Grief

Leave a comment Posted on Learning, Menu, Settling in Darwin

Climbing the mountain

or how to (not) be (so) lost in migration!

I am happy! It doesn’t happen easily to me… but at the moment, I am happy. It could last only a few hours but I am hoping it will stay with me longer. I am hoping that the learned lessons are really integrated and that Happiness is the way. But I also know that wobbliness alongside doubtful thoughts are just behind the corner… It’s called life;) So how do I stay solid and grounded, ready for the next storm? I am not sure..

But I have some ideas…

I have a home again. A house that feels home, with all my things around. With some love and colors on the walls. When I look around, I feel content. I have arrived. As we have recently re-settled in Darwin, these feelings could be simply relating to the end of our relocation from Queensland to the Northern Territory. Having a home is for me definitely one of the key that leads to happiness. Or contentment. It is a bit like coming back to the self. My heart sing and dance and laughs all at once!

I sense there is more to that.. The yearning of a home has been present for a long time. Migrating in another country is a lengthy process of adaptation, with many ups and downs. And while I’m writing this post, I realize that I am now on the other side. It’s been almost four years now that I’ve left New Zealand. It was such a difficult process for me, where I didn’t want to leave the life I had created there. My dear friends. A sense of direction and meaning. And the nurturing beauty of that land that had welcomed me and saw my rebirth.

What I mean by being on the other side is that I think I’ve made it. I climbed the hardest part and am now on the other side. Migrating in another country is like climbing a mountain. Even well equipped and trained, despite a strong desire and a heart full of hope, it will be a difficult climb. And the only thing that helps is time. It is somehow a grieving process…

There is no easy recipe here. To help a grieving process, you simply grieve. In other words and similarly, to help an adaptation process when you migrate in another country, you adapt. You learn about that extra bit of patience that is required from you and that you cannot find anymore. You wait patiently for months and months, while this strange feeling of being an alien, an outsider from everywhere you look, in everyone’s eyes who look at you, keeps creeping at your legs, at your heart, in your mind. You sit there patiently, with your doubts and your misunderstandings, with your broken hopes. And you wonder if you had made the right decision back then. These feelings can accompany you for some time. You will learn about your very own limits. All of them probably. These stages of adaptation can be extremely challenging. It is like loosing your identity, your sense of self. You’ve lost your ground. Everywhere you look is foreign, feels cold. Loneliness is your coat.

It is quite a debilitating experience. And the only advice I would give is make sure you get some help. Don’t wait too long (as I did). Feeling heard, understood and guided is needed during such a lonely experience. Hearing that the way I was feeling was somehow normal reassured me immensely. It offered me a new ground to build on.

Thank you Jacqui!

Part of my pile of books near my bed, is this little book called Just One Thing by Rick Hanson. Little book of wisdom (and practices) to tap into any time. In the intro, it says:

There are three fundamental phases to psychological and spiritual growth: Being with difficult material (e.g. old wounds, anger); Releasing it; and Replacing it with something more beneficial.

To be with it. To let go and to let in. Good advice;)

← Back

Thank you for your response. ✨

2 Comments Posted on Learning, Menu, Settling in Darwin, Video

Precious life

I always thought I would become a mother one day. It’s one of those ideas that I took for granted for many years. You know, the things you dream about and hope for, when you are young, without really thinking about them! and then, suddenly, you are not young anymore. Not old yet. In between.

Well… that’s where I am.. In between.. Thinking. But without ambivalence.  I am 43 and I will not become a mother. I started my reflection two or three years before meeting my husband. I was in my late thirties and single. Seeing my sister struggling to get pregnant probably initiated parts of my reflection. And getting older…

Many women are having children after 40. Is this a good idea? Is this healthy? Not me to answer those questions. But it kept coming at me, why do we absolutely want to have children? Bar the fact that we are still holding this primitive instinct to reproduce, what drives us women, after 40, to have children?

I sensed it was an important question for me to answer. Precarious process of reflecting. Which could be called grieving as well.

The questions I had in my mind and my heart were around this need of becoming a mother, the joy of bringing up a child in the world..but it clearly led to some deeper thoughts. I was 37 or 38 and the clock was somehow reminding me that I still could become pregnant; making a baby alone was however out of the question.

It is somehow now culturally accepted and integrated that women can have children after 40.  But at what cost? for the self and for the child?

Through this process, it became clear that I was not strong enough to rise a child. You know, this emotional strength, the patience, the dedication and the inner calm that is required when you are a parent. I assessed that it would be irresponsible for me to go on that path, that somehow I would not be fit enough to be a parent. Some would call selfishness or lack of courage. I call this being brave! I knew very deep in my heart that I couldn’t do it. Now, I am sure that many parents thought the same thing and still raised successfully their children! and they can be proud of themselves.

