Grief Story #7: Kath Ellen

Losing My Mother's Love

by Kath Ellen

My mother loved me, and I loved her. What we had was special. I didnʼt want to lose my mother. I didnʼt want to lose my motherʼs love. I depended on her love.

Of course, she had an angry side, too. The one that yelled and reached for the

yardstick and spanked me, the oldest, the girl who must be punished for any

ruckus. Mom did nice things for me, took care of me in so many ways: she

cooked and baked, washed, ironed, helped me with my homework, and gave

me practice tests so Iʼd be a success in school. 

She monitored and judged my communications.

“Donʼt give any information.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“Don’t talk about what happens at home. It’s private.”

“People always value a good listener, so be a good listener.”

I believed that she was giving me training in good manners so people would like me. Every day of my life I heard her say a dozen times, in warning, “What will people think?” What others think of me and of us held great importance. There

was no one to play with. My sisters were too much younger. Mom found the

neighbor kids unsuitable for me. I could sometimes play at a classmate’s house,

but then Mom stopped the connection before she would have to reciprocate as

hostess. She didnʼt want any kids coming over. She didnʼt want noise or mess.

It was a lonely childhood for me, but at least Mom loved me. At the end of each day, Mom sat on the edge of my bed,

asked me to tell about my day, and had me say my prayers. “I love you, Honey,” she said, before she turned out the light.

Church had a high priority with Mom. We went every Sunday and every Wednesday. We read the Bible every day, knew all the stories, memorized verses. The church told us what was right and what was wrong. Mom added to the list. Mom considered herself perfect, and continually reprimanded and corrected me, so I could become perfect, like her. I was her project, and she was determined to turn me out as an excellent student and a lovely little lady.

I cooperated.

I studied hard, nervous before every test, nervous about facing the repercussions at home if I didn’t uphold the family honor by getting all As. I did get all As. I brought honor to my family. Her religious beliefs did not allow Mom to feel proud of me, so she thanked God that I got all As, thanked God that I was bringing honor to His name.

It didn’t pay to disagree with Mom or argue with her. She held all the power. Her word was law. What would she do to me if I disobeyed? Well, she spanked me, of course. That stopped when I was ten and the stick broke during a spanking. 

Later something worse happened. It was two years later, when I was in eighth grade. In those days I usually walked home from school with Carolyn. At home after supper Mom and I would be washing and drying the dishes together and talking, and occasionally Iʼd say, “But Mom, Carolyn…”

One evening Mom exploded: “Carolyn, Carolyn, Carolyn. I want you to stop talking with Carolyn. You are not to talk

with her any more. Do you hear me? I forbid it.”

Did I mention I was a lonely kid?

Carolyn was the best part of my life. There was no way I was going to stop walking home with her. Mom ostracized me. She wouldnʼt talk to me, look at me, or interact with me in any way. Ow. That hurt so much. Remember, I wasnʼt allowed to talk to others out in the world, so I was pretty much invisible to most people. And now at home I was invisible to the person I loved most. And she was not loving me.

I was starving without her love. For two weeks the silent treatment lasted. And who gave in at last? You can

bet it wasnʼt Mom. I was so heartbroken and tortured that my beloved Mom wouldn’t speak to me. Of course I gave

in.

During all my years of being a teacher, I organized lessons, taught with joy and creativity, and educated and nurtured my

young students, plus shared professional knowledge and skills by giving training workshops for other teachers. And I still

went home for family Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dinners, family birthday parties and celebrations. I still

loved my Mom.

She still corrected me: “Honey, why don’t you just xxx xxx xx?” So I tried to be perfect, like her. She was my role model. And she told me, “I love you.”

My first years teaching, I shared an apartment with Anne and Fay. We had so much fun! I loved our life together as

independent young teachers. But after the second summer vacation, Anne didnʼt come back from her trip home to

see her mother. Anne wrote me a letter saying sheʼd gotten married. I was stunned, and then grief-stricken. Fay

had a boyfriend and moved out, too. I was left alone. Lonely all over again.

