Thoughts On Being An Orphan
by Jenners • 02/04/2011 • Love and Loss • 108 Comments
It has been a little more than a month since my mom died … leaving me and my two younger brothers as orphans. At first, saying this sounded ridiculous to me—a 43-year-old woman with a 6-year-old son calling herself an orphan? The word “orphan” had always made me think of young children … book characters like Anne Shirley or Sara Crewe. Not a grown-up like myself. But I clearly remember my dad turning to his sister after my grandmother was buried and saying “We’re orphans now” and bursting into tears. At the time, I was 27-years-old, and it seemed odd to me that my dad—a grown man who had three almost grown children of his own—would react in this way. But now I know EXACTLY what he was feeling.
I just looked up the definition of orphan, and the most common definitions are:
- a child who has lost both parents
- someone or something who lacks support or care or supervision
- the first line of a paragraph that is set as the last line of a page or column
- deprived of parents
- a young animal without a mother.
Well, I’m obviously not a piece of type stuck on a page somewhere. (But did you know there is another typesetting term called “widow”? In most word processing programs like Microsoft Word, you can turn on “Widow/Orphan Control” to limit them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Microsoft somehow perfected the art of controlling widows and orphans in real-life instead of just on the computer screen? If God—in whatever form He or She takes—could somehow choose an option in the Great Word Processing Screen in the Sky and select “Widow/Orphan Control” and suddenly I had my parents back and my mom had her husband?)
And I guess I can’t really call myself a “child who has lost both parents.” (Though deep inside, losing both your parents immediately makes you feel like a young child.) But I definitely feel like someone deprived of parents.
When I lost my dad, it was upsetting and tragic and horrible. But, I realize now, that loss was tempered by the fact that I still had my mother. I still had a parent in the world … one of the people who brought me into this world, taught me how to move and be in it and served as my foundation for as long as I’ve existed. When my dad died, I cried and mourned and grieved, but I still had my mother. My mom. My mommy. I still had a parent left in the world. And, to be quite honest, my mother was always more of a touchstone for us kids than my dad. My dad was always the funny one, the supportive one (“Sounds like a great idea, Jen! Go for it!”), the wacky one. My mom, however, was the one you went to when you had a real problem that needed to be figured out or discussed. She was the one that challenged us and pushed us and told us the things we didn’t want to hear.
And now she is gone and I feel like the bottom dropped out of my world.
I feel unstable and unsure of myself. Not completely confident in my ability to “stand alone” in the world without my mom to back me up. In the past month, I realized that I’ve always truly believed in the back of mind that no matter what happened to me, I would have my mom to help deal with it. For example, if—God forbid—something happened to Mr. Jenners and he died, I knew it would be horrible and difficult but I always imagined that, as bad as it got, I could always go to my mom for sanctuary. She was the one person I always viewed as there for me no matter what. My mom was my protection against a host of imagined catastrophes: homelessness, widowhood, bankruptcy.
But now that sanctuary is gone, and it frightens me in ways that I can’t fully express.
Although in my brain I know I’m a functionong, reliable, resilient, capable grown-up, inside I feel like an uncertain, immature, needy child who needs her mommy.
In the past month, I’ve gone crazy rearranging the house—the Little One came home from school one day to find the entire living room moved around. I decided we didn’t need a formal dining room and began converting it to a den. I moved all the furniture in the Little One’s room. I upended the basement. When Mr. Jenners made arrangements for us to have a “date night” and see a movie and have dinner, I asked if we could got to Ikea to look for den furniture instead. He agreed. I told him: “I don’t know why I feel so compelled to move everything and create this den and rearrange stuff.” And he said, as if it was obvious, “Well, your world just fell apart and is all disordered and you’re trying to fix it but you’re doing it by moving furniture.”
His insight stunned me, but I knew he was right. All my moving of furniture and changing things is a mad, misguided attempt to fix something in my life that can’t be fixed. I’m literally rearranging my life … as if moving the furniture will somehow move the foundation that I lost with my parents’ deaths back into place.
Almost every night since my mom died, I’ve dreamed of her or my dad. Sometimes the dreams are fairly innocuous—my mom and dad and I sitting in a room and just talking. But in the dream, I KNOW the significance of having my parents there … it is like I’m watching myself in my dream talking to my parents and I just soak it all up and wish it would never end. And then I wake up and it is like losing them all over again, and I start my day with this big heavy weight in my heart.
In another dream, I dream that I am with my mom and brothers and that we had lost my dad … but somehow he had survived and struggled back to us through the mountains and we are amazed … “How come no one could find you all this time???!!!” … and so so happy. And then I wake up and realize I’ve lost both of them all over again.
In another dream, I am with my dad but it is mom who has died and I don’t know what to do because my dad doesn’t seem to be reacting “right.” But I follow him around like a little puppy because, once again, I’m aware at some level that this is a dream and I’m so hungry to see my dad.
