They met in the garden by Simrat Khalsa, copyright 1999, Oil on canvas with paper, 32" x 29 1/2"
Take a few minutes today to create your own Thankful Thursday.
How:
Today, I am taking a little departure from my usual format. I am going to tell you all a story. What I am thankful for is what I have learned from it.
“When are you going to get over it?”
“Just get over it already!”
“Dear, you just have to get over it … and move on.”
Ever hear any of these? I think that we all have at one time or another. Maybe it was regarding a lost love or a lost life. Either way, it’s something that I’ve thought about a lot. You see, I would consider myself to be a bit of an expert on grief. I’ve lived with it intimately for nearly my entire life, as I got hit hard and early. I was talking about this with my friend, Megan, a few weeks ago and decided that I wanted to write about it.
We lived on a farm in Maine when I was born. My sister and brother had both been born in New York City. By the time I came along, my parents had bought the rambling, white farmhouse with attached barn. I hear that it was on a whim. In any case, life was pretty fun for me most of the time. What I can remember at least. There were a couple of horses, a pony named Sooty, a couple of pet billy goats, chickens, a Golden Retriever named Jeb, puppies, kittens and more. In the winter, we ice skated on the creek and went sledding. In the summer, my Mother gave riding lessons to a friend and me, and we swam in the pool of the house across the road. I played in the hay loft, while my father planted pole beans and pop corn.
All that changed when I was about five and a half. The only real memory I have is of my father coming home and standing us all up in a row outside. Then he said, “Your mother is dead.” At least that’s what I think happened… I’ve found that my memory is pretty spotty on a lot of things. I think that the psyche is very good at self protection and blocks out experiences that we are unprepared to deal with. All I know is that I had never felt so alone and haven’t since. Like I was the only person on the entire planet.
So, after a while, with Dad drinking more, I ended up being moved to my great aunt’s house in upstate New York. I took one toy with me, a little cowgirl doll with jointed legs, a fringed skirt, matching vest and blond curls. She had the sort of eyes that close when you lay her down. And they were a beautiful hazel with long eyelashes. I guess everyone thought that I would be going back. I do remember talking on the phone with my father. He had sold the farm and moved into town. Said that my new room was all fixed up and waiting for me. Then one day the phone rang and he was dead too. That time I remember sitting down on my great aunt’s modern, Skandanavian style couch and crying. I was seven by then.
I ended up staying with my great aunt. My older brother and sister went to live with other relatives. I didn’t see them too much after that. My great aunt was in her sixties, had no children and had never been married. I was doted on. I was now an only child and an orphan, though that word was never used. We made a cozy family for a while. We went to the city every fall. It was great fun to get dressed up, go shopping at Macy’s and Bloomindales, have lunch at the Russian Tea Room, visit all the Museums and, best of all, go to the National Horse Show at Madison Square Garden. I loved watching the show jumping. It was entirely thrilling! And second best was visiting Kaufmann’s and Miller’s to draw in the intoxicating leather smell, sit on the saddles and dream.
Even though we lived on seven acres in the Catskills and had a great old two story barn with stalls in back, behind the carriage room, I wasn’t allowed to have a horse of my own. I did get weekly lessons. Even when my great aunt had to hire the local handy man to drive me there on icy winter days, I still had my lessons. That was a real gift. It made me learn to ride. And I thank her for that.
I also took ballet for years and have the toes to prove it. I was coerced into tennis lessons. In essence, I was being raised to be a well rounded young lady, hopefully to marry well I guess, in an outdated sort of way. Things went along okay, until I hit puberty.
It was not pretty. I would not have wished myself on anyone at that point. And in the midst of all my angst and fury, my great aunt died … suddenly, of a stroke. I was with her, as she slipped into a childlike state, then all of a sudden the ambulance was there and I was left standing in the middle of the room, holding the leash of my dog, Moses, alone again.