So I went home to Mom. I lived at Momʼs again, under her roof, under her rules. When my younger sister E became

a teacher, the two of us got an apartment together. Again, I was so happy we were on our own. Of course we called Mom to ask for recipes and advice. We went to our family church on Sundays and then to Momʼs for Sunday lunch. I couldnʼt

have imagined my life without my sister E or my Mom.

Then my sister E married and moved away. A huge loss for me. A huge grief that no one wanted to hear about or

acknowledge. “You should be happy for your sister!” I couldnʼt get past my own devastating loss and aloneness. Bereft.

And shouldering my sorrow all alone.

I was lonely my whole life. I was lonely in girlhood, lonely as a teen, lonely as a young professional, lonely as an older

professional. But at least Mom loved me. At least I could always go home for holidays. I followed the family rules and the church rules, and I was accepted by my family and my church.

Cloistered in a narrow belief system with strict policies and self-contained social events, it took me decades to find out

that there are lesbians in the world and always have been. After I first read about lesbians in a news article, I began

to read everything I could find about them, about us, for I found all the descriptions described me. 

I love women. The people I feel closest to and want to spend time with are women. The people I fall in love with are women.

It was time for me to stop agreeing to pretend to be someone Iʼm not, to stop being so polite, to stop trying to please the church and my mom. It was time for me to find out more about “my people,” lesbians, by reading, and then by meeting some. I found they are intelligent, fun, witty, brave, independent, loving people, and they accepted me without any requirements, no rules and regulations, in fact, imperfections.

How would my mom take it, hearing my news? She sat with a frozen stone face when I told her Iʼm lesbian and asked,

“Are you sure?” She was polite for some years. All the family members were polite. She pretended it wasnʼt true. They all

pretended it wasnʼt true. I went home for holidays. We cooked together and cleaned up together. We talked about the

food, not about our lives. But of course, we had never talked about our lives. It wasnʼt allowed. Polite listening but no

honest sharing was the policy.

Do I miss them? Itʼs the biggest grief of my life. Five years now. No communication. I always knew, instinctively, in my gut, it would be like this, even as a little girl. If you donʼt follow the rules, you canʼt be in the family. Donʼt upset Mom. Donʼt cross her. The silent treatment I had endured in eighth grade let me know that there are consequences for disobedience and for non-conformity.

I feel sorry for people when they tell me their moms are dying or have died. I do. That is a very big loss and leaves a

gaping hole. An important source of love is gone. My mom is still alive. My sisters, too. And they canʼt love me as I am. They donʼt like lesbians just as a general principle. Not that they even associate with any. They havenʼt ever

actually talked to a lesbian. Because they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. They vehemently don’t want anyone to be

lesbian. Itʼs just wrong to be lesbian.

See? Sigh.

So they donʼt love me. It hurts me that I have lost their love. When I think about them, aching for a love that is dead and

gone, my insides sob and wail. Itʼs a huge loss of love. Thatʼs my past. And I am not there. Every day I have to

remember to choose to live in the present.

Actually, I have a great present. I am having the life of my dreams. Iʼm retired. I live in a gorgeous place. I have

a circle of friends. I read, study, travel, garden, sing, make art, make noise, make messes, and then clean them up. I

make myself happy doing what I love and being with those whom I love.

There are many people who used to be in my life and arenʼt any more, and I miss them. But the hardest loss of all was

when my mom stopped loving me. Sheʼs still alive at 95, holding fiercely to her beliefs and her perfection. I wish I could say, “Donʼt worry about me. Iʼll find another special love.” But sometimes I wonder. I falter. Then I take a deep breath and try again. I give friendly greetings to people I see. I see how nature shows me that beauty is all around. 

What makes me happy every day is that at last I am free to be myself, just as I am, maybe not perfect, but authentic and very, very brave.

Kath Ellen is enjoying an active retirement in Eugene, Oregon

Grief Story #6: Trish Butcher

My Grief Story

By Trish Butcher

There once was a girl,

Born to a mermaid and a hero,

She was well loved by all and the sun

shone on her birth.

Another child was born in time,

And love rained down from the girl to

her sister.

