After Mother Loss, Death, Grief, Mother Loss, Mother's Day, Mother's Day Without My Mother, Motherless Daughter, Motherless mother's day

20 Mother’s Day Ideas for the Motherless During COVID-19

This year, 2020, Mother’s Day looks very different from previous Mother’s Days. Many people won’t be able to spend time with their moms, take her out to dinner, spoil her with flowers and chocolate, because we are all quarantined during COVID-19. This is sad for families. The pandemic is posing real challenges to everyday life. People are scared, anxious, grieving and we are all feeling uncertain about the future. Nobody knows how long this new way of experiencing life will go on. Personally, I’m living moment to moment and day by day. I’m focusing on positive things and trying not to worry too much while taking the necessary precautions and checking in with the most vulnerable in our family and our community. For people who have lost loved ones during this pandemic, I put my hand on my heart when I say how truly sorry I am for your heartache. It’s devastating to lose a loved one. We all need to take care of each other and offer kindness and friendship along the way. Healing takes time.

For those of us whose mothers have died, especially if we don’t have children of our own, this Mother’s Day won’t be too much different to previous Mother’s Days in certain aspects, unless of course this is your first without her. We aren’t able to spend time with our mothers, we can’t take her out to dinner or spoil her with flowers and chocolate and we don’t make plans to be with her on these occasions because we can’t be with her. She’s no longer around. I haven’t celebrated Mother’s Day with my mam, Kathleen, since I was a young child. Actually, Mam didn’t think much of the holiday, labeling it a ‘Hallmark Holiday’ and something made up by greeting card companies to make money. It was really after her death that Mother’s Day began to impact me more and more. My beautiful mother was missing in my life and everyone around me was celebrating theirs. I don’t like Mother’s Day and I’m happy when I can just ignore it. I think it will be much easier for me to do that this year.

At home in Ireland in my mother Kathleen’s arms

If you, a motherless daughter, are looking for ideas on how to celebrate your mom on Mother’s Day I wrote a blog post on this topic three years ago that has been viewed by over 55,000 people globally. This goes to prove just how many of us around the world are missing our mother’s presence from our lives. During quarantine while many of us shelter-in-place, a few of the 12 suggestions I offer on that blog post are obsolete, like meeting up with friends for coffee for example, though of course the ideas are still helpful and we can work with them. This year, due to the current situation, there are more virtual opportunities out there for us to explore.

I set to work on a new list today, researching and piecing together what I hope might be helpful for my readers. People will need help and support with their grief this weekend. I know there are broken hearts right now reaching for answers, wishing their moms were here in the world again. I hope this list offers some comfort. Another option of course is to seek out a good grief therapist and to discuss your situation with her. Grief is complicated and the journey takes a while. For now, here is my updated list of 20 ideas for this year’s Mother’s Day for the motherless.

1. empowerHER, a nonprofit for girls and young women who have experienced the loss of their mothers is hosting a virtual Mother’s Day Retreat May 9th + 10th and registration is free. The Retreat is geared towards girls up to age 24, but women of all ages are encouraged to join.

2. Reimagine is offering a worldwide virtual festival on embracing life, facing death, and loving fully in the face of COVID-19. There are several events throughout the weekend and beyond and I will list a couple of them below. Do check out the event’s schedule page as there is something for everyone here.

3. Find a time in the day, preferably morning to meditate for at least five minutes. Ideally about twenty minutes feels right for me, but do what you can. Light your favorite scented candle. Sit comfortably with your eyes closed and invite your mother into your space. Breathe. Hold her in your thoughts. Focus on the gratitude you feel for your mother and the gift of life that she gave you. Reflect on some memories you have of her. Let the tears flow if they come. Grief is love, remember. I use the Insight Timer app on my phone which is free and offers the most wonderful selection of meditations.

4. Display a picture of your mother in a prominent place. Wear a pendant containing her photograph throughout the day if you have one or carry a memory of her in your heart. Speak to her. Pray to her if you find comfort in prayer.

5. If you can go outside safely, purchase a beautiful bouquet of flowers for your mother and place them in your home. Or order them over the phone to be delivered. Flowers lend cheer and beauty to a space. They can remind you of the love you have for your mother and the love she had for you. Perhaps see if you can order your mother’s favorite flowers, if you know what those were.

6. As part of Reimagine’s Life, Loss and Love event, Portland author and all-round wonderful human, Cheryl Strayed, author of Wild and Tiny Beautiful Things (among other works), will be interviewed by Shelby Forsythia on Sunday MAY 10 at 11:00am-12:00pm PDT. Click on this link for more information. The event is free with a suggested donation.

7. Hosted By Alica Forneret of Dead Moms Club, as part of Reimagine’s event, is a conversation about being a motherless daughter while raising children. Guests Claire Bidwell Smith, Hope Edelman, Susan Lieu, and Megan Carmichael will share stories and memories on May 10 at 2:00-3:00pm PDT.

