“Sometimes the only thing you can control is perspective. You can’t control your situation. But you can choose how you see it. ~ Chris Pine
In a way, I had a happy, carefree childhood. I remember lots of giggles, hugs and playfulness. One summer, as we sat in my grandmother’s yard enjoying her homemade cake, my mother’s right hand began to shake.
The worried grandma encouraged her to eat, but her hands continued to shake. I remember her confused look. She must have sensed something was wrong.
Just three months later, she was gone. Acute leukemia meant she received worrying blood test results on Monday, she was taken to hospital on Wednesday and she died on Friday. I was only ten years old.
That Friday afternoon, my aunt broke the news to us: “Your mother has gone to heaven.”
If I had to explain what it felt like to hear the news of her passing, I would say it was like being struck by lightning. I’ve read that in cases of sudden death, children can be thrust into some sort of confusing reality: they hear what’s happening and react to the news, but they don’t quite understand it. Somehow deep down they don’t really believe it.
In my case, for a few years after my mom died, I thought she had gone to heaven, but that she would come back. It was just a trip, or a bad joke.
She will definitely come back.
As you might have guessed, I didn’t get a lot of support while dealing with my grief. Instead, the message I got was that life should go on. One page has been turned, but the previous pages are not worth reading.
So did the adults around me. So, even when lightning struck me, I just stood up and kept walking, despite all the invisible damage it caused.
I was given the wake-up call to find this damage and try to repair it a few years later when I started having health problems that my doctor said were related to chronic stress. That’s when I finally decided to face my grief. My young body gave me a clear message: there were too many unprocessed emotions and a desperate need to find a way out.
When I finally allowed myself to feel like my heart was broken into a million pieces, I began to put the pieces back together and redefine who I was.
If my life were a book, grief would be the longest chapter. When I meet someone for the first time, I almost want to say, “Hi, I’m Annie, and my mom died suddenly when I was ten.” That’s how much it defines who I am.
Negative, you might think.
Indeed, her absence still causes immense pain. I had never felt anything like this when I had my own children a few years ago. Becoming a mother doesn’t mean you stop being a daughter who needs a mother. You also become a mother who wants her children to have a grandmother.
My mother is not here to spoil my daughters, they will never understand her. I couldn’t ask anyone about what it was like when I was a kid. When I became a parent, she wasn’t there to listen to my worries or fears.
It still shakes my heart when I see ten-year-old girls with their moms, see myself in them, and relive such a huge loss. As I approached the age she was when she died, I was terrified that I would experience the same fate and that my daughters would grow up without me.
Still – I know this may sound contradictory, but isn’t grief and life full of contradictions?
Thanks to her:
–I fully embrace the idea of ”living every day as if it were your last” Because I know this day may very well be my last. While you might think this means life is filled with fear, the opposite is true. It means living with appreciation, gratitude, and love for this still functioning body, for the people around me, and for life itself.
–I choose to be truly present with my children and those close to me Cherish deep relationships because I want our time together to be meaningful. If the memories we create are shorter for some reason, let them be strong.
–My job gives me a deep sense of purpose and meaning Because anything else makes me feel like I’m wasting precious time that I don’t necessarily have. I am honored to be able to change the lives of others by helping them think about their lives differently and help them work through their grief. While I live on this planet, my goal is to share my gifts with the world.
–I’m (relatively) content with the challenges life throws at me. When you survive the tragedy of losing a parent, you stop sweating the small stuff. I still found myself getting upset about the little things like everyone else, but I was able to quickly change my perspective and realize that many of the things that upset us aren’t as important as we first thought.
–I know I have no control over life because life is completely uncontrollable. In fact, I had been a control freak for years, trying to make sure tragedy never happened to me or my loved ones again, until I realized it was a reaction to my mom’s death. I know now that this is not a way of life, but a liberation.
–I take care of my health and feel good about my bodynot because I want to live to be 100 years old, but because I want to live well. I don’t want my days to be filled with common ailments that people generally accept, such as headaches, brain fog, or digestive issues. I can only live life to the fullest if my body allows me to.
If you’ve experienced early loss and can’t imagine having any positive feelings about it, there’s nothing wrong with you. I share my story perhaps to inspire you and even comfort you.
Maybe all you can do now is stay open to the possibility that, at some point in your life, you might be able to see things in a similar way. Ultimately, the path of grief is completely unique.
Would I wish early loss on anyone? no way.
Does sadness make me happier? Maybe.
Does it make me smarter? really.
As a friend once told me: “You can’t appreciate light without shadow.”
About Anne Sistorius
Annie Xystouris is a certified health coach and Positive Intelligence® coach who helps stressed-out, overwhelmed moms feel calm, content and prevent burnout. She provides one-on-one tutoring services online. To learn more, please visit www.anniexystouris.com.
