Grief Part 4: Re-Calibrating After Loss

In Grief Part 2 (episode #64), I shared my grief journey through the first two tasks of grief.  In this episode I continue sharing my grief journey through the last two tasks of grief which are adjusting to the new life without the loved one, and reinvesting in a new reality.   I found I was a bit like the little bird in PD Eastman's Book asking "Are you my mother?"  I share how I found her--and a new version of me after her passing.  

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Ep. 67 Grief Part 4:  Re-Calibrating after Loss

This is Part 4 of our Series on Grief

Losing people and identity
In our first home when we got married, my husband and I had a bistro table in our little kitchen nook.  It was tall enough to stand at, and instead of chairs we had stools.  But one of the stools had one leg that was a big higher than the other one. That meant it wobbled when you sat on it.  No matter how much you moved around, it was never totally still.  

Similarly, trying to adjust to life after loss means we often feel unsteady.  We know we’re missing something and it’s hard to function correctly.  The people we love become part of us, and losing them can mean losing part of your identity.   It’s normal to feel this way after someone you love passes away.  Often loss makes it poignantly clear how much they have become part of us. and it’s important to recognize what role the person played in our lives.  It makes sense that our stability would be disrupted when part of the way we have learned to balance in life is removed.  
 
 Most people find stability again, however to get there—we can’t go back to finding stability and normalcy the way we used to.  We need to find other ways to function, operate and stabilize.  
 
 In the first episode I talked about the TEAR model which offers 4 tasks of grieving.  These are tasks move us closer to this sense of a new identity and stability.  

T stands for to accept the reality of the loss.
 E stands for experience the pain of the loss.  
 A stands for adjust to the new environment without the lost person.
 R reinvest in a new reality.

In episode 2 I talked about my experience with T-to accept the reality of the loss.  And E-Experience the pain of the loss. Grieving is essential.   However, learning how to function and re-calibrate after grieving is also crucial to finding hope and healing after loss. In this episode I will share my experiences with tasks A-adjusting to Loss & R-reinvesting in a new reality with the loss of my mother.  

If you haven’t listened to Grief Part 1 where I explore how the most common stages of grief may not be useful and a healthier way to think about grief, consider listening to it.  It sets up important groundwork for the other episodes.  And, if you haven’t listened to the episode with my siblings sharing their grief experience, it is definitely the highlight of whole series.

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One of my listeners told me that this grief series has been so helpful—in fact, she said, “I didn’t even realize I needed it as much as I did!”  It really helped me to understand my experience with losing my family member.  Thank you.  

I’m so thankful for this listener taking the time to let me know how this series was helpful.  Every week I distill one tip, perspective or tool from the podcast into a few lines to help you improve your mental and emotional health.  These can be read in about a minute. It arrives once a week to your email, and it’s totally free.  If you’d like to receive this free resource you can sign up in the link in the show notes, or on my website at The Expat mom.com.  

Looking for My Mother

Some of you may have read the children’s book, “Are You My Mother?” By PD Eastman.   A little bird breaks out of the nest while his mother is away finding food.  He says, “I know I must have a mother!”  But he doesn’t know where she is.  So, he goes looking.  He asks the cow if she is his mother.  He asks the chicken, the airplane and the steam shovel.  Each of them say no.  As the reader his inquiries sound ridiculous.  Why would anyone think an airplane or a cow would be his mother?  
 
 And, yet—I felt a bit like this little bird when my mother passed away.  Even though I was grown, married, independent and had lived on my own for many years, I still needed anchoring and mothering.  I knew I had a mother, but now that she was physically gone, I wasn’t sure where to find her or at least find that same support.  
 
 I found myself looking in many places and not finding her.  A bit like the little bird, I sometimes found myself a little lost emotionally and wondering who I was and how to feel stable again.  
 
