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… Who Am I?

How do you identify? That seems to be the question of the day lately… In some ways, it is easy to answer, and in other ways, I’m not always sure what to say…

Currently at work, we have a company-wide Diversity and Inclusion training program happening. As one of the company trainers who will be leading the training in the next quarter, I have been studying the material and asking a thousand questions of the facilitators who are currently training the program.

I realize there will be some who will read this and roll their eyes, but honestly, it is a great program. There is no guilt or beating anyone up emotionally, nor is it intended to tell anyone what to think. It is simply a “who are you” and “who do you want to be” kind of program… I like it… And it has me thinking…

The program starts with a screen filled with hundreds (or so it seems) of boxes labeled with different things one might associate with or relate to – sexual orientation, religious preferences, marital status, race, nationality, life experiences, etc. … You name it, and it is there. Each person is instructed to pick as many as they wish – anything you identify or associate with who you are as an individual. Then, we take turns introducing ourselves using our “boxes” of “who we are.”

In my first class, I probably picked about 25 or more boxes, “widow” being one of them. Then, as I listened to others introducing themselves, I found myself crossing off any items I thought might be either controversial or might make others uncomfortable… “Widow” was actually still on my list when I started to talk, but I never said it… I looked at it and skimmed on past. At first, I wasn’t even sure why I did it… All I knew was I didn’t want to say it in front of a group of 20+ strangers.

Weird, huh? Especially since it is not a secret… It is something I write about every single week and put it out there for the whole world to read… Yet, I never mentioned it.

I have spent a lot of time over the past few weeks trying to figure out why. Honestly, I’m not completely sure. When Bruce first died, I think I told everyone I met that I was a widow. I was so appalled and angry that he had died, and I was still here that I just wanted the world to know how unfair it was that I was alone… I wanted the whole world to know that I didn’t like it one bit. At that point, coming to terms with that title and all it encompassed was consuming my world. So, I guess it made sense that I was always using it to describe me and who I was.

Over time though, I came to realize that the words “I’m a widow” or “my husband died” are some of the fastest ways to stop a conversation. People aren’t just uncomfortable with that information; they literally have no idea what to say or how to respond. It can be an awful way to throw my struggles out into the middle of the room, while no one else knows quite what to do with it. So… somewhere over time, I simply stopped telling people.

The strange thing is being a widow is still so much a part of who I am… of how I identify myself. It’s not like it is a label I want… It is simply a label that is accurate. It is constantly in my head (usually somewhere in the background). Yet, it is one of the few things, which I find I keep to myself most often in public. This forum is actually one of the few places I feel comfortable talking about it openly.

So… Here is my dilemma, I suppose… I am a widow. It is a huge piece of who I am, because it has had the biggest impact on me over the last eight+ years. The circumstances that created that title changed everything about me. And while I am moving forward and find myself healing a little more each day, I still haven’t managed to expand past it in many ways.

I know I have grown. I know have healed in so many ways. Yet, it still boils down to the fact that I am a widow, in the same way that so many of my friends are married. It is a big part of who I am. I wish I felt comfortable explaining that in a room full of strangers, but I have a feeling that when it is my turn again, I will likely leave it off – partly because I know how uncomfortable it can make people and partly because I dread the perception that others might have.

Then again, maybe I will talk about it… I know this class is supposed to the space where we can help each other realign or reshape our views about certain labels. I know it is a chance to be honest about who I am… And who knows… maybe it will help me find a way to be honest about who I am without stopping the conversation or making everyone in the room uncomfortable… Maybe it will even be a way to open the door to anyone else struggling with how to be honest about a label and how it is perceived.

“When you let others label you, invariably they make your world too small.” ~ Unknown

Whether you are new to this group or whether you have been visiting with us for a while, I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you… and for all of us. This is not a path any of us want to be on. Yet, here we are. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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

* Be advised that all comments are subject to approval prior to posting. Any comments determined to be spam or not in accordance with the mission of this website/blog will not be approved or posted. Furthermore, any comments determined to be hostile in nature will be reported to the proper authorities. Thank you.

