The body keeps the score
and the tide rolls in...
On the night of November 18th, 2020, we took our oldest daughter Liana Joy, to the ER for what we thought was really bad anemia; she didn’t leave the hospital for another month, after a diagnosis of Acute Myeloid Leukemia and round one of six rounds of chemo.
To say that our lives radically changed that day is an understatement.
One year later TO THE DAY Liana and I were at the ER again; this was after the oncologists told us there was nothing more they could do, and that finally, we could decide what treatments we wanted for her. Amazingly, during her entire conventional treatment she didn’t have any infections or fevers in between treatments or while in remission; she got infections only when she was in the hospital under chemo. This, however, was an infection that could kill her in a matter of hours because her immune system was too weak destroyed by chemo, rounds of antibiotics, and other “medicines” (like Tylenol…parents, I encourage you to read the research on giving acetaminophen to your littles and to remember that it’s approximately 17 years before research reaches your doctor’s practice).
We stayed in the Pediatric ICU for 5 days, and got to come home in time for Thanksgiving. Before we left, we had a meeting with the medical team who told us that Liana was dying, followed by a meeting with a Hospice liaison who told me to take my girl home and dance with her - to stop fighting for her to live and to just enjoy the time we had left together.
A part of me still feels infuriated by that woman’s ignorance and insensitivity.
Liana Joy couldn’t walk, much less dance.
Stephan, Liana Joy in the wheelchair, and three of her piggies (left to right: Mira, Lucy & Punzie…who didn’t show her face for this photo op). December 5, 2021
One of those nights in the last few weeks of her physical life, Liana was determined to stand up to give me a hug. I remember right where we stood. I remember how it cost her just to stand. That was the last hug we shared standing together.
To tell me to give up fighting for my precious girl for whose life I would have given mine - if I could have - was the most misattuned statement.
Ever.
If you followed along throughout our journey, you probably laugh at that idea too, “Kristie not fight for her daughter?!” This is our maternal - parental - instinct. It’s the mama bear, the lioness, the she-wolf…you don’t fuck with my kids and leave without encountering the feminine fierceness that dwells within me.
But that night, the mama bear had been pierced through her solar plexus from behind, stabbed in the back and through her power source. I had nothing to say to her in that moment. And she clearly had never had to face the death of her own child; no, her children were alive and well. I couldn’t tell you why that bit of information was relayed while I was trying to process what physical processes I needed to be aware of that would let me know Liana was actively dying.
Attention all hospice workers and those who work in death and dying: Let’s have a heart to heart before you talk to parents who are facing the impossible.
Losing a child is NOT THE SAME as losing a parent or adult sibling.
An out of order death is a stark violation of Nature.
All parents know that instinctively. Most people shudder at the mere thought of losing a child, and most often say to those of us who are the stark reminders of that reality, “I can’t even imagine…”
For those who have said this to me, know that I have a lot of compassion and grace; when I feel your presence and love, I understand what you’re trying to communicate because words honestly fail. AND…
I think what people mean when they say I can’t imagine is that you can imagine and, understandably, you just don’t want to. The thought of losing a child sends most people into such an internal melee that they can’t bear it. And that’s exactly why you shudder. God forbid, you, like me, leave the realm of just imagining.
I realize that it’s a far stretch for most people to be with the fullness of my reality.
Then there are those of us who, not only CAN imagine, but are living that nightmare, and whose bodies live to tell the story. We find great solace with one another, because there is a knowing we share.
Like ghosts haunting us from the inside, the time leading up to the fateful day(s) - diagnosis and transition for some of us, a sudden transition for others - are etched into our cellular memories. Our bodies may feel more lethargic, we may awaken feeling disoriented, we’re irritable or more easily agitated, and the swelling tides roll in relentlessly. Whether or not we’re cognizant of it, our bodies remember with dread what lie ahead.
Flash to November 18th, 2023.
My mind knew it was coming - the day that changed the course of my life. But my body hadn’t quite caught up - yet.
That evening, like most other Saturdays in the fall, we were watching college football. We raised our girls watching college football; and they both wound up really enjoying watching the games. If you’ve followed along with our journey, you might remember how Brady Scott, a former offensive lineman from the FSU team a few years ago made a big impact on Liana’s and our family’s lives; the whole team and the FSU fans blessed our family tremendously. #grateful
Because of Brady’s friendship, we had the privilege of meeting Jordan Travis, the now former quarterback for FSU, the night before the FSU/Clemson game on October 29, 2021; it was a major highlight for Liana and Zoe. He struck me as a genuine and kind young man. This football season (2023) was such a tremendous year for the FSU football team and for Jordan Travis.
Until the night of November 18th. Everything changed in an instant.
Jordan Travis, Liana Joy, Brady Scott, Zoe October 29, 2021
I watched in horror as he went down under a tackle that left him with a season ending injury. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. This team and this young man had worked so hard; he was up for the highest award in college football, The Heisman Trophy. The team was undefeated and on track to play in the national championship semi-finals with a chance to go on to the national championship game - the dream of college football teams.
And in a quick flash all of those dreams were dashed.
“It’s not fair,” Zoe demanded…
I shook my head in disbelief - “No, no, it’s not fair at all.”
And then the tide rolled in. This time, like a tsunami or Maui’s Jaws waves of grief.
The intensity surprised me momentarily as it had been a while since I had last found myself in her waves. The intensity was reminiscent of the weeks after Liana’s transition…what people refer to as acute grief.