 Let me describe some of my own processes learning to adjust to life without my mother.  At first it was reminding myself that she was gone.  I described in an earlier podcast how I would write her post-it notes around my house with things to remember to tell her.   And then, when I’d think to call her, I’d realize “Oh, she’s not there.”  But after a while, it shifted from remembering she was gone to noticing all the holes and empty spaces she left.  

Even though we didn’t live close, I noticed her absence in many of my daily activities.  I’d see her handwriting on a family recipe and think—she’ll never make this again.  Or I’d have a question about a recipe but couldn’t call.  
 
 When something wonderful would happen with one of the kids—my baby learning to walk, a daughter losing a tooth, I finished an amazing book I’d instinctively think to call her and remember I couldn’t.  Everything seemed to be linked to her.  I remember seeing a bath toy she had given my daughter, and thinking “I can never get rid of that because she’ll never be able to give my kids anything else!”
 
 I looked forward to our conversations to share wonderful and hard things in my life.   I knew I could call her for encouragement or to laugh about something humiliating, I could almost hear her voice as she’d quote Anne of Green Gable, “Girl you do beat all.”
 
 Sometimes I tried to share in the same way with others.   They were all amazing, and sometimes they did fill that space in my soul for a moment.  I’m so thankful for that.  But if I’m honest, it didn’t feel quite the same.  I felt like that little bird trying out different people thinking, “Will you fill this need my mother used to fill?”  

My mother had planned to come to China, where we were living.  Her dream was to stand on the Great Wall of China with her grandchildren.  But she died before she could come.  Eventually my Dad and siblings came and we had a wonderful visit!  But it was a little sad standing on the wall without her.
  
 I missed that insightful drip of ideas she had, as well as the modeling of how to be a woman and a mother.   I looked to her to know one way of how to be a young mother, a middle age mother, and an older woman.  I watched her learn and change.  She would often share things she was studying or learning or experiencing.  Even when I didn’t like the way she did something, at least she provided a baseline experience.  With her gone, it felt sort of like I was hanging in space trying to find my way.   It was like that little bird in the PD Eastman book wondering if should moo like a cow or fly like an airplane.  It needed it’s mother.  

I read her journals, I read books I knew she had read and loved.  I ready her notes in the margins.  Other times I looked for her in my memories.  I asked myself, what would she do if she were here.  Sometimes looking for her helped, but other times it made the empty space she had occupied feel larger and hollower. I watched other women her age, or older.  But it wasn’t the same.  I didn’t have access to their thoughts and personal doings.  It was something, but not the same thing.  

No matter how hard I tried to find her in so many places, I had to accept that I had lost my mother.  

Losing Me

And in losing my mother, I lost a part of me.  I was an adult and had a strong sense of self.  I was married with two children and had a wonderful life.  And yet there was still a part of my identity was tangled up with my mother’s identity. Who I used to be, didn’t quite work any more with her gone.  
 
 When we’re in utero—we are literally part of our mother.  The process of birth and growing up seems to be a gradual process of differentiation and separation while periodically coming back to “the nest.”  Even when we’ve made our own nests, so much of who I was was informed by what I had seen her do, how she had acted—even when I didn’t realize it.  It is often in losing something that we realize what we had.  

While many parts of my identity were still strong, the overwhelming nature of grief meant that my identity felt wrapped up in her passing for a time.  During this time, I often ended up sharing about it with others—not because I wanted their pity but because at the time it felt like a very significant part of my whole world.  I felt like I needed others to know that about me to really know me.  
 
 At times I felt disconnected from people who didn’t know about it.  I recognized that you can’t really understand until you’ve experienced a significant loss.  I didn’t feel angry at others when they didn’t understand, but sometimes it felt lonely when they didn’t.  

I felt some confusion and displacement.  I felt like I didn’t fit—like the world was spinning along but part of me was frozen and stuck.  I didn’t know how to make the me without my mother fit into my old life in quite the same way.  Not only had I lost my mother, I had lost me or at least part of me for a while.  

