Holding Space

This may be a difficult post for some to read, but it's one that has been percolating in my mind for a few days and one that I needed to write. Writing helps me sort through my thoughts, and this was something I needed to sort. So I hope you won't mind reading.

In both birthwork and bereavement work we often do something we refer to as "holding space." It means that there is not anything particular we are doing or saying (sometimes not anything we can do or say) in the situation, but we stand as sentinel over the space. We protect the peace, the calm, the energy, the emotions, and the simple right to feel.

Over the years I have held space for grieving mothers: sometimes in person but more often in virtual space, via phone or instant messages with someone geographically distant but emotionally close. Similarly I have held space for friends and family members as they labor through the delivery of a child or through any difficult time.

I have also held space for my children on many occasions; holding a small one on my lap and surrounding him with the calm of my arms and my breathing, and giving him permission to feel what he feels, and also giving my support in getting through it.

In recent days I have come to recognize the need--and value--for holding space in another way.

My paternal grandfather's health declined sharply a few months ago. He moved in with my aunt so that she could help care for him, and we have all been aware that he would not live much longer. Early last week we learned that he had stopped eating, so we knew to count time in days.

Meanwhile, my maternal grandmother has been dealing with multiple health issues for many years, and in the last few years her hospital stays have increased in frequency, duration, and complexity. A couple of weeks ago she entered the hospital, and within a few days it became apparent that this time was more severe than others had been. Last Thursday her doctor said she probably had a week left.

Last Friday my grandfather passed away. His funeral was on Wednesday.

On Tuesday my grandmother came home under hospice care, to spend her last few days with her spouse in the home they had built and lived in together. My mother was there with her, and said that grandma sat at the window and looked out at the trees that they had planted and raised together, and seemed to be at peace. She had some good hours, and got to spend her 58th anniversary in the arms of her sweetheart and with family by her side. Today she passed on.

I had neither the money nor the scheduling flexibility to visit my grandparents in their final days, nor have it now to attend their funerals. I think they will not mind, seeing as how funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I had time to send letters, call and communicate my love, and I am grateful for the time we had to do that. Now their spirits are free of the worn out bodies that had held them back, and all I can do is hold space.

This is a different kind of space-holding from what I have done before. My grandparents are no longer here, and do not need me to hold the space for them; instead I must hold it for myself. I must allow myself to feel--whatever I feel--without judgment or guilt. I can hold their memories, carrying them onward by sharing them with my family. I must allow myself to be quiet, to rest, to think, to cry, and to be not-my-best-or-brightest at some things for a while. I must also allow myself to laugh and play and carry on, because the cycles of life continue always.

Choosing My Peace

We all make choices every day. Some are bigger, some are smaller, some have long-term consequences and many do not. Sometimes we make smart and thoughtful choices, sometimes impulsive ones. Eventually, our lives (and our selves) become the sum of our choices.

Sometimes we make a choice that seems like a good idea at the time, but which soon reveals itself to have been a poor one for whatever reason. I recently made a choice which I felt strongly was the best thing out of my options. I am not exaggerating when I say that within a few days I began to feel physically ill over it. I pondered the situation and the choice. I counseled with my husband (who can be a goofball sometimes, but is also thoughtful and wise and often can see perspectives I hadn't thought of). Over the course of a couple of weeks I concluded that the decision I had made--which I thought I had made so carefully--was a poor one. I forgave myself and made a new decision. Almost instantly I was flooded with inner peace, and felt certain that this new decision was the best thing for me and my family. It is fraught with complications of its own (complications I might have avoided with the original choice), but the peace and serenity I have over this decision give me certainty that it is better.

In my experience getting sufficient peace
can make up for a lack of sleep;
but no amount of sleep
can make up for a lack of peace

We all make mistakes, probably every day. Some are bigger than others. Some have bigger consequences than others. But in almost every case we can take steps to undo those mistakes, or to repair the consequences of those non-ideal choices. We can apologize--to ourselves as well as to others--for the choices we've made. And we can make new choices. Choices that are better for us or our families or communities or whatever is applicable. Life is a pretty transient state. We can fix a whole lot of things if we are willing to be humble enough to say "I was wrong" and "I'm a work in progress" and then change tracks and do something different.

I realize I'm "vagueblogging" here, and that is intentional. I don't want this to be a commentary about me and my choices, but more of a musing about the bigger picture. (Remember when this blog used to be "Musings of Mommy Bee"?!) I am hoping that these thoughts will be helpful to someone else contemplating choices that lie ahead (or behind) and that they will be able to apply them in some useful manner.

Take care of yourself. 

Trust your feelings. 

Be honest and authentic with yourself and with others. 

Don't be afraid to say NO to things that bring you down instead of lift you up. 

Don't be afraid to say YES to the things that sustain you, 

even if they were not the things you expected.