Losing Both Parents by Age 27: How I Began to Heal
March 5th, 2013
Share Your Story contribution by Lisa A. Snyder, LosingYourParents.org
I woke up to my dad staring blankly at the wall the morning of October 14, 2004. It was the day before my 23rd birthday. I knew this day was coming, but nothing would prepare me to wake up and find my dad no longer alive—just a lifeless shell. He had battled Hodgkin’s lymphoma for a year and a half. At 54, his time here was over.
After my mom and I had cried over his body and walked the body bag down the hall, we decided to go out for lunch. Such an odd next step after your father was here on earth and now is suddenly just … not. We ate steak and potatoes and drank Diet Coke in his honor. It’s these things, I’m pretty sure, that led him down the cancer path, but that’s another story.
When I got home from lunch, I was all alone in the apartment we had lived in together. Strange things started happening. The lights went on and off. The song “Time Is Ticking Out” by The Cranberries was stuck on repeat on my stereo, the caps and num locks on my keyboard blinked back and forth without me touching anything at all, and my quiet cat, Bastian, was staring up at the corner, meowing at the wall. I was sure this was my dad trying to communicate that he had crossed over.
When I looked at him earlier that day and had called out, “Dad?” as if he was going to respond to me … I knew he wasn’t there, but what an odd thing? How can you be there and then … just not be there anymore? This moment made me come to be obsessed with learning about near-death experiences and worlds beyond the physical.
As I attempted to maneuver life, I felt like everyone started to disappear. The relationships my dad had built slowly started to fade. People were as scared to see or talk to me as I was of them, fearful of dealing with the harsh realities that my father was no longer with us. This took such a toll on my heart, as I wanted so badly to connect but had no idea how. How could life have brought me to this place of being 23 and not able to enjoy my dad in my life? Why do other people get this opportunity, yet it was “stolen” from me?
The Real Truth About Death
I continued to explore spirituality, reading many books about near-death experiences. P.M.H. Atwater changed my life with her book, The Real Truth About Death. In this book, Atwater tells the story of physically dying three times, each time going deeper into the afterlife. After returning from the dead, she interviewed more than 3,000 people from around the world who also had near-death experiences. After reading this book, I fully believed there was life after death. How could there not be? So many people from all over the world telling similar stories of tunnels, light, loved ones who had passed greeting them, and many times someone telling them their time is not over and it’s time to go back … doctors who can verify that their heart stopped beating for long periods and they were thought to be totally dead … there are too many similarities from all walks of life, all religions and ages, not to believe.
One evening in September 2008, I had one of the most dramatic spiritual experiences of my existence. I remember this event very clearly because I was conscious for all of it. My father came to me as what I can only describe as a spiritual entity—a ball of energy and white light. I knew it was him because I could feel him. The last time I had felt him in that way, he was alive and here on earth. He told me, “You need to spend more time with your mom because you don’ t know how much longer she’s going to be here.” I took this information very seriously and decided to take the opportunity to have a big 27th birthday party and invite my mom.
The Red Party
In October 2008, I had a red-themed party. Everyone came dressed in their brightest red. It was so good to see my mom, as we were just beginning to become friends again after a long period of post-teenage-into-early-twenties angst and her not fully accepting me dating women (I’d like to note that on my dad’s deathbed, he asked my mom to please accept me for who I am. Without the acceptance, we probably would not have a relationship in life.) This would be the last birthday she would spend with me.
A few days later, I learned that my uncle had taken my mom to the hospital. She was feeling weak and wanted to get checked out. I had planned to meet some new web clients at a cafe on this particular day. I’ll never forget waiting for my clients to arrive and, in the meantime, getting the phone call from my mom. She never expressed too much sadness in my life, but on the other end of the line, she was crying. “Lisa, I have leukemia,” she said. My heart dropped into my stomach. I realized this could be the very moment my father tried to warn me about.
