Remembering - what grief feels like

Hindsight is 20/20. Only in the rear view can we really see what we just lived through. When we have emerged from the fog, we can begin to see the crisp lines, the hard edges become clearer - for before they were just blurred edges. The reality dulled by the grief and disbelief. 

Two years ago today, I posted this: 

At that time, I was nearing the 3-month mark. Three months of learning that Dan was dying, and then Dan dying, and then...walking through a fog trying to find life.

Last week, a friend and mentor celebrated her "retirement" from the university. Two years ago, our other full-time advisor announced his sudden retirement - and I was the only one for 500 undergrads. I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place under my belt. I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place, teaching 3 classes (one had 2 sections). I was the only one for 500 undergrads with only a year at this place, teaching 3 classes, and drowning in grief.

I didn't know I was drowning in grief. I thought I was doing pretty well, really. ...and I was. But I was also drowning. 

You don't know how exhausting just living is until you have had the life drained out of you...and no one to replenish. That's what that first year was like for me. I was in the deep end, treading water, doing my best to shout encouraging words to everybody else, holding the hands of the students who needed it, trying to keep them afloat...while slowing going down.

I didn't realize how much Dan's presence and his love had buoyed me. He helped anchor me. He rooted me. ...and now, where was I? who was I? 

These were the questions that sat at the back of my mind - though I didn't acknowledge them. I'm not even sure I heard them. If I did, I did my best to ignore them - to just get through this day - because dang it, I CAN. Susan didn't know how much just her presence in the office gave me a lift. It was a reminder that someone else was helping. Someone else could shoulder what I couldn't carry. I didn't actually have to do it alone.

If you know someone grieving, just be their community. Listen to them when they start to share their heart about what is burdening them. We, the grieving, each have "an impossible task" - the one thing that seems impossible to us. Listen to us describe it to you. Don't give us advice. Don't offer to carry it for us. Just listen. That's the thing - we who are grieving and have lost our person - we are far emptier than you can begin to fathom. 

We don't need advice. We need you to listen. Hear us - because we feel a bit like no one does. (Even when we know God hears us; we need a human, too) We need you to tell us that it is okay for us to take a grief day (if we are the type who need both permission and are trying to manage it all on our own)...and, we might just need you to say, "Let's go sit outside in the sunshine." "Let's go for a walk," if we haven't left the house in a while. 

Let's be still, together. 

Ubi caritas Deus ibi est

Well, folks - I'm officially in the new house. Yesterday was a rough day for me: little sleep, my parents headed home, and I was an emotional mess. I didn't get much sleep because my dad, selfless man that he is, was pounding away on some reducer and quarter-round at 1 am - so that the floors were officially done ... when he and Mom hit the road just 5.5 hours later.

When I woke up at 1am to my dad hammering away, the Holy Spirit had queued up this song to play: Ubi Caritas.

Ubi caritas et amor

Ubi caritas Deus ibi est.

Where true charity and love exist, God is there.

This photo, take on Saturday night, is my dad figuring out how vinyl plank flooring fits together and installs. Six hours later, he came back to the apartment: flooring fully installed...at 4am...just so that I could move my stuff into my new house 6 hours later.

Where true charity and love dwell...

When I awoke yesterday morning after a very fitful few hours, that song continued to fill my mind and my heart. Ubi caritas et amor...Deus ibi est.

I wanted to recount just some of the ways that people have showered me with love and charity in this move:

When I realized that Home Depot couldn't install flooring with 2 weeks notice, I texted my friend whose brother does drywall - and he learned how to install floors (he did the first floor and started the second floor);
When I painted and had some amazing helpers who even brought lunch: Trevor & Dustin, Leslie, Brian & Kim and the kids;
When I Chad tore out the carpet on the first floor and carted it away for me;
When Williamston Glass came and gave me an estimate to reglaze my windows and when scheduling the appointment, she said, "You must have made an impression. He came back and told his me, "We need to take care of her;"
When Uncle Fred painted the second coat on my kitchen on a Monday night;
When Linda packed up my kitchen over 2 days and came back to clean;
When Mom & Dad drove 22 hours to spend 72 hours with me - finishing packing, learning how to and then installing a floor, unpacking, purging...