The mermaid and the hero were from

different worlds,

And strife began to tear them apart,

One day the hero flew away, leaving the

child broken hearted.

Of this the mermaid said nothing.

The child felt a deep emptiness without

her hero,

And the mermaid was often away

Providing food and shelter for the

family,

And the child was often lonely.

As the young girl grew into a young

woman,

Caring for her sister while the mermaid

was away,

She began to hide her loneliness

In the company of those who dreamed

only of themselves.

The young girl and the mermaid began

to quarrel

For the girl believed the mermaid to be

the fault of her sadness.

Finally the young girl found the hero

And begged him to care for her once

again.

The mermaid was hurt

But sent the children away with the hero.

He knew nothing of girls and caring for

them

And the young girl saw that he was not a

hero after all.

In early maidenhood, the young girl met

a boy.

He invited her to a festive gathering,

But the boy disappeared and she was left

alone,

Surrounded by young men, careless and

selfish.

They tricked the girl into a deep sleep

And in the night took her innocence.

The fallen hero shunned her

And so the girl never spoke of the trick

that was played.

Pushing her pain down, the young girl

returned home to the mermaid,

But the mermaid had left their home

with no word.

So the girl roamed the village on her

own

Seeking safety but finding only hardship

and despair.

Finally the girl went to a temple for help

For she was too sick to go on.

The priest helped to find the mermaid,

And they were reunited.

The mermaid had found a new love

And the girl lived with them for a while.

But the trick had left a deep aching in

her

And she sought to soothe through

potions.

One night someone gave her a deadly

potion

And she fell into a deep sleep.

She journeyed through the white tunnel

to heaven

And the physicians pronounced her

dead.

During the sleep, the girl saw great

things

And was given the answer to all

questions in life.

She awakened as they prepared her dead

body

And spoke of God to those attending her.

But no one believed her words

And instead they thought her insane.

The mermaid was ashamed

And turned her back on the young girl.

The girl was saddened and confused

And desperately wished for the

mermaid’s love,

And so she joined the most perilous of

all armies

To prove her worth and redeem her soul.

In this army she did not fight wars with

other tribes

But instead fought a war with herself,

For the soldiers were like the boys at the

gathering,

And much harm was done.

Time went by, and the woman sought

love.

She would do anything for it,

Even for those unworthy.

And the young woman was lonely.

Then a plague came upon the land and

took the woman’s sister.

In her grief the woman blamed the hero,

And in so doing the hero flew away once

more.

To mask her grief, the woman worked

very hard

Believing coin and success would save

her

But the gods would have none of it

And after a time, the woman fell into a

deep and sudden sickness.

The sickness took the woman’s work,

The sickness took the woman’s home,

The sickness took the woman’s lover,

And the woman entered the land of

despair.

Seeking solace and a new life,

The woman traveled to land in the north,

The land was dark and cold

And the woman was sick and lonely.

After a time, the woman wandered into a

temple

Full of people she recognized

But not in the usual way.

She found solace and comfort there.

One day on her way to the temple

The woman was drawn to a great love.

There was a great spark between them,

And they laughed and frolicked together.

For a time, there was perfection

And the woman enjoyed a great, great

love.

Even though the tricks played still

plagued her

The woman was sometimes now not so

lonely.

After a time, the darkness again

descended

And a deadly sickness entered her

lover’s body.

She prayed for her lover’s healing

But her prayers were answered with

deadly silence.

Her lover was taken by the sickness

And darkness entered the woman’s

heart.

No one understood her pain

And the woman was lonely once more.

The cold and darkness enveloped her

And her sadness knew no bounds.

She turned to wine and solitude

And in nothing was there comfort.

The years went by and the woman

healed

And hoped for love again.

But none could reach her as her sweet

lover had,

And the woman was still so lonely.

The hero, hearing of her sickness and

trials,

Returned and offered his heart.

Their joy of reuniting was great

And they marveled at their oneness,

Which had grown even in their

separation.

The woman felt a sense of completion

And was grateful for the hero’s return

But the time was short lived, for the hero

had grown old.

And his time on earth was done.

Sadness enveloped her once again.

