In the beginning of this journey, I read everything I could find on grief. Each book said the same thing. It mentioned the many stages of grief and how it is a process one must go through. There was no hope. No guidance for the future. Reading those books, I could not imagine how I was supposed to live in this grieving process for the rest of my life. If this was how it was supposed to be, then I was going to be done on this earth. I spent my days, in a fog, just waiting to join Catherine one day.
At one point, my grief got so bad that my husband, my doctor, and I all made an agreement that if I got to the point of no return, I would be honest and go willingly into a facility. By September 2018, I was actively looking for an inpatient facility because the pain was so incredibly intense. It was September 11, 2018 that I was informed that my position at Permobil was being eliminated. Oddly enough, it was a good feeling.
As I was trying to figure how to live this life of sadness and grief, while deciding what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I picked up a book I had already read once. It is called "Permission to Mourn" by Tom Zuba. The first time I read it, I was only able to read one chapter at a time. This book was intense and it told me to do the exact opposite of what the other books said to do.
One of my favorite lines in this books is, "If you are working with a therapist, counselor, social worker, grief expert, minister, priest, or anyone else who is trying to help you navigate the wilderness of grief and they start talking about the groundbreaking observations of Elizaboth Kubler-Ross, suggesting there is an orderly, predictable, unfolding of grief, please, please, please; do yourself a favor. Leave."
As I picked up the book a second time, I read it all in one night. And then I read it again and again and again. This Tom guy seemed to know what he was talking about. He had lost 2 children and his wife. But his ideas on grief were so different. He kept introducing "a new way to do grief" and I became very interested in what he had to say. His words made sense and suddenly, life didn't seem so hopeless. And soon enough, I moved onto his second book, "Becoming Radiant." It is described as the new way to do life following the death of a beloved. As I read his second book, it all suddenly made sense. I wasn't just grieving the loss of my daughter; I was grieving the loss of EVERYTHING. My life, my future, marriage, grand kids, graduations. I was grieving the loss of my life as it was with Catherine in it. Both the present and future. I was sitting around, waiting to join my daughter. I had to say goodbye to that life. It was no more. I had to accept that the life I had with Catherine, my career, my future I had planned, it was all gone. So I said goodbye. And then I decided to begrudgingly welcome my new life.
Within a few weeks, I felt this tremendous weight lift off of me and my heart. For the first time in over a year, food tasted SO good. I was enjoying life again. My new life. I decided that my new life did not include working in a corporate environment, trying to break some glass ceiling and climb that corporate ladder. Nope, that was out. No longer an option. I started to throw myself into our foundation, Catherine's Orchestra for All. I started reaching out to schools and administrations. Before I knew it, we had an instrument petting zoo planned for the Lebanon City elementary schools! My work continued with the foundation, helping people and bringing joy. And suddenly my drifting in life, trying to figure out the next step, came to a sudden halt. I decided I wanted to work in the nonprofit field and help people. I turned it all over to God.
Now, all this isn't to say that I don't get sad anymore. Trust me, I do. But it is less hopeless feeling. I've invited Catherine to grace me with her presence when she so desires. Sometimes I smell her so intensely that I could swear she was right next to me. In those moments, I fight the sadness and enjoy that brief moment of Catherine. I still bury my face in the clothes in her closet. Desperately inhaling her precious smell, knowing that one day it will be gone. But I also strive to find joy. I still tear up a little but I laugh often. I share her story, my story, and it doesn't hurt as intensely. I work with children, bringing them the love of music. I find joy in watching a child get excited as they play an instrument for the first time. I smile at the girls that resemble my Catherine in elementary school. The most joyous event so far was the day LHS band students/friends of Catherine, all showed up to volunteer for the foundation at the instrument petting zoo.
I'm still a mom. And a wife. And a daughter and sister. I adore my friends and family. Especially the ones that are patient with me. There is still a version of me, tucked away inside, waiting to come out at exactly the right moment. Saying goodbye to that life I lived and had planned was the first real step in figuring out grief and this "process" that appears to have no end. If you have lost someone you love, I suggest reading both books by Tom Zuba. It isn't specific to spouse, sibling, child, or parent. It covers it all. This new way to do grief has very likely saved my life.
