Episode 4:  Grief Triggers – Transcription

[INTRO] 

 Welcome to the Broken Vessels podcast. This podcast is hosted by Carrie Ann Bothmer, a mother who has experienced profound grief following the loss of her daughter, Cassie. As bereaved parents, the lasting impact of losing a child changes us forever, leaving us as broken vessels in search of hope and purpose. 

In each episode, Carrie Ann and special guests will share personal stories offering insights and coping strategies covering a wide range of subjects. Carrie Ann’s desire is that through these conversations, you will find a sense of connection, understanding, and perhaps even moments of healing. Let’s take this step together, one episode at a time. 

Now here is your host, Carrie Ann. 

 [EPISODE] 

Hello, and thank you for listening today. Today, I want to talk about grief triggers. Grief triggers after losing my daughter have been a daily occurrence. Everywhere I go and everything I do brings reminders of my sweet daughter, some pleasant and others painful, leaving me shaking my head in disbelief, trembling, anxious, and breathless. 

Grief triggers are typical around the obvious times, holidays, birthdays, family celebrations, They also occur at random times and likely when you’re least expecting them. Like a rattlesnake hiding under a log that you stumble upon walking through the woods. Sometimes you hear the rattle and sense the danger, and other times the rattlesnake strikes without warning. 

This sudden surge of grief could be triggered by a person, a place, a memory, a song, a smell, an event…..An experience that reminds you of your loved one.   Anything, really. For example, I may be driving when I spot a car that resembles the car my daughter used to drive, or the smell of fragrant flowers wafting through my home in early April, jolting me back to our time in hospice, where this familiar fragrance filled the room. 

Seeing a young woman who resembles my daughter at the grocery store, and finding myself following her, to get a better glimpse or watching my daughter’s friends reach life milestones she did not survive to experience. Getting married, purchasing first homes, bringing babies home from the hospital. These are just a few of the moments that snapped me directly back into disbelief and the searing pain that was so familiar in the days following my daughter’s death. 

Grief triggers are around every corner. And while some can be avoided, and like the rattlesnake under the log, most will strike without warning. It is amazing how something that seems routine and very ordinary, years after the passing of our loved one, can still trigger a tsunami of grief. I’d like to share with you a specific trigger event that I experienced earlier this year. 

But first, I need to give you some background. Before I dive in. If you know my story, you are fully aware that my daughter, Cassie, suffered with severe substance use disorder. As a result, she was not able to be a caregiver for her children. Her second child, Rose, my granddaughter, has been in my care since she was just three months old. 

At two years of age, we were able to officially adopt her. By doing so, we accepted the great responsibility and have experienced the incredible pride and joy that comes with raising Rose. She is a gift in every sense of the word. Although Rose calls my husband and I dad and mom, her aunts, sisters, and her cousins, nieces and nephews, she has always been fully aware who her mother is. 

I love to share Cassie with Rose. I want her to get to know her through my memories. I Cassie was a bright, vibrant, and beautiful young woman. Rose is a mirrored reflection of her mother, so much so that I often find myself feeling as if Rose IS Cassie. Her voice, her laugh, the way she cocks her head when she’s being silly, her tenacity and determination, her beautiful hazel eyes, dark hair, and so much more, just like her mama. 

I truly am grateful for the gift of Rose and honored to raise her. Although I know it’s not a rational thought, I often feel as if I’ve been given a second chance to, quote, get it right. And I must. Within this thought process, there is no room for error. The consequences are extreme. Some days it takes my breath away. 

Parenting in this anxious state can be tricky. When you are constantly on high alert, it’s typical to worry about every interaction your child has and who they have it with, for fear that the child may make poor choices that lead to a similar outcome as their parents’ choices. As a fifth grader in elementary school, there are plenty of these interactions. 

It seems that every other weekend there is a celebration of some kind in which Rose is invited. I find myself afraid to open my email because there may be an invitation waiting for me there. I know this is over the top. I recently had a parent reach out to me and very graciously invite Rose to a birthday party. 

