Author: Linda

Hi! I am Linda. On January 12, 2013, my husband, Bruce passed away in the wee hours of the morning. It was completely unexpected and threw me into a complete tailspin. I wandered aimlessly for months until I met a fabulous Life Coach who turned my life around. On January 1, 2015, while visiting with long-ago friend, I decided that this year would be different. 2015 became my year of "Celebration, Creation and Contribution." On January 12, 2015 (exactly 2 years after losing my husband), I posted my first blog on this site. My purpose is to create a virtual loss/grief support group. If this site fills a need for you or someone you know, please join us and add your comments. Let's make this our community...

Peace, Love, and Grief… Looking for a Reason

Several weeks ago, my friends and I were chatting about a news article… (a pretty normal occurrence). While I don’t remember the specific details of the article, I do remember that a man had died (much too young) and (without knowing the exact cause of death) his spouse had started suing multiple people – just looking for someone… anyone to blame. At first the conversation was all about “what is she thinking”… “She doesn’t even know why he died yet.”

While that might be true, I still felt like I knew exactly what she was thinking… or at least pretty close… because I remember being in those shoes…

To say it was a shock when Bruce died would be an understatement. He was such a health-conscious person. He (for the most part) watched what he ate. He worked out regularly at the local gym. He was always researching supplements and vitamins – and trying those that seemed like they might improve his health in some way. He had a yearly physical on top of the ones required by his job.

In other words, he really did look after his health… He even inspired me to do a better job of being healthy.

In the weeks before he died, we had been out biking on the trails and kayaking in the canals and creeks. In the hours before he died, we had had a lengthy discussion about what we wanted to do that weekend… with kayaking the clear favorite endeavor. We snuggled in the bed that night as we fell asleep… All felt right in my world… I was so happy… So content… To think that he would be dead in less than six hours never crossed my mind… but that is exactly what happened.

After he died, I was absolutely drowning in questions. I didn’t understand. I was truly confused. How does this happen? Did someone miss something somewhere? I didn’t get it… It made no sense to me. The hospital told me that it appeared he had a heart attack, but that the medical examiner would do an autopsy and have a better (more clear) answer… It would only take “2 – 3 weeks” both the hospital and funeral director told me.

So, I waited… and I waited. I just wanted an answer… I needed an answer. Why in the world had my seemingly healthy, 52-year-old husband died?

At four weeks, I called… “They are running a little behind,” I was told, “four more weeks at most.” Then, you guessed it, four more weeks… and four more. Yep… it took four months to get our answer… Four excruciating months of not know… not understanding.

During those long months, (years before this blog was started), I would post comments on social media about my frustration at waiting so long and my desperate need for an answer. We all know how that goes, right? Some people offer empathy, others offer advice. There was a lot of compassion, and those people will never know how much that meant to me.

I also remember others telling me to let it go… why did it matter?… how was knowing going to change the ultimate outcome?… and that list of questions went on and on. I am sure that there are people for whom that would be good advice. However, for me, it was just a clue that I couldn’t talk about my grief and anxiety with those people… They are wonderful people, and I know they meant well. Nevertheless, that was not the “advice” I needed at that point.

What I did need was an answer… any answer. And if I am honest, I too wanted to blame somebody… anybody. Surely, a healthy man doesn’t just die in the middle of the night for no reason!

At four months… the evening before his memorial, we finally got an answer. Bruce had some heart issues that had either gone undetected or (as much as I don’t want to admit it) he had ignored. I will never know for sure.

Yet, I do know I am not the only one who still has questions… A couple of years ago, Bruce’s mother requested (and received) a full copy of the ME’s report, and kindly shared it with me. I have spent many hours over the last few years going over it and researching every term to better understand what happened to Bruce.

I don’t know what he knew or what choices (if any) he made. After he died, I found all the paperwork I would need to “legally process” his death in a stack on the counter… Which leads me to believe, he knew something was wrong.

I, also, can’t blame anyone else for decisions or choices he might have made. At the same time, I can’t be mad at him, either. Ultimately, the Medical Examiner told me that the only thing that would have saved Bruce’s life was a heart transplant (before this episode that killed him). Knowing Bruce, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew that and made the choice not to do it… Obviously, though, I don’t know anything for sure. In fact, I’ll never know… and I have to learn to be okay with that.