We started the cancer roller-coaster ride of deciding what chemo to get and hospital visits. A few months in, the doctors had told us she was officially in remission. Come to think of it, this may have been a lie my mom had told everyone so we wouldn’t worry. In April 2009, her doctors had a sit-down with us and had the dreaded “there’s nothing else we can do for you” conversation. “All of your inner organs have a tumor wrapped around them.” ARE YOU SERIOUS? Part of me thought it was all a joke, and the other part of me was like, OK … OK universe … I know what’s going to happen. You have prepared me for this once before, and I’m going to have to do this again.
“I’m Sorry You Won’t Have Parents”
Later that day, I sat at my mother’s feet as she placed herself in the Pepto Bismol-colored recliner I had slept in many a night. She said, “I’m sorry you’re not going to have any parents anymore.” (This sentence has echoed in my brain thousands of times since this moment.) We used our time wisely, attempting to get things in order (or at least as in order as my mother would let them be). We watched our favorite movies, like “The Golden Child,” and laughed and cried in each other’s arms. I told her how much I was going to miss her … how much she meant to me, how thankful I was for her having me and everything she did for me in her life. She confided in me about things she would have never told a soul if she had the opportunity to continue on. We giggled at night about farts and stinky feet. I stopped my life to spend as much time with her as I could. I knew this time was precious and measured by the universe. I wasn’t going to let one drop of it go.
I was with her during her last weeks on earth. As the day got closer, she began to see people. My dad and her mother had come to tell her it was soon time. She had also seen people in Bermuda shirts with red balloons getting ready to welcome her. She saw an angel and I asked her to describe her to me. Long, blonde hair, white light around her, beautiful white dress … I could tell my mom was readying herself to transition, and these greetings were comforting to her. I played Enya in the background. Got her a professional, cancer-trained masseuse. Asked friends to join us and play music. The dreaded coma before death finally began to set in, and I wasn’t sure what moment she was going to go; it seemed like every breath could be her last.
Before I left to get some sleep, my mom had woken up with that last energy thrust many speak about (my dad had done the same). She was thirsty and hadn’t had water in what felt like days. I had been wearing a special shirt just for my mom because she liked it. The last thing she ever said to me—and I have no idea how she could have even formed words, because she had been on the edge of death for so long—was, “That’s a pretty shirt.” Hours before she passed, I began to get blank emails sent from no one, with nowhere to reply to and no subject line. Friends came to spend last moments with her. Her body got cold, her temperature was no longer reading on a thermometer … and after midnight on June 23, 2009, I watched my mom take one last, long breath. I had been watching the heartbeat through her neck for hours; after the long sigh that came from her lips, there was no movement at all. She seemed to settle into a peaceful smile. Her brow had calmed … her last day on earth had finally come … and I realized all at once that I was actually, totally, and utterly alone.
I sat with her for a little while, until a crew of people came barreling in to “place” her body so that when rigor mortis set in, she wasn’t in a weird position. They told my uncle and me that we had about an hour and then had to leave, so we gathered up her things and walked out to the parking lot—which may have been even more weird than when I went out to lunch and then went home after my dad died. I told my uncle I loved him, went into my tired, blue jalopy, and cried harder than I had ever cried in my life. I wailed as the idea of being alone in the world sunk in … that I knew this day would come … but I was only 27 and would now have to live out the rest of my days attempting to make sense of being so young and without parents.
The days that followed were the most difficult in my life. Freshly moved by two beloved friends (I will never forget what you did for me) the day after my mom’s funeral, one by one everyone I knew went back to their regularly scheduled lives and I was left in an empty apartment, with no parents and way too much alone time.
A Turning Point
During my mom’s illness, I had started to paint whenever I came home from visiting her or when I felt sadness. Although I had gone to art school, I had never really done much work with the canvas. It gave me peace to move paint around with a brush … my fingers … a random object. It was something I felt was beautiful, that I could control, and that helped me express feelings that continued to bottle up. This was the creative outlet I needed.
For several years, friends had asked me to submit to a local community art show. I felt finally this was the year I was going to submit. I found this painting I had worked on during my mom’s illness and decided to submit it to the show, completely releasing whether it would get bought and just focusing on the satisfaction of the simple act of submitting to a public show I’d always wanted to participate in.
