Getting Past Grief

Prior to 2007, I never really believed in anything beyond what I could actually experience first hand, especially in regards to the supernatural in any sense.  In August of 2007, however, some rather amazing things happened after my grandfather died unexpectedly that have since changed my mind about life after death. 

My grandfather spoke his last words to me on August 1, 2007.  He was preparing for surgery to replace the mitral valve in his heart.  He explained that he was scared about the operation and told me how much he loved me.  I assured him that it was a routine surgery and that everything would be just fine and not to worry.  I could feel his voice quiver over the phone line.  He caught a sob in his throat as he said goodbye.  I will never forget that conversation.  I was actually in the shower in my little house in Fayetteville, NC, prepping to go out to dinner at Mash House with a friend. 

The next morning, I received a call from my mom.  She told me that the surgery had not at all gone as expected.  The simple replacement showed that the mitral valve actually needed to be replaced.  From that point, the surgery seemed to go completely awry.  Grandpa had gone too long without oxygen to the brain, and they didn’t know if he was going to awake. 

Terror gripped my heart.  I had to be there.  B and I took off that afternoon for Pennsylvania.  Grandpa had to be okay.  I had just spoken to him.  I couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Through 6 grueling days, Grandpa didn’t wake up.  The family had to make the difficult decision to let him go.  We all said our last goodbyes, and the machines keeping him alive were disconnected. 

Upon leaving the hospital, I was quite a wreck.  When I attempted to start my car, I found that the battery was dead.  This did not make the day any easier.  My Uncle Jack jumped the battery, and I was ready to head back to Grandpa’s house.  My sister, Jess, and I got in the car and began to drive down the Bayfront Parkway from Hamot.  Suddenly, all of the lights in the car flashed on and off repeatedly.  This had never before occurred in the car.  Finally, they stayed on while Jess looked in the Honda’s driver’s manual to see what could possibly be causing this.  I was able to drive the 25 minutes home, but my hands were glued on 10 and 2 , and I drove as slowly as possibly.  I remember my entire body just shaking and tense.  When I finally arrived at the driveway to Grandpa’s house, the car just powered down and died as I tried to turn into the driveway.  I had no idea what had happened; I was just thankful we had made it to the house.

The next morning, I went to the car, not expecting it to start.  The Honda, however, roared to life.  I had already decided to take it to the local mechanic.  There was no way I was going to risk having to drive back to NC with what was occurring in the car. 

After explaining to the mechanic what had happened, his only guess that it was either the battery or the electronic computer that had malfunctioned.  Upon examining everything, though, he found nothing wrong with the car.  On the safe side, he replaced the battery and sent me on my way. 

Grandpa and I always had a “driving connection” as strange as that sounds.  I remember one of the first times I drove, he provided me with tips and wanted me to take it slow.  I frequently made the long drive from NC to visit my family in FL, and we would frequently compare notes; he always told me to watch my speed through Starke, where there are numerous speed traps on HWY 301.  I can’t help but feel that Grandpa caused my car to go haywire the night he died.  He knew how completely distraught and unfit to drive I was, and he worked the best he could to make me aware and present as I made that drive home that night.  He wanted me to know that he was with me.

I had a really hard time with his death, as we all did.  It was completely unexpected and pretty much shattered me.  My Grandpa and grandma were everything to me as a kid.  They were both always there and made me know I was loved and they were proud of me.  I will never forget one time that Grandpa visited North Carolina on his way to winter in FL.  He hugged me tightly as he and Grandma were leaving.  I could feel that he was trying not to cry.  He kissed my cheek and whispered into my ear, “I am so proud of you, Jen.”  This may not seem like much to many people, but my Grandfather was a very strong man; I had never seen him cry before. 

After returning to Fayetteville, it was time for the new school year to begin.  I knew that I needed to get back into the routine to help me grieve.  It was a very trying year, though.  I actually had a student and her parent who attacked me verbally and professed that I was a racist.  Personally and professionally, this was one of the hardest times of my life; I felt like such a failure.  I had a very difficult time at work, and I was grieving as well. 

One evening, during this time of grief and anxiety, I had a dream I will never forget.  Grandpa was in the dream.  We were sitting with a group of others at a table with a bench.  I didn’t know the others, who were talking among themselves.  I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I knew it wasn’t really important.  Grandpa sat beside me and grasped my hand.  He then began to squeeze it so hard I woke up.  I remember looking around my room, and breathing very hard as I woke up, trying to understand what had happened.  I knew he had been there.  I knew he was with me.  I felt some sense of peace in my heart and felt for the first time that school year that I wasn’t alone.   