I was sixteen. After that, I lived with my grandmother for a couple of summers, while I went to college. I never finished High School. My dog and two cats were not welcome at my grandmothers and were older, so there were put to sleep. I have to say, that was a very sad day for me.
I was lucky enough to end up at Simon’s Rock Early College after tenth grade. I had applied and been accepted before my great aunt died. It was a good place for me then. I had just enough freedom, but was still a bit shielded from the greater world. It would have been pretty easy for me to self destruct at that point.
I have had a lot of lessons in not being attached. Then, as an adult, it was hard to let my self care for much of anything or anyone for a long time. Do you “get over” this sort of thing? I don’t think so.
I don’t think that you ever just get over deep loss. Instead, it needs to be honored and, eventually, incorporated into who you are, into your very being. Otherwise, you can be like the living dead; walking, breathing, talking, working; but not really alive. This has to come in it’s own time. There is no way to force it. It must be allowed to happen. That’s what integration is about. Anything else is somewhat less than true. And there is not an end to the process. It continues.
At forty-five, I have finally outlived both my parents. And I’m still here. There have been times in my life where I was thankful for having been released from the bonds that living parents create. And other times that I ached to have someone that cared about me like that. But, in the end, really, all my experiences are part of who I am now. I wouldn’t give up any of it.
it never ceases to amaze me how some people…me for instance, can be brought up in a ‘normal’ family with no real obvious trauma or drama and end up a complete mess for most of (my) life. Look at what happened to you and you remained steadfast. it is it’s own mystery the hows and whys but most importantly where we are at NOW is really all we’ve got. It is humbling to think how you have carried yourself through life when so many others would be emotionally crippled or victimized. thanks for sharing a bit of you.
That perplexes me too. I’ve told my story to people at times and gotten the response, “But you are so normal!” Believe me, there have been, and continue to be, a lot of times where I certainly don’t feel normal. I just had no choice, but to survive.
And some times have been rough. I’ve had some stretches of depression. I’ve tried counseling on and off, but it just didn’t seem to have much effect. I guess I get tired of a lot of touchy, feely sort of stuff.
What has helped me is connecting, first with my animals and my artwork, then with the greater natural world, then finally with myself. It’s all a work in progress. I finally got to a point where I stopped beating myself up about feeling one way or another and that helped immensely. I had to allow myself to be wherever I was at the moment and have it be okay.
You are right, NOW is what we’ve got. I appreciate you commenting, Paula. Thank you.
I agree – we’re so often told to “get over it”, yet the tragedies and losses form who we are. I don’t think you ever just get over it and leave it all behind. You move through it, you learn from it, and ultimately, you can become stronger and better because of it. It sounds like you’ve done that. To have such loss as a child is almost inconceivable – you could have easily distanced yourself from love forever, but you didn’t.
I don’t know about honoring loss, but maybe it’s more that we need to honor ourselves no matter what happens. That can be the hardest part, but I believe it’s ultimately the most important. Giving ourselves grace:-)
Thanks for sharing – it was good to read!
I am forever so blessed to be in your life, Simrat, and so proud of you. I know that sounds weird and probably seems odd – you are a wee bit older than I, you conduct yourself with a wisdom and maturity that I lack, and you have painted your life experiences into an amazing collage of pieces. Yet I have this deep, chin-raised, arms outstretched feeling of pride for you. I am proud of your bravery, your strength, and your humility. If you were my child, I would be the proudest parent on the face of this earth.
Simrat, you are a remarkable human being who we are all so blessed was born. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your incredible journey.
Amy Jo,
Sheesh! What to say?? Ah, thanks!
And you are wise, you know.
You accomplish things that I am amazed at and you do it with grace and presence of mind. I do believe that my mother and, likely my father too, would be happy at the way that I turned out. My great aunt might be slightly perplexed, but would have gotten used to it.
I guess the one thing that I have missed is being able to relate to any of them as a mature adult. It has taken a while to get out of my child mind, I will admit. I think that it took getting older than my parents were at their deaths to really make that leap.
