the appropriate emotional support during treatment (Sadly, my dad’s team certainly fell short in this area, and he suffered because of it.), and it can be equally important to get it after the treatment is over or, as in my case, when dealing with grief after a death of a loved one.  Certainly any type of cancer can bring about the need for support, and, like David and many others, I encourage anyone who is dealing with Cancer to seek out those services as needed. 

And now I will hand off the Talking Stick to our guest, David Haas:

The Benefits Of Emotional Support Networks For Cancer Survivors

The need for emotional support does not end when the cancer treatment ends. Cancer survivors need as much support after cancer as they did during treatment. Emotional support systems can help people manage their challenges during any stage of cancer. And they are vital for improving quality of life.

What Is Emotional Support And Where Does It Come From?

Emotional support systems are more than just a concept. They are the people, organizations, and programs that help individuals through cancer. Cancer survivors need many types of support: emotional, social, spiritual, medical, financial, and legal. Emotional support systems are especially beneficial because they provide encouragement, comfort, and assistance during a difficult time.

Many people and groups make up an emotional support system. Family members, friends, health professionals like the doctor or the oncologist, neighbors, colleagues, faith leaders, and other cancer survivors -- all of these people can answer a cancer survivor’s need for support. But survivor networks may be the most valuable support of all. Here are some online support systems that have proved to be very beneficial:

Inspire.com

Caring Bridge

Cancer Survivor Networks

Cancer survivor networks consist of people who have “been there” and “done that.” They understand cancer better than a doctor or loved one, because they have fought the battle and survived.

Talking or writing about cancer -- and all the feelings, frustrations, and fears it stirs up -- is an important part of the healing process, even after treatment. Cancer survivors often heal best with the help of emotional support systems like survivor groups.

Cancer survivors can find support in-person and online. Local support groups often meet in hospitals, churches, and homes. Group members share stories, resources, advice, and encouragement with other cancer survivors.

Online communities allow cancer survivors to interact over the Internet, and anonymity is optional. In fact, online groups are the best option for some people, who find support in blog posts, discussion forums, chat rooms, instant messages, and email communication.

The Benefits Of Support Networks

A study by the California Breast Cancer Research Program examined the effectiveness of online support groups for breast cancer survivors, with encouraging results. Women who participated in electronic support groups were better able to cope with anxiety, depression, and pain. They were also more optimistic and expressed a zeal for life.

While the study looked specifically at breast cancer survivors, support groups are likely to have similar effects whether a person has prostate cancer, mesothelioma, or other malignancy. And support is helpful whether it comes in the form of a local group or online community.

Each person’s cancer journey is unique, and each survivorship is different. The emotional support of doctors, family members, friends, and co-workers is essential. But encouragement from the people, who have battled cancer and won, is often the best emotional support of all.