Peace, Love, and Grief… It’s Okay to Feel What You Feel

“… Emotions such as grief, fear, and despair have gained a reputation as ‘the dark emotions’ not because they are noxious or abnormal but because Western culture keeps them shuttered in the dark with other shameful things like personal bankruptcy or sexual deviance.” ~ Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark

Did you know that according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual IV, also known as the “psychiatrist’s Bible”, patients who grieve longer than two months are considered depressed and it is suggested that prescription drugs should be considered for treatment? Good grief! Are you kidding me?? That has got to be one of the most ridiculous things I have ever read!

Honestly, at the two-month point, I was just beginning to realize that this was not a dream… There was no healing those first few months… I am pretty sure I was in shock during that time. I don’t remember a lot, except being thankful for a daily routine of working out, going to work, returning home, dinner, and bedtime. (Then, getting up and doing it all over again the next day.) Being able to simply “do the next thing” in my day without thinking about it was what kept me functional.

We all are different… We heal differently… We grieve differently… And we all have a different timeline for those things. For anyone to decide that everyone should “magically” be healed within a certain (very small) window, is just silly.

For me, I know for the whole first year I was simply focused on breathing… just surviving from one day to the next was my goal. I couldn’t think any farther ahead then the next moment.

I remember dreading all the “firsts”… For me, that order was the first Valentine’s Day, his birthday, Easter, summer and the beach, our anniversary, Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, New Years, and the awful anniversary of his death. I dreaded each one for weeks before the actual day. Then, trying to figure out what to do… how to spend the day… or if I even wanted to recognize the day at all was overwhelming.

Most of those days, I ran away and ignored the world…

I remember traveling alone for the first time. It was a business trip, but it still felt strange… No one to take me to the airport. No one for me to call and say, “I made it here safely.” No one to greet me when I got back home. It was hard… I especially remember trying to just get my breathing under control as I drove to the airport in the wee hours of the morning.

I also remember wearing black for that entire first year. To the rest of the world, it probably wasn’t even noticeable… everyone wears black these days, and as a woman in the business world, it just looked like any other professional woman in any other office. The thing is I didn’t do it to make a statement… It was simply a reflection of how I felt at the time. It wasn’t until somewhere in the second year, that I started to realize the color was starting to set my mood rather than reflect it. Then, I knew that it was time for me to stop… but not before that.

I have written many times about people being uncomfortable with my grief and wanting me to “put it aside”, so to speak. I’m not sure if that is for my benefit as much as it just makes them more comfortable not to be confronted with it. (I understand… It’s hard to see someone you love struggling with sadness and grief.)

In fact, many of you have written to me stating the same thing. Yes, we are sad… We are grieving… But the best way to heal is not by ignoring those feelings or shoving them down deep inside. Honestly, I found expressing my grief really was best for me… And I did so with my writing, by sharing stories, in my dress, in my paintings, and so many other ways that I can’t even begin to name them all.

My point, though, is this… If you are grieving, then do so with no apologies to anyone else. Let yourself feel what you feel. Then, be honest about those emotions so you can keep moving forward. Like me with the black clothes… It was a good thing in the beginning because it let me express myself in my own quiet way. However, once I realized it was no longer an expression of my feelings, but instead was swaying my emotions, I knew it was time to stop…

That is what I mean… It’s okay to feel what you feel… And no one has the authority or right to tell you when to stop… You just keep doing those things that help you move forward… Even it it’s baby steps… And that’s okay!

Whether you are new to this group or whether you have been visiting with us for a while, I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you… and for all of us. This is not a path any of us want to be on. Yet, here we are. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Message for Me

The last few weeks have found me cleaning out and throwing out. I have bins upon bins in my garage due to several circumstances… I had to move everything out of my house when I had new floors installed this summer; my daughter and I emptied out a storage unit we had been renting together; and I will be working from home permanently, so I went and got all of my stuff from the office. I don’t want all this stuff, though. So, I am determined that nothing is coming back into this house until I go through it and decide if I really want to keep it… Everything else is either charity or trash.

(Sigh)… What an undertaking… However, slowly but surely, I am making progress.

It has also been quite interesting to see old family pictures, newspaper clippings of my kids, pictures of Bruce and I that I had forgotten about, and the list goes on and on. Each day I unpack and go through at least one bin, and today, I chose one of the bins filled with stuff from my office.

I was just there gathering my stuff this past week. It was so eerie going into that huge empty building. There was no one there except me and the security guard… and the silence was deafening. It was also sad… the idea of not going there again… not seeing my friends… or hearing people laugh across the room… or even that low hum of business… of people focused and working.

