Recently I was looking for a decorative “makeup bag” for my pouch supplies and saw a handbag that screamed my name. The problem, however, was that with said supplies, the bag became too heavy for my osteoporotic shoulders to carry. Lamenting to the sales lady that I can’t find a lightweight handbag that suits my fancy, she asked what I carry that can be eliminated? I proudly explained my pouch supplies are with me at all times, as well as the myriad of other items I carry.

Suddenly, I saw a change in this lady’s interest in me, and she asked about my adjustment to my ostomy. As always, I told her way more than she even knew she wanted to know, and then she started to cry. Her mom sadly needed an ostomy for colon cancer and chose to not do it, her fear was so great. She died a few months later. These past few months the lady told herself that her mom wouldn’t adjust and would have a terrible life post-surgery. I dispelled the myth, and that was painful for her. Putting my arms around her, I told her that her mom made the best decision for herself, and she has to feel good that she supported her in the decision.

I thought about this lady for a while as I wondered the store, and then circled back with an idea I wanted to share. “What could you tell your mom that would make you feel better?” I asked. “I talk to her all the time, every day, and I can’t stop myself” she revealed as more and more tears were flowing, “and nothing makes me feel better.”

“Do you have a pretty notebook that can become a loving tribute to your mom? Set a timer and start writing to her for fifteen minutes a day, then put away your notebook,” I said. “No more!”

“But I feel that may not be enough,” she answered.

“Whatever you didn’t say today, you can say tomorrow,” was my statement. “Tomorrow is another opportunity to let her know how much you miss her. And perhaps by doing so, you will be able to focus on other aspects of your life. Perhaps you will fill your days with other things that feel good.”

Believe me, this was not a planned conversation, and I was really pulling thoughts from the air. But the more I went with it, holding her hand as we spoke, the more it made sense to me, and eventually, to her. The need to tell her mother over and over again how sad her death has made her, had taken center stage in her life, she expressed, and I observed that to be true. This exercise gave her the feeling there might be room for something more. “As a mom, I know we want to be loved but not to the destruction of other happiness for our child.” She smiled for the first time, because she, too, is a mom!

My message isn’t that writing will change the realities of life, but it feels as if the ability to memorialize the love, and yes, the loss, is an important part of mourning. That might also include writing about the feelings of becoming an Ostomate since there is a mourning of the loss of our bodies as we knew them. I am a firm believer in the wonder of communicating our thoughts, and seeing them on paper makes a strong impression on our psyche.

My sales lady promised to let me know how she makes out in this exercise, and I am hopeful that the next time we run into each other she will feel better. I am a firm believer in the hand of fate, and I have to believe looking for a cute “makeup bag” for my pouch supplies led me to the right place.

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