And it goes on and on .. all these variations of being with my parents, losing my parents, losing one of my parents and having the other one. I feel like my unconscious is trying so hard to find a way for this loss to make sense. To make it “okay.” In everyday life, I’m functioning and seem happy and normal. I’m doing all the things I usually do. I rarely break down in tears. But, each night, I struggle in my dreams to accept the loss of my parents and I wake feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
So many of you have been so supportive and concerned about how I’ve been coping so I wanted to share a bit about what I’ve been experiencing. I also wanted to write this post for those of you who are suffering similar losses. I know it helps to feel like you aren’t the only one who is experiencing a loss and feeling off-kilter. I keep saying to people “I feel like I’ve been cut adrift.” And that makes so much sense to me … my parents were my anchor in the stormy seas of life, and losing them has severed me from that anchor and cast my ship out to sea.
Yes … I’m OK. But, at another level, I’m not OK. I know it is going to take a long time to fully comprehend and accept the loss of my parents … it really is like losing a limb. I feel like I need to learn a whole new way of living and moving and being in the world.
Thank you to all of you who have reached out to me with letters and gifts and cards and e-mails. I truly appreciate your concern, caring and compassion, and your words and thoughts have been so helpful as I struggle to come to terms with this difficult “rite of passage.” I know this won’t be the last time I write about this topic so bear with me as I figure things out.
Also, I wanted to share a photo of my mom that we found after she passed away. It is the most beautiful photo of her. Apparently, she had recently had her picture taken for the church directory, and my brother found four copies of this photo tucked away in her desk. We assume she was planning to give us a copy at some point. When I got my copy in the mail a few weeks ago, I just burst into tears. Seeing her looking so radiant and lovely and filled with life just rips my heart out. This is a photo of a woman who should be living life RIGHT NOW. I miss you so so much, Mom!
Oh Jen! I can not imagine your pain, but please know you are always in my thoughts and prayers! I’m so glad you now have that picture of your Mom too. I hope it brings you some peace. If there is anything at all I can do to help you through this difficult time please know I am always here for you! Love Ya Lots!! XOXO
You are so sweet. I am so happy to have this photo of my mom, but it is somewhat bittersweet too as she looks so alive and vibrant in it.
Jenners —I’ve been AWOL for a while, so I just read about your mother’s passing. Please accept my sympathy. I haven’t gone back in your blog for more details, but your mother looks so young & vibrant in the photo. It’s never easy to lose a parent, but when my mom died a little over a year ago, she was 95, in poor health and suffering from dementia, so it was not unexpected. She had lived a long, productive life and we knew the end was near.
It must be especially difficult when unexpected.
But what a lovely photo to remember her by.
Thank you for your kind words. My mom wasn’t sick at all. It was very sudden and unexpected (a pulmonary embolism), which is why that photo of her is both a comfort (I love how she looks in it) and painful (she was so alive and vibrant … this was taken only a few weeks before she died). She was way too young — not even 70 yet.
I know it is so hard for you right now. But I’m sure that lovely picture of your mom is a great comfort to you.
The photo of my mom is a comfort … and a bit painful at times too. She looks like a woman who who is in the prime of her life and doing well.
I’ve been seeing your post in my reader now for a few days, and have wanted to read but at the same time not wanting to read. You hit the nail right on the head. As much as I miss my mom, I don’t know what I would do without my dad right now. Hopefully living without him is far, far in the future.
I’ve had vivid dreams about my mom still being alive. Someone who also lost her mom told me she believed dreams like that were visits from her mom. I don’t know if I’d go that far. Sometimes those dreams make waking up even worse — I haven’t decided if having dreams about Mom are comforting or not.
Thanks for this post.
I feel the same way about the dreams of my parents. Sometimes I find them so painful when I wake up; other times I am thankful for them because they feel like a visit with them that I can no longer have. It is a mixed blessing indeed. Thanks for sharing with me.
Oh Jenners, the tears are streaming down my face as I finish reading your post. My parents are both still living. My dad is 86 and my mom is 78. Not a day goes by that I don’t contemplate what it will mean for me when one and or both of them are gone. I can’t imagine it and don’t want to yet the anxiety creeps up on me fairly often. I will be 48 in July but will feel like a child again when my parents pass. I know this and your post makes me feel better because if I know it, I can somehow face it. My heart goes out to you. I want to say it will get better and I suppose it does but things will never be the same. You will find a new normal or that is what all of my friends who have lost their parents tell me. I know you honor the memory of both of your parents by continuing to be a good daughter and now a good parent yourself. If you want to rearrange the furniture, go for it. That SO sounds like something I would do. I would clean, organize, and redecorate. That always seems to be the things I do to try to regain control after something traumatic or upsetting happens. I’ll be praying for you and your family.