I will miss all that…

I have worked in that office longer than I have worked or lived anywhere… over 12 years. It probably sounds weird, but that office holds a sweet spot in my heart. In the weeks and months after Bruce died, it provided me with a space to go to that felt “normal.” Because of what I do, Bruce had never been inside my office, so it didn’t feel weird that he wasn’t there. It felt like it was supposed to… It felt like it should… It felt like work.

That space quickly became a sanctuary away from the overwhelming grief and silence I felt at home. I think that is why I went back to work so soon after he died. I just couldn’t continue to sit in this house any longer, staring at the walls and waiting (praying) for him to return. But the office offered a distraction… There was work to do, and people all around me doing exactly that. And, whenever I felt too sad or needed a break from all of that, I simply shut the door to my office for a little while.

A few months after Bruce died, the son of one of my friends there was killed in a horrible accident. In the months that followed, she and I reached out to each other in our grief for support… and hugs… and just to know there was someone who understood the pain that we were both drowning in.

One particular morning, she came into my office, handed me a piece of paper, and sat down. She had had a dream the night before, and in her dream, Bruce had asked her to give me a message. At the time, I took that piece of paper and taped it to my computer. I needed that daily reminder that I wasn’t alone…

However, over time, my mind grew accustomed to that piece of paper, and after years of it sitting in the same space, I barely noticed it. In fact, in the 17 months we have been working from home, I don’t believe I have thought of that piece of paper back in the office at all. I simply forgot all about it… until today when I was unpacking that bin from the office.

And there it was… torn and stained, but still there…

“From Bruce: (2/6/2014)
I pray that you will realize the depth and breadth of God’s love for you – a love that has no limits. I pray that you will have a revelation of His immense love for you knowing that nothing can separate you from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Neither death nor life, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers in all creation can keep God from loving you. May God’s demonstration of His love through His son be so real, that there will be no room for doubt. May you experience the fullness of God’s love today.”

This precious message was originally sent to me at a time when I was struggling with my faith and praying for answers… I wasn’t even sure I wanted to believe in a God who had let the love of my life die in my arms. Then… to have that same message reappear in my world today… a time when I find myself solidly on a path of faith where Bruce’s own legacy has guided me consistently over the years…

Well… All I can say it that my heart is full today, and I am so thankful for the love and blessings that Bruce still brings to my world.

To old friends, (whose names I recognize week to week), as well as anyone new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you. This is not a club that anyone wants to join. Yet, here we are, and none of us are alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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

Peace, Love, and Grief… Finding My Way

“And when we examine the deeper issues of our beliefs or questions – particularly when the roots of those beliefs are not merely information but gut-level experience rooted in sadness and grief – well, it is sacred ground or scary ground, a minefield. That’s okay. One thing I’ve learned is that the Holy Spirit can be trusted. When the time is right, the time is right.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith

Over the past few months, I have had several friends say that they have moved away from the faith of their childhood, and are searching for something more… Not a new religion, but a faith that they can call their own… A faith born out of who they are and the experiences that have brought them to this point.

I get it… I started on this same journey well before Bruce died…

It’s funny… when we first met, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew what my religion taught. I could go through the rituals and say all the prayers. I could stand and kneel and fold my hands and bow my head. I could quote scripture and place my offering in the basket when it was passed. I spent my days trying to “get it right” … wanting this religion to hold all the answers…

But it didn’t… It couldn’t… not for me at least… I was divorced (Oh my, no!) and about to remarry. (Well, you can’t get much more “sinful” than that.) I can remember sitting in choir and hearing people talk about my situation. I can remember having a fellow teacher tell me I was no longer welcome to take communion. I can remember being made to feel that my faith was somehow “less” simply because I refused to stay in a violent marriage, and instead, chose to find someone who could love me and my children unconditionally.

Don’t misunderstand, it wasn’t the priest, (he was quite supportive), or my friends, (they were wonderful). It was only a handful of people, but it still hurt… And it left me doubting my faith and my religion. I hadn’t quit or given up yet, but the seed had been planted.

Then there was Bruce… He was a quiet, humble, private man who knew what he believed. He was a man who knew what unconditional love meant and how to express it. Seemingly without effort, he lived a life that was true to what he believed and centered on those around him. When we first met, I remember thinking that I needed to be sure he was “saved” … that he was a “Christian.” After all, I couldn’t marry someone who wasn’t a Christian.