I have to be okay with not having anyone to blame, and instead learning to accept his death as a part of his life… a life I was miraculously blessed to be a part of…
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. This crazy journey is where I am continuously learning about life, faith, and love. And while there have been some great life lessons on this journey, I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. I didn’t ask to be here, and I don’t want to be here… But I am here anyway.

As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad. Each day, I continue to learn more and more about those things that seem to help me heal and move forward. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without my love… without Bruce. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

In fact, none of us need to be alone, because we have each other. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together into this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing and helps us to process that avalanche of emotions that grief brings us. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.

Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

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Peace, Love, and Grief… A Fresh Perspective

Puzzles are my thing… I love ‘em. Jigsaw puzzles, word puzzles, sudoku, mazes, riddles… you name it. I love the challenge. Simple or difficult – it doesn’t matter. I love the thought process – the creativeness that is part of the process. I love the way it stretches my thought processes and the feeling of accomplishment when I am done.

Bruce would always chuckle and tease me about my “nerdy side”. However, nine times out of ten, I would find him seated right there beside me – joining in.

Lately, I have come to realize that I do something whenever I get stuck on a puzzle… I walk away – maybe for an hour or two… maybe a day or two… maybe longer. However, the bottom line is when I return to it, I have a fresh perspective, which means I am usually able to finish in just a few minutes. That’s all it took… walking away, resetting my mind, and taking a fresh look at all the possibilities.

A fresh perspective… a fresh look… a reset… Call it what you want, there are times in our lives when we need one… and not just when we are doing puzzles. Have you ever had to walk away from someone in a heated discussion? How about when you are working on a project? Writers do it… artists do it… (Shoot, I have even done it as a parent.) I think we all do it at times. But why?

I think it has a lot to do with how we manage our focus… For example, when we are in a heated discussion, it can be hard to hear what the other person is trying to communicate because we are so caught up being heard ourselves. Sometimes, it is hard to see past our own frustrations when a project is not going the way we intended, or our kids’ behavior is nowhere near what they have been taught.

To go back to my original example, I know when I am working on a puzzle, I find myself so focused on wanting it work a certain way, there are times when I can’t see past that one option… the one I am stuck on. For whatever reason, all of the other possibilities are lost somewhere in my periphery. I know they are there… they have to be. I just can’t see them in that moment. However, when I come back later, suddenly the single focus is forgotten, and I can see so many other possibilities.

I think it may be the same with grief…

I have written about being cautious and watching myself when a grief trigger (whether it is a wave or tsunami) hits me. There is a very fine line between letting myself feel what I feel and not slipping down the rabbit hole so far that I forget there is still a wonderful life going on around me. There is a caution there that I can not ignore.

Sometimes, (okay – many times) I have to stop and conscientiously make myself let it go and think of other things. Then, later that day or the next, I can let myself think about it. Still, I still have to proceed with caution, because it is all too easy for me to only focus only on my grief and what is missing from my life… And when I do that, it becomes too easy to miss all of the other incredible possibilities or opportunities for joy going on around me.

I don’t know that this need to reset and find a fresh outlook will ever end… I kind of doubt it. I think I will always find myself in moments of grief when I need to reset and find creative ways to move forward. Through it all, though, I have learned to see that reset as a gift… a way to push through those moments and make to the other side without falling apart.

I just need to remember whenever grief overtakes my focus… Whenever it is hard to think of anything else, this ability to take a moment and walk away… to see life anew is a gift I am worthy of giving to myself.
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Peace, Love, and Grief… Deja Vu

Grief triggers are the worst! You know what I mean. Those little things that catch us unaware, and with no warning, we find ourselves plunging backwards in time to a space where we are once again raw and lost in our grief. It can be a song, a smell, someone body movements that are all too familiar… Anything can be trigger… It is like a sudden experience of déjà vu where you feel literally transported back to another time.

I have these occurrences happen to me at least two to three times a year – give or take… I think the hardest part is that you really aren’t prepared for it… So, keeping your emotions under control and not completely falling apart, is (for me) the hardest part of the challenge. For the first few years after Bruce died, I didn’t really worry about falling apart. I let myself feel what I felt. However, for the last few years, I understand that almost a decade has passed since I lost my love. I am even more aware of how others may be under the impression that I should be past all of that. Therefore, the tolerance is extremely limited… I know… I (kind of) get it… At the same time, they are wrong.

