Components of Grief « Donna Terrell's Blog

It Just Doesn’t Go Away

August 2012 I wrote an entry in this blog titled “These Three Words”. The three words are simple…

It gets better.

The story stemmed from an unexpected encounter I had with a woman who had just lost the love of her life – her husband of many years. It seemed her grief was getting the best of her so I simply said “its gets better.”

Honestly, this journey is not for the faint of heart. I often find myself adding up the years, the months and sometimes the hours – since that night cancer sucked the life out of my only child. I watched her lay in bed and struggle to breathe.

I watched as the breathing became shallow

then more shallow

then not at all.

I laid beside her trying to talk her through the process of dying. Not that I have experience with these things but like a mom I wanted to try to make it easier for her. I tried to comfort her with words – with the sound of my voice. She was not alone.

It is a night that is etched in my memory and will stay there until I reach the point where I am unable to think, remember and feel.

I look back and think about that day I spoke to the grieving woman. Those three words I said to her are true. I cry less. I am now able to talk about my daughter in complete coherent sentences without falling apart. In many of those conversations

I smile.

I laugh.

I feel good talking about her.

And I love when people allow me to do so – to talk about her. Sometimes a brief chat can take the edge off a difficult day. Reminiscing is good therapy. And it feels so much better when it’s not done in solitude.

Yes, it really does get better. It just doesn’t go away.

Lashes In My Tears

I wear fake eyelashes. Not the kind you buy in the drug store or department store. Not the ones you stick on your lids with glue. Not those. I wear the ones where each individual fake lash is carefully glued to each individual real lash and they stay on until the real lash sheds. Sounds painstakingly tedious – but it’s actually kind of cool. I like how they look. A lady named Diane does them – or as it’s called – “fills them” every two weeks.

I was there the other day. I lay on a table on my back. Diane wears these glasses that magnify my lashes so she can see where to glue the fake ones to the real ones. She sits at the top of the table near my head like she’s going to give me a facial but instead she sticks little patches underneath my eyes, tapes up my lids and tells me to keep my eyes closed.

Sometimes we talk. Sometimes I fall asleep. But this time I just cried. We were talking about something – I don’t remember what. I remember saying, I—miss–my–daughter – and the flood gates opened.

I have discovered, after grieving for almost two years it will never be over. There are people who say – and I accept – that I should not want to – quote -“get over it”. But I will tell you there are times when things are going just fine when sorrow hits me out of the blue and the feeling is overwhelming. I can be driving in my car. I might hear a certain song. There could be a familiar scent in the air. The leaves could be blowing in the wind – or as I discovered – I could be getting my lashes filled when I am struck with the most intensified grief.

Such sadness.

Such pain.

The hurt is indescribable because it cuts so deep – didn’t feel this way in the beginning. But during those moments of tears I feel like a part of me is dying. And in that moment, there are no words – no actions – no thoughts than can make that pain dissolve.

I feel it.

I live it.

I get through it.

I have come to understand something I was told early on. Not so long ago I interviewed a grief expert who said there are many people who struggle with grief daily. You might know some of them. They go to work – to church – they are around family and friends and appear to be fine. In some ways they appear to be “over it”. But truth is they are unable to live a truly satisfying and meaningful life. Some of them feel guilt because their loved one is dead and they’re still alive. Maybe they think they could have done something to change fate. It could be any number of issues – but for them moving forward would be abandoning their loved one’s memory. It’s as though being fulfilled with life – and all the joys it can bring – would be an insult to the person who is not here. It’s a game of tug of war. Perhaps the person who loses is the person who’s still alive.

Nearly two years of grieving is by far not a life-time. I have many more tears to shed. But I believe in my heart my daughter wants her mother to feel complete. She wants me to live a fulfilling and happy life. And knowing her – as I do – she would be mad if I didn’t try. So as I attempt to move forward I remind myself that everything she left here on this earth – memories mostly – move forward along with me.

As I laid there on that table with Diane carefully attaching each fake lash to each real one – the tears rolled from the corners of my eyes, streamed down my face and puddled in my ears. Each tear – over and over and faster and faster. I couldn’t stop. The problem with attaching lashes is the glue doesn’t take well to water in the first 24 hours. So Diane made sure to avoid getting any lashes in my tears.

She finished.

I sat up on the side of the table trying to carefully open my eyes. I’m always afraid to open them too quickly. It’s best if you let the glue dry so your eyes don’t feel fumes that might be lingering. I opened them slowly and they felt just fine. The tears were gone. I looked at Diane apologetically – feeling a little guilty for putting her through all those tears. She didn’t seem to mind a bit.