However, it didn’t take me long to realize, he lived the most Christ-like life I had ever experienced. It wasn’t too long before I was asking him questions… I loved our conversations about God and faith. I soon learned that our biggest difference was he didn’t give two hoots about dogma or what someone else said he should think. He was quite capable of figuring out his own spiritual path.

Only months before he died, I found myself leaving church mid-sermon and in tears, because the pastor was insisting that his view point of a certain scripture was the only right one, and any other opinion was from the devil himself. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore… As much as I love my God and my faith, and as much as I wanted to “get it right,” I knew this path was not the right one for me…

I cried and grieved for days as I realized, I couldn’t go back… and I really didn’t want to… I needed something more… I needed to start from scratch and figure out what I truly believed – not what anyone else was telling me to think. I no longer wanted the faith of my childhood or the faith of my parents. I needed something that was mine and spoke to my heart… Something more relational; something that was big enough to allow me to push back – to debate and question and doubt… Something that would expand my own thoughts and fill me up so I could live a life that was true to what I believe. In other words, I was looking for something more like what Bruce had. I mean, the rituals and all are nice and definitely filled with emotion in the moment. But I needed something more… Not a list of do’s and don’ts… I needed something that was real all the time – day in and day out – moment by moment.

Then, less than two months later, Bruce died… and I floundered. I was so mad at God. I stopped praying… I stopped my devotions… I stopped singing… I stopped all of it. In my grief, I just couldn’t care about a God who didn’t seem to care about me.

But time passed… and my faith is too deeply rooted, I suppose, to let go completely. So… I started thinking about the many conversations with Bruce about what he believed, which led me to read the books he had read, and listen to the speakers he had listened to… In a lot of ways, I was starting from square one. In other ways, my prior religious upbringing, gave me a lot of background knowledge that helped me find context and value in the things I was learning.

For the longest time, I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one on this journey. Then, a couple of years ago, I learned about a whole movement within the church that is heading in this same direction… (like another Reformation, only better, because I am actually blessed to experience it firsthand.)

I am still on this journey, and hopefully, will be for the rest of my life. I love not having all the answers. I love reading and thinking and comparing all of the different aspects of what I thought I knew, what I am learning, and how all of it is shaping what I now believe.

So, as I sit here this week, listening as my friends find their own way, I understand their pain, their frustration, and their struggle. Still, I find myself smiling… Yes, it is a bittersweet moment, because I keep thinking about the fact that I would never have been on this path if it weren’t for Bruce… (And maybe even because of my grief over his death). His legacy of living a life that was true to his beliefs, has been a shining example for my own path… He did and still does give me the courage to keep digging… to keep reaching… and to simply keep on…

And I am forever thankful for that.

To old friends, (whose names I recognize week to week), as well as, anyone new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you. At the same time, you really AREN’T alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Part of Who I Am

Recently, I read a line that has stuck with me… It said that over time grief becomes like a second skin. I hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but it was true. While grief starts out as a sudden stranger intruding into our world, after a while, it is no longer something outside of ourselves… We become used to having it surround us day in and day out. Then, somehow, it simply becomes a part of who we are… At least, I know it has become a part of who I am.

This week, I have watched as a couple of friends have started on this journey. Their pain is raw, and their emotions are overwhelming. I wish I had the words to make it better… I wish I could give them a list of things to do to make that pain go away… I wish I could tell them that before long, they will feel better and go back to who they were…

But that isn’t going to happen… Grief changes us… permanently. There are no words that can take away the pain… Instead, all I can do this week is to reach out in love and walk beside them the same way other people did for me.

It’s hard… What they are going through is hard… It’s awful to find yourself suddenly thrown onto that path… A “grief journey” is what it is often called, but honestly, it feels more like the road to hell. For so long, it seems as if there is no light anywhere… No God to be found… No answers… No comfort… Only pain.

Bruce died over eight years ago, and it has taken me a long, long time to get my bearings on this path. For so long, I couldn’t move at all… There was a part of me that wouldn’t believe I was here… Maybe if I didn’t move, I would wake up, and this would all be over.

But life doesn’t work that way.

