One Year On...
Safe to say that the last couple of weeks have been pretty challenging. Coming here, getting accustomed to the way things run, becoming a vegetarian(!), getting up even earlier than I was used to, no TV or proper shopping. It’s all been a huge shift in the way my life has been.
All of those pale into comparison of course with the two anniversaries that have just passed.
On Sunday 20th February it was the first anniversary of the death of my dear friend Jason Woods. Back in London a tribute night was held to celebrate his life, and I heard it was a fabulous evening. I know he would have loved that.
For me the day was spent in almost continuous meditation. I began at 6am in Dynamic Meditation. It was a good place to start as there’s a section of it where you can express whatever emotions you are feeling in a safe, non-judgemental environment. I have to say that even 12 months on I still can’t make sense of his passing. It just doesn’t seem right that someone so kind, so generous, so magical in his capacity to love, should be taken away from us. The world needs more Jason Woods’s, not fewer.
As the day passed my feelings shifted. Thanks to the silence and the space to just “be” I decided to celebrate the fact that I’d been blessed enough to have Jason in my life at all, rather than be miserable that he has gone. I don’t think Jason would be too happy to see his friends so sad, and just by changing the way I view what happened, has taken away a lot of the sadness I felt.
I do still wish I could pick up the phone and speak to him though.
The second “first anniversary” was yesterday. Eight days after Jason passed, so did my Dad. I hope this doesn’t sound wrong, but at least there was a logic to my Dad’s death. He was 83, he had had major heart surgery and he had more than lived a life! That’s how it’s supposed to happen, isn’t it?
Sadly logic doesn’t help me in the feelings of abandonment that I’ve been experiencing since he went. Every single day I shed a tear, and if I am totally honest, they’re not exactly tears for my Dad, they’re tears for me because he’s no longer here. I am totally alone. Things like giving a next of kin when you go into hospital, or even coming here, they needed a name to contact should I have an accident or worse, it feels strange not giving his name. In the back of my passport there are two names to contact, both are dead. When I asked at the airport a few months ago how I go about changing them, the guy said not to bother!
I know I am blessed in that I have no regrets about my Dad’s passing how and when he did. I was with him for almost the whole of the last month of his life, we laughed and I gave him the practical help he needed when he was preparing to go into hospital. I remember the night before we went over to Blackpool, him sitting in his chair and saying with more sincerity than I’d ever seen from him ‘Thank you, Jo-Anne, I don’t know what I’d have done without you”. I’m sobbing as I type this, picturing him sitting there.
I honestly had never entertained the idea that he might not survive this procedure. I took this photo of him in the hospital bed and we laughed about how in a couple of months’ time we look at it again and smile about how well he was recovering. There wasn’t a single cell of my being that imagined it would be the last ever photo I would take of him.
But it was and on 28 February 2010 I held his hand almost the entire day, talking to him even as it became impossible for him to reply, telling him I loved him, I forgave him, I was proud and lucky to have him as a father, and occasionally begging him not to die. The begging was pretty much in my head though, cos I knew he was ready. He was tired of the pain and I believe tired of life. He was a Catholic and I know he believed he would be joining my mum in Heaven, and that made it easy for him to let go.
God I hope he was right. I miss you Dad xx
As the meditations worked so well on Jason’s anniversary, I decided to do some more to help me get some peace yesterday. How bizarre though, instead of the sense of acceptance I got last week, everything I did yesterday just caused me pain. Real pain. Physical pain. No matter what position I sat, stood or laid in yesterday the entire left side of my body was in agony! I was sitting in Vipassana Meditation, where you do nothing but watch the breath, and it was like I was being stabbed all up and down my left side! Obviously I’ve never had a heart attack or a stroke, but it felt like I was having one of each, the pain was so intense. When the meditation ended I managed to get myself back to my room and have a lay down. I even napped for about 30 minutes and when I awoke it seemed to have passed. I ate lunch, went to a seminar on Inner Skills, both with no pain. Then I went to Kundalini Meditation. This one is a bit more physical with some dancing and stuff, but I thought it might shake the spasms out of me, cos I assumed it was some kind of anxiety thing. Even my life is not so ironic that I would die of a heart attack on the anniversary of my Dad’s death! As soon as it came to the sitting part again - the silent part - the pains began. Even more intense this time, my left ear was killing me as were my toes on my left foot, as well as every part in between. I just accepted it was happening and stayed till the end of the meditation.
I came back to my room, still in pain, and thought about going to the hospital down the road to get checked out but decided it was still anxiety. Maybe this is how I am meant to experience the grief today. I got into my nightie and into the bed planning just a little nap before the evening meditation. Next thing I knew it was 5.30 am today! I’d slept for around 12 hours.
How very odd this has been, I fully expected to spend the day crying, but I shed no more tears yesterday than I do every other day, I cried more this morning writing this than I did yesterday. The body, the mind, the heart....strange how they work, eh?
