Seven Years of Grief- How “The Lion King” Helps Me

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As Timon tells Simba in the animated Disney film The Lion King, “Sometimes bad things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Today marks seven years since my dad left this world. I can’t say if it feels like more or less than that. What I do know is that it is a painful milestone date, along with many other painful milestone dates that make February a difficult month. I woke up unusually early and Tinker Bell has been at my side. She is very sensitive and attuned to my feelings, and although she is not cuddly or a lap cat, she even crawled and slept on me after I had some recent surgery. I guess she knows that today is one of those sad Mommy days.

I have not moved beyond vivid memories of this day seven years ago. There was a terrible snowstorm and I called the hospice nurse’s station to check on my dad. They said they were about to call me because his status changed. They also let me know that all transportation- trains and taxis, both of which I needed- was stopped due to the snow and I would not be able to get there. In November, I had taken a leave of absence from teaching and spent every single day for a few months with my dad and then, after returning to work in January, traveled to see him every weekend for what unexpectedly turned out to be his last few weeks. Daddy was afraid to die and I was utterly devastated that after being with him almost every day, I couldn’t get to him at this critical time. Although he was not conscious, I asked the nurse to put the phone to his ear. I told him that I loved him, that he was the best dad and that he should go if he was ready, that I would be okay. I knew that would be his worry. I left work to go home and see if, despite the warnings, there was anything I could do to get to the hospice. As I opened the door to the apartment, the phone rang. He died.

For the remainder of the day, I went through motions with phone calls and funeral plans. I wrote notes about my dad for the rabbi, a chaplain from the VA hospice who my dad liked very much and who kindly agreed to perform the service. I cried as I looked at the materials I bought and would not get to use to make my dad Valentine card and birthday cards.

Struggling with my own emotions, I also realized that for Ben, losing my dad was losing the only person who was a true dad to him, but it was also facing the reality of death, which he had been trying to deny as he experienced the progression of his ALS. I remember so clearly how upset Ben was that he couldn’t hug me to comfort me. My dad used to tell me that it troubled him that I was going to lose him and Ben, likely within a short period. It bothered me when he said it, probably because I did not want to think about that future. However, I cannot deny that when I lost my dad, I acknowledged that I could not escape the reality that I would also lose Ben.

It’s ironic that given how much my dad loved dogs, and we were a family that always had a Schnauzer, the quotes that resonate today are from a cat movie!

My dad, in one of his favorite photos, with our Miniature Schnauzer, Windy, at my Cornell graduation. Daddy liked to look serious, but he was quite the joker.

“Nobody messes with your dad.” – Mufasa
I was always a Daddy’s girl. I know that I was my dad’s whole world, and I was constantly reminded of that when he was in the hospital and then the hospice. It seems that he spent much time telling anyone who would listen about me. I think that despite the loving aspects of caregiving for a parent, it is hard for any child to essentially take on the role of parent to their parent. Growing up, I firmly believed that no one would ever mess with my dad. He was a Marine! Cancer messed with my dad and I could not protect him. It was difficult to see him struggle with cancer, particularly because he had a very defeatist and negative attitude. It was exhausting to be a constant cheerleader as he counted down to his demise. Fortunately, I did inherit his sense of humor. As an adult, I could reason that this was simply the way he coped with his situation, but the little girl in me said that he was my Daddy- he was supposed to be strong! Ultimately, cancer won, and it was heart-wrenching to watch. In my memories, he will always be the Daddy who protected and loved me with all his heart. Nobody or nothing will ever mess with that.

“He lives in you.”- Rafiki, talking to Simba about Mufasa
 “Remember.”- Mufasa
Without a doubt, I see within myself reflections of my dad. I learned so much about love, compassion, respect and patriotism from my dad. Although my dad had so much confidence in me, I also possess his ability to identify (or imagine) obstacles and things to worry about that sometimes hold me back. I try to remind myself that my dad would believe in me.

Caregiving was challenging and at times downright ugly, but what I learned from those experiences and memories is profoundly meaningful and indescribably loving. It also let me see positive things about myself. My dad had complete trust in my ability to take care of and advocate for him. Now, I want to make him proud and to let him know through my actions that he is remembered and loved in every step I take.

Camera on his shoulder, Daddy always wanted to be the photographer, not the photographed!

“Whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you and so will I.”- Mufasa
In these days of COVID, I feel especially isolated and alone. Given the state of the world, I imagine the conversations that I would be having with my dad about the tragedy that has befallen this country. I know that he would be devastated by the affronts to our democracy by the thankfully former administration that will sadly leave a lasting stain our country’s history. I miss our phone calls, though I know that he would have been screaming and I believe that it would have made him physically and emotionally ill.

