STUGs

Since the end of last year, my dad has been going to a Spousal Loss Support Group hosted by McLean, the organization that provided hospice care for my mom last fall. There, he heard of this acronym, STUG, and it immediately resonated with him.

STUG = Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief.

When he told me about it, I liked it too because it was just true. A description of reality. This is what happens. Life goes on after loss, of course, but we mourn. As time passes, the mourning is not as all-consuming. We get back into our daily routines and move on with life. But the loss is still there. And sometimes those moments of grief come upon us suddenly, without warning. STUGs.

The other day while I was in the Pro Mujer pick-up truck traveling to our orientation field visits, my mind was wandering. Something made me think about my experience with art, and my mind traveled to an art class I took in college - possibly the last time I really dedicated myself to trying out my artistic skills. I remembered that I had kept a large portfolio of all the drawings I produced in that class, and that it was stored away in the basement of my parents' home in Connecticut.

The image of that stashed-away portfolio immediately made me think of my mom, and how she would have insisted that we continue to hold on to that art collection. I remembered how she always saved my sisters' and my artwork from school, ever proud of her daughters' efforts and what she saw as our burgeoning creative talents. She saved these things because of her mother's pride and love for us, and because she thought one day when we were adults, we might want to see them again, or share them with our children.

Sitting in the back of the Pro Mujer pick-up truck, images of my mom came flooding back to me. A vivid image from our childhood - my Mom in the basement on a spring weekend, sunlight slanting in and her blooming flower gardens visible through the windows, as she put away a new piece of artwork one of us had brought home from school. Memories of her loving presence washed over me, her pride, her belief in her two daughters - the motherly love that inspired her to save each piece of precious artwork. She always believed in us, was always proud of us, always loved us. These thoughts and memories of my mother came streaming into me, and all of a sudden I felt my chest squeeze with a missing so hard, a sense of loss so overpowering, that tears sprang to my eyes as I gazed out the car window. I had to catch myself, to keep from crying. In that moment, I remembered - and truly felt, deep inside of me - what it was we really had lost.

It was hard to force my meandering mind to wander onto a less emotional path. I had to, to avoid breaking down into sobs in front of my new co-workers. But my mind wanted to stay there with my mom, kept going back to visit with those loving memories and images. While heartbreaking in the context of loss, these memories also provide comfort, relief and a sense of gratitude and appreciation. It is a mixed-up feeling of sadness and grief, nostalgia and warmth, loss and love that accompany them.

I miss my Mom.