Granted, I am better at thinking about other things and pretending all is well… But for the most part, it is just that – pretending. Here, I can be honest and say that it still hurts. My heart is still raw and broken… And this week I was reminded once again, just how raw and broken it still is…

Let me back up just a little bit… Over six weeks ago, my son had an accident and ended up with a metal plate and several screws to hold him together. Despite living on his own since he was 18, he has needed to live with me for help and support as he recovers. It has been a long road for him, but he has been doing everything he is supposed to do in order to be independent again as soon as possible. His hope was to be able to move back to his place later this month after his follow-up.

Life, however, doesn’t always follow our plans. Through no fault of his own, the surgical site became inflamed, and we found ourselves heading to the local ER at 5 o’clock in the morning. This was not the hospital where he had his surgery nor is his doctor anywhere close by. However, we weren’t too worried about all of that. We both assumed they would clean it, re-stitch it, and let him go with some antibiotics…

As I was turning into the hospital parking lot, it was dark and almost empty… Then, it dawned on me that the last time I been to this ER was with Bruce on the awful night so many years ago. I have written about that night several times in the past… It was an awful experience… and suddenly, here I was walking through those awful doors once again.

I took a deep breath as I parked the car and walked inside.

This time, though, rather than being immediately directed to the “Consultation” room, which is evidently reserved for those whose loved ones arrive to the ER already dead (as in my experience with Bruce), we were asked to simply sit and wait in the lobby… Okay… so far, so good.

I took another deep breath and busied myself helping my son fill out the necessary paperwork. Before I knew it, we were called back to an exam room. I immediately got up and followed my son and the gentleman pushing him. As we walked through those double doors, there on the right was the “room” – that damn Consultation Room. That place where I sat in unbelief for what seemed like hours waiting for someone to tell me something… anything… where I sat while a doctor told me that my Bruce was gone… where I sat in shock while the police officer and hospital staffer assigned to “console” me actually ignored me and talked about the upcoming Super Bowl game.

This was a room I never wanted to see again. As we walked past it, all the things I have tried to push back into the darkest corners of my memory popped back into the forefront of my thoughts. I immediately, turned my eyes back to my son. “Think of him,” I told myself. “He is the one who needs you right now. You don’t have time to think about all that… not now… You can do that later.”

Then, in the next moment, I realized where we were headed… We were walking into the exact same exam room where Bruce had been… Where I had spent what felt like both an eternity and a single moment in time, with Bruce’s body… Touching him, stroking his hair, begging him to wake up…

I know Bruce died in our home, in our bed… in the space where I am each and every day. (It’s strange, but I actually find comfort there.) Yet, this space where I found myself – this exam room was the space where I had to accept that he was gone… where I had to actually say my goodbyes. This is the space where my world collapsed around me (and has never fully recovered).

This space was one of those triggers I was talking about… One of those triggers that you aren’t expecting and can’t avoid. While we sat in that room waiting, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I couldn’t lose it. I couldn’t fall apart. I was there to be the strong one… to be my son’s voice and advocate. I had to hold it together no matter what. So… I paced. I sat. I found myself talking about anything and everything – just not about the last time I was there.

After five very, long hours, my son was admitted and moved to a room – not what we had expected. (In fact, at this point the experience for my son went quickly downhill. However, that is not my story and does not belong here.) I, on the other hand, found myself going back home to grab some items we would each need for we thought was ahead.

While the ride home is less than ten minutes, it felt like an eternity. But I was driving. I couldn’t fall apart (yet). I need to hang on, just a little… bit… more. I can’t begin to tell you the relief I felt as I walked through my own door, into our space… a space where I am safe to feel what I feel, where the tears could flow without any eyes to judge me or make me feel ridiculous… A space where I constantly feel Bruce’s presence and comfort. This was the moment I could finally let myself feel all those emotions.

This week has been a long one – filled with long hours, exhaustion, and frustration over sub-standard care. I have learned that while my grief still hurts, I am stronger than I think… Also, I have been reminded (once again) about the preciousness of life and how quickly our world can change…

I say it every week… Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. But this is a journey where I am continuously learning about life, faith, and love. There have been some great life lessons on this journey, but I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. After all, I didn’t ask to be here… I didn’t ask for any of this. As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that seem to bring me a little bit of healing each day. Through it all, though, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… Friendships

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” ~ Oscar Wilde

I think one of the things I miss the most since Bruce died is our friendship – the companionship and compassion that flowed between us so easily on a daily basis. Even when we didn’t see eye-to-eye, we could still have a conversation. We were still respectful of the other’s opinion while we searched for some common ground to stand on. And how could a true friendship function any differently, right?