This human journey never ceases to amaze me.
Erica,
You are absolutely correct. It’s about honoring ourselves, where we are right now, even if it’s right in the thick of the mess and dirt of depression or loss. When I get to the point of admitting that life is gritty, messy, visceral and alternately painful or wonderful, is when I know I am living.
Well ladies, you have said it all. What I want to relate here is that Simrat you have become somewhat of a mentor to us. A beakon of what we want to be or accomplish.
Guess what? I told one of my clients about your Thankful Thursday idea and shared some of what we have been thankful for. She said she was going to start Thankful Thursday with her children (she home schools), and she was going to introduce the idea to her Church’s school. She thought they would run with it. Your reaching out to the world with gratidue and the perceptions that act fosters, how to live life in gratitude, is spreading….
You are a healer. That is why you suffered, so that you could rise above and bring the lessons with you, as you will need them in order to spread healing goodness.
HUGS!
You do know that you were my mentor first? I’ve learned a lot from you about the horses and training tips, among many other things, less tangible. It’s all an endles circle…. mentor to mentee to mentor and back again.
“Guess what? I told one of my clients about your Thankful Thursday idea and shared some of what we have been thankful for. She said she was going to start Thankful Thursday with her children (she home schools), and she was going to introduce the idea to her Church’s school. She thought they would run with it. Your reaching out to the world with gratidue and the perceptions that act fosters, how to live life in gratitude, is spreading….”
I LOVE that this is going offline! That is way beyond cool.
And I’ve had the itching feeling for years, like nearly 20, that there was more for me to do in this life than was currently happening. It was irritating, like I wasn’t living up to something, not “online” yet as one person put it to me. I just have to wait and see what form that healer takes. I havn’t found anything yet that quite fits. Who knows … maybe it’s more about organizations than people. I just don’t know yet.
Thank you all for the support. It certainly is very helpful to know that I am not so out on a limb to be an utter nutcase.
Simrat
This was an incredibly moving post. That is a great deal of shattering loss for someone to suffer at a young age. Yet you have accepted it and moved on.
Someone in my family has had similar losses, but as an adult. In many cases, she chose to care for the (slowly) dying ones, sometimes for years. And the grief has never left her. To the point where loss and grief and their attendant paralysis now define her.
I wish I could understand the inherent differences in people that cause them to turn out so differently. If you could package up a little bit of yourself, I might be tempted to send it to her.
Maybe I will find a way to anonymously send her this post.
Your shining example of how to integrate loss and really LIVE could do someone an awful lot of good.
THank you for sharing this with us. I’m grateful.
Kim, Just send her love and prayers that she can come through it. I think that it’s important to acknowledge the pain, not try to avoid it. It is uncomfortable and difficult to be around, so we are more likely to want the person to change. The trick is that it’s harder, if we all try to avoid the issues.
That’s one of the things that I have been able to avoid is caring for elderly parents. My grandmother cared for my grandfather through several strokes over years. I know that it was hard on her, thought I was a self absorbed tween at the time. What I did see was her difficulty after he died. She later told me that she had to come to a point of deciding to live again. She also said that the one thing she never got over was my mother’s death. My mom was her oldest daughter. I can see that might have been one reason that my family talked so little of it all.
I wish your family member some resolution.
Just trying to catch up on your life…and came across this. Brings back a lot of memories for me, and reminds me of things I’ve forgotten. Things look so different from an adult perspective.
I think you have done a beautiful job of managing you life as it has been handed to you, btw.
I wonder how our daughter (who’s losses came at a very young age, but will no doubt come back to haunt her as she comes to understand their significance) will deal with what happened to her. She is a creature of joy, as it is now, has been since the day we met her. I hope that sticks with her for life.
Sending you love. – M.
Thanks, Maia. It means a lot.
Be sure to answer your beautiful daughter’s questions honestly, when she gets old enough to ask them. You may need to figure out how to frame them for her level of understanding and add to the answers as she grows up.