Let’s take this further..  What if this visceral need is about extending ourselves to another life, by fear of death. If I have children, I, somehow, exist further. I am more than just one. I, somehow, continue to exist, after my own death, through my child’s life. And if I do wrong, they might do better. It started to make sense in my mind.. But to find some peace in my heart, I had to tap into my spiritual values and beliefs, to feel comforted that I do exist, that I am full and complete the way I am. Childless woman!

Now I would be lying if I was telling you that I have no regret. I do. I still, at times, regret and wished that I had this wonderful opportunity to rise my child. I still feel this sadness about this child who I will never know. But I also know myself well. Bringing a child into this crazy world is a huge responsibility. And I didn’t think I would do a good job!  Making a conscious choice, for the good reasons, seems responsible. And many parents I know are doing an amazing job in rising their children. Making children because it’s the way things work, because of a need, without thinking about it deeply, seems irresponsible and immature.

When I watched this beautiful and heartening video about the precious act of giving life, I felt comforted by the choice I made. This much I know. 

Simply stunning!

13 Comments Posted on Menu

Gratitude

My Godfather died this week… I learned the news by my cousin Audrey on Wednesday. I was at work, and all of a sudden, it’s like a drastic change of weather. One minute you feel the light wind and the warmth of the sun on your skin. The next minute, the sky gets lower and darker and a strong wind sweeps the land ferociously. Then, a light rain starts.

A little voice emerged from my chest..

My Godfather loved me like his daughter. In fact, he cherished me as his only ‘daughter’, father of two older sons.

A few days before him, it was one of my aunt who passed away.

I have to say… This is very strange hearing sad news about family, and being on the other side of the world.

A sense of helplessness and loneliness invaded me, not knowing what to do with my emotions. But instead of resisting them, I embraced them, embraced my sadness, let my tears fall down and started to grieve.

I only wish that I could have being with my family at this time, and grieve with them. Crying together, reflecting on one’s life gently, feeling close, laughing, remembering…

Early December, I wrote to my Godparents a letter. I knew my Godfather was unwell and I just needed to tell him how much I love him and how grateful I was for what both had done for me.

I also said good-bye.

I am glad I did. Daring being vulnerable and authentic in those moments is crucial. I realize now that this letter was my way of starting the grieving process beforehand, from a distance.

When I connected by Skype with my family on Wednesday evening and saw my Dad, I experienced a great sense of relief. He just had lost his brother. He looked calm and relaxed. Appeased. The thought of dying slowly in a hospital bed is unbearable for him. He was accepting his brother’s death with gratitude.

Humbling and beautiful.

IMG_2774

Leave a comment Posted on Menu, R+R: Read

Baume au coeur

Have you read ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’? This book moved me profoundly..

It has helped me to initiate some reflection in myself about death, and helped me to approach it differently. I have, in the past, quietly been thinking about death but ferociously refused to talk about it. But since this book, I have been reflecting at loud, in the busyness of my mind, about death.

Being so far away from my parents makes death undiscussable. The irrepressible end that we will all meet is a difficult subject when it comes to my Mum and Dad, living on the other side of the world. And the idea of being an adventurer, a traveler looses its charm, when it comes to separation and death. It is like all the emotions and feelings related to my loved ones, to homey memories and deep attachments are raw, flayed alive. It makes any conversation about it extremely painful, unbearable.

Tuesdays with Morrie makes it bearable. It makes death a celebration of life. It made me feel ok to be fearful about loosing my parents and inspired me to celebrate them. I am reflecting on their life…and death for that matter, their values and what they have given me. I want to nurture this sense of gratitude, joy and pride about them, as I believe it will help me to face the ultimate separation.

I was chatting on the phone with my Mum this week… She was updating me about my Godfather, who has been recently transferred to a psychiatric hospital, for suspicion of suicidal thoughts and behaviour. My Godfather is 80 years of age, and has been a hard-working man all his life. His wife believes he may have had a stroke or a seizure almost a year ago now. He cannot talk anymore but is, somehow, still very conscious about his state. He wants to die. This was a very sad moment in our conversation with my Mum.

And then, she announced that she has just bought herself and Dad their ski-passes, not only for the season, but for the whole year… She also bought herself a new pair of ski-shoes and Dad is thinking of getting a new pair of skis or touring skis…not sure which ones yet!

Aren’t they just gorgeous, so into life, despite loss and grief?

I admire them.