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Your Gift
In each breeze, let me feel your touch.
In each sunrise, let me experience your joy.
In each storm, let me feel your strength.
In the quiet, let me hear your voice telling me –
All is well…
Each moment was planned;
Each smile was for me;
And your acceptance of life was your gift to help me through this storm.
I loved you
and even now… you love me.
~ Linda, September 16, 2013

As the world celebrates spring, I find myself contemplating a memory and asking, “Is there a springtime in grief?” I pray there is… I know Bruce would tell me there is just as he did years ago…

Bruce and I met on a small sailing schooner in the Virgin Islands. After a week, he said he knew he loved me; I wasn’t sure how I felt at the time but my feelings certainly scared me. I could think of a thousand reasons why it would never work… For starters, I was a Catholic school teacher from South Carolina, and he was a truck driver from Michigan. However, within 24 hours of leaving that ship, I knew my future was with him. Ten months later I moved to Michigan and we were married. He had not only captured my heart, he was the other half of my soul.

My move to Michigan happened in November and brought me quite a shock. I did not realize that a place could be so cold… and for so long! I didn’t realize the reality of the term “so cold it will take your breath away.” I had no idea that snow could fall continuously for days and then stay for months. There was a lot I had to learn about living in such a climate. (I laugh now when I think of how unprepared I was for that first winter.) Before Michigan, I could probably count the number of times I had seen snow on my fingers… this place was a whole new experience.

Bruce had promised he would keep me warm, and he did everything in his power to do so. However, try as he might, he couldn’t warm up a Michigan winter. In South Carolina, by the end of March things are starting to warm up (plus, they are NEVER as cold as Michigan). But in Michigan, there is still snow at the end of March. That was unfathomable to me.

I remember one particular Sunday afternoon that first March. I was standing at the window watching yet another snowstorm roll in and the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I was so conditioned to expect spring in March – cool nights, warm days, flowers, birds, green grass, sunshine… This felt so wrong. I found myself wondering if this interminable gray and cold would last forever.

At that moment, Bruce came up behind me, put his arms around my waist, and pulled me back to lean into him. As he held me, he spoke softly into my ear, “You okay?”

I replied, “No… It’s never going to stop snowing.”

“Do you see that those branches on that bush?” he asked. (I nodded.) “Well, keep watching them, because in about 6 more weeks you will see a miracle. You will see green buds appear and you’ll know that springtime really does happen… even in Michigan.”

I would like to say that I smiled and answered, “Oh thank you, Babe. I will believe you and wait patiently.” But I didn’t… Instead I cried out loud and said, “SIX MORE WEEKS?? Are you kidding me? I’ll never make it!” That poor man… he just held me closer and let me cry.

In the years that followed, we laughed many times thinking back on that story. Every spring he would remind me not to give up hope… spring really WOULD come… even in Michigan.

This is my third spring without Bruce. This year I find myself remembering that story again but comparing it to my life now… my “grief journey” as the books call it. Like Michigan, this path often feels gray and cold, and I find myself wondering if I will ever feel the the renewal and joy that life can offer. Will I ever have that carefree, walk-barefoot-in-the-grass, life-is-wonderful feeling again?

Bruce would say, “Yes.” I can almost hear him tell me to be patient. Spring WILL come back to my life… and if I look REAL close maybe I can start to see those buds on the branches of my life turning green. He would tell me to never give up; there is ALWAYS the promise of spring.

It would seem the only answer here is patience… something I struggle with so I won’t pretend that is an “easy” answer. I am only sharing my thoughts. Because this is OUR community, please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences, too. To do so, go to the comments and leave a note.

Who knows… you may hold the answer for someone else.

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

Lost

Time passes,
But I am lost… more now than ever before.
I am on my own.
They are tired.
They don’t want to hear.
They don’t want to know… not anymore
So now I am completely alone… in the dark;
No idea where to turn,
So I turn inward…
I am not allowed to do anything else.
Listen – don’t talk.
Smile – don’t cry.
Those are the expectations.
There is nothing left for me.
No one cares…
why should I?
Linda, September 2, 2014

This week I am taking a chance. Those who have never been on this path may be offended… Please know that is not my purpose or intention. Those who are on this path will know exactly what I am talking about. My goal is to be honest… I simply want to bring this feeling of loneliness out into the open. Otherwise, we can never hope to understand or change it.