In the beginning, I was so angry – angry at God, angry at Bruce, angry at couples who passed me on the street, while holding hands and laughing together. Shoot, I was even angry at well-meaning people who tried to offer words of comfort. For me, in that moment, those words felt like fluff… They seemed so trite… so insulting… It felt as if the whole world wanted me to ignore my pain and just get over it… As if the world were convinced that a few “pretty” words should inspire me to just smile and move on.

But grief doesn’t work that way.

Instead, I found that I had to allow myself to feel what I felt. (Somedays I still do.) … I learned to let myself embrace that pain and hold it close. Then, I would scream and cry and shake my fist… I hit things and I threw things… all in an effort to get those emotions out… I had to let myself feel it… all of it… before I could take even that first step on this journey.

I have learned over time that when the grief and pain wash over me, I am allowed to feel it in its entirety… Then, with a strength I never knew I had, I can take a new breath and take the next step… It isn’t always easy, and it isn’t what I always want to do. But I have learned that I can release it… I know that staying submerged in it for too long at any one time can completely overwhelm me once again… And that is a dark, dark path… a scary and lonely space… And I don’t like being there.

They say that mourning is the outward signs and behavior we exhibit after a loss, but grieving is the pain. I think that’s accurate. It is the mourning that I find I have to push through, but the grief? … Well, that is the part that has settles into my soul… that is the part that makes me a little bit stronger as it becomes my “second skin”… That is the part that never truly leaves… Instead, it simply becomes a part of who I am…

“’All shall be well,’ Yaltha had told me, and when I’d recoiled at how trite and superficial that sounded, she’d said, ‘I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. There’s a place in you that is inviolate. You’ll find your way there, when you need to. And you’ll know then what I speak of.’” ~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Book of Longings

To my friends who have lost loved ones this week, as well as anyone who is new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for each of you. At the same time, please know that you really aren’t alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Sometimes It’s Still Hard to Believe

“We have been and always will be a part of each other.” ~ John Denver

This week, one of my daughters sent me some pictures of Bruce and I from a cruise we had all taken together. I recognized the trip immediately… As all of the fun and revelry of that week came back to me, a smile spread over my face.

What precious memories!

I remember sitting in the lounge chairs on deck, just reading and sipping drinks as we relaxed on that first afternoon. I remember dinners filled with laughter and silliness. I remember the “Bathrobe Party” on deck one night and doing shots at Senior Frogs in Mexico. I remember ziplining through the rainforest in Belize and touring the Mayan ruins. I remember going from one fun adventure to the next – hand in hand with the love of my life – enjoying every step along the way.

I remember all of it! Every fun, crazy, wonderful moment!

I actually even remember most of the pictures we took on that trip. I had seen them at some point before this week, but it has been years.

“Do you have a copy of these?” she texted.

“I do now,” I replied with a smiley face.

As I sat there staring at the screen – smiling and remembering that week, I also felt the tears start to slide down my cheek. Kind of like when it rains, and the sun is shining at the same time. It was one of those bittersweet, weird moments when my emotions are all over the place.

It seems like it is in those moments that I find myself sitting there, trying to comprehend all over again that he is really gone… Like forever, really gone.

It probably sounds silly, but there are times when is still hard to comprehend. I think there is this part of me that will always feel like he is still coming home. That this reality is actually, somehow temporary… Then, it hits me all over again… I am reminded that he will never have another birthday or watch another sunset. I will never again see him smile or hear him whisper that he loves me. We will never again snuggle on the couch or sit on the beach holding hands… ever… all of that is forever gone.

Those are the moments that catch me by surprise… Those are the moments where it is still hard to believe he is truly gone…

Forever…

Gone.

Then… I took a breath, and I looked at those pictures again. And at that point, I was reminded of something else… As surely as there is breath in my lungs, I know that as long as I (or anyone who loved him) remembers Bruce, he will always live on. He will always be a part of our world… and a part of my heart.

This journey is an odd one isn’t it? We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Letting Life Be

This weekend as I was sitting at the beach enjoying time with my grandson, I also found myself enjoying the waves, the sun, the dragonflies, the lone pelican bobbing on the waves… and the peace of knowing that somehow Bruce was there too. As I sat there, I also thought about a quote I came across this week in the book I am reading, The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd. The quote was so simple… “Let life be life, and let death be death.”

