ACTIONS OF A SURVIVOR

crisis

After all these years, there is still a part of me that is always conscious of whether my hair is combed or whether I need more lipstick.  I don’t know when this began, but as far back as I can remember, I have always been this way.  Too self-conscious and too critical of myself to be completely comfortable with what I look like or who I am.  Was this taught to me, or did I model myself after someone else…. or was this simply a natural result when a child doesn’t get enough attention unless she looks and acts PERFECT? 

I remember the day my mother died and how tired and distraught I felt.  I hadn’t slept or eaten much for many days.  But a few minutes after her body was taken away, I caught myself glancing in the hospital mirror, seeing my reflection and being upset over how bad I looked.  Even though my Mom had been dead for less than an hour, I was already applying lipstick.  For years, I was ashamed of this and thought of myself as a cold and vain person.  Her death was one of FIVE that I went through in an 18-month period, and after losing her, my sister, my Dad, my father-in-law and a girlfriend, I was an expert at “carrying on” like a good soldier.  I knew the drill and the routine.  I was so numb by the last death that a bomb could have gone off right in front of me, and I probably would have just walked around it never even glancing back. 

To this day, I still haven’t felt the trauma or horror that most Americans felt on 9/11 because it happened during this time period.  I was so focused then on my Dad, who was critically ill and withdrawing more and more every day.  He was no longer interested in eating or talking much, so I was almost grateful when he came back to a life for a few minutes when I explained what happened in New York.  We watched the news together, and I saw a spark of interest and concern in him when the 2nd tower was hit … but then he was gone again.  

For many months, all I did was “pull it together” every day just to get through all that needed to be done.  The obituaries that needed to be written, the number of death certificates that needed to be ordered, the ashes that had to be picked up, the memorial services that had to be planned, and the personal affairs that had to be settled.  Sometimes I appreciated the distraction, but other times I thought I would lose my mind if I had ONE MORE THING I had to deal with.  Ironically, that was also my busiest year in real estate so I was juggling that at the same time while making numerous and monotonous trips up to Yreka to handle the estates of my Mom and sister.  Most of the time, I turned down offers of help, preferring to do much of it myself.  It all just seemed too personal to assign to someone else, and part of me wanted to do it alone to honor them in some way.  But looking back, I think I was in some sort of hyper-alert mode just to survive.  I drank so much coffee that I ended up with a stomach ulcer, and I remember switching to water-resistant mascara because I was crying so much. 

I never knew when the tears would come, and I learned that grief comes in waves.  For me, however, the saddest moments were never the holidays or the anniversaries (which were the days I dreaded long in advance).  Instead, it would be the unexpected moments when I would smell something or hear a song on the radio.  Or someone would drive by and, at a quick glance, they looked just like my Mom.  I even remember one time when I followed an elderly man for about 3 blocks just because he looked like my Dad from behind. 

I must have appeared “crazy” to anyone watching me during that time, or anyone who saw me apply my lipstick moments after my Mom died.  But time has shown me that my actions were not cold, crazy or heartless.  They were simply the actions of a survivor.  I was going to get through that crisis the only way I knew how.  There are NO classes you can take or books that you can read that will ever tell you in advance how YOU will react when the time comes and you are faced with a crisis of this magnitude.  You are just crawling in the dark until you see the light. 

About a year after the last family member died and most of the busy work was done, I knew I needed help with my grief.  It was too big for me to handle on my own, and although the spiritual books I was reading at the time were comforting, I still felt all alone.  Then I heard about grief counseling that was offered by the local crisis center.  But instead of signing up for a class, I signed up to be trained as a counselor instead.  No one was more surprised than me when I decided to do this, particularly when it turned out to be such a natural fit.  It was EXACTLY the type of volunteer work I was looking for, and it was my grief clients that actually helped ME get over my own grief.  Many times, I cried more than they did, and a few times I even had to apologize for monopolizing the conversation.  It was embarrassing but healing, and the most valuable thing I learned from that experience is that everyone handles grief (and a crisis) in their own unique way.

Copyright © 2013 (Michelle Parsons, Getting Back on Your Path). All Rights Reserved.

Comments (2)

AnonymousJuly 30th, 2013 at 12:09 pm

This piece strikes a chord.

AlAugust 2nd, 2013 at 7:50 pm

Great Writing again. I get a little insight into you from this one.
Love,
Al

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