Grief, stress and finding peace

I don’t raise my voice often. Family excluded, most people have never heard me yell. As a child I remember having fits of rage — which I’m sure where justified given the abuse I suffered at the hands of my older siblings!  As a young adult, I found myself able to leap tall buildings in a single bound at that point when I would just snap.  I’ve never physically hurt anyone in my life, but I have uttered enough hurtful words during a temper tantrum that I wish I could take back.  I’ve done this enough — and offered apologies—  that over time I’ve successfully learned to control myself and prevent myself from getting to that point of no return.

In the aftermath of Maureen’s death, life was a little stressful (understatement).  Obviously, the house was a bundle of emotions.  Not only was I trying to deal with sadness and grief myself, but the kids were also lost. There were financial implications, single-parenting implications, work implications.  The pressure was suffocating, all at a time when I just wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide.

If I’m going to lose my cool, it’s probably going to happen during times of intense stress, and life was a little stressful.  I knew that I should not be raising my voice and shouting, but it was happening more often, at a time when what the kids needed was kindness, compassion and understanding.

There was one incident around dinnertime where I ended up throwing dinner (food was flying everywhere) on the table in an emotional outburst, while spouting lots of colorful language (many have also never heard my colorful language; I did grow up in the trucking business) and storming away to bedroom to close the door, weep and feel sorry for myself.  I laid on the bed listening to the sounds of kids sobbing, knowing I blew it.  Sure, I’m human, but it was just heartbreaking knowing that my children were already so traumatized from losing their mom, and now I gave them a reason to miss her even more. I felt like such a jackass at that moment, and knew I was wrong.  Given my grief, it was normal for me lose control of my emotions. However, I was not being the parent I wanted to be.

These outbursts always led to good discussion though, along with my apologies. We talked about why I lost my temper, how life without Mom is hard, how we are in all this together and how we all need to look out for each other.  My kids were not used to seeing an angry side of me. I knew that it scared them, and I always promised I would try to get better, try to stay calmer.

As much as I hated the fact that I lost control, it was a learning process for all of us. My honesty with the kids and sincere apologies helped us get to where we are today. One day, while the girls were watching the television, I stopped because they were watching a Tai Chi video on YouTube, and it struck me as being a little unusual for them. The background music was soothing, and the person performing the routine looked calm and peaceful.  I asked the girls why they were watching and they both broke into laughter at the same time (identical twin girls are amazing).  They responded, “Dad, this would be good for you to do!”

I was not sure if they were joking or if they were serious? Given the ongoing temper discussion we were having in the house at the time, I thought maybe they were on to something? The person in the video certainly looked calm!  I was also genuinely determined to become a calmer, more focused person in the face of constant stress. The next morning, after the four kids all left for the day — I did not want them to see me — I tried it out.  I locked myself in the bedroom with the “do not disturb” sign on the door and had some quiet, peaceful time to myself.

I do not think the girls were serious about having me perform Tai Chi, I do however think that they wanted me to be the calm, happy Dad that I used to be.  They all got a good laugh at me and poked fun of my new morning routine, but I had found something that brought me peace.  It is now part of my morning routine, and it was a crucial step in me taking control of my life again, learning from grief and realizing that there is a new world of change out there. I found a whole new person within me, just waiting for me to explore.

True love is with us always

On July 2, 2016, my wife Maureen McEnaney passed away after a three-year battle with colon cancer.  This blog is not only my story about the pain and sadness I experienced while grieving her loss, but also about my journey of self-discovery, positive change and adventure as I wandered through my new world suddenly filled with uncertainty and ambiguity.

loss and learning mike mcenaney

Looking back, as much as I thought I had mentally prepared myself for that day, it was still a mind-numbing experience.  Maureen and I had fought as a team throughout the cancer, both of us remaining positive while at the same time preparing for less desirable outcomes.  I remember sitting by her side as she grew weaker and weaker; her last words expressing her devout love me.  I knew we loved each other, but as the tears rolled down her face, I experienced the most powerful expression of love I have ever felt in my life. We cried, holding each other dearly in a lasting embrace.  I’m a lucky man, to have known and seen true love, to experience it at its most vulnerable, to see the truth in it, to know it is real.  It is ironic how this moment of intense love and clarity is then followed by loss; our love is forever etched upon my soul and constantly gives me strength.

 

Her breathing became labored and erratic and I knew she would be leaving.   As her last breath was drawn, I froze.  Time seemed to stand still.  It’s one thing to prepare yourself for the concept of losing your best friend and soul mate, it’s quite another to comprehend the devastating reality.  Somehow, I mechanically was able to take care of the remaining business, but my spirit had been sucked out of me, I was empty.

 

A good friend drove me home, knowing I just needed to sit in silence.  Returning home to face my four children was daunting.  I was wondering, how I do this? Here was my first act as a solo parent, and it’s breaking the worst news of their young lives to them.  I had always loved being a Dad and considered myself a good parent, yet suddenly I felt incapable and incompetent without the support of my loving partner.  The physical act of death is so simple but the complex chain reaction of events that follow are so intense and emotional, that it’s impossible to fathom the severity and far reaching effects.  It’s like being stripped naked and dropped in a strange land, being left to figure out how to survive.

 

As I struggled for strength and direction, I knew that I was not going to let cancer beat our family.  It may have wreaked havoc on our lives, but I was not going to let it win.  Early on, that was my strength; it’s what kept me going.  My drive and my motivation today is to continue the fight and somehow keep our family healthy and strong, while also keeping the spirit and love of Maureen McEnaney alive within us all.