Have you ever felt it?… That feeling that you don’t belong? Do you remember ever going somewhere, only to find once you get there, you don’t know ANYONE?
For some people that is not a big deal… It is a challenge and they thrive on it. For others (like myself), it is a HUGE struggle just to maintain composure… The idea of smiling, nodding and making small talk with people – well, that is a whole other ordeal.

I remember reading in several “grief and mourning” books about relationships and how they would change. The books said to expect it. I dreaded it because I already knew what it is like to lose friends just when you need them the most. When I divorced years ago, I lost many friends. People just disappeared from my life. Some left for religious reasons, others because they didn’t want to get involved or “pick sides.” Most puzzling were those that never said a word… They just quietly slipped out of my life.

I could not imagine the same thing happening with a death. Isn’t that when everyone is supposed to support you? Love you? Be there for you?… Well, there ARE those who do exactly that. (I thank God everyday for those people!) But the books were right… there have been a lot of people who have chosen to walk away or just stand silently in the shadows and watch.

I was corresponding with someone dear who recently lost her husband, and I think she put it best, “Until one is there (grieving), the realization of what that means just doesn’t equate…or maybe it is something wives don’t want to know can happen.” I think she may be right… it is as good a theory as any other.

Whatever the reason, the result for the griever is the same – another loss. I already felt so abandoned. Now I was beginning to feel like I didn’t belong anywhere. I still have many days when I feel like I don’t belong… I wonder why I am still here when I feel so completely alone.

I remember in the first few days and weeks after Bruce passed, people called or sent messages that were heartfelt – filled with love and kindness. I have moved several times through the years so friends from far away responded, telling me not to worry… they were coming; they would be here for me. Since I had lived here only a short time, I looked forward to that… I needed them… but they never came. Life moved on and over time, I came to realize it was another quiet retreat from my life.

As time passed, I held on tightly to my friends and family who chose to “be there”… those who have stuck by my side and loved me in spite of myself. I have even made new friends who understand grief and the heartache involved. These people are my lifeline. Their patience and understanding, their ability to just be with me when I am struggling, their love, support and non-judgement… all of these things are a gift and blessing beyond words.

That feeling of not belonging anywhere, though… that feeling lies within me. So many days deep inside, I still feel so lost and alone. I try to understand that most couples don’t feel comfortable with me… I am no longer part of a couple. Single people aren’t real sure what to do with me… I still act married. With families, I feel like the spinster aunt who doesn’t quite fit in but everyone feels obliged to invite. Keep in mind – this is not what anyone says to me.

It is what I seem to say to myself.

Even now at the two year point, I find that I isolate myself because I hate that feeling of being out of place. I have great friends surrounding me these days. So many times they invite me to go somewhere with their family or significant other. Sometimes I go, but more often I decline because I don’t want to be that 5th wheel or tag-along.

In the beginning, some people did avoid me… But now the tables are turned and I am the one doing the avoiding. Now I feel like an intrusion… like I am in the way. I miss having my own life with Bruce. So I try to hold everything in, but that results in me withdrawing further into myself.

My kids who are grown and gone with families and lives of their own are absolutely wonderful. They have been my greatest support. I couldn’t ask for more – they call and reach out to me daily. But even here, the problem is me. I have a hard time acccepting the fact that they are taking care of me emotionally. I am their mother… That’s not their job and I don’t know how to accept that.

This week I have really struggled with this one. I found myself just sitting… wondering why in the world I am still here without Bruce. What is the point? The more I sat and thought about it, the more I spiraled down… the more lost and alone I felt.

I even found myself dwelling on something someone said to me last week. They told me that I have no value – there is nothing special about me. But as I sat there thinking about it, I realized how wrong they are… as down as I may get, I don’t believe that at all. I know I have value… I know I still have a purpose. Coming to that realization, I began to pull myself out of my funk and back into the world. I reached out and found people who were willing to offer the love and support I needed in that moment.