Dying is also a process of birth in some ways.  Our loved ones move on…and so do we, or at least we are disrupted from our old ways.  The passing of a close loved one gives us the opportunity to create a new relationship with our loved one, and a new identity.  I had to “find” my new mother, and I had to find a new me.  I found that in finding one, I often found both.  :)
 
 Finding My Mother And Finding Me
Just because someone is physically gone does not mean we stop having a relationships with them.  Our relationships are our thoughts and feelings about someone.  Even when they are not physically present, our thoughts and feelings continue.  Whether they are negative, or positive—usually both, that relationship continues to impact us.  In addition, we form a new relationship with our loss.  
 
These relationships can be de-facto or deliberate.  The more deliberate we choose to be, often the more useful these relationships can be. 
 
Eventually in the story of the little bird, it finds it’s mother.  A big steam shovel lifts the bird back into it’s nest and it’s mother returns.  Similarly after searching for my mother, I did eventually find her.  But it wasn’t in the places I was looking at first.  As I found her, I was able to re-create my relationship with her in a new way, and eventually grow into a new identity. 
———
 
I found my mother not just in one place, but in many places.  First, I found my mother in ritual. 

Finding My Mother

1.  I found my mother in ritual.
One of the reasons I found I was focused on her was that I didn’t want to lose her.  One of the things that allowed me to “find my mother” and find myself again was finding a way to keep her present in my life.  To find a new space for her.  I thought about what I missed most, what I wanted to keep from her, what I wanted to pass on to my children.  And I created rituals to ensure that there was space created for that.  

The Power of Ritual
I decided that there were 3 significant days each year that I would create rituals for.  The first was the day of her passing…..tea party.  My mother loved to dress up and have tea parties with her grandchildren.  She would give herself silly names and delight hte grandkids with her silliness.  In her honor each October on the day of her passing, we hold a tea party in her honor.  We bring her picture to the table, we all wear silly hats or costumes, give ourselves silly names and enjoy talking about stories about her in a silly way.  

The second ritual was on her birthday.  My mother loved peppermint ice cream.  It often comes out around Christmas time, and her birthday was in December.  Growing up she thought they Meade the peppermint ice cream for her!  Our family always has peppermint ice cream on Dec. 6th—her birthday (even in places where we can’t buy it, we make it.)
 
 The third ritual is on Mother’s Day.  I try to take time to tell her about what I’m thinking, what I wish I could tell her, write questions I wish I could ask her.  This has become a wonderfully cathartic thing to voice what I miss in communicating with her.  
 
 Sometimes on these days, I enjoy looking at pictures, recalling memories, or listening to her voice.  I love to teach my children about her.  
 
 These rituals allowed me secure a a firm, safe position for my mother.  Enough so, that I felt more comfortable to look for “new” —additional mothers, and subsequently a new identity.  II would never be able to replace my mother, but now I could continue to broaden my sources of love and nurturing.  
 
 The second place I found her was in others.

2.  I Found My Mother in Others.
I found that expecting someone else to be my mother was disappointing sometimes.  However I found that others could fill parts of her.  My husband is so supportive, a wonderful listener, and an incredible cheerleader for me.  Siblings and friends were able to connect and share about life experiences and ideas.    My Dad really went out of his way to be extra interested in me and our family and he and my step mom have created a wonderful grandparent home that is a wonderland for kids.  My parents-in-law have been wonderfully supportive and made such tremendous efforts to visit us all over the world and support us in so many ways.  I’ve found wonderful teachers and books and podcasts offered ideas on parenting, self development, and more. 

I found that others are more loving and vulnerable than I expected.  I realized sometimes I have to recognize when there is  space I need filled, and ask others to fill it.  I also have to manage my expectations that they might not do it how I expect them to and be thankful for how they do. 
 
I remember one time I was really stressed about a parenting problem with one of my girls, and I called a sister.  She offered some super helpful perspectives that helped me clarify how to help my daughter.  One year, I set up Christmas decorations and was so excited with how I had done it.  A friend came over and helped me admire it.   It was just a little space she held, but it was enough.