In the story, the main character had just lost her first child… Emotions I could definitely embrace, as I found myself going back so many years ago to the unexpected loss of little Baby Matthew…

I remember the fear, the sadness, and the pain… but mostly, I remember being told I shouldn’t grieve. I should “be relieved,” I was told, because while I was married at the time of his loss, our child had been conceived outside of wedlock… And the world can be a cruel place for such things.

I wasn’t relieved, though. I was sad… As my breasts filled with milk, my heart and my arms were empty. Yet, at the time, my only choice was to push all of that down deep inside, because there was no safe place to let it out. There was no place to “let life be life, and let death be death.”

Many years later, I found myself, once again, devastated by loss… the loss of Bruce. Honestly, at first, I didn’t know how to grieve him. I just kept trying to shove it down, but I wasn’t very successful. Instead, it showed up as depression and anger. All my life through every loss, I had been told “to rejoice” – “They are in a better place” or “their suffering is over” or (one of the worst) “God needed them more.” NOPE! This time I wasn’t having it. All of those empty phrases (and ones like them) only made me angrier.

However, that anger was met with words that questioned my faith… As if the fact that I felt sadness, anger, and devastation at the loss of Bruce also meant my faith in God must be lacking… Pardon me, but that’s a load of crap!

Even Jesus cried when his friend, Lazarus, died… And yes, I am well aware that there are different theories on why he cried – reasons other than grief. However, all we really know is that he cried… And for me… the idea that he had felt and expressed the overwhelming sadness of grief too… Well, the simplicity of that idea is extremely validating.

For me, it has taken years to work through the devastation of that loss – mainly because I had to give myself permission to grieve first. Then, I had to learn how to grieve, which started by going back and grieving all those past losses… most especially my precious Baby Matthew. Then… finally… I was able to truly face my emotions and grieve Bruce. (So much of that I have shared here on these pages… with you. Thank you!)

It has been a slow and arduous process… Learning how to have an emotion, sort it out – allowing it to just “be.” Then, finding the space for it in my heart before moving on… until the next time. Those times… those waves (sometimes tsunamis) of grief have become less frequent through the years.

I think it is because I have learned to let myself go through what I need to in order to come out healthier on the other side. I also think it has a lot to do with knowing that I had the blessing of being able to spend a part of my life with Bruce at all… To know that I was able to be with him up until his last breath is nothing short of miraculous for me… And as hard as those last moments were, I am thankful that I was there with him… That he wasn’t alone.

However, my last breath hasn’t happened yet… I am still here, and life is still calling me.

So, this week when I read, “Let life be life, and let death be death,” I knew exactly what it meant (for me, at least). … Life is what it is. I have to accept that. I can’t control any of it… And while death is a part of it, when death enters our world, we shouldn’t quit living… For life is such a precious gift… and I know, (for myself), I don’t want to waste it… I want to sit back, savor each moment, and enjoy it!

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you today. I know that sometimes this journey can feel so lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We have been here for each other for years, (and I am so grateful). While this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us, it is our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… It’s Not Always About Survival

It’s funny how life just keeps plugging along no matter what… The last few months have found me readjusting once again to a different life now that my daughter and grandson have moved out. It’s just feels weird sometimes – so different from the last few years of constant companionship and life with a little boy. I smile, though, watching their new family bond grow deeper with each passing day… (And knowing they are just up the road, doesn’t hurt either.)

At times, though, I am reminded of the time after Bruce died when I had to adjust to living alone. It was so different then. First of all, it was all so completely unexpected. One night we were laughing and making plans, and within just a few, short hours, he was gone. The suddenness of that loss was more than my mind (and heart) could manage. At the time, I wanted to badly to “grieve well” … I wanted to heal and move on (whatever that meant).

My desperation to wake up from this nightmare and my struggle to accept reality were completely at odds with each other. I didn’t want to be mad… I didn’t want to cry all the time… I didn’t want to feel the way I felt.

At first, it was strictly about survival… Getting up and facing each day… Going through the motions of life, such as working, eating, sleeping, and breathing. Each thing I had to do seemed to take all of my energy. There was nothing left to think about what might be next. It was strictly a matter of surviving each moment before moving to the next.

Brene Brown says that when we try to numb the “hard” feelings, we end up numbing everything… She is right! I am pretty sure that is exactly what happened during the first few years. In an effort to control the utter anguish I was feeling, I ended up turning off everything… It was the only way to survive. I remember walking around as in a fog, and in the moments when I let myself feel anything, I felt it all… There was no middle ground… During that time, it was definitely “all or nothing.”

