Surrendering to the journey of life

"The Bow"
© 2018 Toni Becker,
Artfully Healing/Whimsical Jewels

I awoke today with an overwhelming sadness.  The sadness that time is racing by, and I can't stop it.  The sands of the hour glass are speeding up and visually I see the sands falling through my fingers.  I try to contain it by clasping my hands tightly shut, but it's not working.  So here I sit, knowing I need to honor these feelings despite my mind telling me I have a zillion things to do.  My heart reminds me that I am a sensitive and emotional human with empathy and compassion for myself and others, while my head tells me to numb it and stay active with my life and my "to do list".  My ego screams... "No one has time for this, keep doing and it will go away."  Here's the truth.  It's easier and more comfortable to numb myself with activities and things I need to take care of instead of honoring what I feel because these feelings are intense.  The real work lies in the allowing and the honoring.  So today I'm honoring.

I want to say no to the outside world, pull the covers over my head and lie in bed allowing myself to be what I need to be.... a big sobbing mess.  I'm not one to run from what I'm feeling although there are days I know I don't have time for it, and I push through knowing it will be there tomorrow.  Believe me, it doesn't go away.  I acknowledge this isn't the healthiest approach, but sometimes it's what I need to do, to get things done, knowing I can't handle the tasks I need to care for and the intensity of my emotions.  Today I awoke knowing I needed to take care of my emotional health and honor the space I'm in and sit with the intensity.  So here it goes...  I'm mad that I don't have the means to stay in bed today if I want to.  I'm mad that I can't be with my mom every second of the day.  I'm mad that life has been so challenging and there appears to be no end in sight to these challenges.  I'm mad that time is running out.  I'm mad that I'm losing the beginning of me.  I'm mad that time and future memories are being stolen from me.  I'm mad that people focus on such nonsense.  I'm mad that I am forced to deal with these people and their nonsense.  I'm mad that the world is so divided and people are killing each other.  Then there's the sadness.  I'm sad that I'm watching someone I love so deeply weaken each day.  I'm sad and mad that I can't do anything to make it stop.  I'm sad that my life will go on without a huge part of me.  I'm sad for my children and what they're feeling.  I'm sad that there's a good possibility my mom won't be here to see them graduate, go to college, get married, have the joy of seeing them start a family... the list is long.  I'm sad that I can't do more for her.  I'm sad that there will come a day that I won't be able to feel her hugs, stroke her soft hair, place my hand on her face or see her across the dinner table.  My stomach is sick.  My head is throbbing.  My face is a big salty mess from the continual stream of tears. 

My mom on her birthday 10/11/15

Then there's the duality of all the emotions above.  There's gratitude and joy.  It's a little hard to write about it when my sadness is being felt with such intensity today, but these feelings are still there.  It's these feelings that calm my stomach and make the throbbing in my head feel less intense.  They serve as a beautiful reminder of what I have and what I've been given.  I have the unconditional love of a woman who is such a beautiful example of love and motherhood.  And when the clock stops, I'll still have this, just in a different form.  Despite feeling like time is running out, I'm reminded that I have been given time and the ability to care of the woman who gave me life.  I'm reminded that I have the blessing of having her in my home, and although it's hard to see her in a weakened state, I'm grateful for the ability to care for her, to love her in this state and to serve her in this way.  I'm grateful that time has already been extended and I hope for more time, but as hard as it is to acknowledge this... I accept and honor that it may not happen.


For the last year I have been engaging with anticipatory grief or maybe it's been engaging with me.  The truth is, it really doesn't matter how much you engage with anticipatory grief, it doesn't prepare you for a loss of this magnitude.  The waves of grief I will feel when it's all said and done will be greater than what I am going through right now.  For today though, I feel a little better honoring this space and giving my grief the acknowledgement it needed.

My mom and I, 12/25/16

A big fat stinking mess, yet beautiful. Welcome to life.

