It’s okay to be alive
“Mom, it’s okay to be upset, and you know what, it’s okay to be alive too.” said Sophia when I picked her up from school in tears.
Sometimes life doesn’t allow you to press pause and spend the day (or the week) in bed, tending to your brokenness. I had one of those days on Oct. 5th, when I woke up with the awareness that I was living out my sister’s final full day of life, at 49 and 30 days old. I don’t know why these landmarks matter but I’m told this is ‘normal’ during the traumatic grief journey. I didn’t feel very normal, and I certainly didn’t act it either.
I broke down in tears when I ran into three beautiful people I hadn’t seen in a while. They were all very understanding but I still found myself blushing with shame, given it’s been a year and a half and I ‘should be over it’. We had a very important business meeting, of which I was angry and irritated through most of. And as for my parenting? I did my best to give them some distance from the drama, God knows they’ve been through enough already.
At one point, I stood in my garage that we’re revamping, rested my hands on my knees and wept it all out, the sadness, the confusion, the anger, the shame, all of the big emotions came flooding to the foreground. It was a true ‘full catastrophe’ day as Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to real life.
I wept for the loss of my siblings, but I also wept for the loss of my family of origin. As the baby in our family, I’m used to older siblings calling the shots. I’m used to sitting on the hump in the middle of the backseat because my butt was the smallest. And yes, I’m used to seeking their approval to affirm that I’m on track in my life. But today, I realized that all of that’s gone because I’ve officially outlived both of my siblings…making me an only child? The eldest? A free agent?
And why me? Why am I the one remaining? There’s a truckload of sadness and guilt for being the one who’s still here, able to tuck my children into bed each night and wake up to see another sunrise. Speaking of it, each morning this week I marked the special day by doing just that. I strapped the paddleboard on the roof and dipped the board into the still, steaming waters of chocolate lake. As the sun rose in the sky, spotlighting the fall shades, I sat cross-legged on my yoga block, occasionally stroking the surface of the lake. For the longest time I lingered with my eyes closed, letting my mind become still and quiet like the water beneath me. I let myself float without direction, sit without purpose, breathe without focus.
When I opened my eyes, I was in front of the house that Blair lived in when I first met him. I watched myself 20 years ago nervously walk around the back of his house to the waterfront, where he greeted me on our first date with a kiss on the cheek and a glass of red wine. I recalled meandering hand in hand into his living space, where he had candles lit and soft music playing in the background. I remembered sitting at his table, savoring the exquisite full course meal he had prepared and feeling that I’d finally come home.
From my waterview, I gazed at the large old maple tree that Lisa and I had done yoga under the night before my wedding, and threw tiny pieces of paper with our intentions into the water. I chuckled, remembering Blair teaching my brother in that kitchen how to mix the wedding salad with his hands “Like you’re making love to a woman” and Jonathan cringing in disgust knowing Blair was referring to his little sister.
So much has changed since that time, and the awareness that I’m the last lone survivor seared through my heart with an equal mix of gratitude and guilt.
I smiled, remembering Sophia’s wise comment in response to my suffering, “Mom, it’s okay to be upset, and you know what, it’s okay to be alive too.” I sighed and thought “Indeed, I am alive, and I’m so grateful for this life, this body, this practice, this sunlight and these precious memories.”
12 Comments
Your life resonates … you are a gift
Thank you so much Tawnya, here’s to our healing.
This is so well written. I could almost picture the surroundings in each account. You have wonderful daughters (young women) who are very supportive. You will never get over the loss of your siblings esp your sister and how it all happened. You have every right to grieve, every right to be happy again and move forward and live your best life best you can. They would want you too. Take care of you.
Thanks so much Donna, hope you are healing from it all too. Much love.
Oh Jenny, This is so beautiful. I often have similar thoughts as to why my son, not me. But to honour his life and his wishes, I choose life and love in all its abundance, making the most of each day and treasuring my memories.
Jenny,
So beautifully expressed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Carry on my friend. I love you.
Kerry
That’s about all we can do sometimes, breathe it in and out, love you too dear friend!
Jenny, I cannot walk in your shoes of loss or even begin to fathom your pain. I have had two major losses in the span of my life and they have changed me forever. Your loss has been tremendous, leaving a great void that nothing can fill. Through the love and devotion of your remaining family, you will move forward and help others endure their losses. The teacher in you, will compell you to do so. I hope you know, that all of us who know you and honor you, wish you peace in your soul and the fortitude to move through the tsunami of grief that overwhelms you in your remembrance of your sister and brother.
Jeri it is always heart-warming to hear from you, thank you for your support and the reminder that we all suffer.
So much love to you!
Jenny
Your feelings are warranted and certainly matter . We all grieve in our own way and “no ” we just don’t get over it. I loss my son who was only 22 years old. He was in an organized triathlon and died in the last leg of the race. That was 19 years ago. To this day as his anniversary (June 1) approaches I never know what kind of day its going to be. In his memory I have a flower bed dedicated to him. I call it Gabriel’s Garden. His middle name. On his Birthday Dec 2 I light up my Christmas lights in his honor . He loved Christmas. Your Dad was one of his teachers in grade 6. He loved Mr. K as he was known. At the end of the year he wanted to buy him a gift . He chose a bracelet and had it engraved. He was so proud when he give it to him.
There is never closure in my mind but acceptance . That takes time. Loosing both siblings in a short time is devastating.
I admire your strength and inspiration. Love never dies as we keep their memories alive. My heart goes out to you and all your beautiful family.
Jacqueline
Jacqueline this is unfathomable, I’m so sorry, that would have been devastating for everyone involved.
And to know he was taught by Dad, how sweet is that, thanks so much for sharing and connecting the dots.
I appreciate the friendship here, thank you!
Jenny K
Glad you took the time out on your board and grateful you took the time to share these thoughts.