I submitted it very last minute and the piece was placed in what I thought was a semi-punishing, badly lit area of the show. We spent hours at the show and, prior to our departure, my girlfriend and I stopped by for one more look—and there it was: a red dot! The piece had been sold!
Submitting this piece was a complete turning point for me. I learned that I had created a healing method that was between me and me. I could work through feelings by placing energy on the canvas, and suddenly I felt like negative energies such as fear and anxiety were being channeled and released on these canvases. The healing process had truly begun.
In April 2011, I decided I wanted to explore blogging. As a web designer, putting one together was easy, but what kind of writer was I? There was only one way to find out! I told myself that I would write when I felt pain and try to turn it into something positive, creating what has become a recipe book for myself and future life situations. My intention was to connect those who were suffering from parental loss, like I was, and to hopefully help myself and others heal through art, writing, and focusing on the positive. Thus, LosingYourParents.org was born.
My intention is to enjoy the time I have in this life, and if I’m not enjoying it, to figure out what I need to do to get unstuck. I got a tattoo that says “follow your bliss” to always remind me of this thing that can seem so easy to forget.
Using my blog and art has helped me tremendously through the healing process. Those of us who have lost our parents are forever changed and will never forget. I do have faith that if you’re dedicated to wanting to live a brighter, lighter life, doing the work, finding the tools, and feeling the feelings will help you move forward. It has helped me. You’ve got to feel to heal.
Read More
Taking Things for Gratitude
The Caretaker's Conundrum: Guilt If You Do, Guilt If You Don't
Helping Loved Ones Near the End of Life
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Comments
omg Lisa this is such a powerful post. “you’ve got to feel to heal” is so true. tnks for writing this
This is beautiful and heartbreaking to read, Lisa. I recommend your blog often to clients who are coming to terms with death because your words are so important and meaningful. Thank you for showing such courage and sharing it with the world!
I have had a few unexplained things happen to me when my brother died years ago. Losing someone so close to me did push me towards depression but somehow the happenings around me just saved me from it. Even to this day I feel like my brother was protecting me from falling into a depression even though he was no longer around.
This is so sad for you that you have lost both of your parents by an early age, but I am encouraged by the news that you seem to have made some peace with that and have found some constructive outlets for all of that grief that you have been dealing with.
The thing about death is that since it is so permanent it is hard for most of us to wrap our heads around it and accept that this is someone that we will never see or be able to call on the phone again.
But I think that what you have done is somethning that all of us who have lost someone close to us could try, just to remember all of the good, think about our grief journey and then how we can turn that into something good for someone else. There could be no better lasting legacy and tribute for our lost familiy and friends than that.
Lisa,
Your story brought me to tears this morning as I imagined what it would be like to lose both parents. I’m 42 and even though I’m not particularly close with my folks, I know it would still mean heartache. I’m reminded of the wise Stephen Jenkinson who writes this about grief, “it’s how you love all those things in life that end.” Thank you so much for sharing your story and letting us see your beautiful heart.
Hugs,
Noah
Lisa – many gratitudes for your open, loving words. I have had the same kinds of ‘strange happenings’ when my husband died (lights blinking, etc.) I remember yelling, ‘Leave me alone! You don’t have to convince me!’ lol Well, now you are flying on your own, and showing others the way. Well done.
Katy, thank you for reading and for your support! You gotta feel to heal… :)
Maria, thank you, too for reading and for all your support over the years. Thank you for sharing the blog with your clients, I hope that it encourages them to work through their healing! There is a light at the end of the tunnel, although sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.
Noah, thanks for reading… I really appreciate your comments and thoughts… It’s not easy to put it out there but it’s the truth and it’s what happened. I don’t think I’d be able to write about it if I didn’t have tools for healing, like art and writing… Sending love to you and thanks…!
What a great piece! I love your writing style and really enjoyed your article. Keep up the good work!