I’m so glad for you that you’ve been blessed to have your parents with you this long. I like the term “new normal.” That is a very accurate term. And it is amazing how rearranging, cleaning and other forms of reorganization are so therapeutic. Thanks for your concern and lovely comment.
So sorry, I’ve been off in my own world and not paying much attention to blogs lately. I was unaware of your mother’s passing. I am so sorry for your loss. Now that our nest is empty, I realize that no matter their age, they will always be “my child”, so your feelings of being an orphan are completely understandable. Regardless of age, we are still a child inside where our parents are concerned. I will keep you in my prayers and ask that you receive His peace and comfort.
Thank you for your kind comment … and certainly don’t feel bad that you didn’t keep up with my blog. I do think you always maintain that mother-child relationship no matter how long you live … and even when you become a mother yourself.
Oh, Jenners….I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. It made me tear up just reading through your post because I can feel the pain through your words. Both of my parents are still alive as are both of my in-laws and I’m hoping that they will have many more years to come *knocks on wood*. However, I can totally feel your pain at the loss of your parents. My grandfather practically raised me all my life while my parents were busy with their careers. When he died, I felt like everything had fallen apart. It’s been 10 years since then but it’s still something I’m not over. I don’t think one can ever be “ok” with the death of a loved one. We can say that we’re “ok” but deep down, we will never fully heal from that loss.
Your mom looks beautiful in that photo. I’m glad you have that photo of her. Hang in there!
Thanks for your lovely comment. I’m glad you still have your parents with you, though I’m sure the loss of your grandfather qualifies as a loss at the same leave. I agree that we are probably never OK with losing a loved one and it will always hurt at some level.
And finding that photo was such a gift.
Hugs
Thanks. : )
Oh Jenners, I can see how hard you are struggling with this, and my heart goes out to you. Grief can be so debilitating, and even though you are going through the everyday stuff, it seems night time is really hard for you. I don’t know how to say magic words that will make you heal, but I am praying fervently that you are able to regain peace and hope in your life as time heals you. Everything you express in your post tells me that you are just raw right now, and that you are suffering so much, and I am at a loss to tell you how intensely I am wishing that your inner wounds will heal. If there is anyone in your life that you can talk to about this or share your feelings with, I urge you to do it, and if there is anything I can ever do to help, you will always have my attention and support.
You are so so sweet and supportive. I do talk to my brother quite a bit … he is struggling much more than I am as he was preparing to move in with my mom. And Mr. Jenners lets me have my moments when I just need to cry or moan or be unhappy. Thank you for your sweetness and support.
I have wondered about this same question…calling oneself an orphan…and I think the answer is that whatever age you are when it happens, when your parents die, there is a void …and you are an orphan.
I was 14 when my father died…which was huge. But my mother was there, and as I only appreciate as an adult, such a rock.
then my mother died when I was about 30..and that was hard.
like someone else commented, still, now, many years later, I sometime forget for a second that I can’t ask her a question or give her a call.
I agree with you … you are an orphan no matter what age you are because it creates such a large hole in your life. I’m reading a book that a blogger sent me called Motherless Daughters and it talks about how if you lose your mother at a young age, you never get to see her through your “adult” eyes and see her as a real and fully formed woman. For that small mercy, I am glad. Thanks for sharing your experiences.
I absolutely love how your mom’s shirt and eyes match.
She looks so happy and beautiful in that picture.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to call your mom to tell her about the little things in life, to run things by her, to just chat. My father-in-law is our only parent to pass so far and he was a quiet guy — never really talked to us on the phone or anything. But it’s three years later and little things come up that still make us teary-eyed. I’m sure it will be a long journey for you and a hard one. I only hope to be able to gather my thoughts as well as you have when my time comes to be an orphan, as I suppose it must some day.
Isn’t that a wonderful photo? I love looking at it … though it still makes me cry sometimes. I know in time I will feel just happy when I look at it.
And it is the wanting to just call her to talk things over that gets me several times a week. I always ran stuff about the Little One by her … “Is this normal?” “What should I do about this?” … and I just hate not being able to do that. It astounds me that I cannot call her; it just feels so terribly terribly wrong.
you look like her! oh, sweetie, i didn’t know. you must be
completely crushed and i feel that it is so unfair that here
i am a 52 year old with BOTH sets of parents and in laws.
it sounds like you are being totally healthy, recognizing
the terrible loss, dreaming, and processing.
i imagine it will take a long time, and i will be praying for
the Lord’s consolation and encouragement.
Thank you for your lovely words … and certainly enjoy the blessing that you have in having your parents and in-laws with you. That is a true gift!
Jenners, your post made me wish that I could reach out and give you a hug, because I feel like I know what you are going through.
I lost my mom in 1987 and my dad 15 months later in 1988, when I was in my 30′s. I was divorced, had 2 young children, and I felt like my whole world was falling apart. It bothered me that I did not dream about either of them for almost (2) years after they passed, and when I did dream, my mom was sick, or unhappy, which did not make me feel comforted.
