Loved More and Forgotten Less
The Danger of Self Pity
Early in 2020 I lost one of my aunts. She was a mentor to me. She loved me like her own when I needed her most. However, in the last few years we did not connect as much as wished. Her life had been closely connected to two uncles I lost many years before — both lost tragically, suddenly and unexpectedly. Her sudden death felt the same — but more. With her loss I felt I had not only lost her, but the other 2 again. It brought up so much fresh and buried pain.
I did not realize I would loose control and it would become revelling self-pity.
Returning Home
When I returned home from her memorial I closed myself into a cocoon of grief. I did not realize I would loose control and it would become revelling self-pity. I had a good reason to grieve, and Covid restrictions gave me a good excuse to isolate. However, I went farther than required. I didn’t call, text or write anyone unless I absolutely had to. I dropped out of contact with all but a very few close friends. I would have dropped them too, except they each made a point to keep in touch. I allowed myself to feel every inch of pain, which was necessary, but then I began to indulge. I sat like a lump frozen in time and I did not desire to be moved.
I needed time and I needed space, and I don’t, in anyway, take away from the necessity of taking time to grieve but I allowed it to take over and go far beyond my need. Early on my counsellor encouraged me to contact my local grief support group. I knew I should but I never did. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to be reminded that others were hurting too. I wanted to hold onto the hurt, ‘cause somehow it meant I could hold onto those I loved and lost. However, it only caused me to experience more loss. Others in my circle lost loved ones more closely related than an aunt and I barely reached out.
As I indulged in self-pity my emotions began to convince me that this is who I am, who I am meant to be, and even who I want to be. This is the danger, it is so subtle, so smooth and happens so gradually as if to be imperceptible. My emotions were convincing me that I was alone, no one cared, and no one remembered. Rather than reminding me that I was one of many hurting people in a similar state and that I definitely was not alone.
Tears of Joy
Finally, after months I gradually started to come out of this place. Then again something happened - something small but again I was in tears. The flowing of the tears brought me a strange sense of joy. It felt odd. As my husband poured out sympathy on me it hit me that I had become stuck in the place of the victim. It hit me that I had begun to enjoy the attention it brought. I was in shock. The victim state was modelled well for me as a child. It is a state I had always tried to avoid and resist, and yet here it was - in black and white and in my face. In reflection and acknowledgement of my dreadful state (as I know I cannot change what I do not acknowledge) I wrote the following poem.
Happiest
Happiest when I am crying -
Sublimely content when I am blue.
Believe me, this is true.
Tears stream down my cheek -
Truths of my heart begin to speak.
The joy of laughter cannot equal
The bliss of the broken me.
The constant ache within my heart
Has become glad company.
The company I prefer to keep
Are the pains of ages past.
When tears stream down my face
I feel my home at last.
More content when I am crying -
Then when celebrating life.
More content about my dying
And remembering past strife.
Believe me, this is true.
You may say I am the victim,
Of all the years done wrong -
But perhaps my pure joy
Has become a mourning song.
I love the place of solitude,
Deep within my pain.
It is my blissful pleasure
When tears fall down like rain.
My heart begins to glow
All warm and fuzzy too.
You may protest, say - not so!
But believe me, this is true.
Happiest when I am crying.
I do not say in vain.
My felicity is full
When grief comes off the chain.
Tina Leanne Stenmark
Reach Out
It wasn’t until I received my first Christmas cards and letter, in December that I was inspired to reach out. The first card was from a friend, a neighbour just down the street. We haven’t spoken in a while but both of us wave when passing. The second was from a cousin who lives not far away. Both women I think of fondly and who are connected to others I think of fondly. However, I forget they think of me the same. The cards and letter were a much needed reminder of this fact. This reminder caused me to firmly decide on sending the Christmas cards and letters I had been waffling about for weeks. With new determination I sat down, grabbed my address book and started creating a Christmas mailing list. The list grew longer and longer. Suddenly I didn’t feel alone. As I looked at each name on the list I realized how many people I have not lost; how many people I still have to love; and how many people still love me. In focusing only on myself and only on my pain I had blotted them all out of my thoughts to my own detriment.
“I realized how many people I have not lost; how many people I still have to love; and how many people still love me. In focusing only on myself and only on my pain I had blotted them all out of my thoughts to my own detriment.”
I sent out 33 Christmas cards and there were many more I could have sent. Since mailing I continue to think of more and the list in my head continues to grow. The list contains people I think of often but haven’t bothered to tell. It contains people for whom I care but haven’t told the depth, and people who have made differences in my life but to this point have never known. The list in my head is good for me. It helps me stay focused on the here and now. Soon I will write it down. I don’t know if I will send Christmas cards every year but for myself I probably should. Perhaps I need the yearly reminder of everything that is good.
Then came Christmas Day, with more surprise greetings from others that I love. Greetings so warm I am shocked by their regard. Greetings that challenge my perspective of who I am in others’ eyes and who I’m meant to be. They are greetings that make me realize I am loved more and forgotten less than I assume. Perhaps you are too, but we will never know if we don’t take the risk to reach out and be known. I am so grateful to those who reach out to me, now and in my time of need. Their love and remembrance has really brought me through.
