Pick Me Up – April 19, 2019

Our daily “Pick Me Up” is our gift to you for when you need inspiration or something to brighten your day.  I’ll be using my photos and quotes that I love.  Sometimes we’ll use graphics that friends send to us.  No matter the source, we hope you enjoy the end product.

Hugs, Cee

Pick Me Up – April 18, 2019

Our daily “Pick Me Up” is our gift to you for when you need inspiration or something to brighten your day.  I’ll be using my photos and quotes that I love.  Sometimes we’ll use graphics that friends send to us.  No matter the source, we hope you enjoy the end product.

Hugs, Cee

Pick Me Up – April 6, 2019

Our daily “Pick Me Up” is our gift to you for when you need inspiration or something to brighten your day.  I’ll be using my photos and quotes that I love.  Sometimes we’ll use graphics that friends send to us.  No matter the source, we hope you enjoy the end product.

Hugs, Cee

Pick Me Up – April 5, 2019

Our daily “Pick Me Up” is our gift to you for when you need inspiration or something to brighten your day.  I’ll be using my photos and quotes that I love.  Sometimes we’ll use graphics that friends send to us.  No matter the source, we hope you enjoy the end product.

Hugs, Cee

Pick Me Up – April 1, 2019

Our daily “Pick Me Up” is our gift to you for when you need inspiration or something to brighten your day.  I’ll be using my photos and quotes that I love.  Sometimes we’ll use graphics that friends send to us.  No matter the source, we hope you enjoy the end product.

Hugs, Cee

Loss: Death of a Less-Than-Loved One

My mother was a mentally unstable person who inflicted a lot of abuse on her children.  I could find some way to sugar coat that, but I won’t.  It’s the truth.

But, wait, isn’t there a rule that we don’t speak ill of the dead?

That idea has caused so much pain to those who are trying to come to terms with the death of a less-than-loved one.  We need to throw that idea out and allow people to own their feelings.  Just because someone has died is no reason to elevate them to sainthood.  They were here.  They are gone.  They did some good things in life.  They did some bad things in life.

I know when my mom died, and I told my manager at work about it, she immediately sent this gorgeous bouquet of flowers.  I felt like a hypocrite accepting them because I wasn’t grieving the passing of my mother.  I thought grieving was about being sad someone was gone, and missing them, and that wasn’t me.  But I was grieving.  I just didn’t recognize it at the time.

What I did feel at first was a feeling of safety.  I felt like I had my life back.  Even though I had not spoken to her for many, many years, I still carried the emotional weight of her on my shoulders.  I heard her voice in my head.

What amazed me, though, was that the tears came months before she actually died, while she was on the decline.  My brother had called to say that she had another stroke and they thought the end was coming.  I got off the phone and suddenly started crying, and the crying felt like it was never going to end.  I asked myself what was going on, and discovered that I was grieving the mother I never had, the mother she could never be to me.

Grief is the reaction to loss, and in this case it was the loss of my hopes, dreams and expectations that I could have a loving mother.  She never, ever said she loved me.  She wasn’t capable of that.  I was finally adult enough to recognize it, and the anger I felt toward her was gone, but inside I was still that vulnerable child longing for love.

Here is some more information about dealing with the death of a less-than-loved one from the Grief Recovery Institute.

As always, you are welcome to share your experiences, tell your stories, or just ask questions.

Thank you for being here today, and for caring.

Blessings and hugs,

Chris

Chris@Cee-Chris.com

Loss: Moving as a Child

I wanted to do a post about moving.  One of the losses on our list is this:  Did you move more than twice by the age of 10?  I did.

I got distracted while writing this, because I wanted to find pictures of where I lived.  And I did!  So then I had to send them to my sister Beth.  And then we had to a little remembering.

So back to this post …

We moved a bunch when I was still to young to remember.  I was born in Idaho, then we moved Washington, then Oregon, and then North Dakota all before age four.

The log house I lived in in Minnesota.

The first move I remember was to Minnesota when I was 4 or 5 years old.  My dad was a forest ranger and we lived in a really great log cabin that was built in 1935 out of 16-18″ diameter logs.  We lived in the middle of nowhere on the boundary waters between Canada and the US.  I went to a tiny school with only 12 students per class.  We had to walk to school through the woods and during deer hunting season we were bused or had to wear safety vests so the city slickers wouldn’t shoot us.   The garbage dump was the most exciting place around because tourists from the city would get out of their cars with a small bag of marshmallows and feed them to the black bears who were looking for food.  They didn’t understand not to mess with wild animals that weigh a couple hundred pounds more than they do.

We moved suddenly to Chicago when I had just turned 9 years old.  My dad had quit his job and dumped us (my mom, sister and myself) at his parents’ house in the middle of winter.  This is a period of time my family really never talked about much.  We referred to it as “dad’s mental breakdown”. He travelled south through Texas and finally ended up finding a job in Southern California and he supposedly figured out what he wanted in life.  So until then we were stuck with my grandparents who hated my mother.

When we went to school in Chicago we were told to lie about this being temporary, because my mother was afraid they would not accept us in school.  So I spent my time trying to stay low and be quiet and not add to the stress.  The school I went to in Chicago was huge.  It was three stories high and the classes must have had well over 30 kids in them.

I lived upstairs in back. This was a four-plex apartment building.

Six weeks later, and the week before Christmas, I found myself enrolled in a school in Southern California, which was our new home.  We now lived in an apartment.  My mother had to go to work almost right away to help support the family.

All that moving as a child forced me to withdraw, stay quiet and taught me not to make friends.  I learned to stay away from my parents and I felt alone.  It also taught me to rely on myself, which isn’t a bad thing, but I should not have had to do so at age 9.

Hugs

Cee

Email:  cee@cee-chris.com