I tried to think about what she loved most, and that was flowers and trees, so I decided for me and my kids, we would plants some roses (her favorite) and a few new trees in our yard in her memory. I also dug out some of her Bearded Irises and peonies from her home, which she loved and planted them for us. Although the sadness always comes back when you least expect it — for me it is when I am shopping, and I hear a woman in her 40′s say “Mom, do you like this”? I could burst into tears as shopping for us was a fond memory.
I’m hoping you can plant some happy memory for your mom and dad that will help you move on. It’s way too soon to expect this to happen overnight…….take care my friend.
Thank you for sharing your experiences with me. And I love how you chose to work through your grief by planting flowers and trees in her memory. I took a few items from my mom’s home that I put in strategic places that I see every day and I find them comforting. She had a little angel holding a sunflower in her kitchen window and I brought it home with me and put it in the same place. When I’m doing dishes, I like looking at it and thinking of her. I’m just taking my time and letting myself feel whatever I need to feel, and I truly appreciate your sharing your experiences. It helps to hear from those who have been through this already and “come through.”
I”m so sorry for your loss. Your mom is beautiful. That was a lovely post. I lost my dad 11 years ago and I know when mom goes I’ll feel orphaned too.
I haven’t been reading your posts for very long, but I just wanted to say that my heart goes out to you.
Thank you for taking the time to comment and reach out to me. It means a lot.
I have been out of the blogging world for awhile dealing with all sorts of changes and things in my own life. I didn’t know about your loss. Thank you for sharing your heart today. This post was beautiful…I’m sure your mom was very proud of you and would have been enormously blessed by your words today.
I’ll be praying for you today.
Thank you for your kind words, and I hope that your own life is getting back on track and is working well. I’ll be by to check in with you soon.
it’s so hard for me to read your posts about your parents because they are so raw…but i know writing them can be cathartic. i see so much of you in your mom–your eyes, especially–and hope you know that i’m continuing to think of you and sending caring thoughts your way. xoxo
Writing these posts has been very cathartic — as well as reading about the experiences and insights of others. Thanks for your continued support.
I assume it is possible to move through the grief of the loss of our parents, only because I see others who have done it…but I don’t see their private grieving, so it’s impossible to know how long it takes for acceptance to sink in.
When I visited my mom in Dec., I felt like an orphan, also – she has no memory of me, doesn’t know who I am. I am lost to her, and she to me, and I’ve now lived more years without my dad than I had with him.
But we do go on, despite losing our bearings.
I know you’ll find your way through.
I think your situation of having your lost your mother before actually having “lost” her is so difficult and confusing and hard. It would be incredibly painful. And I think all grieving is done over long periods of time and in private, and we do go on and function as we work through all this stuff.
I’m afraid I have no words of comfort as I have never been what you have been through – I just wanted to let you know that your post was beautifully written and your love and grief are so strong. ((HUGS))
Thank you for your lovely comment. And I hope you don’t have to experience this for yourself for many many years.
Jen, The picture of your mom is beautiful. Her smile all knowing and bright. It’s as if she is saying Everything is okay. (((hugs))) to you for what you are going through. I wish I could say something that would make you feel better but alas I cannot. Continue to write and continue to move around the furniture. It is my guess that the dreams will come less often as time passes.
Thank you … I do love that photo of her. It is both comforting and heart-breaking. In time, I’m sure it will just be comforting. And as far as the dreams, they are a mixed blessing in many ways.
I have tears in my eyes. What a lovely post. I wish you strength and the power of memories and the love of your family to help you.
Thank you for your lovely comment.
I can’t say anything to comfort you. We all have to go through the grieving process in order to find our own way of dealing with the pain.
That photo of your mum is lovely. She is radiant – and hopefully, one day, this beauty will override your feelings of loss.
I’ve been telling my middle brother (who is feeling her loss the hardest as he was preparing to move in with my mom) that we have to go through all the pain and bad feelings and not ignore it or try to hide from it because it will just get us in the end. The only thing we can’t do is let it cripple us and keep us from functioning.
And I find that photo of my mom such a comfort even though it brings up feelings of pain too.
When my mom’s mother died, my immediate thought was that she was now an orphan. She took it as well as she could and had all of her many brothers and sisters for support. Still, all I saw was a lost little girl that used to be my very strong, well put together mother. I still feel for her. She doesn’t show outward signs but when I ask her if she thinks of my gram she still says, “almost everyday.” That was about 8 years ago. She tells me that it never goes away and you never stop needing your mommy – but it does get easier. And now that there is time between now and her mother’s death, she’s closer to her than ever. She never wants to forget, she tells me.
I cannot imagine going through this. I will not be able to handle it. I can just think of it for a moment and the bottom drops out of my world. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It’s so good that you have a great family to help you.