I left there and went on with my day. As I recall – it was a really good day. My daughter would have been happy about that.

And The Emmy Goes To…

I won my first Emmy while working in Cleveland, Ohio. I won for my report on people who get cosmetic surgery to prolong their careers. The story focused on a woman who worked in sales and thought the only way she’d be successful was to enhance her looks. My second Emmy also came in Cleveland, when I began doing a lot of community service, especially breast cancer issues. Both wins were very exciting. But more times than not I was either nominated and didn’t win or I entered the contest and didn’t get nominated.

I used to tell my daughter Queah how much I wanted to win that golden statue in the Anchor category. Trust me, since living in Little Rock I’ve entered many times, got nominated a few times — even once for Anchor — but never won. Every time I lost, I’d tell Queah how disappointed I was, and she’d say something like, “those people (the judges) are crazy, Mom!”

One day right before she died, we had a horrible time keeping food in her stomach. She had become so thin and couldn’t keep anything down. Out of the blue she said, “Mom, you should tell people about your Emmys”. I just looked at her like – what? Then she said again, “You should talk more about your Emmys awards.” Her belief was I should tout those awards like a badge of honor, even though she knew very well how the one I wanted most – the Anchor – always eluded me. That day, for some reason she wanted to talk about Emmys. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. I was more concerned about fattening her up. Oh how I wish I could have fattened her up – I wish we could have beaten cancer.

Last year I did a special report called Grieving a Child. The two-part series focused on an Arkansas couple who lost their son to a brain tumor. Initially, I didn’t want to do it because I couldn’t figure out how to do a story about grief, when I was in grief counseling and could barely get through the day. I went home that night, agonizing over what to do, when a voice, a sensation, a feeling – something I still have a hard time describing, came to me. It said these words – “do the story because you’re going to help people and you’re going to win an award”. Words Queah would say – I knew it was her speaking to me. I went to work that next day and told my News Director and Producer I would do it. And yes, the reports helped people – just like Queah said.

Then the time came to submit Grieving a Child for potential awards. I felt like that was what I was suppose to do because of her. The reports won two awards right off the bat – an Associated Press Award and a national award from the American Legion. Two awards, but Queah said “an award” which left me confused. I also submitted Grieving a Child for an Emmy in the Specialty Reporting and Serious Feature categories – figuring I would give myself two possible chances to win. Then, the regional office of The National Association of Television Arts and Sciences (NATAS) told me I had – for all practical purposes – cheated. I had done what’s called double-dipping. It was against the rules to place the same exact entry in two categories. I told them I didn’t mean to double-dip – it was an honest mistake. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted my entry fee back and they said I couldn’t have it because there were no refunds for us double-dippers. So finally the folks at NATAS told me to pick one of the two categories – and if I wanted to submit the reports for something else the only other possibility was in the Craft category. Craft exemplifies the job you do everyday like, Editor, Director, Meteorologist, Graphic Artist, Host and yes – Anchor. It made absolutely no sense to me to put it in that category. In the past I would submit something entirely different for Anchor. Yes, I know it never won – but by golly I knew what it took to win. To win all I needed to do was get the right combination of examples of my work – and this wasn’t it. But having no other choice – I did it.

Entered.

Done.

Forget about it.

I ended up getting a nomination in both categories.

Because of all the circumstances surrounding this – Queah speaking to me, the special reports about grief and being a griever – I felt I needed to follow this thing through and go to Kansas City for the Awards Gala. I figured I had a shot in the Specialty category. Why? Because I think I know these things! But when the category was called – I didn’t win. I lost out to a story about the devastating tornadoes that hit Joplin, Missouri. When the Anchor category was announced there were 8 or 9 of us nominated. That’s a lot. I sat there as the announcer read all our names and the stations we worked for. There were anchors from Kansas City, St. Louis, Springfield and I can’t remember where else. I waited, heart pumping – but ready for the big let down when the announcer said…

And the Emmy goes to…

Wait for it.

Me!

Yes, me. I won!

It took a day or two for things to really sink in. Queah said “an award” and this is the one she was talking about all along. When she was alive she never said much about other awards but she always talked about the Emmy. Why? Because it was what I talked about starting way back when she was a little girl – and she knew how much this particular one meant to me. I won the award I always wanted because I entered the Anchor category after making a mistake on my entry form. The judges saw my work, and thought it was the right combination of examples and worthy of this tremendous honor. Something my daughter knew all along.

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