Thankfully, I did have several amazing students that year that will forever be in my heart and helped me to deal with the traumas I experienced.  One of those students was Crystal.  She, too, had lost her grandfather that year.  We had an immediate connection.  One day she confided in me how depressed she was over his death.  She felt severe guilt over not spending as much time with him as she could.  She cried as she explained that she had chosen her books and friends over spending time with him when she could.  I hugged her tight and told her how much he had loved her and how proud of her he must have been.  She was an amazing kid, and as any adult would know, every teenager is selfish and self-centered.   Though she may not have outwardly shown her love as much as she now wished she had, he knew how much she loved him.  Without a doubt.

That evening, I had the most vivid dream of my life.  I dreamt that I was at my mom’s house and the phone rang.  It was the old rotary one with the long, twisted orange cord.  When I answered, it was my Grandpa.  I couldn’t believe it was him, and tears rolled down my face as I listened to his words in the dream.  He said that he was so proud of me, so proud of the education I have received and the woman I have become.  He told me that I was doing everything right and was in the right profession.  And with that, I woke up.  There was a part of me at the time that believed that I had only had the dream because of my talk with Crystal, but there was also an overwhelming sense that it really was him in the dream.  I felt such peace.  It is really difficult to explain it, but I knew at that point that everything was okay.  I knew I could make it through the rest of the school year, and I knew that he was in a good place. 

Before I had left Pennsylvania to return to NC, my mom had told me to choose anything I would like from my grandparents’ house prior to the sale they were going to have.  I knew immediately that I wanted the quilt that had been on their bed.  My great-grandmother had done the front of the quilt, but the back was unfinished, so Grandma had taken a quilting class to learn how to quilt, and Grandpa had helped her make the dream of finishing it a reality.  She had suffered from Alzheimer’s, and he did everything he could to make sure that she was well taken care of until his death.  My great-grandmother had actually made all of the grandchildren a quilt when they were born.  My quilt, as well as all the others, had been fashioned from the old clothes and scraps of cloth from around the farmhouse.  Mine had a green backing with little girls on tricycles.  After years of use, it had become well worn with love.  It was full of holes, both small and large.  For some reason, though, I hadn’t seen mine since living in Germany.  I had asked my ex-husband if he had taken it, but he hadn’t seen it either. 

The quilt on their bed would be a good replacement for that one.  My aunt spoke for the quilt as well, though.  I was very disappointed, but my mom said she would bring some other quilts to me when she visited in February, and I could select one of those.  I was asked to make another choice from the house.  I decided upon the old hutch from upstairs in the house that held Grandma’s salt and pepper shakers; she had quite the collection; as well as several sets of the S&P shakers.  I had always admired several of them.  Figurines from German, and windmills and miniature shoes from Holland. 

That winter, my parents brought the hutch to me in NC.  It was dark when they pulled into my drive, and the Honda was packed tight with my hutch, which was wrapped with several quilts to prevent scratching.  My dad worked to pull the hutch from the Honda while I helped Mom with the other items they had brought from home.  Mom pulled out a shopping bag full of quilts.  She told me to chose whichever I would like.

I pulled the bag open, and I was simply shocked at what I saw.  In the bag, on the very top, was my quilt, the one that had been lost.  Tears entered my eyes as I took a small breath.

“What is it?”  Mom asked.

“It’s my quilt!  I can’t believe it.”  I thought for so long that it was lost and all along, my grandparents had it.  I felt such waves of emotion at the time.  Joy, happiness, yet confusion.

“Are you sure it is yours?”

“Mom, I would know this quilt anywhere.  It was on my bed my entire childhood.”  I pulled it to my heart, inhaling the scent of my grandparent’s house.

“But how did they have it?”

“That’s just the thing that makes this so crazy.  I have no idea how or why they would have it. “ 

I smiled at Mom, knowing that the only person who would’ve known was now gone, but I took comfort in the quilt, believing my grandfather had somehow sent it to me.  Getting my quilt back this way was even better than having the one from their bed.

One last pivotal thing happened to me that spring that I will never forget.  I was lounging outside enjoying the sun on my patio when a butterfly landed on my hand.  I have heard that butterflies were frequently seen after death and are signs of the rebirth of someone who has died.  When I went through my divorce and turned 30, I decided that the perfect symbol of my new beginning would be a butterfly tattoo.  I decided to get the tattoo on the nape of my neck, and my grandfather once commented that he really liked it, and he wasn’t particularly crazy about tattoos.  The butterfly that landed on my hand explored it for about 10 minutes until finally taking flight.  The peace and calm that filled me was remarkable.  I knew he had been there.  I had been lucky enough to have him continually reach out to me in various ways to show me he was still there, no matter what. 