A sleepover. Oh my, here comes the big wave of anxiety and it’s going to break right over me. A sleepover, in and of itself, is innocuous. Not a big deal. Rose is 11 years old. This is pretty typical. The celebration would be amply chaperoned by responsible parents. The girls were going to swim in the pool, enjoy some pajama fashion shows, make some slime. 

Again, sounds like a ton of fun, right? So why was this creating so much anxiety for me? Why was I doing everything I could to find a reason to decline the invitation? When my older daughters were the same age, if I knew the parents and felt secure with the supervision, I would not have been the least bit concerned. 

But the world is not the same, especially my world. In this situation, the venue itself is what triggered me. The party was being hosted at a hotel. Because of my experiences with my daughter Cassie, I am very aware of what lurks in hotels. And obviously had some legitimate concerns. Let me take you back several years to a time when my daughter Cassie was in a particularly dark place in her struggle with addiction. 

She was homeless at one point and spent time bouncing from hotel to hotel. I recall one occasion when she reached out to me in desperation. Mom, I need some money for a hotel room. I have no place to stay. I’m begging you. This is a scenario that many parents of an addict experience. My husband, Mark, and I received these calls frequently, and although we could feel our daughter’s desperation, we knew providing her with cash would not keep her safe, but would likely finance her addiction. 

We had not been in communication with Cassie for quite some time before receiving this call, and obviously we were very concerned for her wellbeing. In our mind, this situation presented an opportunity to encourage our daughter to get back into treatment and we were willing to sacrifice whatever was necessary to provide her with the resources to do so. 

First, we had to try and find a place for her to be safe until she was willing to make that decision. We knew we could not bring her home. It wouldn’t be safe for our daughters living at home and it wouldn’t be fair to Rose. It was clear that the hotel she had chosen was not safe and we did not have the financial means to continue paying for hotel nights with cash. 

We had to come up with a plan. Mark and I made some phone calls and found availability in a local hotel chain, less riffraff running through the hallways. We were hopeful that doing this would provide safety for Cassie and hopefully a moment of sanity to help her navigate the decision to get back into treatment. 

So we made the reservation, picked her up, took her to the local hotel, got her settled in her room and made sure she was safe. I will never forget the image of Cassie walking through the doors of the hotel and watching them shut behind her. It was crystal clear to me just how little control I had over what took place behind those doors. 

I wish I could say that this moment was a pivotal point in Cassie’s battle with addiction. The truth is, it was not. There was much more to endure. Fast forward to the party invitation. What was so unique about the venue, the hotel? You guessed it. It was the same hotel we reserved for Cassie. Rose was going to walk through the very same doors her mother walked through. 

The doors were going to close behind her, and I would have limited control over what took place. This scenario caused me intense anxiety. I can assume someone who didn’t understand the connection may think, what’s your deal? Why is this such a challenge for you? Rose is not Cassie. She is 11 years old and she’s not going to engage in drug related activities at a birthday party for another 11-year-old. 

There are parents who are going to be there making sure she’s safe. All of this makes sense. Regardless of what others may think, this invitation raised my alert level to blue. I was completely and totally triggered. I knew I had to muster up the courage to work through my anxiety and respond to the invitation. 

I figured some additional information might help calm my nerves. So I prepared a list of questions, and I reached out to the parents. I asked specific questions on activities, safety, supervision. Most of which I already knew the answers to, but I asked anyway. I did everything I could to find a reason to decline the invitation. 

I was even hoping a stomach bug would descend upon our home and prevent her from attending. Much to my chagrin, it was clear that this was going to be a safe and fun event for Rose to attend. It took everything within me, but I knew I had to fight my tendency to recoil into anxiety and step directly into it. 

Acknowledging and trusting that the past does not need to be relived in the here and now, and that the future does not have to mirror the past, I opened the invitation, held my breath, and responded, yes. And then, I exhaled. This is just one example of how grief triggers not only prevent us from living life, but also affect the lives of those around us. 

