48 hours. Everything changed in 48 hours. The words, "We have a major problem" delivered from my mother's oncologist that Monday morning in early March, changed my life forever. As I reached for my iPhone to take notes on her deteriorating condition, while trying to absorb the news that my mother wasn't going to survive, all I could focus on was the way my mother herself was reacting to hearing she was dying. Still the strong, calm, fighter she was when it came to battling her stage IV ovarian cancer the past 4 years, she was completely at ease upon hearing she was facing death. She knew she would no longer suffer the painful procedures and treatments she endured and was ready to be still, calm and rest. Knowing there were limited options allowed her to peacefully accept her fate. "Wow" was the last word she spoke aloud. My mother peacefully passed away on March 15, 2016.
And so it began....the most beautiful, difficult, chaotic, stressful, mentally, physically and emotionally exhausting journey I've ever embarked on-grieving. Nothing could've prepared me for what I was about to experience, however I've learned some powerful lessons through my grief-lessons that have and will continue to shape the way I live the rest of my life.
Grief has taught me about vulnerability. Learning to live with grief is like trying to figure out how to land a plane as it begins it's initial descent-nothing prepares you for it. Keeping social plans with friends and family was a priority early on, and "my people" knew at any given time I could go from "the life of the party" to "hot mess party of one" in one breath. Growing up as an only child, I was raised in a loving, supportive home where I felt free to express my thoughts and emotions. I remember my mom telling me to "get the cry out" while experiencing many of life's challenges. I've never been afraid to cry, but crying in public wasn't something I was accustomed to-until that elevator ride with a complete stranger on my way home from the hospital, or breaking down in front of the AT&T service provider as he told me his wife was a cancer survivor. The thing about grief is that it's not suppressible-at least not for me and crying or "breaking down" in public, exposing my humanity allowed me to expose a part of myself that I no longer had to keep hidden, or reserve for close friends and family. Losing a parent is hard and knowing there are people, even complete strangers out there who have also experienced loss (and who hasn't?) allowed me to outwardly express my emotions, even in the most informal, day-to-day situations. So I will continue to move forward, living life with my heart on my sleeve while recognizing that my new found vulnerability makes me human.
Grief has taught me about self-compassion. The days following my mother's death and week leading up to her funeral required immense emotional strength. Strength I cannot explain. Strength I never knew I had. Notifying family and friends, replying to dozens of text messages and phone calls and planning her funeral mass, eulogy and coordinating a celebration following her service all helped me cope with the initial stage of shock associated with grief. Despite not being able to eat or sleep, people, prayers and love brought comfort and carried me through. Then April came. It was as if I all of a sudden realized the permanence of my mother's death. The physical pain of grief, accompanied by sadness I cannot possibly explain took its toll. And just like physical exhaustion requires rest and recovery, so does grief. I began to seek out the comfort nature provided. I began attending church services more regularly and allowing myself to nap when I was tired. I learned to grant myself permission to cancel plans if I didn't feel up for it and if I wanted that dessert, I damn well was going to order it. Slowly my priorities began shifting and I was able to realize that my well-being and emotional health matter. Lastly, learning to be patient with myself, my emotions and my journey has made me more deeply understand the importance of self-compassion and allow myself to take a time out from life's many demands and put myself first.
Grief has taught me to embrace imperfection. When it comes to my job as an educator, my students and their well-being is first and foremost. Their needs before my own. Always. I can honestly say my career is the one area in my life where I feel most successful. I was born to teach children. After several weeks on bereavement leave, I chose to return to school the week before spring break. Some mornings I wouldn't remember driving to school or the password to my computer. I struggled to keep up with the intense enthusiasm and energy of my students and felt I could no longer be the role-model and professional this profession requires of me. But I kept trying. Every day I drove in, went through the motions, apologizing profusely to my colleagues for my absent-mindedness, and my inability to focus or engage in meaningful collaborative conversations. I couldn't live up to my title as "special education teacher." But I learned quickly that the world, or in my case the "classroom", doesn't stop just because I'm grieving. One morning in April (my worst month on record), in walked an administrator to observe me. Sure, my lesson plans were well-written with evidence of differentiation with standards clearly posted, and we were actually doing a project-based learning activity which promoted high student engagement. The problem? My engagement. Though this was merely just a 10-minute "walk-thru" according to the teacher evaluation tool, I struggled to communicate effectively with the student I was working with one on one. I felt as if I was an outsider watching what was happening with my lesson but powerless to stop it. After a less than stellar rating on this walk-thru I quickly realized: a) the teacher evaluation tool doesn't care if my mother died 6 weeks ago, and b) I just received the first "needs improvement" rating in my 14 year career. I wasn't OK with it at first. I spent the weekend crying on my couch after reading my write up, but in the grand scheme of my career, this didn't harm my reputation or make me think for one second I wasn't a good teacher. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt that my superiors didn't take my grief into consideration while evaluating me, but imperfection, especially when it comes to an area of life where I've never "failed" taught me a valuable lesson: I have to allow myself permission to be imperfect in order to continue navigating through my grief.
It is only through grieving that I was able to allow myself to become completely vulnerable, compassionate toward myself and embrace imperfection-even in the area of my life where I "got it right". I know I have yet to overcome the latter stages of grief as I'm continuing to experience many "firsts" without my mother this year. And though grief is often associated with immeasurable sadness, I've come to know the value of the human experience, and with it, the value of our time here my earth....because after all, sometimes we only have 48 hours.