8. Check out this list of 10 Books I Recommend for Motherless Daughters. Perhaps you can order some of these online, preferably from your local independent bookstore to help support them during these worrying times for small businesses. Or maybe you have one of these books on your bookshelf but you haven’t had the time to read it yet. Another option is to purchase these books in audio form. I love a good audio book to enjoy while driving or cooking. Allow yourself a few quiet reading hours in bed Sunday morning or settle into a cozy chair with a cup of hot tea or coffee and an author’s story. Maybe in her story you will recognize yours.

9. Create a collage using pictures from magazines or inspiring photo journals that you have around your house or apartment. Paste pictures that remind you of your mother onto a large piece of card stock or paperboard, or into an art journal. I did this once with the Portland Motherless Daughter’s group when I was the organizer, several years back. After thirty minutes or so working quietly on our collages we shared them with the others in the group. The collages were beautiful, colorful representations of our mothers. I still have mine.

10. If you have a bathtub allow yourself the luxury of some soaking time. Isn’t there something so soothing about nestling down into a bathtub, candles lit, maybe some calming music playing close by? Perhaps listen to a song that reminds you of your mother. It might make you cry and that’s okay because you are alone, taking care of your needs. Crying is often such a good release. I love to add a few drops of pure essential lavender oil into my tub and often this is where I meditate. Give yourself this time for nurture and relaxation. For those of us without mothers we need to find kind and gentle ways to take care of ourselves.

11. Read and share blog posts by other motherless daughters. My blog A LOVELY WOMAN has several blog entries about mother loss and many are specifically written for Motherless Mother’s Days. I also have a Facebook page where I post about grief regularly. Project Brave birds, hosted by my friend in Australia, is an inspiring page dedicated to celebrating the journeys and achievements of brave girls and women who have lost their mothers around the world. Without My Mum is an active private group page hosted by Leigh Van Der Horst where women share their feelings on mother loss and offer up support. Motherloss International is a Facebook page dedicated to maternal loss. Motherless Daughters Facebook community page shares many articles on mother loss including my own. These are valuable and loving places to go for comfort and support. My purpose in writing is to connect with others around the world who are experiencing a similar loss, in particular women and girls. I share the work of others widely on my social media platforms, always giving the authors credit, because each of us has stories that will touch people in different ways. The goal of writing and sharing for me, is to get this information out there, to those who need it. There is no reason for people to think they are alone in their grief process, or their experience of deep loss. Of course our individual experiences are unique but it helps to know that there are people out there who understand. Sharing our stories helps others. Sharing the work of others also helps.

12. Write. Write in a journal or on a page, just put your feelings out there. I like putting pen or pencil to paper. It feels more cathartic for me. Are you angry? Devastated? Lonely? Anxious? Write it all down. Or write something. You can burn this text later if you like, but it’s important to express your deeply held feelings. Writing is the number one thing that has helped me process and come to terms with my loss.

Putting pen to paper at home in my garden

13. Write a letter to your mother. This is therapeutic and can be a valuable exercise while grieving. Let yourself cry or laugh as you write & release whatever needs to pour from you. Is there something you really want to share with your mother today? Put down the words. It may even turn into a book! I’ve written a blog post about this called The Healing Letter where I offer writing prompts to help with your letter.

14. Call a friend who has experienced a similar loss to you. They might have more time to talk now that we are quarantined. Of course, the opposite might be true, but it’s worth checking in with them. Try not to feel rejected if they don’t take you up on a chat. Sometimes we feel like discussing our losses and sometimes we don’t. Hold compassion for your friend and try calling another person..

15. Zoom call with friends or family or a local support group. Perhaps create your own group Zoom call with other motherless daughters you know.

16. If you have a garden or a local park is currently open to visitors, take some time to enjoy the outdoors. Mother Nature is incredibly healing. I like to sit beneath the blossoms, inhale the fresh scents of nature, feel the soft breeze against my skin and marvel at this life we are given. I enjoy going for walks because they give me time to sort through my thoughts, figure things out or just let stuff go that I no longer need to hold onto. If you are a gardener, maybe planting some new flowers on Mother’s Day might be a way to honor your mom. You can watch them grow and think of her. Tending a garden is relaxing, rewarding and healing.

17. Perhaps prepare and cook one of your mom’s favorite dishes for mealtime on Sunday. Crack open a bottle of wine or brew some tea in her honor. If you don’t know how to cook that beloved dish of hers or you don’t remember what it was, cook a favorite of yours, or order a meal from a local restaurant, sit back and enjoy.

18. Do you love podcasts as much as I love podcasts? Because I tend to be a busy, active person, podcasts are a new way for me to slow down a little and relax. I listen to them while preparing lunch or taking a bath and sometimes my husband and I will listen together, snuggled up on our couch at home. Recently I wrote a blog post about some of my favorites pertaining to grief and mother loss. Check these out.

19. COVID-19 is presenting us all with many challenges. Some people are really struggling. A great way to lift your own spirits is by giving to others, if you can, what you can. There are so many opportunities for giving. Local and global non-profits need help. I suggest donating what you can to local grief support centers, organizations helping women who are fleeing abusive situations, non-profits aiding victims of child abuse, foster care organizations, refugee families, state and national parks, small local businesses, tribal nations…the list goes on. If anyone would like specific suggestions I can offer some in the comments below.

