death of a parent | Annie Fox's Blog

I miss my mom

February 3, 2014

Change happens when you let possibility in

I could see her crying at her keyboard as she tried to shut out the laughter of Dad and Stepmom outside her closed bedroom door. She hates them for being happy. She hates herself for hating them. She’s so angry and resentful. So frustrated and confused. But mostly she’s a sad little girl missing her mom, dead four years. Through tear-blurred eyes she searches cyberspace, desperate for connection, hoping for help yet convinced it’s hopeless because the only way to ever make things right again is to bring back Mom.

How do you counsel a child who can’t have the only thing she says will make her whole again? Here’s what I told her:

What do you do when you want something that you can not have? You have options, you know. Do you…

a) Keep longing for the impossible?

b) Feel sorry for yourself and build a wall to keep out everyone who tries to help you?

c) Make your peace with the new reality while still holding your mom’s memory in your heart?

d) Open your mind and heart to the next chapter of your life and allow yourself to move forward?

She was too stuck in b to listen. What do you say to a child who won’t allow herself to be happy for her father or friendly to her stepmom because it feels disloyal to Mom? I told her:

When one partner in a loving marriage dies, it can, after a while, be a wonderful tribute to that marriage for the surviving partner to marry again. But if one partner in an unhealthy marriage dies, it is less likely for the other to remarry.

You seem to think it’s your job to stand up for your mother’s memory and to be unwelcoming to your stepmom even though you say she is nice to you. I wonder what your mom would say about it. What if she could whisper to you, “Sweetie, it’s a good thing that your dad has found a wonderful woman to share his life with again. I am truly happy for him. Please try to be happy for him. And please, open your heart to this good woman. She wants to be your friend. Let her in. That will make you happier and stronger as you grow up. And when you are happy, I am happy.”

So the girl she took in everything I said and slowly began to open her mind to the possibility that maybe she could enjoy a relationship with her stepmom, not as a substitute for Mom (of course not!) but as a caring, trusted woman who offers unconditional love and understanding, support and stability. But then her fear of loss brought a frightening thought and the girl wanted to know what might happen if she loved Stepmom and then they divorced or “something happens” and Stepmom wasn’t around any more. “I can’t lose another mom. No way!” And I replied:

Every time we reach out to someone in friendship or love, we risk that “something might happen” and the relationship will be damaged or be lost. That’s the nature of life. We are human. Our feelings change and circumstances change. And even if feelings and circumstances remain constant, we don’t live forever. Not any of us. It’s a hard thing to accept, but we have to accept it because that’s the way it is… for everyone.

Your relationship with your mom ended in this life. Since her death you have created a new relationship with her. She is always in your heart, loving you as much as you love her. That’s an everlasting gift and nothing will change that. Another unopened gift is a dad and stepmom who are so ready and eager to love you. They’re waiting for you. When we hold ourselves back from getting close to others because we are afraid of what “might happen” someday, we shut ourselves off from the most important thing in life… love.

Is it time to open your door?

Filed under: Parenting — Tags: death of a parent, death of a spouse, Divorce, Grief, marriage, remarriage, step mom, step parents, Teens — Annie @ 2:31 pm

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Suck it up, son. Real men don’t cry.

January 13, 2014

I try not to saddle up with the Bad Parent police, but this time I couldn’t resist though I knew I’d be walking a fine line. It started with an email from a teen whose mom had just passed away. His dad told him real men don’t cry. And that his mom would be ashamed of him if he did. Dad commanded the kid to “Forget about it and move on.”

Oh dear.

Pretend you don’t see me.

The kid turned to me for advice because he was so devastated. He was also afraid he’d cry at the funeral and would enrage and embarrass his dad. It’s hard to believe we’re actually having this conversation in 21st century America, but social evolution don’t come easy. Anyway, here’s what I wrote to the kid:

With all due respect to your father, he’s wrong about real men not crying. He’s wrong about the way to “move on” after a loved one’s death. He is also wrong when he says your mom would be “ashamed” if you cried. None of it is true. I’m guessing that he’s as heart-broken as you are about losing your mom. He probably didn’t grow up in a family where tears were as acceptable as laughter, so he just doesn’t know how to deal with this terrible grief he’s feeling. And because he doesn’t know what to do at this sad time, it makes him very uncomfortable to see you crying. But let me tell you something, sweetie, you need to cry. And maybe seeing you cry, like the real young man you are, would free something up in your father so he could get real and cry too.