In these and other challenging or puzzling times, I still turn to my Dad for guidance and wisdom. I share some of his wisdom with my students, reminding them that you get more with honey than with vinegar, and that it’s important to be able to laugh at yourself and take a joke. Sometimes, it’s memories of conversations we had that help me to move forward. Sometimes, it helps to know with all my heart that he is watching over me. And sometimes, on days like today, even with all the love and good memories and guidance, the only thought in my head is that I love and miss my Daddy.

My dad and I

Grief Is Never Easy: Remembering My Mom

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We were always Mickey Mouse fans!

Today, January 13, 2021, marks 29 years since my mom, Sandra, or Sandy, left this earth. This is never a great day. To the people who say that I should not be so affected after 29 years, I say that we all handle things differently. There is not a day that I don’t think of her. I talk about her often, and so much so that some people do not realize she’s gone, or for how long she’s been gone. I don’t know if that is good, or “healthy,” but she is so much a part of me. This is an especially difficult time for me because she died at the age of 59, the age that I am now. And, coinciding with turning this age, which is something I have feared since my mom died, I have had to face some challenges. I didn’t talk about them to many people because one thing I’ve learned through caregiving and grief is that people are very good at giving unsolicited advice and sharing unsolicited thoughts that only make me more anxious. I can do that to myself. At least I can say that I have finally learned to try to protect myself.

Dates are important to me. I choose to take these anniversary dates to remember my loved ones. Grief after all these years is different than grief for my dad and Ben. Those losses are still closer to the surface, and the sadness hovers very closely, with setbacks unexpectedly triggered. Because my mom died suddenly, it was an indescribable pain to have her ripped from my life. We were extraordinarily close. Sadly, I’ve lost the people to whom I was the closest. On the anniversaries of these losses, I do think about all of them and the good and bad memories, but I don’t anticipate how I will feel, I don’t punish myself, and I don’t feel obligated to act any particular way. I will say that, this year, as every year, on this day, I woke up with the vivid memory of how my dad called me and said he thought my mom had died and the ambulance was on the way. His follow-up call confirmed it.

I can’t help but lament the time that we lost and that my mom never met Ben. But, I never lose sight of how lucky I was to have my mom. She was a truly selfless, beautiful and very adorable person and mom. I love that many of my childhood friends have good memories of her, too. In this clip from the live action Cinderella, Cinderella’s father advises her that they must always cherish their home because her mom was the heart of it and they must honor her. This scene touched my heart. I cherish my memories to keep my mom’s spirit alive and honor her. I get my childlike enthusiasm from her and, I believe, my natural caregiving skills, which even extend to my students. Of course, I embody her love of Mickey Mouse and all things Disney, but I hope that in some small way I have followed her example as a person. I do know that she is always with me.

Copyright © Disney’s Cinderella, 2015

In my mom’s memory, I’d like to share some details about her and some of the important ways in which she influenced me, even in my caregiving days. This is a reprint of the post I published previously on this day:

My mom died of a sudden, massive heart attack at the age of 59. She was way too young. The day before she died we were playing outside with our Standard Schnauzer, Dulcie.  There are no hospital memories, or memories of seeing her ill. I’m grateful that my last memories of her are of her laughing. However, there was no opportunity to say goodbye. She was just gone.

My mom and I were very close, or, as everyone said, attached at the hip. My dad always said that he loved to listen to us giggle. She was a child at heart and I get that spirit from her. She loved Mickey Mouse and Paddington Bear and she loved children. Children loved her, too. She was a teacher at our local early childhood school and she loved when kids would greet her when we were out shopping. People laughed that we spoke on the phone many times every single day. We went to the theater and ballet together. Our excursions to NYC from Long Island for the holiday windows and the after-Christmas sales were epic, strategically choreographed events. We had so much fun. Frankly, I could not imagine living after she died. I loved her and she loved me, unconditionally.

When I was a caregiver, juggling responsibilities for Ben and my dad, I realized how hard my mom worked, at a time when there was no real acknowledgment of the role of caregivers. My mom was at her core a natural, nurturing caregiver. She took care of my dad, brother, our dogs and me, as well as my grandma, who lived with us, but was also responsible for looking after my great-grandparents, great-aunts and great-uncles, and even my cousins. She even knew the treats that my friends liked and made sure to have them on hand at all times.  She took care of everyone in myriad ways. My mom was the most selfless person I have ever known.