20. No matter what Mother’s Day holds for you this year, and for many I know it holds heartbreak, I hope you are able to show yourself kindness. From one motherless daughter to another, sending love and virtual hugs as Mother’s Day 2020 approaches. Take care of yourselves, and each other!

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Standard
After Mother Loss, Childhood grief, Connecting through grief, Death, Grief, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Talking grief

My Mother Is Dead but I Still Want to Talk About Her

Dear readers, let me be clear here. My mother is dead and I still want to talk about her, but that doesn’t mean I always want to talk about her. I don’t want my friends who read this thinking they should bring up Mam’s name during every conversation just because I’ve written this blog. Obviously, there is no need to bring her into every discussion, so, before you decide to run in the other direction when next we meet, for fear of not knowing whether or not to bring up my mother, please read on.

Before I began writing about my experiences of early mother loss I didn’t have many opportunities to talk about Mam. At home, with my father and brother, I could talk about her all I wanted. They were always open to sharing memories, answering questions and thumbing through photographs with me, and this helped a lot as I navigated my grief journey. But I wanted to talk about Mam out in the world too. For several years I didn’t speak about her, because it’s hard to bring your dead mother into casual everyday conversations. People feel awkward when the subject of death comes up. They don’t know what to say or how to respond. Discussions fall flat, people stare at their cuticles as if never having seen them before. The floor is suddenly incredibly interesting, or someone has to dash off somewhere very fast.

All those times in my life when my companions or classmates got to celebrate their mothers or complain about them, casually call them on the phone, praise and adore them, in my presence, I too, longed to talk about Mam, but couldn’t. And it hurt to the core, over and over again. So, now I’m writing about my mother on Facebook; in my memoir (in-progress), Briefly I Knew My Mother; on this blog, and through the stories I’ve shared people have gotten to know Kathleen a little.

I write to connect with others who know what it’s like to lose someone very special. It’s important for me to build community with motherless daughters and especially with women whose mothers died when they were children. And I write to keep my mother’s memory alive. As long as we say their names, the people who have died live on.

On March 2, 2020, thirty two years after Mam’s death, I posted one of my favorite black and white photographs of my mother on social media. In the picture she is glowing, offering the photographer her radiant smile. Beneath the photo I wrote a few lines about it being her death anniversary and to my delight I received some kind comments about my mother and the anniversary of her death. My friend, Steve, posted “Through you Carmel, we love mam too” and his words touched me deeply, because if I have given others an idea of the woman my mother was, so many years after she died, I have accomplished something beautiful, something significant and worthwhile. Writing about her and sharing special stories from my memories of growing up as her daughter, allows me to feel connected to my mother in ways that nobody else can. As Kathleen’s daughter I carry her with me in this world everyday.

I wish my mother didn’t get sick and die when I was only 11, and though I want to talk about her and tell stories with her in them, because she died when I was so young, I don’t have an abundance of stories. I remember a lot, more than most of my friends remember, and yet it’s not enough. I know little to nothing about her childhood or her teenage years or the time before she met my father and I never got to know her from any perspective other than a child’s. This is one of the heartbreaking things I hear frequently from women who lost their mothers early in life. We want to hear stories of our mothers from those who have them. Shared stories are a gift to both the teller, and to the person listening.

My friend, Mari, posted a comment beneath the photograph on March 2. She offered simply and with such heart “I’m so sorry that she died – and so grateful for the life she gave you.” How beautiful to receive a direct, love-filled message like this! As one of two founding members of the Grief Rites Foundation, Mari is not afraid to use the word “died”. My mother died and we can say the word. In all the years since Mam’s death less than a handful of people have actually said the words “I’m so sorry that your mother died.” I didn’t realize this (and I write about grief and death regularly) until I read Mari’s comment and it made a powerful impact on me. I knew she got it. She understood.

As with every blog I write I hope something on this page resonates with my readers, those of you who have lost a loved one and people looking to know how to support a grieving friend. Often a listening ear is all that is needed, a few minutes to talk, a chance to process something out loud. When you speak from a place of love and acknowledge a person’s situation honestly, you are doing it right. Thank you all for being in my life. We are here, but for a fleeting moment in time.

“Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.” – George Eliot

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Standard
After Mother Loss, Childhood grief, Children grieve, Grief, Grief stories, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Write to heal, Writing on Grief

Dear 11 Year Old Me (a letter)

Today, November 21, 2019, in honor of Children’s Grief Awareness Day, I penned and recorded a letter to eleven year old me, the age I was when my mother, Kathleen, died. I share my recorded version at this link on my public Facebook page if you would like to take a listen. Below is a transcript of my letter.

The Highmark Caring Place, A Center for Grieving Children, Adolescents and Their Families, created Children’s Grief Awareness Day to raise awareness of the distress and impact that the death of a loved one has in the life of a child. It “seeks to bring attention to the fact that often support can make all the difference in the life of a grieving child.” Children’s Grief Awareness Day is observed every year on the third Thursday in November and is now recognized by organizations around the world.

To be honest it is not easy for me to put this personal letter into cyberspace. However, I sense that my words might touch others who need them, making it worth my hesitation to share. Also, I came across this quote by Brene Brown providing me with the encouraging little shove I needed.