Neither of us liked confrontation or conflict. Yet, what true friendship has neither of those? After all, no one expects to agree all the time. We know there are going to be differences… Differences that may challenge us to think a little bit differently. We don’t need to change the other’s mind. It is simply about compassionate listening in order to understand how someone else’s experience shaped and led them to where they are and how they think.

I miss that… a lot!

Especially in today’s world, where it sounds and feels like so many people are sure that their side of a matter is the only right one. What happened to having those difficult, respectful conversations in order to find some common ground and ultimately, some peace… Something that allows us to gain some understanding and keep the relationship intact.

Bruce and I didn’t agree on everything. How could we? We grew up so differently. In fact, at the time we met, I was a parochial schoolteacher in the deep south, and he was a union truck driver in the upper mid-west. I don’t know that you could have found two people more different. And yet, our friendship was one of the most open, transparent relationships I have ever known.

I was raised in a very religious, strict home where men were what mattered… Women and children were somehow “less than”. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the story of how my father was so disappointed that I was a girl. According to the story, he told my mother to name me whatever she wanted; he didn’t really care; just make it easy to spell. So, as a female child, I grew up knowing without a doubt that I was “less than”, and that shaped my world.

That lack of self-value followed me into adulthood, until I met Bruce. Suddenly, here was this man who didn’t just use words, but demonstrated through his actions that I have value. I was not “less than.” He taught me to believe in myself as a woman. To give you an idea, when we were married, I wanted to keep my maiden name. It was me… It was who I am… who I had been for decades. My choice didn’t phase him in the least. In fact, he was quite supportive no matter how often it was questioned by others.

I also remember another time when we were first married and working different shifts. At some point, someone made a comment about how after so many years of bachelorhood, Bruce must be enjoying having someone to cook, clean, and pack his lunches. He looked at me and just started laughing. I was absolutely incensed! Seriously?? I could see the support (and amusement) in his eyes. Knowing I had that, I jumped in and simply said, “I don’t.” Bruce, however, was better than me and simply said that we both worked hard… as a team.

I really miss that… having someone to validate me as a person, and not limit me or confine me to such a narrow purpose.

Don’t get me wrong. I have friends… great friends, in fact. I just miss his friendship especially, because of what an impact it had on my life and my own self-worth. So, this morning, when my journal prompt was, “The journey of life is a long one, and the only person guaranteed to be with you on this journey is yourself. What kind of friend do you want to be for yourself,”* I lost it. I just sat there, staring at the page, crying for quite some time, as the truth of it hit me deep in my core.

I have spent so much time over the years lamenting friends who let me down or walk away when we disagree that I seemed to have forgotten something… How can I expect from others, what I am not willing (or able) to give myself? I am well aware that our actions demonstrate to others how we will allow them to treat us. So the question becomes “what am I saying to myself about myself?”

Bruce believed in me – as a woman, as his wife, and as his friend. Shouldn’t I, as well? Bruce demonstrated his love and desire for a deep, committed relationship based in our friendship. Yet somehow, I have forgotten how to do that within myself.

Which leads me to my new goal on this journey… Deciding what kind of friend I want to be for myself. I am not trying to sound selfish or crazy. (I think there might be a fine line here.) However, we all need to be at least as kind to ourselves as we are to others… I need to follow Bruce’s example and remember to speak kindly to myself… to show compassion when I feel anxious or make mistakes… and to be loving, kind, and respectful of me.

That feels so weird… So different than how I was raised to think. Yet, it may be one of the most important lessons I can learn on this journey.

* Switch Self-Love Journal, Day 76

I say it all the time… Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. But this is a journey where I am continuously learning about life, faith, and love. There have been some great life lessons on this journey, but I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. After all, I didn’t ask to be here… I didn’t ask for any of this. As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that seem to bring me a little bit of healing each day. Through it all, though, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… Father’s Day Without You

This morning I saw a friend’s post on Face Book about how today is even harder for those who are no longer able to wish their dad a Happy Father’s Day… How today is one giant reminder of all they have lost and will never have again… And my heart broke… For my friend and for all those in her shoes. Then, it dawned on me that after all these years without Bruce, I have never really thought about how today must affect the “kids” in Bruce’s life who saw him as “Dad” – not just his biological daughter, but my own kids, as well.