She grieved for the lost years between

them

And grieved for the years they shared.

Her heart knew no comfort.

Even the people of the temple could

offer no comfort,

And for a time the woman turned away.

In darkness and solitude she longed for

lightness,

But it did not come.

The woman wondered at the sadness of

her life.

Why she had come to this land

Far, far away from her beloved mermaid.

Time stretched and pulled and lingered,

And the woman lived her days,

One upon another

Drifting into sameness.

After a time around the sun

The woman returned to the temple.

At first she could not bear the glances of

others

For she felt shame in her grief.

And the woman felt lonely even in the

crowd of the temple.

The woman prayed as she often did

And this time, support rained down upon

her.

She began to be gentle with herself

And allowed the help to come.

Her pains had taught her to know herself

And sometimes she was not so lonely.

Time went on, and the woman grew

strong.

She began to believe in the goodness of

life,

Nourishing her faith in a garden of trust,

And even the tricks played on her began

to lose their power.

The woman now knew herself well,

In joyful times and in sorrow.

She began to do for others,

Cultivated the earth of her soul,

And was true to herself in spite of her

sorrows

She now knows that all feel lonely at

times.

And sometimes now, the loneliness is gone.

Grief Story #5: Pete Benson

Grieving the Past and Future

Pete Benson

February 2015

This body of mine has always been a pretty good one: I have enjoyed good health and good intelligence. I have kept the body in good condition over the years through a variety of physical activities--bicycling, hiking, and contra-dancing among others. I remain as intellectually active now as ever. I started learning Russian at age 50, so I could become a translator, and I still accept translation assignments. I authored and published a book when I was 67.

Thus, as my 70th birthday came and went, I could still keep up on the bicycling and on the dance floor with most guys in their 40s. The only giveaway of my true chronological age is my skin, which shows the wrinkles and spots typical for a person who's spent much of a long life exposed to sunlight. I'm also more bald than not-- but my hair started thinning noticeably when I was 18, and had progressed to a substantial bald spot by the time I was 30, so perhaps that does not count.

When I was 73 (a year and half ago), I was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL). The doctor giving me the diagnosis pointed out that the word “chronic” in the name is the “good news”; that because the disease progresses slowly, something else is likely to carry me off before the CLL does, in view of my age.

Okay, no big deal, I felt.

Then I found myself unable to bicycle up moderate hills that previously were not a challenge for me. I could no longer manage the rather aerobic contra-dancing, which I could previously do all evening without a break. I was often too tired for sex in the evening, although previously I had continued to enjoy an active sex life with both my wife and (being polyamorous) with a secondary lover.

CLL introduces faulty red blood cells into the blood stream, crowding out the healthy cells, which are the carriers of oxygen to the muscles, organs, and other tissues. In spite of a lifetime of cardiovascular and pulmonary conditioning, I found myself panting for breath after only modest exertion. More recently, I have often been short of breath for a number of minutes after no exertion at all or after a meal, as blood and oxygen are diverted to the stomach. I must now sleep or otherwise be resting in bed from 10 to 13 hours out of 24, usually. My body weight has dropped more than 10 kilos in recent months--without my trying. Much of that, I'm sure, has been muscle mass, although my belt cinches to a tighter

hole now, reflecting some welcome loss of my modest paunch.

CLL also damages the immune system, making me more vulnerable to infectious diseases. In December 2014, I developed a cold--rare for me in itself. The cold did not clear up, but deepened into a more substantial respiratory distress. I ended up spending eleven days in the hospital in January, where the respiratory distress was diagnosed as

pneumonia. It nearly killed me at one point.

I should note in passing that there is a glimmer of light in this picture: My oncologist has promised to put me on a recently developed new pharmaceutical for CLL chemotherapy, which he says has shown very encouraging results in its initial clinical trials. He tells me the odds 12 are quite good that within six months I'll be feeling the way I did 3 years ago--i.e.

pre-CLL.

I am also watching my partner and wife, Deborah, as she slides downhill in her own health. She was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease seven years ago (at age 54, rather younger than usual for that disease). She now walks with very slow, short steps with a cane (the “Parkinson's shuffle”) and has constant generalized pain and progressing numbness in some extremities. She also tires quickly.