“People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real badasses.”
― Brené Brown, Rising Strong: How the Ability to Reset Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

Advice I’ve received from both professionals in the field of grief and psychic mediums over the past few years has been to visualize myself as a child, the age I was when my mother was ill with cancer, and embrace her (little me), talk to her and console her with comforting words. Although I don’t do this very often, I’ve found it to be a worthwhile endeavor.

So here is my letter:

Dear 11 year old me,

I’m writing this to you when I’m 42 years old. I know at your age 42 seems so mature, grown up and far into the future and in some ways it is but I’m still the same Carmel with many of the same values, dreams and aspirations.

My dear 11 year old Carmel I see you clearly to this day. I feel your unwavering love for family, your love for those close friends you hold so dear and I feel your pain. You are being so brave now that Mam has passed on. You watched her suffer a lot for too many years. You witnessed the pain anxiety and sorrow of those you love the most.

Dear little 11 year old me, you bear so much fear and sadness for such a little girl. Not only did you worry deeply about the mother you loved so much, but you also worry for your kind, devoted, loving father and your older brother and you hold any anger you feel inside to protect those you deeply care for. You shouldn’t have to go through all of this. You allow your anger to show at school sometimes and you regularly get into trouble for it. Teachers get annoyed with you. They become frustrated when you lose concentration during school time. They don’t understand your pain. They never ask you how you are doing. You don’t have many opportunities during class to express yourself verbally or creatively and this is very difficult for you. I still feel this inside. Sometimes division and multiplication just don’t seem that important because you have other things on your mind. But you are diligent and always do your work, along with all of the extra work you are given for talking back to a teacher or laughing with a friend when you aren’t supposed to be laughing. It is good to laugh, little one, and you do love having fun. You love playing with your friends, doing activities with Dad and your brother. Life holds many beautiful experiences for you. Savor those moments of delight.

I’m proud of you, Carmel, for consistently doing your best in school when it is truly a challenging environment for you. Your friends can’t relate to your personal experiences and no trusted adult is available for you at school. You will take those difficult experiences and turn them into love. You will become the kind of early childhood educator you need today and, Carmel, when you get older you will shower so much love, compassion, empathy and care onto little children who need support. They will feel your genuine love for them and what you have to give will make a significant impact in the lives of innocent children.

Dear 11 year old me, you love little children and babies and you will work with them for many years. Children will touch your heart and bring you so much joy and love. Because of how much love you have inside you’ll remember each of them, you’ll give extra attention to the ones whose mothers are sick, fathers have died, brothers have abused them and so forth. You understand vulnerability and innocence. You are a very special soul.

Carmel, you will travel through this life fearlessly at times, moving to far away countries, trying out lots of various jobs. You will also feel anxiety, sadness and anger and it is okay to feel sad and angry. Express these in safe places when you can. Keep journaling and writing. Your beautiful, considerate words and insight will touch a lot of people’s hearts someday. Your story is important. What you have to say is valid. Believe in yourself. Keep playing and having fun. It’s okay to laugh. It’s actually very important. Try to release some of that worry. It is a burden and won’t change anything. I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about Dad as he will be with you in your life for many, many wonderful years. He will be a close, loyal confidante and dear friend to you always. So, don’t worry anymore.

You are a brave, bright, giving soul and you are loved. Keep shining that light.

I love you.

(In the featured image above I am sitting in our back garden on a bench, displaying the medals I won in Irish dancing competitions and a trophy my mother presented to me for doing well in school. The trophy was not a usual occurrence. Given the tough time we were all going through she wanted to offer me encouragement. I was thrilled with it and have the trophy to this day.)

Standard
After Mother Loss, Being present for those grieving, Connecting through grief, Death, Grief, Grief Writing, Love, Mother Loss, Writing on Grief

To My Readers Across the Globe

In the past three days alone, several people from countries spanning the globe visited my blog pages to read stories of mother loss & grief. In search of books by women/girls whose mothers have died (always the most popular search), gathering ideas for honoring mom at their upcoming wedding & reading of how others have lived beyond a mother’s death, these individuals are grieving a loss while simultaneously moving towards thriving. My blog stats offer (minimal) information about the diversity of readers, the searches entered into Google & the questions posed by people all over the world (obviously no specific details are given, just age demographics, country of search etc.) & while it blows my mind to see readers from across the globe it also reminds me of how connected in love we humans are.

In the past three days women & men from Afghanistan, the UK, Greece, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Ireland, Malaysia and the USA have clicked on my blog page. What powerful message does this bring? Grief is ubiquitous. Not one person alive won’t experience it. Anyone who comes to this blog is feeling a deep sense of loss & longing, a need for connection and advice on how to get through the challenging journey following a loved one’s passing. People want uplifting stories that might help encourage them and allow them to feel less alone in their journey. Love (& grief which is love with no place to go) is the common thread connecting each one of us, obliterating our differences.

Our stories are powerful. Vulnerability births connection.

Everyone here is going through something. Every human being across this planet loves, & everybody knows the pain of grief, or will, someday.