At one point, my grief got so bad that my husband, my doctor, and I all made an agreement that if I got to the point of no return, I would be honest and go willingly into a facility. By September 2018, I was actively looking for an inpatient facility because the pain was so incredibly intense. It was September 11, 2018 that I was informed that my position at Permobil was being eliminated. Oddly enough, it was a good feeling.
As I was trying to figure how to live this life of sadness and grief, while deciding what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I picked up a book I had already read once. It is called "Permission to Mourn" by Tom Zuba. The first time I read it, I was only able to read one chapter at a time. This book was intense and it told me to do the exact opposite of what the other books said to do.
One of my favorite lines in this books is, "If you are working with a therapist, counselor, social worker, grief expert, minister, priest, or anyone else who is trying to help you navigate the wilderness of grief and they start talking about the groundbreaking observations of Elizaboth Kubler-Ross, suggesting there is an orderly, predictable, unfolding of grief, please, please, please; do yourself a favor. Leave."
As I picked up the book a second time, I read it all in one night. And then I read it again and again and again. This Tom guy seemed to know what he was talking about. He had lost 2 children and his wife. But his ideas on grief were so different. He kept introducing "a new way to do grief" and I became very interested in what he had to say. His words made sense and suddenly, life didn't seem so hopeless. And soon enough, I moved onto his second book, "Becoming Radiant." It is described as the new way to do life following the death of a beloved. As I read his second book, it all suddenly made sense. I wasn't just grieving the loss of my daughter; I was grieving the loss of EVERYTHING. My life, my future, marriage, grand kids, graduations. I was grieving the loss of my life as it was with Catherine in it. Both the present and future. I was sitting around, waiting to join my daughter. I had to say goodbye to that life. It was no more. I had to accept that the life I had with Catherine, my career, my future I had planned, it was all gone. So I said goodbye. And then I decided to begrudgingly welcome my new life.
Within a few weeks, I felt this tremendous weight lift off of me and my heart. For the first time in over a year, food tasted SO good. I was enjoying life again. My new life. I decided that my new life did not include working in a corporate environment, trying to break some glass ceiling and climb that corporate ladder. Nope, that was out. No longer an option. I started to throw myself into our foundation, Catherine's Orchestra for All. I started reaching out to schools and administrations. Before I knew it, we had an instrument petting zoo planned for the Lebanon City elementary schools! My work continued with the foundation, helping people and bringing joy. And suddenly my drifting in life, trying to figure out the next step, came to a sudden halt. I decided I wanted to work in the nonprofit field and help people. I turned it all over to God.
Now, all this isn't to say that I don't get sad anymore. Trust me, I do. But it is less hopeless feeling. I've invited Catherine to grace me with her presence when she so desires. Sometimes I smell her so intensely that I could swear she was right next to me. In those moments, I fight the sadness and enjoy that brief moment of Catherine. I still bury my face in the clothes in her closet. Desperately inhaling her precious smell, knowing that one day it will be gone. But I also strive to find joy. I still tear up a little but I laugh often. I share her story, my story, and it doesn't hurt as intensely. I work with children, bringing them the love of music. I find joy in watching a child get excited as they play an instrument for the first time. I smile at the girls that resemble my Catherine in elementary school. The most joyous event so far was the day LHS band students/friends of Catherine, all showed up to volunteer for the foundation at the instrument petting zoo.
I'm still a mom. And a wife. And a daughter and sister. I adore my friends and family. Especially the ones that are patient with me. There is still a version of me, tucked away inside, waiting to come out at exactly the right moment. Saying goodbye to that life I lived and had planned was the first real step in figuring out grief and this "process" that appears to have no end. If you have lost someone you love, I suggest reading both books by Tom Zuba. It isn't specific to spouse, sibling, child, or parent. It covers it all. This new way to do grief has very likely saved my life.
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