Slowly, after working with a wonderful coach, I learned how to manage all those big emotions a little bit at a time. I wasn’t doing great, but I was definitely doing better. Then, I was blessed to have my daughter and grandson move in. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone… and life wasn’t about me. It felt good to invest in someone else for a while. The healing that happened during the years they lived here was miraculous at a minimum. I am so grateful for that time and all I learned.

Now, I find myself on the other side of that temporary arrangement, but things are different this time…

This time, I don’t feel abandoned or lonely. Three of my four children live nearby. We talk and visit quite often. (Those are the things that make me smile the most.) Also, during the time they were living here, I found myself pursuing my own spiritual awakening and path. So now, when those waves of grief appear (and they still do), I have that relationship to give me solace.

This morning, I was blessed to meet up with a friend for breakfast. We had such a great time – talking, laughing, and just chatting. While we sat there, I realized something else…. I have always known I am an introvert, and I tend to just keep to myself. Since Bruce died, though, I have done it more and more… probably because it feels safe. However, the fun I had this morning made me think… Perhaps, now is a good time for me to stretch again… To get out and do things – fun things… To make new friends and reconnect with old friends…

While somedays life really is about survival, it doesn’t have to be that way all the time. When Bruce died, I thought my life was over too… In some ways, I wanted it to be… I couldn’t imagine a future without him. But now… Well, I miss him… But I want to enjoy this life I still have. I know that Covid will present a bit of a challenge right now, that’s okay. I can still learn to find things that bring peace to my soul… I’m not sure what that will look like, but for today, I am content to learn that breakfast with a friend can be just as good for my soul as spending a quiet afternoon on the porch.

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you today. I know that sometimes this journey can feel so lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. While this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us, it is our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.*

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Dancing in the Kitchen

Earlier this week, something popped into my Face Book feed – access to watch a live Jimmy Buffet concert via YouTube. (Thank you, Jimmy, and thank you, YouTube!) It never fails… If Jimmy Buffet is playing, I’m dancing… And in my soul, Bruce is there dancing with me… And my soul is completely at peace.

I know many times I’ve talked about the two of us dancing in the kitchen. I’ve also talked about meeting on a sailing schooner in the islands… But I’m not sure I’ve ever explained how they go together or why dancing in the kitchen holds such precious memories for me. It’s not a long story, but it’s the one I want to share today… Partly because it is a sweet story, but mostly because it has been on my mind all week, creating smiles throughout a week that has felt like chaos.

Yes, it all started on that 100-year-old sailing schooner where we boarded at a port in St. Thomas. I’ve already talked about how we met, so I won’t repeat that part. I want to jump ahead to the middle of the week…

Every night around 5 PM, one of two things happened. Either we were sailing for the next island so there was a party on the main deck with rum punch served liberally, or we were at another port and the entire ship (crew and passengers) all went ashore to enjoy the local night life. Either way, Bruce and I always managed to be together – dancing the night away. I love to dance… I have loved it my entire life. The problem is every else doesn’t always feel that way. (My first husband had a lot of energy – yes, but dancing was not his thing… So, we didn’t.)

So, here I was on my first trip as a single woman, and here was this man who was fun to be with, made me feel like I was the only woman in the world who mattered, made me laugh, and who danced every dance with me the entire cruise. I remember being on St. Johns at a bar called, Duffy’s. It was nothing more than a shack, and it was packed. At one point, the captain came over and asked to cut in and Bruce said, “No.” No explanation or second glance… just a “no” before he guided me to another part of the dance floor. I giggled. The captain was nice, but I wanted to dance with Bruce.

Later that same night, in that same bar, Bruce looked me in the eye, leaned over, and kissed me for the first time. Then he said, “You are the most incredible lady.” (I’m pretty sure I melted.) Later he laughed when he told me, he half expected me to slap him for “stealing” a kiss. I remember laughing and telling him that he didn’t “steal” anything… That kiss… That moment in time is forever etched in my heart.