I am right there with you on believing in “people” communicating with us from the afterlife. My husband and I bought the house his grandfather built on a lake along with his sons for the extended family to use. It was our permanent residence so we were there all the time. And, so many things happened! In the end, looking back on it all, everything that happened was just like him-it was all very protective in nature with a good dose of practical joking going on. We’ve since sold the house and moved on and I sure do miss him being there. It was kind of fun!
parents are a treasure for sure and it is so hard to lose them i know. my mom and dad died in a car wreck. when i was only 13. kids that age always complained about their parents and i’d just keep quite. but it was so hard. i’d have given anything. to be able to fight with them about that stupid teenager stuff. i miss them both every day.
What a gift your dad gave you on his death bed! To encourage your mom to accept you as you are is priceless indeed! And, good for you for being who you are even though it must have been tough.
LOL Kateyanne! that cracked me up on a bad day when I was really missing my sister. she hadn’t never tryed to contact me but if she did i do believe that is exactly what i’d have to tell her. i don’t want no ghosts in my house!!!!!!!!
Jared – That’s incredible that you had unexplained things happen when your brother died. Would you like to share any of them? I’m always curious what other people’s experiences are like.
It sounds like your brother was absolutely looking after you and protecting you from depression. You were open enough to receive those messages – it’s amazing!
Jason – Thank you so much for reading and for your support… I have made a lot of progress in the last several years and I have come to a peaceful place for the most part — and when it’s not peaceful, I write or create art… find some way to express it. Let it flow through and OUT!
Death can feel very permanent and it is on a lot of levels. If we’re open, which can be hard to do sometimes, we can shift the idea of permanently “dead” to permanently alive, if we can open our minds to what alive means. They are not here physically, but I do believe they are having another life beyond this one and one day, we’ll understand how that works.
Kateyanne- Thank you so much – not easy to be so open sometimes, but I feel like it’s my duty to share my story so we can all heal. What a cool way for your husband to say hello! Any other stories you might like to share about those experiences? Like I said to Jared (above) – I’m so curious to what other people experience. Thanks so much for your support.
Ella – thank you for reading and for your kind words!! It’s been a journey to find “my voice”.
Dorta – WOW – how cool to have those communications! What kind of things happend? Did it ever scare you or were just always like – ha, that’s fun…?
James, I’m so sorry to hear about your parents – you were so young and lost them both at the same time. I’m sorry to hear that. Sometimes I hear people complaining about their parents and I usually think to myself… I wish my mom or dad here so we could even just eat a meal together again. I’m sending you lots of love… How have you gotten through those dark times?
to all those who miss a loved one who has passed-revel in the memories. and take heart in the fact that you got to share some special moments you shared with the loved one. for some of us, they are snatched away without a warning and before any meaningful talk could ever be had.that is extremely painful :|
Hi Shane – I know there are several kinds of death, the ones that are long and painful and the ones that are short and painful. I’m sorry to hear of the loss in your life. I knew every minute my parents were dying that this could be the last time I ever exchange eye contact, share a moment… it was very special and I hope that it makes all of us really take in our own lives and own special moments. I’m sending you love.
I rushed home from the best bakery in town with a birthday cake for my brother’s child whose birthday we were celebrating. My brother had just been released from the VA Psych unit after over-dosing on tons of pills and surviving: In the unit for a week. We had the little party for his daughter. The next day was Mother’s day. That was the day my brother shot himself through his temple and didn’t die. I was on the phone with our mother, wishing her Happy Mother’s Day, when the call came through from my brother’s hysterical girlfriend to tell me she couldn’t find my brother in her house, but she could hear him. I hung up with my now hysterical mother and raced to the scene; a few neighborhoods away from mine. The EMTs were carrying my brother out on a gurney, upright and mumbling and conscious.
In the ICU my brother lay plugged in to tons of tubes. His daughter was brought in by her mother (divorced from my brother) in order to become guardian of her father; in the state of Ohio, if you’re divorced and have a child over 18, that child becomes your guardian…not a brother or sister of the patient…the child over 18. It was my brother’s only child’s 18th birthday..that very day and she was consumed with trauma from this.