Mother loss is traumatic at any age & throughout our lives most people will experience it. For a child to experience mother loss (as I did when eleven years young) the trauma lingers & weaves its way in & out of our everydays. It’s necessary to talk about this stuff. Otherwise it lodges in our cells & causes debilitating pain. It is not a secret that we grieve & it is not something to be ashamed of.

Our sisters & brothers across this earth are reaching out to gather encouraging stories as they navigate loss. In just the past three days I see how many of you are here, reading my words, possibly in search of a piece of your story in mine. Our stories are unique and personal to us, as our healing journey will be, but the common thread is love and those of us who have experienced the death of a loved one can truly empathize.

I am honored & humbled to have the opportunity to share my story with people who need to read what I have to say. I’m grateful to have an online platform that somehow reaches individuals in these countries & the far corners of this incredible planet. We are all in this beautiful, painful, challenging, joyous place together. Experiencing the death of a loved one is excruciatingly painful and healing from this loss takes time and work. In my experience there’s no closure. The wound heals in time but reopens depending on circumstance. Life carries us forward, however, and we learn to live our fullest lives. Take your time with healing. Seek comfort in nature, words, stories, people’s kindnesses and know that you are not alone in feeling this type of pain. All over the world we are witnesses to heartache. I see you & because of this my heart is full this morning as I wish you all peace in your grief, love and safety and the strength to carry on as you navigate the rocky and meandering road ahead.

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Standard
After Mother Loss, Anniversary, Being Kind, Childhood grief, Death, Family, Grief, Moments, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Moving forward after loss, Sad anniversaries

When Anniversaries Are Sad

Today (August 11th) is significant for two reasons.

Mam & Dad married on this date at home in Ireland in ’73. I have a photo of them on their special day enlarged and framed in our home. The picture represents happiness, genuine love & beautiful promise. Coincidentally Dad & I were the same age (39) when each of us got married. (We both waited patiently until we found ‘the one’.) In 1988 my mother died. Sometimes I glance through my parent’s wedding album. The photos, mostly in black and white, reflect so much joy and hope. My parent’s union was built on mutual respect and a devotion which saw Mam through her illness, my father by her side.

This next photograph is of me and my Granny on our birthday in Galway. I think I might have been 7 years of age in that picture. We shared the same birth date, January 3, and always celebrated together. This is the second reason for today’s significance: on this day (August 11th) 30 years ago Granny (Dad’s mother) died suddenly. I was only 12 when she was taken from us, the year after Mam lost her battle with cancer.

So, in my early years I came face to face with happy, celebratory occasions & brutal, devastating days. I knew what was possible. Life was often terribly sad. Honestly, I feel hard done by having lost so many significant people at such a young age. It’s not easy to admit that but it’s true. Often people go through life surrounded by close family & a tight community of loved ones who share a history. Those of us who learn trauma in our youth carry it inside of us even as it appears we are thriving. In fact loneliness, anxiety and fear are part of our everyday lives. Loneliness specifically for our loved ones who have died. We also tend to be sensitive, compassionate and alert and appreciative of people and moments. But we always crave our people. My mother is irreplaceable because she was my mother & she raised me.

Life is complicated & so are our emotions & our reactions to our experiences. We get on with things but we never get over major losses. We simply do our best to be our best. In honor of my parents, my beloved mother and Granny Walshe, I try hard to live my best life. Granny & Mam faced several challenges of their own but they were both strong, capable and happy women. They are an inspiration to me & I am grateful to them for everything. I just wish they were still here because I’ve been craving some maternal hugs from those women whose lineage I descend from. It has been over thirty years…

This is all to say let’s look out for each other and try to be patient in the face of trauma and grief. Keep an eye on those little sweethearts who lose a significant person early on in life. Please be there for them if you can. Create a space for them to talk or just be themselves. They are scared and in shock and they will need a lot of support. Also, if you do still have your folks and/or grandparents and you love them, let them know, or go spend some quality time with them. And, if you know someone who has grieved and lost try not to assume that their people are replaceable. They are not. And they won’t ever get over the loss. They’ll get on, but they’ll be sad about it, forever. Some days or occasions will be more challenging than others. Their reactions to certain things might stem from their early losses. You might see no connection but the connection is obvious to the bereaved (or sometimes it isn’t).They are angry but the anger might look like something else. It’s complicated.

You never know what’s going on in another person’s life. Let’s be gentle with each other and ourselves. Our hearts continue to love every day but this powerful organ is also fragile and often bruised. Kindness goes a long way.

Some of us hold a store of sad anniversaries in our hearts, significant dates that circle around year after year. We don’t know what to do with these dates or how to acknowledge them. Today I’m honoring the memories by writing about it. I’m remembering my parents and their beautiful, happy day. I’m thinking of Granny and how in the photo we wore the exact same colors though it wasn’t planned, and how thrilled she was when I was born on January 3. These days of interesting coincidences carry sadness for me, but also joy and gratitude. Captured in these pictures are moments filled with delight, hope and surprise. Each one of us lives for moments such as these, every moment creating a unique life and offering us precious memories. I reflect on the memories and each is rich with love. For that, and for so much else, I am grateful.