When Kimmi, Nate, Charles, Tim, Chastin, Jordan, Scott, Lonnie, Fred, Alex, Karen, Chad, Grant, and Brian helped move all the stuff out and into the house in less than 3 hours from a 3rd floor apartment, 
When Dean cooked us all a delicious meal to cap off the in and out of moving day,
When Mom, Linda, Polly, Karen, Karen, Kim and Brenna helped with the unpacking....

 

A toast to new chapters and Dan Kiesling: Clear eyes, full hearts: can't lose.

 
When it came time for my parents to drive the eleven hours west, I could hold back tears no longer. My heart is full to bursting with such love and true charity shown toward me. As I reflected on this and the song continued to play, I realized this is the theme of my house.

Ubi caritas et amor Deus ibi est.

Where true charity and love dwell, God is there.

Abide. Abode.

 

What Grief Feels Like: feeling the void

[This is the start of an old post - started the first week of May and finished today]

Apparently today is "National Widows Day." ...and last week was National Infertility Awareness week. ...and last week was the last week of class. ...and April 29 was the day Dan and I met. ...and May 29 is our wedding anniversary.

Every day is a day.

But with grief...every day is effort.

And I don't think people outside of grief get that. I know I didn't. I didn't realize how much work it takes to just get through things. It's not something you think about it. I don't think about how much work each day is...or how empty I am ... until something brings my attention to it.

Two weeks ago, I realized that I have been "filling the void" rather than feeling it. Last week, that became very clear to me. The person who will be filling the position that was Dan's visited last week. I was really surprised at how hard the first day was for me. [point of clarification: I think the person hired is going to do a great job and I look forward to working with him, which makes it harder to explain...that's the sword of grief, I guess]

The people I work with are very quick to say that Dan isn't being replaced. It's very nice. But... it's not really accurate. I get it that Dan isn't being replaced...but, his place is. Very soon I will no longer say, when people ask about the livestock judging program, "Well, that person was my husband; he passed away in July." The place will be filled by someone else.

The last year for me has been a slow awareness to the reality that most of you grasped at the funeral. Dan died.

For me, the last year, has felt like I'm Katniss Everdeen from Mockingjay (the third book in the Hunger Games series):

"I am Katniss Everdeen.
I am 17 years old.
I am from District 12.
District 12 doesn't exist anymore...."

"I am Jessica Kiesling.
I am 38 (no!); I am 37 years old. [for some reason remembering that I am my age has been very hard]
I am married to Dan Kiesling.
Dan died.
Your husband, Dan Kiesling, died.
On July 11, 2016.
It was real."

Every day, I have to remind myself the facts of my life because they didn't feel real. They just can't be real!

Everyday, you feel a responsibility to be "okay" enough so that others can go on with their lives and not worry about you. It's a very hard burden to carry and seems impossible to let go. You MUST have someone outside the point of impact who can carry that with you. You MUST have someone outside the story who will  let you grieve.

It has to be someone outside of your story. Why? Because those people must grieve also - and you cannot deal with your own grief and someone else's. They are too big of burdens to carry. The person who helps you shoulder that burden must be willing and able to enter into your grief without adding to it.

My biggest challenge, and greatest gift has been finding those people and then allowing myself to grieve openly. I feel a need to understand my own feeling about them - because most people are NOT good listeners. Most people want to "figure out" your feelings instead of just letting you feel them.

This week (upon returning from Ireland), I am finally realizing what CS Lewis meant when he said, "I did not realize that grief felt so much like fear." Grief can paralyze you. Overwhelm you. Throw you into a full-on panic attack. It feels exactly like fear. And when those feelings come, you need someone to jump right into that pit with you, so that you realize that you're not drowning. There is a bottom, and you can stand up. Someone to look into your eyes, and say, "You. are. okay. because I have you."