You will be able to handle it when the time comes (and I hope it doesn’t come for years and years and years) because you have such a strong foundation and love for your mom and she’s raised you to be strong and capable … just like she is. Thanks for your lovely comment.
Oh Jenners.
I haven’t been by in awhile, but was going through my Google Reader tonight when I saw this. Everything you wrote is exactly what I imagine I’d go through. I also picture myself running to my mom if anything goes wrong. Her not being here is not an option I’m ever will to consider. So sorry you have to go through this.
And the insight as to why you’re turning your house upside down hit me hard. My Mom has done this since my dad and then my step-dad died. It’s not until just now I that I realized this is probably why. It just makes me sad.
It is interesting that several people mentioned the need to rearrange things as a coping mechanism after grief. It must be a pretty common reaction, and I guess it makes sense even if you don’t realize why you are doing it right away. Thanks for stopping by … it was nice to hear from you. (And I love your new look by the way!)
I’m sorry to hear your sadness, but know full well of what you speak. I lost my dad just before I got married, and I have to say, it’s so fresh, even though it’s 32 years, my mom is in a nursing home with severe dementia. So in essence we’ve lost her too. I don’t know how I’ll feel when we actually physically lose her , I hate leaving her each time I do. But, I have to say, I have not permitted myself to do the “I wish I had done that or said that bit” I’ve been the best daughter I know how to be, as I’m sure you have been. I’m sure because of how you feel, and your mom should know that she and your dad have done a great job in raising you. Keep well and never apologize for feeling the way you do. I didn’t move things around, I’ve kept things, stupid things but I can’t part with them, my mind knows these are stupid, but my heart can’t heart it. I’m sending you a big hug. Wonderfully moving post.
Thanks for sharing your story. I imagine it must be so painful to have your mom with you but not with you. Dementia is such a horrible horrible thing. And I think the “I wish I had” thought process is such a negative path to start on and I try so hard not to go there.
Your post has reduced me to tears. Just reading about your dreams every night and waking up with a heavy heart… Well, I know there are no words or any amount of hugs that can make it better, but even if you wake with a heavy heart now one day, hopefully soon, you will wake up with a smile on your face, knowing that everything they passed on to you, you now pass on to your son, so they are not truly gone. They live on in the way you live your life every day. My thoughts are with you.
Thanks for sharing that thought. I didn’t really think about how now I am to the Little One what my mom was to me. It is odd to picture myself in that role as I feel like such a “fake” grown-up sometimes if you know what I mean.
I lost my mom four years ago at Christmas. We had a complex relationship, not always easy, but I know that no one loves you like your mother. I am envious of my friends who still have their mothers and have good relationships with them. I work at maintaining a strong relationship with my adult daughter and my granddaughters…not easy because they live 2000 miles away. You can be that strong touchstone in your son’s life that you are missing from the loss of your mother. I think it helps to recognize that our parent lives on in us and that we carry the torch for the next generation. But, yep, it does shurt to be an orphan!
I had a complex relationship with my mom too. There were times we really clashed and struggled with each other. Part of me cannot think about those times yet. The urge to “deify” her is so strong, but I was reading a wonderful book that a fellow blogger sent me and it talks about needing to mourn the person your mom actually was — good and bad.
Thanks for sharing.
I wasn’t all that close to my dad, but I had dreams after he died. They started a few months after his death, and I’d wake up gobsmacked. The one about a family road trip to Denver (where none of us has ever been) was particularly odd. The brain does weird things.
You’ve written beautiful posts about both of your parents…I hope that you’re able to find a bit of peace after writing them.
(((hugs)))
I love the word “gobsmacked.” That is a pretty accurate description of how I feel. And the brain does do interesting things to help you work through stuff. I did find some peace after writing this, and I think I will continue to do so as I feel the need.
Thats a beautiful photo of your mom Jenners, you look like her.
I know what you mean about your mom being your protection from a ‘host of imagined catastrophes’. I was raised by a single mother and she’s my rock.
I can only imagine the strength of your bond with your mom. And thanks for your kind words … it feels good to think that she “lives on” in me a little bit.
Oh Jenners- I am so sorry that you are having to go through this! I just can’t imagine what you are going through, but I am sending positive thoughts/prayers/encouraging vibes (however you want to consider it) your way every night!
Thank you for sharing your intimate emotions with us at this tough, tough time.
And your mom is beautiful, and looks a LOT like YOU!!
Thanks for your vibes! ; )
And it was such a blessing to find that photo … it really is a comfort.
Jenners that is a beautiful photo of your mom! I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through. Cleaning and rearranging in tough times makes perfect sense to me though. . . . I’m just at a loss for words. Just know that I am thinking of you and if I could package up a big box of comfort and send it your way I would.
It is odd to me that I didn’t make the connection with why I had to rearrange things … though it seemed to obvious to Mr. Jenners. It is therapy of sorts (even if everyone is disoriented in the house now). And your always supportive comments are exactly like a big box of comfort.