My mom visited my great-aunt, Tanta Rosie, with our Standard Schnauzer, Dulcie, almost every day.

I realize that in many ways, my own caregiving days started when my mom died. I followed her example and began looking after my grandma, my dad, my great-aunt who was in a nearby nursing home. I was constantly on the phone with my grandma and my dad and helping them tend to various chores. I also loved and kept in close touch with my great-aunts and great-uncles.  I went home every weekend to help in any way I could, and sometimes that was simply keeping everyone company and making them laugh. For a change of pace, I often brought home treats from Zabars or other NYC places. My grandma did not want to be cheered, and I understood that. I don’t think that anyone fully comprehends the loss of a child unless they experience it. My aunt, my mom’s older sister, also visited every weekend. But, after a sudden death, everyone floundered and tried to pick up pieces while still in shock and feeling profound sadness at the loss of the key person in our family. As in any family, the dynamics led to tensions that were, at times, explosive. I found that, just like I believe my mom would have done, I spent my time with them being a cheerleader and my private time at home collapsing in grief. Sometimes I came home, sat on the sofa and cried, and at other times I dropped my bags and took myself to a movie just to escape.

As time has passed, I think mostly of the wonderful memories of my mom and our time together. So much who I am and what I do reminds me of her. I get my Peter Pan-like inner child spirit from her. You won’t be surprised that Disney played an important part in our relationship, too. One of my favorite memories is when she called me from Walt Disney World exclaiming, “Abby, I met Mickey!” Another is watching and giggling through The Little Mermaid, especially because my grandma was straight-faced and completely baffled by our amusement.

I proudly say like mother, like daughter!

I am not ashamed to say that I still miss my mom terribly. It remains a wound that is easy to open. When watching movies, I often cry at the mere mention of mother daughter love or the passing of a mother, and Ben intuitively handed me tissues in these instances before he even saw tears. Of course, that made me laugh through my tears, and that was a good thing. Ben never knew my mom, but he knew how important she was to me and it touched my heart that he always marked in his calendar her birthday and this anniversary and he would plan something Disney-related, like our date to “Beauty and the Beast” (click here for that post).

I enjoyed the movie Brave and feistiness of Merida as she searched to find herself. Fortunately, I never had big issues with my mom. But the scene in this excerpt made me cry because it says it all. Even after 26 years, I just want her back. I have struggled, I have adjusted, and I have had to accept her death. Now, I take comfort in knowing that she’s always been with me and always will live in my heart. On this day and always, I love you, Mommy.

Difficult Days of Fall and Helpful Grim, Grinning Ghosts

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October 2020 Calendar Page. Our favorite time to be at Walt Disney World- Halloween!

My Dear Ben,

I’m writing you this letter because Fall is a time when I especially wish I could talk to you, walk with you, cuddle up in the eagerly anticipated cooler weather and just enjoy this favorite season as we always did. Now, another birthday has passed for me and yesterday was Halloween. These remain hard days without you. I’ve never been someone who likes to celebrate myself, but it always touched my heart that you celebrated me on my birthday (and other times, of course), often surprising me with romantic gestures. You always laughed at my proudly wearing my birthday badge at Walt Disney World, but everything is whimsical and magical at Walt Disney World. Halloween is a different story because although I loved it since childhood, it really became our holiday. It’s that simple. It’s even the day we got engaged. Yes, these remain a rollercoaster of a few days, magnified by this rollercoaster of a 2020 and the upcoming election for what I truly believe is the soul of our country.

This was the birthday I’ve dreaded- 59- the year my mom died suddenly and the year she also seemed to dread, though now it seems it was almost her cosmic understanding of what was to happen. I can’t help but be affected by it. I’m already older than you were when you left this earth. It’s hard to reconcile. Part of me is scared, and part of me wonders if it would really matter if I wasn’t here, except to Tinker Bell. Maybe being alone so much during the quarantining has added to those feelings of isolation and irrelevance. On the other hand, if I wasn’t here, would I be with you, my parents, my grandma and everyone I’ve loved and lost, including my beloved pets? No one knows, but it’s nice and comforting to believe.

Halloween 2012 at Walt Disney World. We never met Rabbit (there was probably too much frolicking), but had fun with his 100 Acre Woods buddies.