Ever heard of PTSD? (post traumatic stress syndrome) It’s often used to describe what can happen to soldiers who have been in combat. They come home assuming all they need to do is forget about the war and everything that happened. So they bottle up their feelings and don’t talk about their experiences. But these soldiers have nightmares and scary flashbacks until they start talking about the terrible things they saw and felt. When they open up and express the emotions, they begin to heal and to truly move on.

Losing your mom was and still is traumatic. If you can’t freely express the sadness, confusion and yes, maybe even the anger you’re feeling (at the “unfairness” of it all) then you may develop a form of PTSD.

Stuffing your tears and trying to deny or “forget” what you’ve been through is not the way to move on. It doesn’t work for soldiers and it doesn’t work for people who are grieving. It is absolutely normal and healthy to cry at your mother’s funeral. Feel what you feel and let it out. Otherwise, you may become overwhelmed by emotions you can’t express or unable to feel anything.

Filed under: Parenting — Tags: death of a parent, Grief, macho men, Teens — Annie @ 7:48 pm

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A little breakfast, a big lesson in Emotional Intelligence

October 14, 2009

As we were in 1959

Today I interviewed Rachel Simmons for my podcast series: Family Confidential: Secrets of Successful Parenting. (No, it’s not posted yet. Gimme a week or two, ok?) We talked about her must-read new book The Curse of the Good Girl: Raising Authentic Girls with Courage and Confidence and about emotional intelligence. For me, EI (aka EQ) is the ability to:

identify what you’re feeling
accept the emotion as it is (without editorializing about your right to feel it)
express emotion in responsible ways to people who need to hear what you have to say

I’ve immersed myself in this stuff for decades and love talking with people like Rachel, who’ve also made EI their life’s work.

After the interview I recalled a 2003 keynote speech I delivered in Los Angeles. The title: Why 21st Century Kids Need 21st Century Parenting. This feels as good a time as any for a revisit. Here’s a excerpt:

Before we were parents we had parents. People who showed us what it took to be a mom and a dad.

I woke up one morning when I was 5 and heard my mother sobbing behind the door of her room, my father comforting her. My brothers told me that Grandpa had died. A while later, Mom emerged, hair freshly brushed, lipstick bright red. She cheerfully asked what I wanted for breakfast. I wasn’t hungry, I was confused. I wanted to ask about Grandpa, but Mom’s tight smile warned me not to say anything that might upset her. While I pushed a piece of French toast around my plate I had a realization–an absolute epiphany: To be a grown-up means that you have to hide your sadness!

When I was 15 my father died suddenly of a heart attack. His passing left a huge hole in my heart, but instead of grieving I did what I thought grown-ups do, I suppressed my sadness.

Fast-forward 25 years. I’m in the dentist’s chair getting a replacement for an old childhood filling. The doctor pauses in the procedure, gently rests a hand on my head and asks how I’m doing. At his touch a tidal wave of sadness overwhelms me and I start weeping. For the next 48 hours I’m emotionally numb and clueless about what the hell is happening.

David helped me realize that the dentist’s touch had reminded me of my father, who often tousled my hair. With that revelation, the floodgates burst… finally I was able to grieve for my dad. And through my expression of loss I released myself from feelings which held me hostage for decades.

That day I learned about the power of unexpressed emotions. They don’t actually ever go away. Instead, they work like a mild acid, slowly eroding your insides, boring holes in your emotional foundation, creating gaps in your ability to connect with others. I decided not to ever bury feelings that need to be expressed. I vowed to teach my children, through my own example, to express their emotions in healthy ways.

I got my chance soon enough. During most of 1994 my mom was dying of Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Every day I drove an hour each way to visit her. During endless games of Scrabble we finally found the words to communicate with an intimacy we’d never shared before. I am eternally grateful for those last 10 months we had together… grace-filled and excruciatingly painful as they were.

After spending the day with Mom I’d arrive home each night to my own family, scared, stressed, worn down and so raw. I offered no one a lipstick smile. Instead, I trusted that our daughter and son (then ages 15 and 9) would know how to respond to a person in need. And they did. Their backrubs, cups of tea and loving words of encouragement got me through that endless year. I don’t know how I’d have coped if not for David and our sweet kids. If I’d chosen to play the game of “Everything’s fine, honey” I’d have betrayed myself and robbed my children of an opportunity to learn what it means to be a real human being. By sharing the truth of my emotional experience I gave them the chance to exercise their compassion (toward me and their grandmother) and to grow beautifully toward adulthood.

For years we’re on the receiving end of our parents’ choices, observing closely everything they do. As little children we accept that they knew best about what we need. As teens we wonder if they’ve got a clue about who we were or how to parent. After all that watching and evaluating and on the job training with kids of our own, at this point, what could we possibly not know about being a parent?

We know it all, right?