Bear Ye One Another's Burdens -  St. Patrick Cathedral in Dublin

When you know someone who is grieving, I ask you to challenge yourself to be a listener. Don't try to solve. Don't ask questions. Don't advise. Just jump into the pit, and hold them. Look into their eyes, and just let them be.

If you are grieving, find someone outside that immediate circle of loss who can be your person. It's like when you're flying, "First secure the mask to your own face, and then you can help your loved ones." It's very natural for us to want to delay helping ourselves, to think we are doing something better by avoiding our grief to help another - but you aren't. Only by embracing yourself where you are and finding the HOPE Jesus has for you in the moment can you begin to offer anything to those also grieving in your circle.

Allow yourself to feel the void - that is the only route through which healing can come.
FEEL don't fill.

Let go of worry by being faithful in prayer

Today is my beautiful mom's birthday. I wrote her a little Facebook dedication today:

Happy Birthday to my mom! She's one of those people who mean so much to me that I can never really find the words to accurately say it all. She is "my person" when I need to emote - cry, vent, celebrate, worry. She tries to solve my problems (even when I don't want her to) because she cares. She wants the best for me and doesn't let me stay in a mindset that is not based on the Truth/reality of faith. She is a resting place; she is my shopping buddy; nothing makes me happier than seeing her smile and hearing her laugh. Thanks for teaching me to love life and to let go of worry by being faithful in prayer.

There are a lot of things I could expand upon, but I'm going to focus on what is probably her biggest gift to me: let go of worry by being faithful in prayer.

I am a Wednesday baby. You know what that means, right? "Wednesday's child is full of woe." ...and I live that out well. When I first read about 4 personality types (not Myers-Briggs) - the phlegmatic, sanguine, choleric, melancholic - in high school, I could strongly identify with the melancholic with my "internal self' - but I so badly wanted to be the sanguine, my "outside" self. The best way to describe the melancholic is to just think of Eeyore.

My internal self would worry; not all of the time - but, enough. I couldn't sleep the night before leaving for summer camp because I was worried about all the newness + being away from home; I was sick to my stomach the first 3 days I was in Rome (in high school) because I couldn't get in touch with my parents to let them know I was okay; I didn't get a small section of my hair wrapped in embroidery floss when in Italy like all the other girls because I didn't want to come home and have my mom think I'd changed so much on our 10-day trip to Italy/Greece.

I cried several times before starting 6th grade because it was the start to something I couldn't stop - THE REST OF MY LIFE. When opening a pack of 10 pens, I realized that I could use one pen each year - and that would get me through the entirety of high school AND college! (and I cried) Then, I got going with school - and the scary part wore off.

...then I graduated high school. Once county fair was over, the emotions came again. I cried once a day for 2 weeks about starting college/saying good-bye.

All of this is to demonstrate that transitions/changes have never been my strongest, emotionally. I also write this to share how much my mother has taught me over the years that this is no longer the same struggle for me.

My mom and I are quite alike in some ways - but also very different in others. Namely, she does not worry - and I'm not sure she ever has. As the youngest of 6, she got to be the carefree youngest. The parents are too tired from raising the others to put the pressure of being the 'perfect first', so the youngest get to just skate on through life. Although, the youngest can get the 'smothering' effect and feel so doted on that they need to exert their difference, their independence from all 'help' given by parents/older siblings.

It was always remarkable to me that she didn't worry, especially given that my grandmother is such a worrier. So, one day after graduating, I asked her, "Mom - why didn't you worry about me? Even when you knew that I was partying?" She said, "I just prayed for you, and knew that God would take care of you."

This lesson has guided me through my adult life by approaching new situations or life changes with prayer. Though, I am not perfect...and I often pray after the fact instead of first...but still, I do it. The last two months have been one of the most turbulent circumstantially, but also one of the blessed. Rather than worry first, I pray. ...and I pray often...through those prayers, peace stills my soul even though the waves still rage.