My grief is therefore primarily for my lost vigor, and loss of the things that I have most enjoyed in my life, and for the loss of much of what I have enjoyed sharing with Deborah. There is also a prospective grief, as Deborah and I both realistically anticipate the end of this physical life for both of us, probably in the nearer rather than more remote future, and prepare for it by getting our advance directives and testamentary wills in order, getting rid of many of our possessions and other things.

Deborah and I both know (don't just “believe in,” but know) that consciousness is the basic reality of the universe and that our existence will continue in another realm after these physical bodies (designed to cease functioning after some time, after all) have served their purpose and have been sloughed off. So there is no fear of physical death, nor even trepidation or anxiety. Indeed, we have already visited these realms during this physical lifetime as part of some shamanic training that we both received, as well as other experiences.

The feeling is perhaps comparable to that of college seniors as graduation time approaches, knowing that they will never again see most of their friends and lovers even as they excitedly look forward to their adult lives out in the general world following graduation. Their knowledge and anticipation of what is to come does little to lessen the poignancy of the

impending loss of their life as students.

Grief Story #4 contributed by Jade Sawyer

Fourth installment of the community grief story project.

Grief Journey

By Jade Sawyer

Thank you all for bearing

witness to this journey…

concentric, or is it a spiral? I know

it wasn’t linear.

The first huge bolder of

pain was coming home from school

to find no one home but my

brother, who was acting really

weird. It was obvious that he was

clueless as to how to explain what

was going on.

In pieces, like a torn sheet

of tissue paper, things were sorted

out to me. The state police had

come and taken Mom to the State

Hospital, not for what she did

wrong but for what she wasn’t

doing: a catatonic state where she

had just broken down and was no

longer functioning.

Back then a police person

had to transport and sign in a

patient. I would have told you she

was gone for about three weeks

but it was more like two and a half

months. I was numb, I can’t tell

you who cooked or shopped or did

laundry. The central hub of our

lives was absent and none of us

were very functional.

Three years later, my

father, the light of my life, had his

first heart attack. I heard

pedestals crashing. First Mom and

then Dad. I knew I couldn’t count

on either any more as main

supports. Dad rehabbed, even

played tennis but three years later

died from a massive heart attack.

The first time I was taken

to the daughter of the doctor, a

family that were strangers. I

WANTED TO BE WITH MY

FAMILY. The 2nd was the longest

40 minutes of my life.

Ironically, I was in the living

room of the house where my best

friend’s family used to live before

they moved. Gone were the easy

chairs and the memories of making

forts & having popcorn watching

Disney. No, this had formal and

cold décor, and I suffered a very

long wait. Once again I had been

dropped off for protection but

felt more like abandonment to me!

Finally my mom came in. Her

face matched the white drapes (I

knew what she was going to say and

how hard it was for her.) “Your

dad’s gone. The last thing he said

was, ‘give my love to Janie’.”

She became horizontal after

that. When I describe her that

way in a 12 step meeting, someone

will inevitably come up to me after

& say, “Thank your for putting it

that way. My mom was horizontal,

too.” Mom never really recovered

from Dad’s death. Friends & family

were there for us for a while but

support eventually falls off. I don’t

know who shopped, cooked or

cleaned. I do know that at some

point each day mom would cook

herself a steak and then not long

after eating, she lay back down on

the couch.

My two oldest brothers had

gone on to college and I eventually

had my license. My 3rd brother and

I would just check in as to who

most wanted/needed the car and

head out. “Jet” I used to call it.

Sometimes I still do that. Rather

than stick around until my

responsibilities are met as a

householder, I jet out!

I stayed numb for a really

long time. When I was in my first

summer school towards a master’s

in teaching, two of my three

brothers showed up at a dance

where I was celebrating my 21st

birthday. Gary, my favorite, came

in and I was totally exuberant and

just a little bit drunk. He asked me

to come outside and there was

Alan, #2 brother in the car. It was

a quiet, beautiful summer’s night

but it soon darkened with Gary’s

explanation as to the purpose of

their trip. They had driven all that

way to tell me in person that Mom

had died from her drinking,

complicated with the heavy

medications she was taking. My

oldest brother found her at home,

having passed a few days back.

