It is no secret I am an upbeat person.

Heck – I am a pediatrician! Have you met a grumpy pediatrician? Well – maybe we aren’t sparkly happy all the time but overall we are the fun and smily group in the doctor lineup.

I watched a great program where survivors of the holocaust talked about their sense of humor during their internment at concentration camps. During the most bleak and hopeless time of their lives they still sought humor.

Humor connects us to each other. It makes the painful times and experiences of this world be more tolerable. It allows a different perspective.

It was about a week after Nolan passed that Scott and Sam and I watched a movie. I laughed at a humorous part and immediately felt guilty. How could I laugh? Could I feel happy and not feel guilty? My  fellow parents at my Compassionate Friend’s chapter talk about the guilt the first time they laughed after their child died. Would Nolan want me to be sad and constantly miss him all the time? Absolutely no.

So goes my thoughts in this the second year of my grief:

For the balance of my sad crying times I really enjoy the times that I am happy.

I really really love a good laugh.

I call my blog The Grieving Doctor Mom but I haven’t spent much time talking about the doctor side of my life.

The life of a doctor. More specifically – a pediatrician. First off – if you need quiet at your workplace – then you don’t become a pediatrician.

Sometimes my office is a chaotic scream factory. We give a lot of shots.

Even if the visit has no shots planned some patients just don’t want to be there. (pretty much all 15 and 18 month olds)

Doctor= The master to compartmentalize

To compartmentalize: separate something into parts and not allow those parts to mix together

Doctors are AWESOME at this. And we have to be. It starts in medical school and is especially used during residency. To succeed you cannot mix emotion with your work. You must be mentally sharp, not clouded by your feelings. A mild example:  I talk to a mom of a teenager with a diagnosis of depression and anxiety, inpatient psychiatric care, school failure and drug use, recommend care and state a plan, give mom reassurance that her child will be ok,  comfort mom as she cries and says it is all so hard (in 15 min ) then regroup and enter the next room to a rowdy 2 year old wellness exam with a tired mom with three crazy healthy siblings bored from waiting for you.

I have survived so far with this skill. During residency no one cared if you had problems at home. Well, your colleagues cared but the work still had to get done, so you had to leave it at home.

Four years of med school and three years of residency where you left your problems at home and did your work. My art of compartmentalizing is automatic now. 22 years of practice, every day. Remember my house of grief? It does not connect with my work life.  And I really don’t want to. I am focused on other people’s problems. Their world. Their concerns. I am the problem solver. The conduit to healing and guide to finding the answers.

So I have many hours of my week where I am focused on my life as a doctor. I am proud  I can still practice pediatrics. I can focus and do my life’s work. I still want to help people. Even more now.

My compassion has increased by my loss. 

The hard part is my time away from my work. I have to put my work worries and thoughts aside and be the grieving mom. Not doctor. The transition can sometimes be easy and other times it slams me in the face.

My grief is like a garden. I have to visit it in brief but frequent trips, weeding the garden as it calls for every few days. If I spend too much time away the garden is taken over by overgrowth, weeds, bugs and what not.  I then spend my time lamenting that I have this garden. It can overwhelm me to care for it and put it back to the condition I want and can tolerate.

Finally – when Nolan died I did not keep secret the cause of his death. But now I wonder if the parents and older patients of my practice, the ones that know about my loss, if they think differently of me.

I wonder if they think I failed him.

I know we did all we could for Nolan. He took his life. He made his choice. We helped him connect with psychiatric help and a therapist he really could talk to. (which is amazing for a 19-year-old shy depressed anxious young man to do) I don’t know what happened in his last days or hours of life to make him end his pain.

But I was his mom and a doctor. Why couldn’t I save him?

I don’t worry if people think I could have stopped Nolan from taking his life. They don’t know the details.

But I do hope they see the doctor that is standing before them now is very grateful to still do her life’s work and serve God’s children in compassionate care.

I can’t say I am happy for having grief be a big part of my life. If I had a choice you know I would grab the time machine I so wish for and go back to stop Nolan from taking his life. Or go back further and recognize that he was depressed the last years of high school. (he denied he was depressed – I asked him many times)

As I am a glass half full kind of gal I can share with you the good I now have in my life even though I am forever missing one of my children.

• I live in the present as much as I can

• I tell people I love them. A LOT more often now

• I listen better

• I don’t judge. I remember I am hearing one side and one perspective  of a situation

• I love to laugh. I always have but I really enjoy when I am happy

• I stop and smell the flowers. And I listen and look for signs. Yes -I see them often from Nolan and my parents

• I pray more then ever. Sometimes for me and most of the time for others

• AND THE BIGGEST CHANGE: I do NOT sweat the small stuff. Thing that used to piss me off or make me waste my mental energy are now meaningless. I feel free from that past burden

I am sure others who had a life changing experience appreciate things in a different way. It is not just a grieving life that provides this perspective.

Finally – I know I am strong.  I made it through medical school, residency, 20+ years of being a full time pediatrician AND a mom of two great kids AND and married 25 years to a man I still love.