In Ratatouille Gusteau tells Remy, “If you focus on what you left behind you will never see what lies ahead!”  It’s a tricky balancing act to hold dear so many wonderful memories that are my comfort zone and security, but also remind myself that I am still here. I find myself confused. I drift between past and present and I don’t know where I fit. I embrace the present and weave in the past, while I tentatively try to shape, or look to, a future. When I think about my mom at age 59, I don’t know what to think about a future. I take more delight in life, and I’ve gotten to a point where I can be more festive again on Halloween but the pandemic has led to a quieter and less colorful holiday. I decorated the apartment with some of our things and some new things. I still can’t enjoy some of our decorations from Walt Disney World. It always surprises me that some things are a comfort while other things unnerve and sadden me. I don’t dwell on it or fight the emotions. My favorite tradition now is to change the number on the Mickey Mouse Halloween countdown figurine every day, smiling at the memory of how happy it made you and how you texted me at work to jokingly reprimand me if I had forgotten to change the number before I left home. This week, I entertained my students with your Haunted Mansion playlist and my many Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party t-shirts that we waited and waited for at the shops in the moments before the parade- what craziness ensued as the cast members revealed the shirts and we all grabbed at them! I love that many of the t-shirts are now a part of the t-shirt quilt that surrounds me with memories every night. I’ve looked at our pictures, vividly remembering the details. I keep the funny light up “engagement ring” that you gave me one Halloween at Walt Disney World next to my bed. It almost seems surreal now.

It’s here- Happy Halloween!

I’ve come to accept that Halloween is something that I now have to experience for myself, though I do feel like I experience it through your eyes and with you in every step I take, smiling as I think about how you would react to the decorations and costumes. I am so grateful that last year I got to see Walt Disney World in its Halloween splendor. It was something I was not sure I could or would ever do without you, and I was nervous about it, but it was a new and different experience because it was with Monica, Abby and Andi. I was relieved and grateful to discover that it was a way to look back but also be present. It even gave me a glimpse at how I looked towards and positioned myself in the future. That’s not always easy for me, but now I know that I can do it and that good things lie ahead.

Abby x 2 to the left, and Andi and Monica to the right of Buzz.

Never losing sight of that I’m really not alone (and I don’t just mean those ghosty ghost buddies).

Yesterday, for the first time since you left, I decided to walk on our favorite block. Because of the pandemic, there was no block party. Some of the buildings did a bit of decorating but there was a banner saying that they will be back next year. I hope so. In a way, I was grateful that it was very different. I didn’t have to feel the pain of missing you while seeing all of the adorable costumed kids and fabulous decorations. They weren’t there, just like you. Still, I ventured forth and despite the trepidation, I am learning that I can take those steps- literally.

In Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the gargoyle, Laverne, told Quasimodo: “Life is not a spectator sport. If watching is all you’re gonna do, you’re gonna watch your life go by without ya’.”  Until the pandemic and quarantines began, for the past couple of years I did take the leap from relying on memories and being a spectator of life to traveling, enjoying theater, exploring new parts of the city, making new friends, and even investigating online dating- you did always say you’d haunt me if I met someone new, so maybe you’re responsible for my lack of success in that venture! Still, the joy is sometimes undercut by sadness, guilt or even the dread of unexpected triggers of grief and tears. I saw friends yesterday and I do get together with people whenever social distancing protocols allow, so I’m trying my best to live my life with zest. However, I can’t deny that I ended up once again alone on my sofa reminded that Halloween will never really be the same. At least on Halloween, even though we are apart, I smile as I think of you as a grim grinning ghost and know that you are residing at the Haunted Mansion. And, in my effort to honor you and continue to find delight and whimsy, this year I made new grim grinning ghost cookies!

I found Grim, Grinning Ghost cookie cutters!

Maybe the truth is to be found in wisdom from Mary Poppins, who in Mary Poppins Returns said, “When you change the view from where you stood the things you view will change for good.” I have been able to look back on my memories, shifting from the challenging times of caregiving and the depths of grief to see that I learned so much and had a unique and treasured opportunity to give and receive love. I was not being naïve or denying the physical and emotional challenges and scars, but broadening my way of looking at them. I think about how Ellie left the final message for Carl that said, “Thanks for the adventure. Now go and have a new one.”  I can’t flip a switch and change my frame of mind, I think that I can begin to shift my view. Instead of focusing on how events like Halloween will never be the same and that your absence is my strongest feeling, I want to work on shifting to the view that our life together and the beautiful – and even not so beautiful- times we shared have paved the way for me to know that life is filled with adventures and that I can seek and find a comfort zone with new people and experiences and maybe, if I’m really lucky again, romance and love. Thank YOU for the adventure. Please stay the grim grinning ghost who forever watches over me!

Happy, Not-So-Scary Halloween, my Ben! Boo To You!

Love,

Abby

Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party 2012