Before Mom died, loving

adults had counseled me to “Go on

with my life, pursue educational

dreams.” I had stayed close by

home, turning down some schools

with more status but also more

distance.

My undergraduate school

was a blast. Fabulous teachers, a

full scholarship, and spoiled rich

kids who knew how to party !! I

would go home on weekends, check

on mom, and often borrow the car

for the weekend. Super stressful,

difficult classes gave way to

fraternity “mixers.” Lots of alcohol

and my sorority mixed with one of

the fraternities. Trust me I’m not

the sorority type but that was how

people found their niche, status,

and alcohol!

Now, I was to be careful

because sometimes my dad would

drink too much and at the end Mom

became a late stage alcoholic.

When I found cannabis, there was

a match made in heaven: stuff all

my feelings, enjoy music, dancing

and change from “a 3 to at least an

8”. The major stressors of my

senior year fell away and I was

able to maintain the grades I

needed as a scholarship student.

FAST Forward to 1984! I

decided (or God did) that it was

time to get clean. And in 9/14/2014 

I celebrated 30 years.

This is a big deal but I tell

newcomers just don’t drink or use

and don’t die!

In the 12-step community,

one both sponsors newer people

and has a sponsor. I’ve lost several

…first a wonderful woman with a

brain tumor that was cancerous,

MY ACOA sponsor. When I woke

up and started working AA, my

sponsor in that program died after

just a few years of our working

together. I just lost Mary TW,

who had over 40 years of sobriety.

As I age and grow in sobriety, my

own mortality becomes more and

more apparent. I try to simply

wear it on my shoulder, like a great

teacher.

My best AA friend just died

three years ago and we were both

good teachers for each other. I

miss her very much. She thought

she had beat bladder cancer having

had a brilliant doctor construct a

new bladder for her but the

cancer reoccurred. A small circle

of us would meet at her magical

home in Cheshire and have

gratitude meetings!

The greatest privilege was

to sponsor a newly returned

woman, a “retread” as she called

herself. She found she had a brain

tumor after falling, and losing her

speech. She completed her 4th

step, one that can be a long and

arduous process, in 48 hours. She’d

always say, “love and light, that’s

all there is !” I got to sit with her

on a nearly daily basis post

surgery. I’ve never been clearer

that I was exactly where I was

supposed to be doing exactly what

I was supposed to be doing. The

tumor was in that area of her brain

where speech function occurs. She

became embarrassed and only

wanted her mom, myself and her

housemate, who was working full

time, to be with her, so I carried

mornings, daily.

Her surgeon got as much as

she could and then shared only half

truths with her post op. I let her

know closer to the truth, as we had

a pact that I wouldn’t dress

anything up. I didn’t share exact

things but did let her know that it

was likely that the tumor would reoccur

at some point.

The surgeon told my friend’s

mother, and a few of us, that

Marilyn would seem normal and

then after 6 months, go down hill

really fast. It was much shorter

than that- more like a month. I

was able to literally orchestrate

people from her church to come in

pairs, only five minutes each, or

less, to say goodbye and/or

express their love.

HIGH LEVEL

SERVICE.

She passed the morning of

my expected return from a

conference at the coast. Her

mother, too didn’t arrive in time,

which her mom described as “just

like her.“ So many teachers have

agreed to come into my life to

bring their lessons and when it’s

time, they cast off their bodies.

I still miss fishing with my

dad, rowing the huge boat for him

as he said (it scared the fish

away), gardening with my mom,

reading the big book with Marilyn

and cracking up as we identified

with some of the descriptions and

characters - probably the most, my

spiritual connection with Susan.

What I know now is that

when I am missing someone, that’s

his or her presence. That they are

with me. Spirit has brought me to

here to CSL and the wonderful

teachings, treatments, and classes.

As Holly Near says in one of

her songs, “My past has brought

me brilliantly to here” !!!