I haven’t had any other contacts from him, and I am sure it is because my grief has passed.  Life has continued on.  I know that he is never really far away, and I know that what happened to him was meant to.  It was truly his time.  And I can reconcile that. 

Recently, a colleague recommended a book to me after hearing my stories about what happened to me after Grandpa’s death.  It is called Hello from Heaven, and it discusses after death communications.  I have read almost half of the book, and after learning the stories of others who have had many of the exact events occur in their lives, I have no doubt at all that there was no coincidence in my car going haywire, and that my dreams were actually real, that my quilt appeared because Grandpa had a part in it, and that the butterfly was him sending me a signal that everything would be just fine.  I take comfort in these events every day.  I am thankful they have happened, and I can’t wait to meet him one day again.  I have no doubt he will be waiting for me. 

 

Finding my best me…

 

Once the Texas heat became too much for me in the early evenings this spring, I knew I had to change my run schedule.  Early mornings, before work.  My big concern, though…how would I ever be able to get up and then just run? 

Know what my motivation was?  It was actually quite simple and consisted of setting my alarm clock for 4:30 AM, and then having my husband say, “You aren’t going to get up to run!  It is way too early for you!”  Yep, that is all it took.  Him saying to me one time that he didn’t think I would do it.  I am proud to say I haven’t missed a day.  Every other morning, that alarm goes off at 4:30.  I get up, make my coffee, a must prior to a run, esp. a 5 AM one, get dressed, and stretch. 

As I have increased distance, I have found out just how old I am.  I have pains everywhere from the overuse.  My left hip made itself known to me quite quickly with aches so bad I could barely walk after a run.  My hamstring on the right leg screamed for attention as well, and it would not be ignored.  After talking a lot with fellow runners and reading a lot about IT bands and how to run smarter, I came to some conclusions about how to better take care of my aged body.  

Now, I have learned that spending a lot of time stretching, both before and after my run, does help significantly.  I do an entire yoga flow before taking to the road with a lot of hip openers and hamstring stretches, which I repeat when finished.  Previously, I spent maybe a minute, total, stretching, but I have seen that with stretching, I am able to cope with the aches much more effectively.  On off days, I work in a yoga class.  Not only does it completely stretch out my tight muscles, but the meditation brings calm to my heart.

I also invested in a foam roller to assist in alleviating the pain.  The first time I used it, I realized just why a lot of runners call it their best friend and worst enemy!  Lying on my left side, I rolled up and down the outer part of my leg, moaning so much from the pain that my husband came from the next room to see what was wrong with me!  The foam roller basically acts as a deep tissue massage for those sore areas of my body.  Now I roll my sides, hamstrings, and back, and what a difference I feel!

Lastly, I began to take the Celebrex that was prescribed for me over a year ago.  It is an anti-inflammatory and used to treat the pain that comes with arthritis.  I have seen a significant change.  And on days where the pain is its worst, I ice the hip to numbness.  The throbbing stops, and I am able to have some relief.

Many people would just stop running after any kinds of pain or an injury.  I am not one of them.  Pain is manageable, and if I got myself out to do the run, dammit, I am going to finish it.  There have been almost too many times to count where I have had running pains, but at this point, they pretty much have just become part of the process.  I have had to embrace them!  Also, a few times a year, I trip, usually over my own feet, and take a nosedive.  My left leg usually takes the brunt of it, and I have more scars than can be counted.  They give me running character, though.  They show my resilience and need to just keep going. 

The joy that a runner gets from a good or even a bad run is really not comparable to any other high.  Hitting the road and just going, regardless of how I am feeling or what the weather is like, gives me pride in myself.  I know that not everyone has the strength or will that I do.  I am doing something completely for me.  I am my best self when I am out on the road.  I reflect on the issues, problems, and also the joys of my life while I hit the pavement.  I listen to my breath, sometime calm, sometimes labored, esp. when I hit a hill, and I follow the rhythm.  I find my stride.  I keep going no matter how much I want to stop, particularly during those first 3 miles, always the hardest.  The next miles just begin to tick by, and before I know it, I have hit 5 miles.  If I can do 5, I can do 8.  If I can do 8, and I can definitely do 10.  And if I hit 10, what is another 3 to meet that half marathon goal?

So every other day, I turn that alarm off, and I am off to the road.  The calm of 5 AM when the majority of the world is still asleep brings me peace.  I relish those moments when I am alone and accomplish something great.