If I had declined the invitation simply based on my anxiety and fear alone, without any legitimate reason to do so, Rose would have missed out on a fun experience with friends and the friends would have missed out on Rose being a part of their celebration. It’s normal for parents who have lost a child to be overprotective with their living children. 

We could not possibly survive losing another child. It’s unbearable to consider. So we do everything humanly possible to protect them from harm. Perhaps your situation is like mine. Constantly trying to figure out the balance between allowing the child to experience life normally and placing them in a tower in a meadow far away from civilization until you’re certain they will make good life choices.  Just call me Mother Gothel. I’m okay with it.  
 
Just like the parent who is trying to ensure the safety of their living children after the death of their child, grandparents raising grandchildren after the loss of their adult children are faced with fear and anxiety. Not only are we grieving our child, but we are raising their children at a time in our lives when we and other grandparents would typically be spoiling them and sending them home. 

These children may look, think, and act similarly to their parent, our child. Regardless of the circumstances, the deep grief of child loss remains, and the grief triggers continue to manifest themselves in our everyday interactions. While the triggers will always be there, the searing pain will ease with time. 

Be patient with yourself. I prepared for you a list of five things you can do to process a grief trigger as it’s happening.  

1.  Give yourself a moment to think about the trigger you’re presented with. Is this an avoidable trauma or are you going to have to walk through it? If you can get out of there, do it. If you cannot avoid the tsunami, brace yourself for the wave. Later, after the surf settles, you can take inventory of what you felt in the moment.  

2. Acknowledge and validate your feelings. If you need to cry, do it. Emotions and tears are not weakness. They are an expression of love. If the tears need to fall, let them fall.  It can be brief or for an extended amount of time. I have had countless weepy moments doing ordinary things due to an unexpected grief emotion. Most times, it’s a soft, quiet cry that I experience alone, but the tears still fall. If I know I’m going to fall apart, I try to remove myself from the situation and find a place to collect myself.  I am not a fan of bringing more attention to myself than I need to.  

3. Be gentle with yourself. The response to the grief trigger is normal. There is no right or wrong way to handle these unexpected waves of grief. Take a deep breath and move forward.  

4. Share the experience with a supportive, loved one or counselor, or perhaps journal it.   

5. Make a plan for future occurrences. Take time to reflect on what caused the trigger. Identify and measure your response. How do you plan to respond the next time it occurs, because it likely will and five. If you can, avoid putting yourself in situations where you know there will be triggers that are too much for you to bear. 

Not all grief triggers are unexpected. I have found that in certain circumstances, we can anticipate the trigger before it happens. For example, going to an event I would have celebrated with my child if she were living. A birthday, wedding, graduation. I already know I’m going to feel sad and that there will be a wave of emotion that follows. 

I can prepare myself for this by thinking through my response before I enter the situation, perhaps even role play the intended response. My husband and I attended several events in the past few years that we knew were going to be difficult to navigate, whether it was the event itself or the people in attendance, we had to develop a game plan to get through it. 

For us, it is a simple conversation. Where we are honest with each other about how we feel about attending the event or seeing specific people. We come up with a game plan. Typically, we discuss how long we plan to stay and determine our exit plan. A knowing glance, a code word, or hand signal from me is all that is necessary for my husband to fire up the engine on our getaway car. 

Grief triggers, while they are part of our grief journey, they are not always understood by those who have not walked this road. So be gracious with yourself and with others. There is no time limit on your grief. I am still facing the same struggles, and I am sure there will be more to follow. I want you to know that you are not alone. 

I see you, and I feel you, and I am praying for you today. Thank you for joining the Broken Vessels podcast. The loss of a child is a profound sorrow, and I’m honored to share this space with you as we navigate this unwanted journey together. Your grief is a testament to your love, and in that love, you are never alone. 

If today’s episode brought you a moment of comfort or connection, please consider sharing it with someone who might need it. And be sure to tune in for the next episode. Until then, may you find moments of strength and gentle comfort. God bless.