I know that must sound selfish on my part… I know they miss him. I know there are moments in their lives when they would give anything for him to still be here… to still be a part of their world. But to my discredit, I never really thought about how Father’s Day might affect them.

So, here I am planning out my day and deciding when the best time will be to call my dad and Bruce’s dad. At the same time, these kids that he and I love aren’t planning to call anyone, because the man they thought of “Father” is no longer here. And my heart breaks from them… and for him…

Hey Babe,
Happy Father’s Day!… Boy, do I wish you were here to actually hear those words. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I wish you were here for all of our kids… These five wonderful adults who were lucky enough to have you as their Dad… I would give anything for each of them to have the opportunity to hug and thank you for all you added to their world.

As the mother of four of these (now adult) children, I can’t thank you enough for what you added to their lives. Coming from a chaotic background where their biological father had his parental rights removed, my kids found, in you, a man who offered nothing but love… pure, unconditional love. What an amazing and precious gift!

At first you were just “mom’s boyfriend” … They were happy as long as I was happy. Then, you became my husband, and there was a small shift. They weren’t quite sure what to do with you… or where you belonged in their world. Yet, you made it simple, and took the lead by simply letting them be… and loving them for whatever that was. There were even times when they would challenge you, just to see how real that love was… Yet, you held strong. You never wavered. You never showed anything less than love and respect for all of them.

Then, after only a few short months, you became that person they trusted… that person they went to for advice. Even now, years later, they occasionally tell stories of going to you and how you always responded by guiding them – never telling them what to do. You never demanded that they listen to you or do as you said. You simply offered advice (when asked) and gave them the respect to make their own decisions.

You showed them how to be a man who loves his family above all else. You showed them what a healthy, loving father looks like. In such a short time, you filled a gap that none of us even realized needed to be filled… And once it was full, there was no going back. There was no way to stop loving you… And while they still called you by your name, they introduced and referred to you as their “Dad”… Because you were… and are… and always will be their “Dad” – the man who loved them during those tough years when they weren’t even sure how to love themselves.

I can never thank you enough for that. That was a void I could not fill. I could love them as their mother, but I couldn’t love them as a father… But you did… without any hesitation… You made it look easy as you stepped up and did what no one else could…

Thank you, Babe! Thank you for loving ALL of us! … And Happy Father’s Day!

I love you… forever and always!

———-

Peace, Love, and Grief… Who is Grieving?

Who is grieving?… I think the better question is “Who isn’t?”

“…There is one sure way to know loss is part of someone’s life – they are breathing.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

That is so true… Everyone has some kind of loss. How we deal with it, or even if we deal with it, is where we may differ. For some, pushing it down and pretending it doesn’t hurt is the answer. For others, talking or writing about it can help. Still others put their energy into projects or being creative… And the list of how we heal goes on and on… But the lesson I have learned is that there is no one correct way to grieve.

Even when we are grieving the same loss… the same person… our grief will be different. Why? Because, while the person may be the same, their role in our lives is different… Our relationships are different… How this loss changes our day-to-day life is different.

For some, it will change every moment of your life. And yet, for someone else grieving that same person, it may only affect certain days or moments in time. The point is none of it is wrong. No one should be grieving exactly the same because our loss is not the same… and if we try to force someone else to grieve as we grieve, we could end up losing another relationship by the hurt we may create.

However, what I’m not saying is that we need to do our grieving alone… We shouldn’t… Grief seems to always need some kind of acknowledgement… some kind of empathy or compassion from those around us… Those we love… Those who love us… and even those who are also grieving a loss at the same time. There is something validating about knowing we aren’t alone on this journey, even if our paths are slightly different.

In the Jewish community, there is “sitting shiva.” From my understanding, this is a practice where mourners come together to provide spiritual and emotional support for each other. I love that idea… Sometimes there is talking; sometimes there isn’t… and that’s okay. Generally, the platitudes that are often said to a grieving person, such as “they are in a better place” are not said… Instead, this seems to be a space where a person’s grief (however it is expressed) is accepted, rather than people trying to make you “feel better” with empty words. There is an understanding and an acceptance of just how low a loss can take you…

I wish we did more of that for each other… I wish there was more acceptance of grief and the different ways loss affects each of us. I wish so much of our grief wasn’t spent in isolation, but instead was spent processing our loss together…

“We can grieve because we are strangers to human hurt, even if we re strangers by definition.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

I guess that is why I write this blog each week. It is my attempt to share my experiences in the hopes that maybe even one person might feel a little less alone, and a little more validated or understood… Just a way of softening the sting a little bit… of mixing our views and perspectives… of letting our words “sit shiva” with each other so that in time, we can each find some peace and maybe even hope, once more.