Nolan’s suicide is a nightmare I wake to everyday.

I would never say I have been thru the worst because I could lose even more. I know others who have lost two children to suicide.

But I know I have not for one minute questioned if I can go on. 

Hell yes – I can and I will. 

Soon after Nolan died I thought the world was going to end. Really – not just my world – THE world.

In the two months that followed Nolan’s passing the Chicago Cubs won the World Series, Trump became our 45th US president, and in the shock of that news two days later our spunky fun and crazy kitten that Nolan helped pick out died unexpectedly. In my mind everything was wrong and the world seems upside down and in chaos.

“Surely the rapture is coming” 

But then nothing happened….

The earth did not split open and consume us. Aliens did not invade our planet. And Jesus did not come and save me.

I am still here.. life goes on.

And of course it would go on. I certainly don’t expect the world to end just because my child died.  I also don’t want to be stuck in the past and always thinking about life when Nolan was here.

The grieving parent has a hard time walking forward without a child to watch and yearn for a future. 

How can I go on? This is where HOPE comes into view….

Hope.

“I hope you feel better.” “I hope you get an A on your test.” No – not that kind of hope. In this every day view of hope there is uncertainty. You may not get to feel better. You may get a C or D on the test.

To a Christian, hope means confident expectation.

It is having an unwavering anticipation and desire for something good in the future. 

I know after I die I have eternal life. I have always believed that. I anticipate my return to God and my Home. Some may call Home heaven. And heaven is unimaginably good. And joyful. None of the crap that we have here on earth to deal with. Boy… lots of crap lately in my opinion.

I have never given up Hope.

We placed Nolan’s remains in a niche next to my parents on June 8.  I don’t think it is luck that this spot was open for Nolan. There is a reason that it says HOPE over his final resting place too.

Someday I will see Nolan again. When? That is not up to me. There are some days I wish my last day on earth was sooner rather than later. But since the world is not ending tomorrow I accept my life as it is. I wake each morning saying prayers for many and affirm my commitment to God that I will serve Him.

Another day alive.

Another day closer to Home.

Now that it is summertime I am the only one waking up early in my house. Soon after I awaken I spend a little time doing what I want before I am off to work.  I tend to my flowers, watering them and enjoying the morning sounds with birds singing and the sun just up for a new day. When I water my flowers I pray, I meditate and I daydream.

I remember summers as a child. In honor of my childhood thoughts I created a wish list. Some wishes are playful and some are deep from my heart.

I wish…

•  I could hear Nolan’s laugh
• I had a time machine
• I didn’t have to welcome another grieving parent to a support group on FB or in person at Compassionate Friends.  It is sad there are so many of us. 
• I didn’t cry everyday
• I didn’t have baggy tired eyes from the daily crying
• I didn’t have to sometimes wear a mask to work
• Sam could have his brother back 
• I could be as joyful and happy as I know Nolan and my  loved ones are in heaven
  I will keep tending to my flowers.   I continue praying, meditating and dreaming….. 

Back when we were kids my mom used to take us girls to the Ginko room for lunch at the Morton Arboretum. This outdoor museum is in Lisle, Illinois. Many of my childhood friends remember this place since it is just minutes from where we grew up.

Recently my sister Angela and I visited the arboretum. It was near Mother’s Day and I wanted to see things that reminded me of her. Our mom passed away more that seven years ago.  Angela and I  spent that perfect spring day attending a Forest Bathing class at the Arboretum.

What the heck is that?

If you want to find a way to destress and get a dose of fresh air and maybe some Vit D from that big bright ball in the sky that we in the Midwest really miss in the winter months – then consider trying it.  It was not tree hugging – although I guess you could do that if you want.

Our guide took the group of 12 of us on a three hour journey experiencing the forest with our senses. Forest Bathing – or shinrin-yoku- provides natural relaxation experiencing trees and nature.

According to a study sponsored by the Environmental Protection Agency, the average American spends 93% of his or her time indoors. Way way too much indoor time.

So why am I telling you about Forest Bathing?

As I have mentioned grief wears me out. Spending time outdoors resets my mind, recharges my body and enriches me.

This is why I love running outside !!  Do you love the smell in the air after a gentle rain? Do you like camping or hiking? Or maybe it is not the forest – maybe the beach is your connection.

If you can’t hang out in a forest for hours once a week (I know I can’t find that time) try and get small doses of the outdoors. Go for a walk. Or run. Ride a bike. Sit out on your back porch. Climb a dune or lay on the beach.

Please take this advice from me.

Love,

Lisa (AKA- sister, friend, kid’s doctor, Angel mom, Nolan’s mom )

If you are interested in more info in Forest Bathing here is a good article:

http://time.com/5259602/japanese-forest-bathing/

Grief does a number on your body.

Not only do you feel your brain is muddled and confused and you replay past memories – both good and bad and over think your should-haves and could-haves- — your body suffers with grief.

Research on grief and its physical effects shows that grief can lower your immune system. And grief in the immediate days of onset can place stress on your heart.

I feel like I have aged double time since Nolan died.