A panel of my "Letting Go Lantern"
© 2017 Toni Becker,
 Whimsical Jewels, Artfully Healing

I'm drowning.  Drowning in the messy happenings of life.  The waves are crashing, beating against my being stealing my breath.  My heart beats faster.  My breath escaping me.  Try as I might I just can't catch my breath.  I'm trying to stay afloat... my legs kick faster, even though I can feel this sinking feeling.  I fight.  I breathe.  I kick harder.  But there's a heavy weight pulling me down.  I feel like I'm drowning.  Right now, that's how my grief feels.

For many weeks now I have fought kicking and screaming with so many people I'm exhausted.  I've felt unheard, thinking am I not being clear?  After such in depth conversations and clear examples, I'm left wondering how my words could have fallen so hard on deaf ears.  The result is a suffocation I can't describe.  All the while people on the sidelines are telling me to scream louder, advocate harder, do this do that...  I've done all I can do.  I've done the best I could do.  And yet, I don't feel like it's remotely over or nearly enough.  And I'm wondering how much I have left to give and if I have the strength to keep fighting.  I'm tired.  No, I'm exhausted.  I'm to the point now I can barely put words together to form a coherent sentence.  Sitting here typing this is taking everything I have, but I know at the end I'll feel better so I keep stroking the keys.  Not giving a shit what it sounds like, or if it makes any sense.  The blog is artfully healing... and this is part of my healing and the art form I'm using in this moment to soothe my tired mind, bleeding heart, and exhausted frame. 

A panel of my "Letting Go Lantern"
© 2017 Toni Becker,
 Whimsical Jewels, Artfully Healing

The same waves that are crashing against my frail frame causing me to feel the tremendous burden of grief, are also in the same way healing and transforming me.  It's a big fat stinking mess and yet so beautiful.  It's here in this moment with the weight of everything I know that when it's all said and done, I will be better for it.  It's just so hard to see it when I feel like I'm drowning and trying to keep my head above the water.

I wrote the above passage on 7/16/18, but never published it.  I'm not sure why I left it as a draft, but I did.   And now as I read the above words, I realize it feels complete and incomplete simultaneously.  Now three months later my words are still relevant to my daily life, but the anticipatory grief that I feel is heavier and more of a reality.  At the time of writing the passage my mom was at a rehab center getting ready for discharge.  She had been under hospital type care for a month... a week in the ICU, a week on a regular floor, and then discharged to a rehab facility where she spent two and a half weeks.  I battled with all of them, advocating for her care making sure she was taken care of and receiving the care she deserved.  Ultimately she was discharged before she was ready due to insurance, and my choices were limited so I brought her home with us.  The fighting and advocating didn't stop, but thankfully it hasn't been as intense.  Now with hospice coming into our home, I find myself breathing a little easier regarding her care.  The care she's receiving right now is exactly what she needs and quite frankly what everyone needs to receive throughout their life span, not just at the end of life.

My beautiful Mom on her birthday
10/11/18

Today the grief is heavy.  I know my days with her are numbered, and everything else that goes on in one's daily life seems unnecessary and quite frankly a waste of my time.  I find myself thinking about all the stuff we waste our energy on that serves no purpose and lacks meaning.  I feel my mind drifting, wishing I had the means to be with her around the clock for this last journey.  I'm mad because I can't be.  I'm sad that it's happening.  This morning, I awoke at 3 am with a heaviness in my chest and a wave of sadness that stole my breath.  These last few days as I've watched my mom, in her own way she has told me to back up.  "Toni, you worry too much."  In my mind, I reply I know but I only have one mom and she's dying.  I feel her energy and things start melting away.  It's here that I look at her.  I see her clearly.  I realize some of her behavior is fear, sadness and her own grief.  I'm sure she doesn't want this to be the end either.  She  feels the same as us... She wants to stay as long as she can and we want her to be here for as long as her spirit allows.  Her light is magnificently beautiful and I realize how blessed I have been to have had such an incredible woman as a mother.  My heart is heavy.  The thought of moving forward without her steals my breath and makes my chest feel like an elephant is sitting on me.  This is grief.  This is sadness.  This is a big fat stinking mess, yet oh so beautiful.  Welcome to life.....  and death.  A full circle.

My handmade birthday gifts for my mom
Handmade Journal & Canvas Necklace
© 2018 Toni Becker; Whimsical Jewels & Artfully Healing