I hope you enjoy the transcript of my podcast episode. It feels strange sharing these stories and then seeing them in type. There is so much more I could share about my friend and her experience, and the learning I have undergone through the years. But, that’s why I writing this message today and for however long I get to do this work: so I can look back on my progress and maybe bring some helpful words to you. Let’s begin.
Today I’d like to share my first mistake. I tend to take myself a bit too seriously. I don’t like to laugh at myself when I make mistakes. I guess that makes me a bit of perfectionist, although, if you were to see some of the things that I do, sewing, for example, you’d say I’m not a perfectionist. However, I still can find joy and laughter in a time that we’ve been taught should be very sad, which is the time that a loved one is dying; or whether we’re contemplating our own death or just talking about death. But it has been my experience that there is laughter around death. There is laughter when we’re sitting in hospital rooms, reminiscing, sharing wonderful, fond memories. So much joy and laughter can be had at those times. We also know that there are also times when it is full of sadness, despair, maybe anger, resentment, families quarreling, people confused and maybe not feeling heard. So many topics to not create joy.
So, while I’m no expert, as I’ve shared that with you before, what I have discovered is that matters of life and death aren’t always serious. They don’t have to be. But they are. That’s the end of somebody’s life. It’s somebody that we’re losing and we won’t get to have them with us anymore. That brings up so many emotions. On the other hand, if I can relax a little bit and be present with someone who is experiencing either their own death, their own end of life, or maybe even mourning the loss of a loved one, the best thing that I think I can do is be present.
I call it Whimsy and Tears. The whimsy comes when we can find those little bits of joy or humor while we’re crying at the same time. But, the connection is still made. To sit with someone, to be present, to create space—space for tears, for laughter, for silence—they’re all so important, and it really depends on who you’re with. But the idea is that there is nothing to fix. We don’t even have to say anything sometimes. An example: A dear friend of mine lost her husband and she was grieving and grieving for a long time. This was the love of her life and she took care of him 24 hours a day, completely devoted. It was hard to watch but also brought me so much joy watching how she sacrificed and took such good care of him and yet still found her own joy. At the same time, she was so very sad, and on this particular day we were sitting together, not talking. She was lost in memories. She had been crying. She was kind of cried out and very, very quiet. I sat with her. I think she may have even forgotten I was there, to be honest with you, and that’s okay. But at one point she did look up and saw me sitting there, and I don’t even remember if she said anything, but she started telling me a story about golf balls.
Her husband was a golfer. He collected golf balls from all over the world because he had the opportunity to travel with his job and, any chance he got, he played golf. If he didn’t play golf, someone gave him a golf ball, because they knew how much he loved the sport. So, he had this golf ball collection. It was on a shelf. There were little nooks for each ball, ever so specially displayed and she lovingly cleaned them off to make sure they were dust-free and that he could see all of the logos every time he sat in his chair. It was such an endeavor of caring, I guess is what I would say. At any rate, after he had been collecting so many, she did not know what she was going to do with them all. They were just everywhere—golf balls!
One day, she was cleaning these golf balls, and the shelf tipped over and golf balls went everywhere! Bouncing off the walls, bouncing off the coffee table, rolling across the floor, under the couch—you name it–golf balls! Her husband, being very ill, of course, could do nothing about it but laugh. And they laughed and laughed and laughed as she was crawling on the floor trying to get those golf balls. And when she was sharing this with me: I’m even smiling right now thinking about it. She just had such a wonderful sense of joy expressed on her face but also in her laughter. It was such a beautiful and sweet memory that she shared with me, and I felt like that was why I was sitting there that day, so that she in her grief and sadness could share with me this beautiful, funny, bittersweet story. Yes, she found all of the golf balls. She put them all back up. Some of them are still up today. The rest have been safely tucked away for some future time. Maybe she’ll take them out and clean them off whenever she is really missing him. But, wow: golf balls! Such a great little story!
But the title of my message today is My First Mistake. So, I was with my mom in 2007, maybe late 2006. She was starting to have some pain, didn’t know what was going on. She had finally gone to the doctor and been diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. My mom and I didn’t have a great relationship and, to be frank, I wasn’t having a great time in my own personal life. I had a lot of stresses. I couldn’t take the time to be with her. I would drive up 1.5-2 hours depending on traffic to be with her, taking her to her appointments, going and doing her shopping, cleaning her house. Whatever it was that she needed, I was very dutiful. But, about a week before she died, I was getting ready to leave, late, because I needed to get home so that I could at least get some sleep before I had to get up for the kids the next day. She said, “Would you please just sit with me? You’re so busy!”. And I remember saying, “Don’t you know how much I have to do? Don’t you know how long it takes for me to drive home? I can’t stay!”
I did sit for a few minutes but of course I was restless and not even really engaged with her at all. I found a reason to get up and that was my exit. Of course, I had no idea she was going to die in a few days. But something happened, some appointment that got called in for her or something, I can’t remember. But 2-3 days after that, I went back there, took her to her appointment. She was in awful, excruciating pain. I laid her on the back seat so that she could ride home with me—it was the only way she could be in a car. She could no longer sit upright because of the pain. From that day, a Wednesday, until the morning she died, which was Friday, I realized that she needed me, and I didn’t leave her side except for bathroom breaks and to try to fix her a meal or whatever. I didn’t notice it then, I’ve gotta say: the importance of being present, of being connected. It was several years later when I realized I did not spend good time connecting with her. She asked me for it: But I wasn’t ready to give it.
And so I think that was my first mistake. Something I have spent a good deal of time changing, once I realized that. And I’ll talk about that in other messages, but it was that First Mistake that let me sit and hear the great story about golf balls years later.
I hope it brought a little smile to your face as you picture them bouncing around the room. It sure is bringing one to mine!
If you want to get in touch, email me at [email protected], or go to grimtea.com and drop me a note. My podcast is whilewerestillhere.buzzsprout.com. Until next time, take care. K