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Standard
A Father's Role, After Mother Loss, Childhood grief, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, The Importance of Family

7 Ways My Father Supported His Children Following My Mother’s Death

I was eleven. My brother was thirteen. Mam had been sick for several years and when she died in 1988 my father continued to love and care for us, offering the majority of his time and energy to his bereaved children. Dad did so much for us. I am an independent, resilient and compassionate being today as a result of my father’s devotion to his family. Here are seven of the ways my dad supported us as we navigated the challenging period following my mother’s death from cancer.

1. By holding on to keepsakes & other specific physical objects belonging to my mother, my father kept my mother’s memory alive in our home. Nothing of hers was removed prematurely. Many of her things remain in our lives to this day. In fact yesterday I wore a lovely purple sweater of hers that I pulled from the closet in our sitting room. Over the years I’ve discovered things belonging to her that surprise me. She lives on in our lives through photographs, cards she received or penned to us, items of clothing, her old but functioning button accordion & other things she valued and loved. My father carefully chose photographs of Mam to frame and place around our home following her death. Every room contains memories of my mother.

2. We spoke about my mother regularly after her passing. Though I didn’t talk about Mam to others she was often mentioned in our home. I sometimes asked questions about her past and Dad answered to the best of his ability. Together we recalled her favorite songs, frequently looked through family photo albums and as we got older we acknowledged the absence her death left.

3. My father made sure to welcome our friends into our home. I spent ample time with my peers both at our house and in theirs. Blessed with wonderful friends who cared about me I spent hours on end laughing with them and having fun. I lost myself in childish games and silliness. Such relief! Dad often drove us around to local events, treated us to train rides and parties and invited my pals on various excursions. To this day my friends recall his warmth and kindness.

4. My father took us on trips abroad after Mam died. We visited London, The Isle of Man, Jersey and in later years other countries in Europe such as Italy and Switzerland. Dad planned visits to our cousins in Dublin, Galway, Waterford and Limerick. We went on short boat excursions and joined a walking club. Dad made sure to keep us occupied while at the same time allowing us plenty of down time as needed.

5. We were encouraged to share our feelings at home. We didn’t get in trouble for sharing how we felt. As a child I wanted to protect my father and my focus after Mam died was on making sure he was okay. So, I wasn’t about to upset him by revealing too many emotions. But, when I did wish to share something with him he was always there, listening carefully, making no judgments. He gently advised or offered compassion if a solution couldn’t be found. To this day my dad is that same kind, gentle listener. He doesn’t pretend to have all the answers but his listening ear is ready.

6. Dad learned how to cook from my mother. After she died he was able to recreate several of her dishes from scratch such as her famous cod with Taytos dish, her shepherd’s pie and her mashed potatoes with gravy. For years my father cooked so many of her delicious meals for us in our kitchen where once four of us sat together. Eating these same meals, meals my mother served us, allowed for a smoother transition after her death. Not everything was different. Not everything had changed. The food we put into our bodies on a daily basis stayed mostly the same and my mother was remembered at meal times.

7. We were permitted space. My brother and I had our own rooms and when our doors were closed we didn’t interrupt each other without knocking. Fortunately all three of us enjoyed our own company. We often read, drew, wrote and listened to music by ourselves. This private time was crucial for me. I frequently wrote in my diary and journals releasing all of my emotions on to the page. I liked to draw and color as these activities calmed and soothed me. And I created dance routines in front of the mirror to songs by Irish band Something Happens and Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do with It?”

Father’s Day is upon us once again. I extend my deepest sympathies to those who are without a father today. I understand loss and loneliness and I’m so truly sorry for anyone grieving at this time.

I will celebrate this Father’s Day with my dad in Ireland. It has been years since I was able to spend the day with him and I am grateful for the opportunity to do so today.

Father’s Day is hopefully a time when the culture says, ‘This is our moment to look at who our men and boys are.” -Michael Gurian

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Continue reading

Standard
After Mother Loss, Being there for someone who has lost a mother, Childhood grief, Connecting through grief, Death, Fatherless Sons, Grief stories, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Moving forward after loss

Motherless Daughter. Fatherless Son.

Several weeks ago following a public reading where I read an essay I had written about childhood mother loss a young woman approached and told me, through tears, how optimistic she felt on seeing me read in front of so many people. It wasn’t just the story I had written, she said, though it really moved her, what she felt most optimistic about was seeing me, apparently doing so well today, following such a traumatic loss in my early life. I thanked her and told her I appreciated her coming to the reading. She nodded, clearly upset and I realized there was more to her interaction with me than I initially thought.

“My best friend just lost her battle with cancer,” she blurted. “Now, there is a little eight year old girl without a mother.”

“Oh I’m so sorry to hear that,” I responded, my palm automatically moving to my heart.

“Yes, it’s very sad. Every day is a struggle. But your reading gave me hope. To see you stand up there, after all these years and to hear you express yourself, what you went through, so articulately…I know she’ll be okay now.”

