The Six Stages of Grief

This last semester has been a struggle for me. My students have been good, thank the universe, but everthing else has just been difficult. I have been feeling inadequate, and as though I can't do anything right. I didn't really think it had anything to do with Mom's death. I don't remember experiencing anything like this when Dad died. Forget the fact that I'd always been much closer to Mom than to Dad. And the fact that I cared for Mom on a daily basis for the six years that she lived with us, that I was responsible for her, that I was with her when she died, that I helped clean her and dress her for the funeral home. It's taken me a couple of months, but I finally figured out that these feelings are a part of my grief. Kubler-Ross missed this one; the sixth stage is inadequacy.

And now that we have just celebrated Thanksgiving, I feel a grief that feels more like what I think grief should feel like. Our first major holiday (summer holidays don't count, and for some reason, neither did Easter) without Mom. We had Jerri and Dave and the grandgirls over for our traditional holiday brunch, and realized it was the first one without her. There was a lot less stress, not having to get her up, to feed her, toilet her, and get her down for a nap during this family time. And I felt my loss of her keenly. Then the realization that we were almost to my birthday, followed by Christmas. The first Christmas without her. That's something I'm not looking forward to.

We watched The Family Stone last night. I've seen it 3 or 4 times before, so I knew I was running the risk of a meltdown (if you are't familiar with the film, all I'll say is that it is about a family of parents and their adult children and partners getting together for Christmas. If you are familiar with the film, you don't need a spoiler to tell you why it was loaded territory for me). I didn't meltdown, but it was "helpful" in getting me in touch with my grief. I don't think I'm through with the inadequacy stage, but I am also moving into sadness, which according to what I read, is technically part of depression. That's where I would guess inadequacy falls, as well.

What I most have to remind myself is that there is no timeframe around when I should be "over" this. Some people have told me it took them 2 years to feel normal again after the death of a parent. I guess I shouldn't necessarily expect next semester to go more smoothly than this one. At any rate, grief is upon me, and rather than try to think ahead, I think I need to live today. Grief and all.

Next

Now that I am no longer caring for Mom, the obvious question is, what does this blog become? The title states its original reason for being. I wanted a place to write about and share what I was going through while trying to care for my mother as she was slowly dying of Alzheimer's. Now that she is gone, the answer seems clear--for now, at least. Now this is about grief. This is so much about grief that I thought it was too much, and I didn't post what I wanted to post in September. Let me take care of that now.

Two years ago, around Thanksgiving, one of our three cats suddenly became very, very sick. We first realized it on a Wednesday afternoon. We called the vet's office, described her symptoms, and they said we needed to bring her in right away. But here's the thing. It was our day with our granddaughters; Avri and Kiana were over. They were 2 and 4 at the time. And Mom had just gotten home from day care. There was no way one of us could handle all 3 of them. So we waited until Thursday, and Jeanne took her in while I was at school. They kept her over night, on IV fluids. We almost lost her. But she was a strong cat, our Juno, and she recovered. We had to give her subcutaneous fluids (think of kitty dialysis with an IV bag); I think we started with either every day or every other day. Eventually, we got her down to once a week, but she had kidney failure, so this was a rest-of-her-life thing. And pills, which I think she hated more than getting stuck with a needle and pumped full of fluids until she looked like a camel. But Juno was strong; the vet said she had never seen a cat recover as well as Juno did.

Then this September, she developed pancreatitis. She was throwing up, couldn't eat or drink, and eventually started an almost constant oozing of blood and runny stool. It was a mess. We became regulars at the vet's office, even stopping at her house a few times to pick up meds. But nothing worked, and on September 16, we took her in one last time. The vet took one look at her, and said, "She's ready. She's in pain, and she wants to go." We'd said most of our goodbyes at home, including having the other cats and the dog having one last moment with her. But said our final goodbyes, and the vet administered the shot. Our baby was gone.

I didn't feel I could write about Juno's death when it happened, not because I didn't want to, but because I felt that it was too much. Too much what, I'm not sure. Too much death, not enough balance. I am not a morose person, but sometimes I think this blog is. So why am I writing this now? I'm struggling (more on that in a later post), and I think I've found a new direction for the blog (sort of), and first things first. Juno is gone, euthanized 3 weeks before her 1th birthday. Her sister Selu is meowing at me as I write this, telling me to go to bed so she can go to bed with me. Sounds like a good idea, but first, my little Juno tribute.

The 3 girls in their youth

Juno

Juno and Selu, sisters, in one last photo