Grief is like that - it doesn’t arrive in an orderly fashion. It has its own ebbing and flowing that is unique for each of us. There is no rushing. There is no timeline. There is no linear process.
Three years earlier (11/18/20), around the same time of night, I was hit upside the head with a life-altering pronouncement. One year later (11/18/21), I snuggled up with my girl in PICU, holding onto Liana for dear life.
My body remembered all along; the external event was the lance that pierced the tender wound.
Then the shockwaves reverberated.
The next day, a part of me was in a daze, while another part of me walked around weeping, screaming at the trees, “IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR!!!” I tended to my mama-self who says, “I just want my daughter back here with me, standing in front of me, cancer free, happy, well.”
God knows that if I could, I would jump head first through that door in Loki and live in that reality instead of this one.
But I can’t. I am here. In this reality where Liana is no longer present in a physical form. So I continue to listen to my body and actively mourn, which this time meant wailing on a tree in our backyard.
One fallen branch. Swing. Pound. Scream. Cry.
Another branch. Swing. Swing. Swing. Break.
I did that over and over until my body was finished expressing her sorrow, rage, powerlessness and agony.
This is how grief works - it lives in our bodies and our bodies tell the truth even if our words don’t. In the weeks that followed Liana’s transition, my hip flexors tightened up so much that I couldn’t walk 50 yards without being in pain. My body was screaming, “WE’RE NOT MOVING FORWARD. WE DON’T WANT TO LIVE WITHOUT LIANA!!!” I’m still unwinding the tension in the fascia of my body, tenderly supporting the healing process of it all.
To me, part of the journey with grief is to support the movement of all my emotions so they don’t get stuck in my body. You might’ve heard, Emotions are Energy in Motion. When our deeper feelings are not expressed (for example, the helplessness beneath fear, or the vulnerable hurt and sadness behind the anger) they don’t move as they need to and end up as dis-ease in our bodies. Gently being present with and tending to all that we feel allows our bodies to be vessels of healing.
When it comes to grief, we don’t move past or grow beyond it - that’s a misunderstanding of what grief is - but we can move and grow with it. We allow grief to move in us, and we learn to flow with her expressions. In this way, we tend our grief.
Our society isn’t known for tending grief, so I was struck when one of the football commentators said, “The team needs time to grieve.”
He was referring to the disappointment seen on the faces of the young men of the Florida State football team, who had worked hard to have a winning season even after their starting quarterback was injured, when the decision was announced to drop FSU out of the top 4 teams, which meant they lost their chance to play in the college football semi-finals.
The Alabama Crimson Tide rolled in.
For the Seminoles, dreams were lost. Hopes dashed. Plans undone. No more chances.
Will someone guide these young men in meaningful ways to honor these losses? Will a sage guide speak wisdom to let them know that these very losses can be initiatory experiences that shape them into incredible men? BUT initiation happens by traveling the path through the reality of our emotions; the only way to become who we truly are is to be present with and walk, sometimes crawl, often be carried by mysterious grace, through the dark nights.
Loss has within it the invitation to remember who we truly are and why we are here on this planet right now. It’s our choice to accept the invitation or not.
And how we deal with ourselves emotionally and relationally when we are faced with life events that are unfair, that alter the course of our lives, that hand us loss upon loss, reveals itself in our bodies. Not always immediately, but eventually, the tide rolls in, and the body always keeps the score.
Reflection questions to go deeper:
~ Are there experiences from your youth that you realize you never really processed? A loss, a betrayal, broken dreams, relationship ending?
~ Do you tend your grief - actively give space to feel sorrow, sadness, anger, etc. -when the tides of loss roll in? Have you honored the losses in your life (losses come in all shapes and sizes…change is constant…)? What might it look like for you to begin to honor your losses?
~ If you’re acquainted with grief, how does it show up in your body? Are you willing to sit quietly and get to know grief’s multi-faceted expressions that are unique to you?
~ Notice your heart space - do you feel constriction when you remember a painful event/experience? Do you feel numb? Do you notice other emotions present in your body? What sensations are present?
~ Is there a time of the year where you notice increased fatigue, irritability, lack of enjoyment of life? If so, I invite you to sit with curiosity and listen to what your body and heart have to say.
~ Do you feel more comfortable in intellectual spaces where your heart isn’t really involved?
~ Do you feel uncomfortable with other people’s emotions? With your own? What does that discomfort look like in relationship with others? What does it look like in how you relate to yourself? (ex: Do you stay busy all the time? Do you keep music or podcasts on so it’s never really quiet?)
~ How does your body express your life experiences? (Ex: Do you have pain? Digestive issues?) Are you willing to sit quietly and begin to ask your body what it’s telling you and listen to what is needed?
~ A simple practice to support you and your body in gentle, heart-focused breathing can be found here.
~ If you want to go deeper into trauma and the body, read The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D. or The Body Remembers by Babette Rothschild (or search for podcasts with these book titles). Experiential paths to healing might involve finding a skillful body-based/somatic practitioner of Internal Family Systems, Somatic Experiencing, Biodynamic CranioSacral work or the mysterious energetic work of my chiropractor/energy friends that you can do at home for yourself! (www.geniusfrequency.com). So many options to support our Innate Intelligence and Body Wisdom!
Our bodies are intelligent and designed to heal. Our bodies are our friends. We can’t rush our healing; we can inhibit the process if we don’t actively tend ourselves. I invite you to take the next step in making peace with the blessed vessel that your vast Soul currently inhabits.
Following Joy, Walking with Grace, Adding to the Beauty.
Kristie
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