I say it every week… Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. But this is a journey where I am continuously learning – mostly about myself… what I think about life, faith, and love. These have all been great life lessons. However, I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. After all, I didn’t ask to be here… I didn’t ask for any of this. As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that seem to bring me a little bit of healing each day. Through it all, though, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… Is Grief Really a Sin?

Just a few weeks after Bruce died, I started attending a “grief support” group in town. The truth is, though, it wasn’t really a support group. It was really a class (about eight weeks long) that met monthly at a church in town. (Because we should all be over our grief within eight weeks, right?) And while there were some really good pointers about emotions and changes to expect, there was a lot of that particular church’s dogma sprinkled in. For the most part, I ignored the dogma. I say “for the most part” because there were some things that were just plain hurtful, such as not allowing me pray out loud since I wasn’t a member of said church or insisting that their translation or interpretation of a particular verse was the only valid one. (insert many eye rolls here)

Instead, I chose to soak in the all of the other information – the real reason I was there to begin with. Then about week 6 (or so), the big “lesson” was the idea that “grief is a sin”. Period… end of discussion as far as the leader was concerned… but not so much for me. I was angry… really angry. So angry, in fact, I never returned… That was not what I needed. That was not support. The last thing a grieving person needs is guilt about their feelings of loss. That is a kind of crazy I was not interested in at all!

However, that little tidbit of “religious opinion” didn’t stop there. About that same time, while it had only been a couple of months, since Bruce died, I started hearing versions of this same opinion from a (very) few people around me. My response to their callousness depended completely on how I was handling my own grief in that moment. Most of the time, I just chose to separate myself from the situation for a time. (A “relationship vacation” is what I called it.) However, there were a few times where I let my opposing opinion be known with no doubt about what I thought.

So why am bringing this up now, so many years later?

Because it still comes up in my world… and it still hits me wrong and makes me angry. This last week, for example, I was reading a book on forgiveness. Somehow, the author got onto the topic of loss and grief and the emotions involved… Suddenly, there it was again… She went to that place where she stated that grief is a sin.

In her thought process, she said the same things I have been hearing for years… That emotions such as anxiety, worry, grief are all “sin” since they “demonstrate a lack of trust in God’s plan.” Argh!! Seriously?? That is infuriating! Anxiety, worry, and grief (just like joy, happiness, and contentment) are all just a part of our gamut of emotions we have humans… Nothing more… Nothing less.

You see, I believe that when we go around judging someone else’s struggles as a measurement of their faith, we are doing irreputable damage. Those religious “wisdoms” can drive people (people that we supposedly love) to push down their emotions and pretend they aren’t there rather than deal with them. And while I am sure there will be people who disagree with me, I firmly believe that God has never judged me in my grief, even when I was so angry I was shouting, cursing, and shaking my fist heavenward.

After all, God made me human. God gave me all of these emotions. Having those emotions and working through those emotions is called growth… I’m not sure what to called it when you don’t do that, but I can guarantee it isn’t healthy in the long run.

So… Here is my take on the whole thing whenever someone wants to tell me that this grief (and all it encompasses) is a sin… Life isn’t a tidy package all wrapped up with a pretty bow. Even when faith or religion are a part of your life, it’s still not easy or neat and tidy. It is a journey… for all of us.

In fact, the same author I was mentioning earlier even says that “Undealt-with pain and a mind at peace cannot coexist.” * This is exactly what I am saying… All of these emotions, even grief, must be acknowledged and dealt with… They have to be faced head on… And calling them a sin doesn’t promote that healthy healing we need for our self-development.

Besides, “If we have any chance at all of living at peace with others, we’ve got to first live at peace within ourselves.” * And that is exactly what I am working on…

* Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

Peace, Love, and Grief… Things Aren’t Always as They Appear

“… We miss a lot when we’re not paying attention. That things aren’t always as they appear to be.” ~ Karen White, The Sound of Glass

Of all the things I have learned since losing Bruce, “being in the moment”… paying attention to what is happening right now has got to be the biggest one. Realizing just how short life can be… just how precious is our time together hit me almost immediately.