Third, I found my mother in God. 

3.  I Found My Mother in God.
I had always been a religious person.  I prayed regularly and believed in a divine Father in Heaven.  But losing my mother, created depths of need I didn’t know I had.  When I needed a confidant I began falling to my knees to pray to my father who loves me perfectly.   I found that He is closer and more merciful than I knew.  I realized I had become reliant on my mother rather than on God in for some things.  As I began reaching out more to God, I felt His love envelope my life.  And divine love is so healing.  

Finally, I found my mother in me.  

4. I Found My Mother in Me

I remember one time I was playing the piano and looked down and realized my hands look like my mothers.  This physical reminiscence was a startling but also reassuring.  Part of her is in me.  I find myself sometimes responding to my kids like she would, or hearing her voice in my head as I respond to different experiences.  
 
 I remembered the grit she showed as she re-landscaped our front yard one summer, or walked herself into another chemo treatment.  

I realized I am stronger and braver than I thought.  We grow when we can’t lean on the things we’re used to.   In the midst of an international move to Mexico I found my mother—in me. I found the courage and strength to walk by children to school past drug deals and guards with machine guns.  I found the courage to take my children to doctors in a foreign languages and how to do white-knuckled Mexico City driving.  I had her grit.  

The absence of my mother, left a hollow part of me.  I still miss her fiercely.  I will never fully replace her, but in trying to fill that space, I have found so many mothers… a closer relationship to God, deeper friendships, courage, and so much personal growth.
 
 ————————
 
 Finding Me

Losing the part of me that was entangled in my mother meant I had to grow to compensate.  In other words, in losing my mother, I found a new me.  

You may have heard of Post-Traumatic Stress, but I love the concept of Post-Traumatic Growth……

I love a model of grief by Lois Tonkin.  They show a circle covered entirely by a ball.  The circle represents us, the ball represents grief.  Most of us, they explain, think that over time the ball gets smaller and we are again able to see more of the circle (ourselves).  However, they point out that actually the grief stays the same, and we grow around it.  They show a circle where the grief ball is the same size, but the circle has expanded to double the size around it.  I really like this image for a few reasons.  One because I think it gives a more accurate depiction of grief.  And, because I think it shows the amazing potential for post-traumatic growth.

As I’ve reflected on how I had to grow in the years since her passing, I realized I’ve had to become more confident in myself, not needing her reassurance.  I’ve had to become better at decision making.  I’ve had to learn to be vulnerable and ask others to help fill my needs. I have had to face and learn to process difficult emotions.  

This experience has carved out a deep compassion in me for those struggling and especially those who have lost a loved one.  It has also caused me to develop a sharp sense of my own mortality and caused me to use my time differently—even to think about loved ones differently.  

It can be so healing to begin noticing the amazing compensatory blessing of loss that can help fill the void of the person we love.  It is as we notice these ways we grow that some of our sorrow can turn to gratitude.
 
 After I lost my mother, it took time to adjust to life without her and I realized in losing her, I lost some of my own identity.  Finding a new stability meant finding ways to fill the needs she had filled in other ways, and to grow around my grief enough to become a stronger and better person.  These things allowed me to find a new stability

 Conclusion:
When we lived in Taiwan, there was a nest of birds in the tree across the street.  We watched the mother sit on her eggs, the eggs hatch, the mother leave to find food for her babies and then one magical day, the birds started hopping out of the nest and trying their wings.  Sometimes they just flopped to the next tree branch.  But eventually each of them took flight.    

Losing someone we love can feel like having to leave our comfortable nest.  For me I left to find my mother.  What I found was not just her, but a new me.  Grief forces us out of the nest.  It’s uncomfortable, scary and unknown.  But it opens us up to a whole new wide world of wonder too.  We have to become someone new.  We have to grow and evolve.  Grief carves out room for a new identity.