***Dancing the night away onboard the Legacy***

Now let’s jump forward a year… same cruise, same time of year, same islands, same opportunities to dance. The only difference was we were now married, and this was our honeymoon. I was so excited with the anticipation of reliving that fabulous cruise from the year before. Bruce, however, had a different vision. We still went to the deck parties and the bars on the islands, but he wouldn’t dance. Every time I suggested we dance; he would just shake his head. I was so frustrated. I didn’t understand what had happened…

By the second night, I was beside myself. As we crawled in bed and turned out the lights, I let the tears come. Bruce pulled me into his arms and asked what was wrong. So, I told him… Last year, we had danced and danced, but now, on our honeymoon, he hadn’t danced with me even once, and I didn’t understand. I remember, Bruce looked genuinely confused. He looked me in the eye and said, “But now I know you love me. I’ve already won the prize. Why do I need to dance this year?”

He was completely serious, and I was completely caught off guard. So, I responded with the first thing that came to my heart, “Because I need to know you still love me.” Bruce didn’t say a word, he just held me close.

The next day, though, things changed. We didn’t dance every dance, but we did dance a lot… and each time he would lean in and whisper, “I love you.”

“I know,” I would respond with a grin.

But that isn’t the end… Once we were home, that is when the “kitchen dancing” started. We might be cooking dinner together, or in a heated discussion, or I might have just walked in the door from work. Next thing I know, he would turn on some Jimmy Buffet, pull me close, and we would dance… “I love you,” he would always whisper in my ear… And I knew he did.

This was us… This is one of my precious memories that brings peace to my soul… Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you today. I know that sometimes this journey can feel so lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. While this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us, it is our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… My Happy Place

I spent this morning sitting at the beach just enjoying the waves and the quiet. After a week of craziness, it was nice to just sit there and relax for a while. For me, there is nothing better… This is my happy place… The place where my brain reconnects with my heart and my soul smiles. Even before Bruce, the beach was where I always went to clear my mind and find peace. So many times, when life was hard, the ocean with its rhythms and vastness has always been the space where I escaped to.

I haven’t been out here very much over the last few years. Somewhere between the cancers and the business of life, my trips here have become fewer and fewer… And, if I am honest with myself, I could tell. My stress and anxiety had built up with no place to go. But I ignored it, as if it was just a normal part of life and nothing that I had any control over.

After spending the previous week at the beach, it dawned on me just how disconnected I had let myself become. Over time, I had brushed this beach time aside, telling myself that it was nothing more that a recreational thing. I was wrong… This is something I have been dearly missing. So, when I got home last weekend, I made the decision to “let myself” go out there at least two times a week… And (this first week) I have done just that.

I went on Monday, and despite the rain, which meant I had to be content to sit in my car and simply look through the windshield, it was still absolutely relaxing! That evening, I knew without a doubt that this has been the elixir I have been missing… This (for me) is an absolute need.

After Bruce died, I went out there daily even though it was the middle of winter. (Granted, a Florida winter is not that bad.) I would bundle up in a few layers, (which always included his favorite sweatshirt), shove my hands in my pockets, and walk that deserted strand for hours.

I think at the time, there was a part of me that was searching for Bruce. I so desperately wanted to go back to the life we had… to the person I had been… the person I was with Bruce by my side. It has taken me years, though to realize that that person is gone… And I can never get her back. There are parts of her I have found again – her strength, her determination, her love for her family and for life. Still, there are parts of her that I will never see again – her innocent belief in “happily ever after”, that belief that our love would be all we needed to grow old together.

I don’t mean to sound cynical, because I’m not… I am simply referring to the innocence of being so madly and completely in love that the idea of it ever ending never, ever crossed my mind… And now, that is different. Now, I know how precious every moment truly is. Now, I know without a doubt that I don’t want to waste any of that time being angry, frustrated, or anxious, especially about things that won’t matter (or be remembered) even days from now.

I want to take each precious moment and savor it. I want to pull everything good out of each day and hang onto it… Because what if there isn’t a tomorrow? Bruce didn’t get a tomorrow… And I thank God every day that we went to bed laughing and snuggled up in each other’s arms. I don’t know if I could have lived with myself if that last night together had been any different.

Then… as now… I need this space by the ocean… This space where I have always felt God, where I can’t help but sing or hum all the old hymns of praise as I walk along the shoreline… And now, this is also the space where I feel Bruce deep in my soul… where the memories of precious moments spent here together help me find my own peace… here, where my soul is happiest.

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. Sometimes, this journey can feel so lonely and other times I know I am not alone at all. For each of us this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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.