When Gurunam (daughter) was 5.5, my son was born. It was a very hard time for me, as I was 5.5 when my mother died. I had very strong episodes of grieving and I had to tell her something. I told her what had happened to me. She wanted to know if I would die and leave her. I honestly had to tell her that I didn’t know. I couldn’t lie and say what I understand many parents do, “Don’t worry. I’ll always be here to protect you.”
She had her own grieving for a few days. And she did not seem to have a lingering issue with it. She’s grown into a strong, resourceful young woman. Maybe she would have anyway… At the time, I knew that I could not lie to her.
Whatever you do, don’t lie to your children, even if the truth is hard. Tell them in way that they can understand. I was not told much and it made things harder for me later on, I think.
Wow.
I’ve been sitting here thinking about all of us playing in our childhood and how life seemed so easy and carefree. I knew there was a deeply sad story you were living but I must have blocked out the details. I love what Maia wrote, I love how you responded, and I love that I have the opportunity to write as well. How amazing to have these windows into our childhood with the eyes of an adult. I love that you guys were my friends. It was a happy time for me…
I also had a hard time when my daughter Mimi(who is now 27) turned 13. At that age my parents had divorced and both moved away from me leaving Gerard and I on our own in that house in the Bearsville flats. I had no frame of reference anymore. My memory bank, which I was unconsciously using, was empty and I was mad. In my mind I said things like ” hhmpf, when I was your age I was…” and I realized I needed to sit her down and tell her what it was I was feeling. She was old enough and smart enough to not only understand, but help me process my feelings and I grew up through that so much.
Man do we all have stories to tell. I am so deeply moved by you and your life. Thank you for sharing your story with me.
xo,n
Nina, I’ve found that I’ve been callous with my children at times. My daughter and I have talked about it just this past year. She turns twenty in a couple of months. I think those were the times when I was having a hard time connecting. It was difficult to be nurturing to my family, when I was being so hard on myself. And I also had the feeling that they should just ‘buck up’ and deal, like I had to.
They turned out okay, despite that and at least I can talk to them about these things now. Life is so much better for me when I can be honest about where I am, both with myself and with those I care about. It’s not always pretty. Though I do try to think about how to present it sometimes, before I speak.
It’s a treat to reconnect with you. I’m glad that you are here.
Simrat, I too was deeply moved by your story. I had a hard childhood myself although my parents did not die when I was a young child. I cannot imagine the loss you felt at such a tender age (((HUGS))).
I am now 46 yo and have been living on my own since I was 17 yo. I managed to graduate high school, and I too believe my experiences made me a stronger person. I also think I was a better parent as I raised my daughter the opposite of how I was raised. I raised her to be very independent and because of my upbringing to never depend on anyone but yourself because that is the one person that will never let you down. I made peace with my parents and was glad to put that painful part of my life behind me.
I think you are an amazing person Simrat and I am glad to know you. Having met your daughter–even though it has been over 3 yrs ago—she’s a very sweet & strong young lady like her mom. You did good.
Thank you for sharing your story. ~ Christi
Thanks, Christi. I’m glad my story touched you. It was an interesting process writing about it for public consumption.
Yes, I am proud of my lovely daughter and my son too. He is growing into his own person too, especially now that he is in India attending high school.
Not having my parents around was easier in some ways and harder in others. There is always a balance there, if you look for it. And I believe in self reliance too, though I am getting to point where it easier for me to ask for help and support. Again … balance.
Simrat, I think that writing about your childhood was good for you. I think writing about things certainly helps to heal.
I have to say that having that “balance” is one of the hardest things for me and most of why I think I stay so stressed most of the time. I try to give myself some “me” time but lately that seems hard as well. I feel pulled in all directions. I have started exercising in the morning before work and that seems to help relieve stress and am thinking of trying to find a yoga class. I used to enjoy that.
How do you find your balance?