I thanked the lady and told her how sorry I was for her loss and for the little girl’s loss. I wanted to tell her if she needed anything to let me know, but sometimes it’s difficult to do that with a stranger because people are private and wish to deal with things their own way. Also, there isn’t a lot I can do because I can’t bring a mother back and that is all anybody really wants. I mentioned my blog and my FB page where I post regularly on grief and mother loss. I don’t know if she has visited either but I think of our interaction often. I’m glad my essay moved that lady, and gave her hope. We often have no idea in any given moment who needs our stories the most.

I’m glad the little girl has a caring, nurturing woman to look out for her. I hope they are thriving in this world that manages to break our hearts wide open with sorrow while continuing to gift us with tremendous joy and love. The lady told me that even though the girl is only eight she loves to pen stories about her mother. It was my turn to shed a tear. Her mother will not be forgotten.

Many children draw or create art from pain and sadness, as we adults do. One little boy I had in Kindergarten a few years ago drew his way through his father’s terminal illness. And when the little boy came to visit me after transitioning to first grade he carried with him a picture of his dad, drawn in yellow and brown crayons.

“How is your dad?” I asked him, taking the picture into my hands and admiring the portrait.

“He died,” he said simply.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out and giving the little boy a hug. “How are you?”

“Okay,” he said, before quickly changing the subject. He told me I could keep the picture. I knew he wanted to tell me about his dad but it was easier for him to show me a drawing than tell me straight out. Art is a way for our hearts to speak when words can’t explain the depth of our grieving.

That little girl will have her own story to live and tell, as will that first grade boy, as I have mine, and you have yours. We carry within us a blend of such sad stories and very beautiful ones.

20190116_151618.jpg

We are all tremendously resilient. Spread your wings and fly loves! Or crawl at first, if that is what you can manage. Take a deep, deep inhale and let go. Drop those shoulders. Pick up a pencil. We inspire others by being brave and sharing our creations. I’ve learned, and continue to learn so much from humans of all ages and walks of life. I’ve always believed in my inner strength and knowing. I have known heartbreaking sadness and I’ve experienced life’s most precious joys. Don’t give up story-makers, dream-creators, resilient beautiful beings! We’re all on this Mother Earth together and we can help each other. Now fly!

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

Standard
After Mother Loss, Childhood grief, Death, Grief, Grief Writing, Motherless Daughter, Support groups, Write to heal

Childhood Grief Honored Through Words

“Is Carmel afraid of death? No. Is Carmel afraid of what may come after death? No. What is Carmel afraid of?
Lucy has her eyes closed as she poses questions to the healers and spirits from alternative dimensions, messengers who connect with Lucy in her healing room when she calls upon them. She must ask the right questions in order to receive the correct answers…”

I’m honored to have a prose piece I wrote, titled Witnessing Carmel, published in VoiceCatcher today. The article is centered on childhood mother loss and it’s lasting effects, the persistent anxiety that follows and a deep down desire to heal.

It’s not an easy thing to spill our hearts onto paper and show our vulnerable side to a world of strangers, but it is through truth telling and sharing our heart stories that we reach and connect with other hearts, and so I keep doing this.

Two years ago, in June 2016, I had the pleasure of working with Hope Edelman and Jennifer Lauck at Blackbird Studio in Portland, Oregon. Back then I was editing my memoir A Lovely Woman and I attended the weekend writer’s course to receive  guidance and encouragement from two spectacular authors of memoir, Hope and Jennifer. Both have written about mother loss and grief. The experience of working with other writers, the majority of whom shared similar themes to my story: grief, mother loss, trauma, hope, love and connection, was a worthwhile, emotional and joyful experience. I formed life-long connections at that workshop, learned a lot and received valuable insights through the sharing of our stories.

Hope at Blackbird studios.jpg

(Photo taken by Blackbird Studios)

I have always been a writer. I’ve kept a daily diary since I was ten years old, months before my mother died. I write every day and though that writing isn’t always in the form of memoir my life-long experiences continue to shape my words. As the late and much respected Portland author Ursula K. Le Guin said:

“We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains.”

I am grateful to VoiceCatcher for appreciating my voice and publishing my truth story. In Witnessing Carmel I detail a particular occasion when I went in search of healing and discovered something profound that I’d never fully understood. Anxiety around illness and death has followed me into adulthood from a young age, but it’s understandable, as Lucy the healer tells me, it’s completely understandable.

(Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.)

Standard
After Mother Loss, Death, Grief, Grief Writing, Love, Mother Loss, Motherless Daughter, Moving forward after loss

Moving Forward After Mother Loss

We can’t go back in time. We can only move forward. Moment to moment. There is no changing what has happened no matter how much we want the outcome to be different. And in standing still, which we may do for a while, there can be no growth. Our bodies and spirits gravitate towards recovery and healing so eventually we must move in that direction, but it can take a long time, and a lot of effort. How do we activate our healing when all we want to do is cry? When all we want is for the person we have lost to reappear and hold us and tell us everything is okay, just as it was before, but better because we now know what it feels like to lose them and the most amazing feeling ever would be to have them back.

