Deep Peace...
It's been awhile since my last post. A lot has happened personally and professionally. But the one subject in common with these two parts of my life is grief and loss.
I have been lucky to have just one major loss in my life. My grandfather passed away coming up on 2 years ago; I was 26 years old.
That's kind of amazing...making it 26 years without a significant death of someone I knew well and cherished dearly. Some of my favorite memories are of Grandpa coming over for Sunday dinner and then watching 60 Minutes on TV and exchanging quips about Andy Rooney's seriously awful eyebrows.
But Grandpa loved that weirdo's humor and stories. When it was time for 60 Minutes the TV had better be tuned to the right channel - this was NOT an option. And I miss him and those evenings. I miss him drinking his eggnog out of a double old-fashioned glass and laughing as my brother ate like ALL of the pistachios on Christmas Eve. I miss his jazz music playing in the background, the boring golf tournaments he insisted on watching, and *yes* I even miss his under-the-breath racist comments...because at least when he made them he was alive. I didn't cherish those little things enough. One of my favorite memories of Grandpa is when he came to one of my countless cabaret shows when I was pursuing my undergraduate degree. I had a set list prepared and my entire family were the only people in attendance because the hole-in-the-wall restaurant was awful at promoting their events. Grandpa asked from the audience if I could reprise one of his favorites, "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by Mama Cass...and it wasn't on the set list but of course I obliged because that meant Grandpa had been paying attention to the numerous songs I had sung at all of the shows he and my grandma attended over the years. The last time I sang for my grandpa was at his funeral.
I miss him.
In the last few months of work, death has slapped me in the face over and over again. And it's part of the job, but that doesn't mean that witnessing death and experiencing grief related to patients and colleagues is easy.
You might remember from my previous entry how I provided music for an employee's memorial service as well as for a service honoring all infants that passed away at the hospital and how those were both such powerful memorials with sensitive subject matter.
But the services kept rolling in...this time two separate memorials for two clients I knew from my music therapy internship. Pardon the consecutive blogs regarding the subject of grief and loss, but journaling about my grief has helped me process it and share with others that *might* be feeling this way as well.
They were both active members of the choir at their day program. I was lucky to work with that choir throughout my internship and develop lifelong friendships with these misunderstood adults with mental illnesses. We had inside jokes and shared laughter and the dynamic there is like a family. So when these two people passed away suddenly...it wasn't just another death. It was a personal death...one that weighed on me heavily. I was so grateful for the opportunity to remember and celebrate these individuals at memorial services. And I was honored to sing for them one last time with the choir.
I started this entry last night as I lay awake in bed at 11:15 PM, waiting for sleep to take over. For some reason I couldn't stop thinking about patients and clients that have passed away, and how I will try my best to carry them - but with boundaries - in my heart. I have a feeling that this will never get any easier. And I know that my empathetic soul is testing my ability to grieve and respectfully care for myself. But for now I just want to hold pieces and memories of these people in my heart because I believe that they are the reason I love music therapy and feel like I am on the right path. I hang their memorial programs with pictures of their smiling faces at my desk. And yes- I miss them.
I have been lucky to have just one major loss in my life. My grandfather passed away coming up on 2 years ago; I was 26 years old.
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| This is the only picture I have of me, Blake, and my grandpa. I'm sure mom has more somewhere...but I just love this photo. |
That's kind of amazing...making it 26 years without a significant death of someone I knew well and cherished dearly. Some of my favorite memories are of Grandpa coming over for Sunday dinner and then watching 60 Minutes on TV and exchanging quips about Andy Rooney's seriously awful eyebrows.
 |
| Seriously...LOOK AT THOSE THINGS! |
But Grandpa loved that weirdo's humor and stories. When it was time for 60 Minutes the TV had better be tuned to the right channel - this was NOT an option. And I miss him and those evenings. I miss him drinking his eggnog out of a double old-fashioned glass and laughing as my brother ate like ALL of the pistachios on Christmas Eve. I miss his jazz music playing in the background, the boring golf tournaments he insisted on watching, and *yes* I even miss his under-the-breath racist comments...because at least when he made them he was alive. I didn't cherish those little things enough. One of my favorite memories of Grandpa is when he came to one of my countless cabaret shows when I was pursuing my undergraduate degree. I had a set list prepared and my entire family were the only people in attendance because the hole-in-the-wall restaurant was awful at promoting their events. Grandpa asked from the audience if I could reprise one of his favorites, "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by Mama Cass...and it wasn't on the set list but of course I obliged because that meant Grandpa had been paying attention to the numerous songs I had sung at all of the shows he and my grandma attended over the years. The last time I sang for my grandpa was at his funeral.
 |
| This is the plant I got at Grandpa's funeral. I didn't have much of a green thumb then. Now I have plants all over my house- inside and out. But this one is special. I call him "Grandpa" - even Daniel calls him Grandpa - and take extra good care of him. I like to believe that he is a tangible and real piece of my Grandpa that I still have with me- along with the intangible memories. Also, he really didn't like my dog and she was very persistent with always trying to give him unwanted affection. So this is extra funny to me as Gracie sits next to Grandpa, who would have been shooing her away and cursing at her. |
I miss him.
In the last few months of work, death has slapped me in the face over and over again. And it's part of the job, but that doesn't mean that witnessing death and experiencing grief related to patients and colleagues is easy.
You might remember from my previous entry how I provided music for an employee's memorial service as well as for a service honoring all infants that passed away at the hospital and how those were both such powerful memorials with sensitive subject matter.
 |
| These are flowers donated by a Chaplain that I arranged for the Angel Tree service for the infants. |
But the services kept rolling in...this time two separate memorials for two clients I knew from my music therapy internship. Pardon the consecutive blogs regarding the subject of grief and loss, but journaling about my grief has helped me process it and share with others that *might* be feeling this way as well.
They were both active members of the choir at their day program. I was lucky to work with that choir throughout my internship and develop lifelong friendships with these misunderstood adults with mental illnesses. We had inside jokes and shared laughter and the dynamic there is like a family. So when these two people passed away suddenly...it wasn't just another death. It was a personal death...one that weighed on me heavily. I was so grateful for the opportunity to remember and celebrate these individuals at memorial services. And I was honored to sing for them one last time with the choir.
I started this entry last night as I lay awake in bed at 11:15 PM, waiting for sleep to take over. For some reason I couldn't stop thinking about patients and clients that have passed away, and how I will try my best to carry them - but with boundaries - in my heart. I have a feeling that this will never get any easier. And I know that my empathetic soul is testing my ability to grieve and respectfully care for myself. But for now I just want to hold pieces and memories of these people in my heart because I believe that they are the reason I love music therapy and feel like I am on the right path. I hang their memorial programs with pictures of their smiling faces at my desk. And yes- I miss them.
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