I am so tired. Wiped. Yes I can do my job and do it very well (thank you compartmentalization) – but when I come home many nights I am spent.

Some days it takes a lot of energy to come out of my house of grief.

This past winter my immune system was challenged at work and I was sick much more than seasons past. Do I have an office full of cute beautiful germ holders!

Last week I caught a GI bug. It wiped me good. But as a good pediatric doctor since I did not have a fever and was not vomiting I came to work. I had almost an hour of violent chills in the middle of the night. That was a good time to work on my deep breathing. Do you remember the last time you had the chills? I mean your whole body shaking uncontrollably.

That hour I prayed to God that it would stop. I knew it eventually would but I still prayed to God for relief and strength.

Since I was up – of course –  I thought about Nolan. Did he feel helpless with his illness like I felt helpless with my horrible chills?

Did he ever pray to God for his healing? For strength?

I don’t know.

He told me he did not believe in God. Did he believe but then give up?

So many questions. But I know one thing…

I know he is in heaven. He is at peace. He is with my mom and dad and others who have passed. How do I know?

That is for another blog entry… and let me tell you, knowing what I do is sometimes the only thing that keeps me getting up in the morning.

I usually sleep well, but sometimes I wake up and am still so tired………..

Birthdays- such happy occasions.

Unless you can’t celebrate them.

On May 28 Nolan turned 21.

It should have been a huge day to celebrate.

But instead I had my usual very hard days of heavy grief before what would have been a special one as Nolan’s mom.

I am too tired to write in my own words what I am thinking and feeling this week – so  instead I will have others say it for me.

Empty

Do not tell me I am strong
You only see my days
Filled with details and work

You have never shared my nights
Long evenings empty
Except for memories and tears

My despair is sacrificed
to responsibility
You would be strong too
If you had no other choice

— Kim Knapp

We march on in time. I am thankful this big grief wave has to end sometime and I see some respite coming.

THIS POST IS BACK FROM 2018 – FOUR YEARS AGO. I FEEL IT NEEDS TO BE READ AGAIN. 

Another school shooting. When the Valentine’s Day school shooting at Parkland Florida happened I was mad. Mad that school shootings are still happening. Now on May 18 ten more families are with the nightmare of a violent loss of their loved one. Eight families are going to bury their child.

I am part of a club where we do not want new members. We welcome them and walk with them now in their grief. But I don’t want any parent to have visit their child at their gravesite. The pain and sadness is unbearable.

Violence.

We are living in a world where violence is the norm.

As a senior pediatric resident I completed my final year with a presentation. I chose the topic of violence. Back then Power Point was a fresh computer tool. I used it to present slides of the grim statistics of youth and violence. It was 1996. My discussion was on domestic and gang violence and the impact of exposure to violence.  I showed a video of kids who have lost their lives due to violence. It disturbed many in the audience.

So when I see the media compile photos of  the victims of school shootings – as this one from Parkland, I remember the faces I showed back in 1996.

So many people, so many young lives.

On May 18 a town in Texas – as ANY place in the US – was thrust into the chaos and trauma of a mass shooting at a school.

On May 18 my son Sam turned 16. His school like all now practice active shooter drills. I wonder what he and others his age think about their world and their future. That at any time they could be shot at. And lose friends and teachers. Or be gone themselves. One of the students at the recent shooting said she was not surprised. She thought it could happen there – and it did.

I did a little research. The last 12 months of my residency,  from June 1995- June 1996,  there were 6 school shootings leaving 10 dead and 4 injured.

Jump to the last 12 months – we have had 25 school shootings with 39 dead and 84 injured. 

I am tired. I am sad. I wish I could be mad. May is a hard month for me.

I pray for the families and friends who will bury their loved ones, their children.

The grieving parent club is growing.

ADDENDUM- 5/24/2022

Today 14 children – age second to fourth graders – and a teacher – lost their lives in a mass school shooting in Texas.

The Gun Violence Archive, an independent data collection organization, has counted 212 mass shootings that have occurred so far this year.

I have no hope things are going to change. It is a sad state. I am more overwhelmed with sadness than anger.

It has been 19 months since Nolan took his life.

My grief has changed over this short time.

I used to…

• look at a date before Nolan’s DOD and imagine I could go back in time and stop him from doing it
• pretend he was off to college and he was coming back
• replay the memory of the police and coroner coming to the door over and over in my head
• think it all was a bad dream or an altered world and I would wake up and he would be here
• think I was going crazy experiencing numerous emotions in a day, sometimes in an hour
• wonder why I am so exhausted
• miss him, but the shock of him being gone kept me numb

Now I….

• see a date before Nolan’s DOD and remember I cannot go back in time. My timeline is now divided by before 9/19/16 and after it
• know he is gone – he is never coming back
• avoid replaying the traumatic memories of his passing. They are too painful
• wake up and for a few seconds I forget he is gone. Then I remember
• know grief is your brain on an emotional rollercoaster
• know why I am always exhausted
• miss him more than I can ever express

Lately my grief is the emptiness of missing him. It aches.

It is heartache.

I don’t think much about the why these days. 

I just miss him.