Jenners, my heart is heavy for you tonight. It can’t be easy for you to go through this so soon after your dad’s death. Keep writing about it as much as you want or need to. I think it helps to share the thoughts with everyone. We will be here reading and loving on you as you journey through your grief.
I love the beautiful photo of your mom. She looks so young and happy. Big hugs to you tonight.
Thanks for your encouragement. I always try to be “funny” or “happy” or just write about books but this is such a big part of my life that it feels dishonest not to write about it too. And hearing from others and getting these lovely types of comments are so therapeutic and helpful.
And I can’t even tell you how happy I was to have gotten that photo of my mom. It is the way I want to remember her and her spirit.
You know I just wrote a heavy post on my blog.
My friend Erin left me a comment saying “There’s something about sharing stuff, even the bad stuff, that helps the soul. Even the teeniest bit. I hope you feel that. And I hope you’ll consider posting more on this, or on anything else that’s on your mind. You know you don’t always have to be the funny one. I love you, all of you, funny or not.”
I feel the same about you/your post.
xoxo
I read your post last night … it was heavy. And thanks for sharing the wise words of your friend Erin.
First of all, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine the pain you are going through. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. Second, wow! You look so much like your mom. What a great picture to cherish.
Hugs.
Isn’t it a wonderful photo? And so many people say they see me in her (though I never see it as I’m too close to it). Finding this photo was such a gift … this is how I want to remember her.
It is interesting that you feel this way – not surprising though. When my grandmother died, my mother said the exact same thing – she said she just felt like an orphan and she was almost 70 when it happened.
I feel fairly certain you’ll see both her and your father again someday. This is just part of the process of grieving. It tough but it’s because you loved your parents that you are experiencing this. And that is something to be grateful for. But it still does not ease the pain – nothing does except maybe time. Just cleave to those around you who are still here and love you. And if rearranging furniture makes you feel better, do it. Want to take a trip to Idaho and rearrange mine?!?
Shall I send you some Girl Scout cookies to ease the pain a bit? I just ordered 7 boxes of thin mints – we’re hoping to freeze some and spread them out the whole year. Sounds good in theory, right? But I certainly thought of you when I placed that order.
Hugs to you during this time of hardship. We’re sending thoughts and prayers your way.
Thanks for sharing with me. I found it so interesting that your mother (at age 70!) felt just the same way about being an orphan. There is something very profound about losing the people who brought you into the world.
And the furniture arranging has been surprisingly therapeutic … even if I didn’t realize exactly why I felt I needed to do it right away.
And Lord knows I don’t need any more Girl Scout cookies! I’m doing my best to avoid the ones I see all around! That 45 cookies in 2 days taught me my lesson.
Hugs to you.
I’ve never been close with my parents, but I’ve always longed for closeness. It seemed like a reasonable want, but in the end, it proved to be an impossible thing. The realization of that for me, was shocking. I went on for years trying to fill the hole… trying to make it right. trying to fix things, but in the end, the best thing for me was to just accept it.
You’re not at that point yet. Acceptance of that which you cannot change is one of the hardest things to do as a human being. We fight it. Even on a subconcious level we fight it (hence the dreams). Making order our of chaos is a tough thing to do, so it’s no wonder you were rearranging that furniture. THAT”s doable and takes your mind off of things at least for a little while.
I know you consider youself an orphan now and by the definition you shared here, I suppose you are correct, but the memories… OH! I so wish I had those memories. I am crying my eyes out for you right now because I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to lose someone who meant the world to you.
Hugs.
And I’m crying for you for not having that sense of closeness with your parents. That is a hard way to grow up I think … I couldn’t even imagine. And I agree with you … it is challenging to accept things we cannot change. It feels like submitting in some way … giving up control and that is so hard to do sometimes. Thank you for sharing with me.
The dreams, oh the dreams. I still wake up after vivid dreams of my mom, completely forgetting she died 12 years ago. I also think you become an orphan no matter how old you are when both your parents die. It’s not about needing a new parent, it’s about a feeling of loss that comes from becoming an orphan. You have my deepest sympathy and support for what you’re going through.
Thanks for sharing. And I treasure these dreams in so many ways …they are so vivid and real and I feel like I am with them again … even though it hurts so much when you wake up.
First of all, thank you so much for sharing your Mom with us. She was lovely and she looked so alive in that picture. I’m sure it was a shock to find it, but what a gift for you now. Jenners, I just wanted to crawl into the computer and hug you. I’m so sorry and I do somewhat know what you are experiencing. I told my husband that in the months after Mom died (last year in May), I would do fine and then I would almost trip over the fact that she was gone. I’d think – oh, yeah, I can’t tell her that – but I could. She and I just communicate silently now.
I talk to her a lot when I’m alone in my car.