Well, crying is a good step. Crying is a release and it is healing. I didn’t cry all that much in the first decade following my mother’s death. I cried in the second decade, and into the third. So, I know that grieving is a process and that it can present itself throughout our lives depending on circumstances. I’ve lived some of the happiest days of my life in the years since my mother died, but I’ve also lived black days. Days where I couldn’t stop crying, staring at the photo of Mam on my fridge, imploring “Where are you? Are you here? Why did this have to happen to us? I neeeeed you!”

This is the journey of life. The days of cherry blossoms and playful baby goats; warm sunshine kissing bare skin; a comforting hug from someone you love; the fragrance of spring in the violet-blue hyacinths on your coffee table, but also, the sorrow that wells up inside you when the scent of nail polish takes you right back to the days of sitting beside your long-dead mother as she delicately painted your tiny fingernails.

What do we do? We move forward, reaching for the pleasant gifts of life. We must, if we are to survive.

Cheryl Strayed quoted her mother in her stunning book ”Wild when she said:

“There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it,’ said my mother. ‘Put yourself in the way of beauty.”

Is it easy? Not always. Is it possible? Yes.

Following tragedy we will never be the same person we were beforehand. Gathering all of the shredded pieces of ourselves together we gradually become who we need to be as we take our next steps. We learn as we go along, figuring out what works for us, facing adversity head on and sometimes crying. Moment to moment.

Throughout my life many of the universe’s gifts have inspired me to step from one moment into the next. After my mother died it was my father’s love and devotion towards my brother and me that kept me afloat. His love for us gave me something to hold on to. I didn’t lose all hope in the world, though my innocence was shattered at an early age. One caring and devoted adult in a child’s life can make all the difference. My brother and I were blessed with a wonderful dad.

I had close friends in school who cared about me and the laughter we shared, even on the toughest days, allowed a lightness to enter my being when otherwise it could not. Laughter is an instant release from those thoughts that cause pain. One of my closest friends, Tara, could always make me laugh. I needed her compassionate spirit close to me in school following my mother’s death, and we gravitated towards one another no matter how much our teachers tried to pry us apart. I will never understand why it was more important to my teachers that I concentrate on my math or my writing than it was that I laugh with my pal in the aftermath of such tragedy. My work was exemplary. I loved to write and read and my teachers had no reason to worry about that side of things. School granted me a chance to interact with my friends and I needed those interactions. I was only eleven. Plenty of time for austerity. Laughter is one of the best prescriptions for wellness. As a teacher of young children I laughed a lot when I was in the classroom with them. I encouraged laughter and joy more than anything. What a gift little ones are! They remind us to pay attention to the simplest of life’s blessings.

Making art, creating, writing, dancing, singing; all of these things can save a person. Find that which your soul is drawn to and give yourself the time and space to dive right in. Art lifts you out of the analytical thinking left brain and drops you into the expressive, imaginative right brain where you can let go of the pain for a while. Writing has always been my go-to and when I gave myself the time and permission to write about Mam’s illness and death in Briefly I Knew My Mother a weight so heavy and burdensome lifted. My mother loved to dance and sing so these activities not only bring me joy they bring me closer to her.

I know that sometimes none of this will seem to matter. We are too heartbroken and devastated to consider stepping towards anything that removes us from thinking of the person we have lost. There are times when all we want is that person back. I understand. I so completely understand. The void we experience following a loss often feels like too much to bear.

It takes time. That’s why we must be kind to ourselves and listen to what our soul is trying to tell us. Our inner voice knows what we need. Laughter is an instant release. It creates space. Friends give us comfort. Take everything moment to moment. But we must do the work. When we are ready it is ultimately up to us.

Nature offers us many gifts. I am always calmer following a walk in the forest. Regularly I crave a warm lake in which to float, releasing myself to the water as it carries me along. Our universe is rich with beauty. When we give ourselves to it our souls respond to the sweet magnificence of the hummingbird, the soft comforting warmth of a furry family pet and the immense strength of the redwood tree.

27751706_10160352557110393_3752409130622923026_n

In March of this year my mother will be dead thirty years. It’s an astonishing amount of time. Life threw my family a tremendous burden and a whole lot of heartbreak when we were all just starting off together as a little family. It’s not fair. But what in life is?

In those thirty years since I have lived sad times, bewildering times and happy joyful times. Some years propose questions and other years offer answers.

Moment to moment we can allow the answers to filter through, be it in stillness or art, writing or friendship. Look for that door, the one that appeals to you, the one that draws you over, and then when you’re ready to step on through, open it. Take all that you need with you on your next journey: your memories, the love you’ll always carry for the person you’ve lost, and breathe deeply as you go. Joy and beauty will greet you on the other side, showing up in your art, your words and your song, in the garden, on a hike, in another person’s smile. We are part of all that is. It is a great mystery but one that we are in together. The grief journey is gut-wrenching at the worst of times, but our lives are richer for the love we have experienced. Take it moment to moment, that’s all we can do. Then reach for that door handle. And visualize what you want to find on the other side!

Much love,

Carmel X

Like or follow my public Facebook page here where I frequently post articles, quotes & information about mother loss, grief and the writing process.

20171231_200313

“May my heart be kind, my mind fierce, and my spirit brave.” – Kath Forsyth, The Witches of Eileanan
Standard