Proverbs 31:25 says "She is clothed with strength and dignity - and she can laugh at the days to come." To me, this is my mother. She can laugh at the days to come because she has covered them in prayer, and she trusts that God is true to His word - that all things can work together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purposes. (Romans 8:28 - one of the first verses she taught me)

So, happy birthday, Mom! Many more to come!

Thanks, Mom

In honor of my mother's birthday today, I thought that I would share some of the lessons I learned from my mom.  This is written a bit more in the spirit of a 'roast' instead of the tear-jerker memoir. But, if I know my mom, she'll get teary even while laughing.

Thanks, Mom, for being well-dressed. Your hand-me-downs keep me looking good.

Thanks, Mom, for loving to shop. This ensures that I get those aforementioned hand-me-downs while they are still in style.

Thanks, Mom, for showing me just how long 15 minutes can last. I am positive that I learned "15-minutes" can be anywhere from 20-35 minutes from you. I thank you for the lesson; I'm not sure Dan does. :)

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me the value of a Cabbage Patch Doll. When in first grade, I really wanted a "real" Cabbage Patch Doll - not the "fake" CPDs that my mom made for me. The fake ones had weird noses and looked like they were always leaking snot. So, around Easter time, while shopping with my mom (at Sernette's!), I spotted one I wanted. She allowed me to get it, on the condition that I 'bought' it. So, for several weeks, I would do chores; my mom would hand me a dollar, and I would hand it right back to her. I learned that one CPD was enough for me. :) ...and I treasured that 'real' CPD much more than if I didn't have to work for it.

Thanks, Mom, for not reading too many parenting books. That one time that you read the book by John Rosemond was a pretty rough week for me. I didn't enjoy paying 25-cents every time I called Matt a "Butthead."

Thanks, Mom, for not realizing that I called Matt a "butthead" because the older brother on the Wonder Years called Kevin that all the time.

Also, thanks for not looking too hard when you couldn't find that parenting book anymore. I hid it in the guest room at Grandma Faye's. ...and I think it stayed there until she moved. ...and I'm not sorry.

[Also, can we just take a moment and appreciate the perfection of the insult that 'Butthead' is? It combines 'poophead' and 'fartface' into one, all-encompassing, put-down: 'butthead.']

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me power of suggestion. I can still remember your entry in my autograph book in 2nd grade:

"I chose yellow [the color of the page you wrote on] because it is one of the school colors of Iowa State. That is where I went to school and would be honored if you went there, too."  

So, from 2nd grade, I knew that in order to make my mom happy, I would have to go to Iowa State. [not that I would have ever chosen another school...but I might have at least taken a look] :)

Thank, Mom, for being such a cool Mom. Part of the reason that I always wanted my friends to come over was because I wanted to spend time with my awesome Mom. I still want my friends to hang out with you and see how great you are.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to make awesome faces for photos.

Thanks, Mom, for showing me how to laugh at yourself. ...and to not take yourself too seriously. You know what best exemplifies this? ...the bumper boats at Okoboji....

Thanks, Mom, for letting me be me.

Thanks, Mom, for knowing when to tell me to just knock it off when I'm being too much of me.

Thanks, Mom, for making our house a home through your decorating. It's always welcoming, inviting and warm.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to work to deadlines. Company coming over in 2 hours? Plenty of time to clean the house! [To be fair, if you had cleaned the house any sooner than the day that company was coming it just would have been needed to be cleaned again...the day of.]

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that even though the company we are cleaning for has seen a dirty house before, we should still clean the house for them, anyway.

Thanks, Mom, for instilling me with the DIY-spirit. Why spend money for something when we can have the pride and joy of doing it ourselves?

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me the power of dreaming. As in, the power of visualizing what DIY-awesomeness could be ours when Pinterest wasn't even a twinkle in their creator's eyes. The 4-H Building at the Iowa State Fair was Pinterest for generations of Iowans...and still is for my mom and me.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to leave your home/family to make a new one in a new land among new people.

Thanks, Mom, for being better than a sister and a best friend. You are my Mom...my teacher, my confidant, my corrector, my fashion-consultant, and my friend. I love you!