For me, losing Bruce so suddenly and with no forewarning, was like a slap in the face that made me realize just how precious our time together with those we love truly is. We were laughing and joking just hours before… We were snuggled up and peacefully sleeping when his world stopped and mine completely changed.

Ever since that day, I have tried (not always successfully) to be in each moment… To really pay attention to what and who is around me… To not waste time on petty differences that won’t matter a week, month, or year from now… To simply soak in every moment just in case it becomes an unexpected, final, precious memory.

That is the first lesson in “paying attention” … To make an effort to do this so I don’t miss the simple things that may later become the important things. The second lesson, however, took me a little bit longer, and it was when I realized that things aren’t always what they appear…

On the one hand this wasn’t a new idea… For most of my adult life I have known about the masks we all wear, but I can’t say I ever spent much time thinking about the consequences of that… At least, not until a few years after Bruce died.

In the beginning I was pretty honest about how I was feeling – about my grief and how lost I felt. After about a year, though, I began to realize that people were tired of seeing it… of hearing it… of dealing with it. I get it now; it is exhausting to watch and not be able to fix anything. However, at the time, I really struggled with how to find the balance between what I was feeling, while not bringing the rest of the people in my world down with me.

So… I learned to smile and say, “I’m fine.” I learned to make myself think of other things when grief threatened to cause tears at inopportune times. I learned to look comfortable doing things on my own, such as eating out or traveling. I learned to wait until I was alone to cry or express the grief that was threatening to swallow me whole.

… And that is when I realized just how little we (as a collective) actually notice… or at the very least, how little we acknowledge…

Whether people notice when I’m not really fine or whether they ever see the tears brimming as I turn my head, I don’t know. What I do know is that I too am just as guilty of doing the same thing. I try to make a point of doing better these days. Yet, admittedly, there are times when I feel so overwhelmed with my own stuff that I just don’t have anything left in me to give toward someone else’s pain. I know that sounds selfish. I don’t mean to be, and I certainly don’t want to be. At the same time, though, I am being honest… I think sometimes we really don’t notice someone else’s pain and sometimes we choose not to see it.

Either way, I think it is hugely important that we are all aware that rarely are things exactly as they appear to be. Each of us carries some kind of pain – maybe it’s grief… maybe it’s something else, and when we choose to bury our heads in the sand and pretend that we don’t see each other’s pain, we aren’t just hurting them… We are robbing ourselves of the chance to change someone else’s world, even if only for a moment… And the craziest part is that it doesn’t necessarily require a lot… Sometimes it can be as simple as a touch or an empathetic smile… Maybe there are times when it will require a little bit more, but in the long run, if we are keeping that first lesson in mind, (the one where we are paying attention), then maybe we will realize that these are also the important moments that we don’t want to miss either.

Peace, Love, and Grief… When You Think You Have It All Figured Out

Life, the Universe, God… Whatever term you use or believe is fine… Whatever it is has a wicked sense of humor at times… Last week, I wrote about the importance of self-care, especially when grieving. I really thought I had learned a valuable lesson… Had figured out another piece of the puzzle – something that counted as a step forward… And then this week happened. (SMH)

Within hours of last week’s posting, I received a call about my son. Without going into too much detail about a story that is his (not mine)… He had fallen, was being admitted into the hospital, and would be needing surgery. As a mother, my world stopped. Even when your kids are adults, you never stop being their mother. You never stop wanting to be able to “kiss it and make it better”.

But life isn’t that way, is it?

So, I spent the next several days with him in the hospital… waiting… waiting for his body to be ready for the procedure, waiting for an available O.R. – just waiting. After several days, he managed to get through all of that, and was finally discharged… And now, (because he needs a little bit of help for a few weeks), he is here. (Poor guy!)

So, what about the self-care? … Well… I am afraid that has been lost somewhere between still working full-time and acting as nurse. However, that is no one’s fault, and it is my own choice… And, honestly, I really don’t mind… My point, though, is that every time I think I have “life” figured out (or even just a piece of it), something happens, and I am reminded that I really have no idea.

It was the same when Bruce died… He and I had a great life. We were in love. We were happy. We were at peace with our little part of the world… We were content. Just hours before he died, we sat at the dinner table talking about our weekend plans… Should we go kayaking or just chill at the beach? We still hadn’t decided when we went to bed laughing, with me snuggled up and laying in his arms with my head resting on his chest – just listening to him breathe.

