Back in the early '90s I stayed home from sick one day. That day I turned oh the television and not wanting to watch a soap opera turned on the Opra Winfrey show. She had a couple on that day who were talking about their son. He had gotten into a car accident and survived but had total amnesia. He had to get to know his entire family and friends again.
His parents were having trouble adjusting. They would order his favorite food, he didn't like it anymore. They turned on the TV to watch the show he always loved, he hated it. They talked one night about the fact that they should have a funeral for the son they used to have and a party to welcome they won they now had. I thought that that was a very cool idea. That night I started thinking and admiting that at the age of 48 I was going through menopause. Having never married it was tough to admit that the chance of marrying and having children was over. Having admitted that I thought that I should try having my own "funeral party". So, I began to plan my party.
1. Who do I want to invite to this party?
2. What do I want to serve?
steak, baked potato, sour cream, butter, cherry pie
3. What music do I want?
I'm going to get out my guitar and play all the songs I wrote about the kids I would have.
4. When do I want to have my party
Friday night after work
The night of my party came, I prepared and ate my dinner. Then I got out my guitar and played and sang all my songs. I then found myself bawling and bawling and bawling. The crying actually lasted for about an hour.
Funny thing was, I never had another hot flash and I realized that I had, in essence, buried that person I used to be and had given birth to the person I now was.
My next funeral party occurred when I went to see my MD. I told him that I had fallen, again, and had a huge bruise on my leg that I offered to show him. I whipped down my pants, showed him the bruise and said that I was not leaving his office until he could tell me what was wrong with me. Rather then telling me he sent me to get an MRI and then informed me that I was to return to his office the following day for the results.
Six months before this happened I was having trouble with my vision and my optomitrist had referred me to see a neurologist. I had a different MD at the time who said that I didn't need to see a neurologist and sent me to see an opto-neuologist. That guy looked in my eyes, said he couldn't see anything and sent me home. Open season came around and I decided to change my healthcare which in turn changed my doctor.
My new doctor remembered my last trip to the optometrist. That memory was what caused him to send me for an MRI.
I went back to his office the next day for results and was told that I probably have MS. That night after I got home I had my second funeral party. This time I invited someone (my best friend). Unfortunately my best friend lives in Chicago, IL.
So, I called her and we both bawled and bawled and bawled. About 15 min. into it we started laughing.
Looking back on it, I've realized the power of calling it a funeral party. It has allowed me to acknowlege the truth and move on.