Nine months later my mother lay in ICU with congestive heart failure. I was called to her bedside by her doctor. I arrived in Florida the day after my birthday, from Ohio. My mother refused further treatment and was put in hospice. She asked me to sing “Darktown Strutters Ball” and I did. The priest was called.
On Valentine’s Day my mother died. Even the hospital staff was visibly upset. I had no shoulder or arms holding me the entire time and twelve years later still wait for that….even when I’ve asked. No family came to help me make plans (and my mom had no will or plans, or husband). I just had some people at the hospital in Florida.
12 days later, after I figured out how to cremate my mother in Florida, I rented a car to drive to a small town on the Gulf Coast I remembered as a child. I needed to be off the planet, or where no one would guess what I had been through. My brother lying in a hospital….no short term memory and little did Iknow he would last 5 years that way before dying.
When I arrived in the little Gulf Coast town, I was in a motel room about 11pm that night.
I got a phone call from a brother in Oklahoma. He told me “Dad didn’t make it”.
Didn’t make what? I didn’t even know he was sick, or in the hospital. (this is how fragmented families operate: take heed folks).
Dad died today.
Dad died? I’m in a motel. With no one. Not even the clerk was really friendly. Our mom just died…I’m trying to make some little something or other with the chaplain at the strange unknown hospital she died in when I get back…
Now Dad died. Dad died? That’s in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I’m in Florida.
With no one but myself; I get back in the rental car and have no idea how I got back to Daytona Beach to turn it in. Then I got in my own car and went to a WalMart (24 hour) to buy little brown craft boxes put mother’s ashes in. I used a little sugar spoon to sift through and put them in 5 equal amounts, at night, alone, in Florida…and I didn’t know anyone. I carried them on to the plane to go to Tulsa for a funeral for my father. I gave them to each of the five of us children. I don’t remember talking. I don’t remember seeing my father lying anywhere. I don’t remember the airplane trip back to Florida alone. I don’t remember ONE phone call from anyone back in Ohio where I lived.
My parents died 12 days apart. They had been divorced for a long time. Having no one to hold me for even five minutes to grief has taken its toll on me now. I have been to therapists (they usually say “oh, it’s all too much for you to think about, we’ll pick this up next week. Would you like an appointment next week?” I went to a grief support group and the leader said I had complicated grief because it’s more than one person and I should seek a specialist. A specialist? Have you looked up counselling on the internet in your area? Do you see titles that counselors address called “Complicated Grief Issues”? No you do not.
I drove back and forth to Florida and Ohio, saving my mother’s belongings; nice art, furnishings and little things. I don’t remember much of it.
Neither of my parents knew the other was sick or died. My mother died thinking my dad would be around for me. My brother shot himself thinking the rest of the family could make up for the hole he made in my heart. My father died thinking my mother was still alive ( I had not even had time to call and tell him she died).
Most days I just want to move to Paris, France and make a whole new life out of nothing. I hate therapists now. They DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT DEATH. Who the hell will talk about it?
BJ, I just read everything you said, and I want to talk about it. I would give you a giant hug if I could. I’m visualizing my arms around you, sending love your way. I can’t believe that happened to you. So much intensity. So much distance between your family. So little communication and so much death around the same time. I can’t imagine the pain you have been through. I totally understand wanting and needing and hoping for family and friends to kick in to gear and just help people like us through difficult times. I found that these difficult life situations really part the seas of who’s in and who’s out in your life. The fork in the road is there and many people take the easy way out which is totally not dealing at all which means walking away from you which also means deserting you and leaving you feeling probably more alone than you ever have been, ever. Am I getting any of this right?
You were meant to be here and you were meant to be alive and live and live and keep living. You are deserving of a beautiful life, despite the circumstances of your family. The difference is between us and the people who desert us is that we are warriors. For whatever reason, and we often don’t know why until later, this happened and this happened to US… And we have a choice how to look at the world and what we fight for… So I ask you, BJ, who are you now, who do you want to be and what are you fighting for?
My mom died on a brain aneurysm at 45, 7 years ago.
My dad died 2 months ago of complications after surgery to remove cancer. I’m 26. I look forward to reading your blog and am hoping it will help my healing.
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