We thought we had our lives figured out… But life thought differently… Life had different plans…

I have thought about that a lot this week… About how we can never really figure things out completely. Life just isn’t that way… And I don’t think it is supposed to be. Instead, life really is a journey… a great adventure with everything that any great adventure would entail…. And all any of us can really do is whatever is our best in that moment… nothing more… And whatever that is will be okay.

So that is my goal over these next several weeks or so… to just do what I can and accept what I can’t… And even more so – to be grateful for this time and what it will bring.

I say it every week… Loss is hard, and the grief left in its wake is even harder. But this is a journey where I am continuously learning – mostly about myself… what I think about life, faith, and love. I still hate that losing Bruce is how I got here, though. After all, I didn’t ask to be here. As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that bring a little bit of healing each day. Although, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… Self-Care

In case you happened to notice, I missed writing last week… We had family here from out of state and out of the country. I am sure you can imagine that with Mother’s Day, it was a bit of fun, family chaos. (And I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it!) Initially, I intended to still write a blog, but as the days passed, I decided that this time together was too precious. Who knows if we will ever get this chance again? So, I did something that felt selfish in the moment… But it wasn’t – not really. It was what I would refer to as self-care.

What is self-care? “Self-care is any activity we do to take care of our mental, emotional, spiritual, or physical health.” ~ Switch Research: Self Love Journal, Day 65

So why am I writing about self-care? Well, for me, this has been a struggle for most of my life. I tend to be that person who wants to take of everyone else, and somewhere along the way, I have a tendency to lose touch with myself in the process… And that is on no one else… That is completely on me.

It’s funny, when Bruce was here, we tended to help each other with this. He would nudge me to relax and spend some time letting go… (and I did the same for him, I think). For example, all my life, being by the water has been my calming force. It is the place I withdraw to for some peace of mind or when life just feels like it is becoming too much. Knowing that, Bruce would usually plan days near the water – either on the boat or at the beach. He always seemed to know when I needed that time. He just knew when my tank was running on empty, and I needed some space… some self-care.

Since he died, though, I have had to learn how to do this for myself, and honestly, it has been a bit of a struggle…

At the start of this journey, I preferred to stay busy. I preferred to take of others. That was a whole lot easier than slowing down enough to notice Bruce was gone and how deeply I was hurting. As time passed, though, I started to feel the anxiety and tension building up inside me. I knew something had to give, but I wasn’t sure how to relieve some of the pressure. Eventually, I came to realize that there was a part of me that believed I simply wasn’t worthy of any self-care… Self-care just seemed like such a selfish act, and how dare I even consider such a thing!

But it isn’t. It is just as important as exercise, getting enough rest, and eating right.

So, I started very simple… At first, I started by just writing in my journal each day or taking a stroll on the beach and enjoying the sunshine and surf. After some time, I added in some of my old hobbies, such as painting and sewing, and added new hobbies, such as gardening.

Now, it includes a quiet teatime in the morning with some reading and journaling to find my “center” and get my mindset for the day… Or some porch sittin’ in the evening when the heat of the day is beginning to diminish, and the breezes are picking up. Sometimes, I even find myself just sitting quietly and focusing on all the things around me that otherwise go unnoticed in the business of life.

That’s just it… Self-care will be something different for each of us, but we all need it, (whether we are grieving or not). I’m not saying that grief makes it harder. Yet, for me, grief did create that “perfect storm”. I balked at the thought of doing these things for myself, mostly because Bruce had been the first person to show me just how important it was. He knew I was worthy of it, but I did not… And he spent many a Sunday showing me that I was worthy (period).

He tried so hard to show me that life would carry on and be just fine without me for a little while… So that is where I am now… learning to give myself the space to do those things that bring me mental and spiritual peace and health.

That will look different for each of us. Shoot, it even looks different for me on a daily basis. What I need today will be different than what I needed yesterday or will need tomorrow. The important thing is paying attention and taking the actions that are needed.

That is what I did last weekend. I gave myself the space to simple “be”- to be with my family and take in each precious moment… And that is what I want for each of you, as well… Trust me when I say that you are worthy of taking some time for you… And the results are pretty amazing!

Loss is hard, and the grief left in its wake is even harder. I am continuously learning on this journey – mostly about myself… what I think about life, faith, and love. I still hate it. After all, I didn’t ask to be here. However, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that bring a little bit of healing each day. Although, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!