Opening My own Pandoraās box
Itās been two weeks since my last post, and what a two weeks it has been. I buried my grandmother yesterday; I attended her funeral and said a goodbye or sorts to my last living grandparent.
Itās been a wave, or wavelength, up and down, quickly and slowly, radio waves to gamma rays and back again.
I have always believed in my intuition and have faith in the signals and signs I receive from the universe. Some might call it supernatural in some way, I donāt know what I call it but there have been countless instances in my life where I am certain of the connection that I have, that give me warnings or premonitions of what is to come. For many years, I have written many things, created ideas about blogging, vlogging, podcast, radio stations, all of which I did not pursue out of fear among other things. However, this blog, what really moved me some three to four months ago to really buckle down, chuck the fear out of the window was this recent pandemic and the belief that when it comes to death a lot of people have no idea what to expect, and I have experienced it a few times, might provide some insight or help to those that need it. I drafted several pieces on death, and the experience of grief and bereavement, all left incomplete, the latest draft was written in as early as March, then my grandmother died on April 6th.
My grandma suffered a fall and was admitted to hospital where she stayed many days and returned home, at that point I thought, Iām prepared, I remember when my Godmother lost her mum, she had suffered a fall as well, the doctors and staff and the time telling the family to prepare themselves for the worst because when falls are suffered by the elderly some are not able to recover the trauma and death sometimes following seemingly healthy who have what many consider small falls and spills. Yet Grandma came out, at 92 she was alright, yet she wasnāt in addition to her age she was also asthmatic and returned home with that wretched virus.
However even with this news I refused to accept the possibility of death, my grandma was different you see, her aunt lived to be over 100, she walked and carried herself in with strength and forbearance that meant this plague would not end her life, call it hope or delusion, I donāt know but in this, her death was unacceptable to me.
I was nothing like my other reactions to death in the past, I mean my great aunt died in January from the same plague, and when my grandfather died some 21 years ago,
(this was them, my Grandma and Granddad when they were young)
I was only 10 but the grief and sadness was different, I witnessed his last moments and accepted death and a normal part of life, grandparents die, many peers did not have grandparents. Even my Nan (my maternal grandmother) spent most of my life preparing us from when she would not be here, she would often say āwhen I am goneā. She, my Nan died when I was 19 in her sleep (she knew it was coming, she told me 2 days before it happened).
So here we are, in the experience I thought I knew enough, that I could happily give advice on what to expect, well proves I still have much to learn, and life has much to teach. It took perhaps 10 years for me to reach a place of functionality where the loss of my Nan was concerned, but I honestly thought, grief, I know it, I can do it, complete the process, Iāve mastered it because I did it with my nan it would be the same, can you believe my arrogance?
My Nan was a woman who I adored and knew without any doubt that she loved me unconditionally as I love her unconditionally.
(Me, my Nan and My Mum)
You know as a child, I only her swear once, when she called me a bitch because, in my childishness and selfishness, my actions made her vulnerable and put her health at risk, it was a lesson I would never forget and taught me a lesson in actions and consequences that I doubt my parents could have beat and she did it all without raising her voice. And even so, I knew that she loved me unconditionally, which was her way, she loved everyone unconditionally, her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, her extended family, her friends, even after bad behaviour, or disappointing choices she loved everyone.
My experience with my grandma and by extension, the rest of my fatherās family was a different story altogether. I wasnāt always sure that my grandma loved me in the same way she did her other grandchildren. What every love I did feel, was tainted with expectations and conditions, praise for a test score, end of school report. I taught myself that the only way to have my familyās love was through academic achievement, a prestigious role or job, correct behaviour, that I was not lovable unless I was successful because we never spoke about much else. I remember how vindicated I feel when I finally finished my degree and could prove without a doubt that I was worthy of love, what followed was anger and resentment, which caused me to distance myself from them and my grandmother, which sometimes fills me with regret.
I am listening to and exploring the works of Louise Hay and what she says about affirmations and learning to love yourself and what stands out for me is her words about having sympathy for our familyās childhoods. They did the best that they knew how to do, while they did not give me what I wanted or felt I needed, there were some experiences of kindness and laughter. I remember how happy my grandmother felt when she discovered that I quite by accident developed a love for two of her favourite musicians Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole and she showed me her favourite songs and played them for me, and I told her which songs I liked. I remember her asking me about my job when I worked at Wimbledon and her talking about the matches she remembered and sporting events she liked to attend (ascot for one and my telling her I worked at Cheltenham races a few times).
I didnāt know that I loved my grandmother, not as much as I did, I didnāt know that she loved me, I wasnāt certain, as much as I knew my Nan loved me. My vision was obscured by the pain of resentment and rejection, but my remembrance of what moments we shared, I acknowledge that she did, and while attending her funeral yesterday sharing in the grief and in the loss, I finally felt that I belonged.
I like Pandora have a box where the Cohen family and most of my feelings towards them were kept, over time I added to it, pouring plenty of pain, resentments, anger, envy, and bitterness into it over time. Iām on my journey, I know have some really hard work ahead of me, but Iāve only now realised that there at the very bottom, small and fleeting like a small flickering light is hope.
