Just a thought… Our job as parents is to teach our kids not to need us. And it hurts, but when you see them as accomplished, confident, kind, thoughtful responsible people, then you know you’ve done your job. [Barack Obama]
Before I begin, a huge note of thanks. To you, for sharing your suggestions for my new video labour of love, which will be short (2 minutes-ish) unscripted observations on grief: the wisdom of others, my thoughts – and yours – and moments that I trust will resonate with you.
I’ve decided to call it Not a Mourning Person and this week I will be launching my introductory video. You’ll find it at my YouTube channel, as well as on Facebook, on Threads.net and Instagram under the name @erindawndavis. I’ll post them as I shoot them; my 2nd episode will be based on saying good-bye to our kids as they head off to school.
I hope you’ll give them a look. If you want to subscribe on YouTube, you won’t miss a thing.
This is a week for goodbyes for so many – not only to the memories of summer which, yes, I know continues on the calendar until September 22nd – but to those who are leaving the nest for new adventures. I’m sure you know someone who’s helping to pack bags and boxes.
In the case of my sister Leslie, her youngest has come to Vancouver Island to begin as a freshman at UVic in the music teaching program. It’s been lovely having Ava here for little bits between her days working at a local bakery; she’s busy, excited and, of course, nervous. But she’s getting lots of free carbs at the end of the day, so for a starving student, that’s a big plus!
This week, an Ontario friend finds herself in the shoes Rob and I wore 15 years ago (can it be that long???) when we packed up Lauren and moved her to Ottawa to begin school for radio at Algonquin College. As my friend goes through all of the teary moments and hours of watching her little bird fly the nest, it put me back in those days of doing the same with Lauren.
We found her a place to live and I accompanied her in Lauren’s car while Rob kept pace in the U-Haul. As Rob returned the truck to the GTA, I caught a cab from her new place to the Ottawa airport. I’m sure cab drivers see plenty of tears in their cars, but I went through a lot of Kleenex on that ride to catch my flight because it felt like something inside me was being torn apart.
The week that followed was a sombre one in our condo: the bustling, joyful, musical sounds that echoed in our halls was gone. No more singing coming from her room, no more silly voices for Pepper and Molly, no more whistling or clattering in the kitchen late at night. No more dogs barking when she came in from her Starbucks shift or a night out doing karaoke with her friends.
It was all so silent.
For five solid days I would come home from doing the morning radio show and sink into my own mourning program…lying in bed and crying every day for an entire week – a feeling inadvertently foreshadowing what was to come six years later in a more permanent way.
I look back at that time of her moving through the same lens I do the years I suffered depression before her death: girl, if you only knew what was coming, you wouldn’t have dared to be so sad…but how can we foresee? And if somehow we could, would it change our reaction in the moment anyway? Kind of like the parent’s threat: “I’ll give you something to cry about!” (Yes, mine said that – did yours? LOL)
What prompted me to write this piece today was an email I got from my friend on Friday:
I was feeling a bit heavyhearted yesterday, but then I had a memory, which transformed my mood. I may have mentioned to you that my husband and I had a very difficult time having a child, with years of IVF and multiple miscarriages (both excellent topics for grief videos, by the way! 🙂).
I remember a particular day when my parents were over and I was weeping and raging with God and the world at how much I wanted this and couldn’t have it. That moment was so much harder than this is now. That memory filled my heart with so much gratitude!!
Ah, yes. Perspective. It reminded me of the words that only we can tell ourselves to ease the pain: you’ve survived worse. Sometimes it’s valuable to dig deep to find that view in order to make the moments we’re in a little more survivable.
I wanted you to know that if you’re feeling that sense of separation this week, whether it’s preparing to send a child to school for the first time (which will be Brooke’s experience next week) or watching them leave for the next great chapter in a life filled with dreams and promise, I’m thinking of you. It’s grief of a different kind, but grief nonetheless. Take the time to feel it, to acknowledge it and, if you can, to deal with it. You are not alone. And that’s exactly what Not a Mourning Person will bring home. Our togetherness.
And thank you again.