At Christmas, I thought I was doing OK and then one day I was so profoundly sad, I was almost on my knees. I missed her so much. It was her time and Lord knows that she was mentally gone from me, but still, she was my Mom. Well, you do what you need to do. You say what you need to say. Grieving is something that just comes as it will and ebbs and flows. My Mom and Dad are still with me, but oh do I miss them. Hugs to you!
Thank you for sharing with me. I’ve heard that “ebb and flow” view of grief quite a bit … and felt it with my dad. There are moments when you feel like you are “dealing” with it and then you just get doubled over with your loss … almost like it just happened all over again. I like the idea of “talking” with my mom … out loud even. I think I might start doing that when there are things I think I need to discuss with her.
This photo of your mom is just beautiful. Thank you for sharing it. I understand when you say that knowing in the back of your mind that your mom was there for you no matter what happened made everything okay and now you feel unstable. I experienced similar feelings at one time in my life. You are your mom’s daughter, you are strong, resilient, inteligent, witty,kind, thoughtful and so much more and like your mom managed and excele…whatever comes up one day, you’ll be fine. When you posted parts of your eulogy for your mom, one of the things about your mom that really impressed me was her…well, off the top of my head comes the word, “gumption”(common sense, good judgment, courage etc.)…your mom did what she had to do and did it wll. I’m thinking specifically of the time she moved you and your brother when you were small to the USA from Japan (?was it?) because those were the orders your dad received. Amazing.
You may be an orphan in the physical sense but in spirit, in heart, you certainly are not.
Take care of yourself. Be gentle with yourself.
And Bravo! for Mr, Jenners incite. Impressive.
~ Amy
You said that so well … and so loverly. I love the word “gumption.” And I know I will be OK and find my center again … thanks for reminding me that I have it in me to take on life like my mom did.
I’m so sorry that have had to deal with such tremendous loss in such a short time. I’ve yet to have to deal with the loss of someone close to me, but I know my time will come. You are in my prayers. I really think of you often and wonder about how you’re doing. I’m sorry that you feel that you are struggling, but I think you have tremendous strength to be able to share how you feel about it. I’m so grateful for your openness. I know that your words will help others and I know they will help me when I eventually have to deal with a similar loss.
I pray that you don’t face such a loss for a very long time, but I’m sure you’ll deal with it with grace and strength. It felt good to write about actually … writing something always helps me to deal with it and let it go a little bit.
My dad is 55 and his mom is dying. His dad died almost 20 years ago, so when my grandma goes he’ll be an orphan, and this makes me so sad for him I can hardly stand it. I don’t think it matters what age you are when you are bereft of your parents, it is still a terrible, de-centering thing.
Exactly … decentering. It takes the center away from your life and forces you to reorient yourself.
You’re better than I – I still can’t look at pictures of my mom!
That Mr. Jenners sure is a good guy!!!
Despite all my (fake) complaints and bitching, Mr. Jenners is a pretty good guy … and more sensitive than I give him credit for.
Wow, Jenners, what a post. This really made me feel emotional and devastated. I am SO sorry for your loss. I can’t even comprehend it because my mom is my best friend and I have seriously often though that I cannot live without her. I’ll keep you in my thoughts. Sending love and friendship your way. <3
I’m sorry to be such a downer today … and I hope you don’t have to face the loss of your mom for years and years and years and years.
We’re that fourth definition, Jenners. Deprived of parents. So yes, technically we ARE orphans. And in some ways it’s like having a child… your life is never the same again. Would you believe I still miss my parents, my mother especially (I was a mama’s girl), even after all these decades? I still dream about them sometimes, too.
I wouldn’t expect you to be “over it”. As you said, it’s only been about a month. Personally, I’ve always needed to get through that first year of “this is the first time since…” . Just remember that I’m always available if you need to “talk”.
That is a beautiful photo of your Mom! What a treasure to have gotten!!
(((hugs)))
I’ve been reading the book you sent me and although I’m only in chapter 1, I’ve marked quite a few passages already. Thank you for your lovely comment and for the book. I think it is going to be quite helpful.
Sorry for your loss. I haven’t experienced the death of either parent yet, but you may have helped me be less blindsided by it when it eventually happens.
I hope this doesn’t happen for you for a very very very long time.
The pain of losing my Mom has faded (she died almost 15 years ago) but I still find myself thinking “I’ll call Mom and ask her” or “I have to call Mom and share this” Everytime this happens I stop for a second and think about how much I miss her but also a picture (kind of like the one you just posted of your Mom) pops into my head and makes me smile!
I think as the immediate pain of loss retreats I’ll find those moments … and now I’m so happy to have such a great photo of my mom to look at and picture.