All of those pale into comparison of course with the two anniversaries that have just passed.
On Sunday 20th February it was the first anniversary of the death of my dear friend Jason Woods. Back in London a tribute night was held to celebrate his life, and I heard it was a fabulous evening. I know he would have loved that.
For me the day was spent in almost continuous meditation. I began at 6am in Dynamic Meditation. It was a good place to start as there’s a section of it where you can express whatever emotions you are feeling in a safe, non-judgemental environment. I have to say that even 12 months on I still can’t make sense of his passing. It just doesn’t seem right that someone so kind, so generous, so magical in his capacity to love, should be taken away from us. The world needs more Jason Woods’s, not fewer.
As the day passed my feelings shifted. Thanks to the silence and the space to just “be” I decided to celebrate the fact that I’d been blessed enough to have Jason in my life at all, rather than be miserable that he has gone. I don’t think Jason would be too happy to see his friends so sad, and just by changing the way I view what happened, has taken away a lot of the sadness I felt.
I do still wish I could pick up the phone and speak to him though.
The second “first anniversary” was yesterday. Eight days after Jason passed, so did my Dad. I hope this doesn’t sound wrong, but at least there was a logic to my Dad’s death. He was 83, he had had major heart surgery and he had more than lived a life! That’s how it’s supposed to happen, isn’t it?
Sadly logic doesn’t help me in the feelings of abandonment that I’ve been experiencing since he went. Every single day I shed a tear, and if I am totally honest, they’re not exactly tears for my Dad, they’re tears for me because he’s no longer here. I am totally alone. Things like giving a next of kin when you go into hospital, or even coming here, they needed a name to contact should I have an accident or worse, it feels strange not giving his name. In the back of my passport there are two names to contact, both are dead. When I asked at the airport a few months ago how I go about changing them, the guy said not to bother!
I know I am blessed in that I have no regrets about my Dad’s passing how and when he did. I was with him for almost the whole of the last month of his life, we laughed and I gave him the practical help he needed when he was preparing to go into hospital. I remember the night before we went over to Blackpool, him sitting in his chair and saying with more sincerity than I’d ever seen from him ‘Thank you, Jo-Anne, I don’t know what I’d have done without you”. I’m sobbing as I type this, picturing him sitting there.
I honestly had never entertained the idea that he might not survive this procedure. I took this photo of him in the hospital bed and we laughed about how in a couple of months’ time we look at it again and smile about how well he was recovering. There wasn’t a single cell of my being that imagined it would be the last ever photo I would take of him.
But it was and on 28 February 2010 I held his hand almost the entire day, talking to him even as it became impossible for him to reply, telling him I loved him, I forgave him, I was proud and lucky to have him as a father, and occasionally begging him not to die. The begging was pretty much in my head though, cos I knew he was ready. He was tired of the pain and I believe tired of life. He was a Catholic and I know he believed he would be joining my mum in Heaven, and that made it easy for him to let go.
God I hope he was right. I miss you Dad xx
As the meditations worked so well on Jason’s anniversary, I decided to do some more to help me get some peace yesterday. How bizarre though, instead of the sense of acceptance I got last week, everything I did yesterday just caused me pain. Real pain. Physical pain. No matter what position I sat, stood or laid in yesterday the entire left side of my body was in agony! I was sitting in Vipassana Meditation, where you do nothing but watch the breath, and it was like I was being stabbed all up and down my left side! Obviously I’ve never had a heart attack or a stroke, but it felt like I was having one of each, the pain was so intense. When the meditation ended I managed to get myself back to my room and have a lay down. I even napped for about 30 minutes and when I awoke it seemed to have passed. I ate lunch, went to a seminar on Inner Skills, both with no pain. Then I went to Kundalini Meditation. This one is a bit more physical with some dancing and stuff, but I thought it might shake the spasms out of me, cos I assumed it was some kind of anxiety thing. Even my life is not so ironic that I would die of a heart attack on the anniversary of my Dad’s death! As soon as it came to the sitting part again - the silent part - the pains began. Even more intense this time, my left ear was killing me as were my toes on my left foot, as well as every part in between. I just accepted it was happening and stayed till the end of the meditation.
I came back to my room, still in pain, and thought about going to the hospital down the road to get checked out but decided it was still anxiety. Maybe this is how I am meant to experience the grief today. I got into my nightie and into the bed planning just a little nap before the evening meditation. Next thing I knew it was 5.30 am today! I’d slept for around 12 hours.
How very odd this has been, I fully expected to spend the day crying, but I shed no more tears yesterday than I do every other day, I cried more this morning writing this than I did yesterday. The body, the mind, the heart....strange how they work, eh?
posted by JoJo Smith at Tuesday, March 01, 2011
1 Comments:
I'd say you were feeling empathetic pain, and it was a sign that you Dad is still with you. Anxiety comes with some things for a reason, and I think yours is about loss, and someone of something was trying to let you know, you will never be alone. Bless you Jo. *hug*
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