Navigating the in-between of endings + beginnings -- My daughter came home a few weeks ago and said the end of the school year feels like a ground rush. Curious to hear more, I leaned in for the rest of the story. “My teacher said that when someone is skydiving, the ground feels far away. Then, all of a sudden, it’s very close. That’s how we might be feeling about the end of 5th grade, testing, transitions, and going to middle school. It’s a ground rush.”
I accepted responsibility for my mom more seven years ago when she went blind. Most of our plans for retirement went on hold. The last two years she was in a nursing home waiting, longing for the end. Time accelerated near the end: the last four months, then the last four weeks followed by the last four days and then, her last four hours. She died March 26th. I loved my mom; I’m sad at her passing, but I woke up a week or two ago and realized that the great, suffocating weight I had been carrying (and couldn’t properly describe) was gone. I almost feel like I did in 2015 (except, of course, I’m seven years older). I wonder: where do we go from here?
Wow. I could feel the weight lifting as you described it. I'm fascinated at how we hold the heavy expectations and responsibilities in our lives, to the point we don't even notice how heavy they've gotten. Makes me curious -- What feels light moving forward? Where do you notice energy bubbling up?
It's strange. I felt the weight of this responsibility for a long time: it grew over the years. Near the end, it manifested itself as an intermittent physical pain in my back. The pain started the Wednesday before my mom died. It was ongoing until about two weeks ago. One morning I was sitting at my desk and realized that not only was the physical pain gone, but the emotional (mental) pain had lifted (kind of like when they take the lead, x-ray jacket off of you at the dentist's office). My brain feels cleared now too; I feel hopeful; I can visualize possibilities for the future.
I find it absolutely fascinating how our bodies store pain and trauma. When our bodies sense it’s safe again to regulate, the pain exits our bodies in healing ways. Sounds similar to your story. Sometimes I think I’m “in control” of how I heal and then stuff like that happens and I remember all over again how amazing our bodies are. Honoring the depth you’ve held and all that may be on its way ahead.
In late 2020, I left my lawyer job to write a book. The past (almost) three years have been a rollercoaster as I learn about a world entirely unfamiliar to me. Along the way I've made a number of wonderful new friends. I'm three weeks from launch and actually feeling good knowing I've done everything within my own control to make it successful. Good advance reviews have helped!
When I find myself impatient, or stuck in that "in-between" stage, I concentrate on noticing the tiny changes nature provides. Spring in Minnesota gives me lots of opportunities.
Thanks Jenny. I appreciate your articles very much and always find help and comfort in your words. I lost my husband to lung cancer last July, and really am struggling with my complicated grief. Our relationship was far from perfect, but there was love there. Hard for me to come to terms with it. I now live alone, and I am finding it very difficult. Also don’t know if I can stay in our home of nearly 22 years.
Sending you best wishes as you continue your next chapter as you get ready to move from Washington to Oregon.
Oh, friend. That’s quite a season of transition. Sending big love as you journey, grieve, and wonder what’s ahead. May nourishment meet you in surprising places. 💛
I lost my oldest daughter 10 years ago at age 29 to addiction. I lost my 31 year old son almost a year ago, also to addiction and mental health issues. The last 10 years have been a struggle trying to keep my boy alive and dealing with the soul crushing death of my girl. I also felt a small amount of relief when my precious son passed. I know that both of my kids are now at peace and not in pain any longer.
I have a living daughter and a sweet grandson and I am putting one foot in front of the other time and time again while cherishing what I have left. Thank you Jenny for giving us a place to honor our loss and hope for something more in this life. ❤️ peace and light to you.
Thank you for allowing us to bear witness to this part of your unfolding story. Holding that sacred space with you for the deep grief and for your wonderful son. May birthday blessings abound in gracious ways! So grateful for you.
I accepted responsibility for my mom more seven years ago when she went blind. Most of our plans for retirement went on hold. The last two years she was in a nursing home waiting, longing for the end. Time accelerated near the end: the last four months, then the last four weeks followed by the last four days and then, her last four hours. She died March 26th. I loved my mom; I’m sad at her passing, but I woke up a week or two ago and realized that the great, suffocating weight I had been carrying (and couldn’t properly describe) was gone. I almost feel like I did in 2015 (except, of course, I’m seven years older). I wonder: where do we go from here?
Wow. I could feel the weight lifting as you described it. I'm fascinated at how we hold the heavy expectations and responsibilities in our lives, to the point we don't even notice how heavy they've gotten. Makes me curious -- What feels light moving forward? Where do you notice energy bubbling up?
It's strange. I felt the weight of this responsibility for a long time: it grew over the years. Near the end, it manifested itself as an intermittent physical pain in my back. The pain started the Wednesday before my mom died. It was ongoing until about two weeks ago. One morning I was sitting at my desk and realized that not only was the physical pain gone, but the emotional (mental) pain had lifted (kind of like when they take the lead, x-ray jacket off of you at the dentist's office). My brain feels cleared now too; I feel hopeful; I can visualize possibilities for the future.
I find it absolutely fascinating how our bodies store pain and trauma. When our bodies sense it’s safe again to regulate, the pain exits our bodies in healing ways. Sounds similar to your story. Sometimes I think I’m “in control” of how I heal and then stuff like that happens and I remember all over again how amazing our bodies are. Honoring the depth you’ve held and all that may be on its way ahead.
In late 2020, I left my lawyer job to write a book. The past (almost) three years have been a rollercoaster as I learn about a world entirely unfamiliar to me. Along the way I've made a number of wonderful new friends. I'm three weeks from launch and actually feeling good knowing I've done everything within my own control to make it successful. Good advance reviews have helped!
When I find myself impatient, or stuck in that "in-between" stage, I concentrate on noticing the tiny changes nature provides. Spring in Minnesota gives me lots of opportunities.
Wishing you all the best as you turn your pages!
What a meaningful season of transition in your world! Congrats!!
Thanks Jenny. I appreciate your articles very much and always find help and comfort in your words. I lost my husband to lung cancer last July, and really am struggling with my complicated grief. Our relationship was far from perfect, but there was love there. Hard for me to come to terms with it. I now live alone, and I am finding it very difficult. Also don’t know if I can stay in our home of nearly 22 years.
Sending you best wishes as you continue your next chapter as you get ready to move from Washington to Oregon.
Thanks from Upstate New York!
Oh, friend. That’s quite a season of transition. Sending big love as you journey, grieve, and wonder what’s ahead. May nourishment meet you in surprising places. 💛
I lost my oldest daughter 10 years ago at age 29 to addiction. I lost my 31 year old son almost a year ago, also to addiction and mental health issues. The last 10 years have been a struggle trying to keep my boy alive and dealing with the soul crushing death of my girl. I also felt a small amount of relief when my precious son passed. I know that both of my kids are now at peace and not in pain any longer.
I have a living daughter and a sweet grandson and I am putting one foot in front of the other time and time again while cherishing what I have left. Thank you Jenny for giving us a place to honor our loss and hope for something more in this life. ❤️ peace and light to you.
Thank you for allowing us to bear witness to this part of your unfolding story. Holding that sacred space with you for the deep grief and for your wonderful son. May birthday blessings abound in gracious ways! So grateful for you.