Oh Jenners, I am so sorry for your loss and you will be in my prayers. The feelings of loneliness are the hardest to deal with. I’m now 42 and I lost my dad when I was very young and my mom when I was 19. So I grew up very quickly and although over the years I was able to accept the loss of my parents and move on, I now feel so lonely since I have lost my only sibling. I am nine years older than my sister and she was the last living person from my immediate family. I’ve been so lonely without her since she passed away almost 2 years ago and I have had such tremendous feelings of loneliness, especially during the holidays. I have a wonderful husband and 2 great kids, but I still feel so alone! Especially when I listen to friends talk about the big family get-togethers they are having…it’s just been a really tough time. So when you talk about the loneliness I know where you are coming from.
Thank you so much for sharing with me. I imagine it must be even harder to be the last one left in your family … and to lose both your parents at SUCH a young age must be so traumatic. And I know what you mean about loneliness despite being surrounded by your “new” family. There is something about losing your childhood family that creates different feelings of loneliness I think. Hugs.
I think the term orphan is perfectly appropriate for someone who has lost their parents. I can not imagine losing my mother, and while I may not be able to feel your pain, I am very sorry for your loss.
I hope you don’t have to face the prospect of orphanhood for many many years. And I do think that even if lost my parents when I was 70 years old (which would kind of be impossible I know) I will STILL feel like an orphan.
Many of the words you wrote, I found myself nodding as I read and saying “I do that too!”. The whole need to rearrange and organize things for example, is something that I’ve always done but it became increasingly a NEED after B died. One which I has not yet been fulfilled and if I think about it too much, it causes me to spiral downward. I still have both of my parents but am not close with either. I rarely talk to them at all, but, as you know, my own losses have been significant and like you posted, the world gave out under me. It is really hard to find a sense of who you are when someone who defines your very being has gone. Thanks for putting in words what I feel.
I’m glad that my words resonated with you … though of course I wish they didn’t. I’m so sorry that your own parents cannot be the kind of sanctuary that my parents would have been for me had I lost Mr. Jenners. You truly did lose your foundation in life and one just can’t built a new one right away. I know that if I didn’t have Mr. Jenners and the Little One, I probably would be completely lost and non-functional right now.
Oh, Jenners, I’m sorry you’re struggling with this so much, but I kind of know how you feel. I’ll think I’m doing pretty good coping with my dad’s death and then some small thing will reduce me to tears. I had my annual physical yesterday and when the doctor asked about my family medical history and mentioned my father, I sobbed like a baby. I’m sure he regretted asking me that question.
That is so understandable!!! I’ve found myself sideswiped by the weirdest things … like you at the doctors. It brings it all up and then the emotion just comes pouring out. Hugs to you!
she should be living right now ((((hugs)))). It is an impossible reality that she is gone.
When my dad passed away I buried myself in getting his personal history ready for publication. He had asked me many times to help him while he was alive . . . (regret rides on the shoulder of the one in morning)
Oh … I hear you on that quote! It is so lovely and so hauntingly true. I think often of things I wish I’d done or if “I’d just taken the time to …” I try not to do that too much … you can make yourself crazy with that kind of thinking.
That is a beautiful photo. Your mom has such a kind and caring smile. What a nice surprise to find those photos. I wish I had some words of wisdom to offer you but I don’t. I lost my dad last spring and I cannot even imagine losing my mom, too. Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers!
It was truly such a gift to find this photo. We really struggled to find a good recent photo for her obitutary (she had sunglasses on in almost all of them), and then to find this photo was like a little gift from God.
A very beautiful picture. I see “you” in her lovely smile
Hugs to you my friend. Love, Kelly
Thanks for the hugs and the lovely words. Hugs back!
Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be so difficult to have lost both parents. It sounds like you have a great support in Mr. Jenners and the Little One (did he like his new room layout?). That is a really nice picture of your Mom and you must be so thankful to have found it, so you can remember her as she was; happy, and radiant. I hope that you can find some peace soon.
I was so happy to find that photo of my mom. We had this great photo of my dad taken for his retirement and I had it in my room. As soon as I saw this one, I knew that I could put her photo with his (and I have a little urn with both their ashes that I keep with the photos). It gives me a sense of them “being there” in a way.
My words cannot take away any of your pain, but I am terribly sorry that you are going through this. I cannot even imagine being in your shoes, and I am terrified of the day that I will not only imagine but actually know. I can see why the word orphan would strike home with you, in the truest meaning, it applies. Your husband is incredibly insightful and he seems to be a rock for you…this is good. Your statement: “I feel like I’ve been cut adrift.” struck a cord with me because I am 100% certain that will be how I will feel when I loose my parents.
This was a beautiful, and expressive post. I am glad that you wrote it for yourself, and then for others. Thank you for sharing. I do wish my words could take away your pain; I am sorry that they fall incredibly short.
Please take care.
Thanks for your lovely comment. My husband has been incredibly helpful, and I seriously don’t know what I would do without him. He just lets me do my thing … no matter how nutsy and just accepts it for what it is. I do hope you don’t have to find out the “true” meaning of orphan for years and years and years.