I know these feelings will come again down the road. So, how do I handle this loneliness… these feelings that I don’t belong?

* Well for starters, I know I need to reach out to the people I trust when I am low… BEFORE I spiral down too far. I know I can be honest with those people. I can tell them how I feel or what I may need in that moment. They don’t judge me… they listen and show me that they care.

* Other days I know that “being there” for someone else helps me take my mind off myself… even if it is only temporary.

* And last but not least, I try to be understanding and remember that until it happened to me, I wasn’t very good at dealing with death and grief either. Each of us are doing the best we can… No one can ask for more than that.

This topic is still a day-to-day struggle for me. I do not pretend to have all the answers. I am merely sharing my experiences as they are. Because this is OUR community, please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences, too. To do so, go to the comments and leave a note.

Who knows… you may hold the answer for someone else.

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

Never Again
Linda, September 22, 2013

Sometimes it is hard to believe that
I will never see you here again.
I will never hear you call from the other room.
I will never see you sitting in your chair
And grab your toes as I walk by.. just to touch you.
I will never see you come through the door
And run across the room for a hug.
I will never enjoy a Sunday dinner cooked by you
Or hold your hand as we sit on the beach.
I will never hug or kiss you goodbye,
Or crawl into your arms in our bed at the end of the day.
I will never watch you pour another rum “shower shot”
Or pretend I don’t want another glass of wine as you pour it anyway.
I will never hear you call me “Hon” or “Wifey”
Or feel you behind me as you kiss my neck.
I will never dance with you in the kitchen,
Or sit with you on the porch and watch a storm roll in.
I will never do any of these things with you again.
But I will remember…
I will always remember.

 

This week has been a week of tears and memories. It’s been what I call a “rough week.” Perhaps it’s because life is a little slower this week, and I have less to occupy my mind. I actually looked at my calendar to see the moon phase… For years, I’ve noticed that a few days before a full moon, I get weepy, but that wasn’t it. I guess it just is what it is…part of this grief journey is realizing that there are good moments/days/ weeks and there are rough moments/days/weeks.

When Bruce first passed, I remember the feeling of being so completely lost. I think a lot of that lost feeling we experience is because of all the roles that other person played in our lives. Bruce wasn’t just my husband… he was so much more. The grief support group I attended initially had me make a list of all the roles he had filled. Mine looked like this:
My best friend                  Snuggler                                 Companion
Confidant                           Lover                                       Shoulder to cry on
Source of laughter           Source of comfort                  Dinner partner
Travel buddy                    Cooking buddy                       Beach buddy
Tax man                             Kayaking partner                  Finance guy
Bill payer                           Litter box cleaner (gross!)    House maintenance man
Mechanic                           Gardener                                  My whole world

After my list, I wrote, “My greatest loss is my friend – my Bruce. The man with unconditional love. The man who was my whole world. I just don’t want to do this. It is too much to lose… too much to accept.”

That is so true even now. There are days when I think I can’t do this anymore. It has been over 2 years… How do I just move on like it’s all okay, when it’s not okay? It hurts every day and the only way to keep that at bay is to stay busy and take my mind elsewhere.

It’s funny, but when our loved ones are here, we don’t even think about all the things they add to our lives. Then, they are gone and suddenly we have to do it all and there is no one there to talk to about it.

I miss that. I miss telling Bruce about my day. I miss his laughter and the kindness in his eyes. This week, I can almost feel his presence right next to me; I can almost hear his voice. One of my grief books suggested that I close my eyes and visualize him here. I can do that. But eventually I must open my eyes and the space in front of me is empty… and I feel even more alone.

One thing I can say without any hesitation… Our culture does not prepare us to deal with loss or the grief that follows it. Until it is our own journey, we each carry around our own preconcieved idea of what it is like, how we would act, how we should feel, how to “get over it”, and various other nonsense. Yes – nonsense!

I have found that the people who have the most “advice” are those who have never been where I am. Those who have suffered loss like this, tell me what I am about to tell you…

Grief is a maddening experience. You will feel like you have lost your mind… and guess what! That is normal. While the others mean well and their hearts are in the right place, they have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT THEY ARE SAYING. There… I said it. I put it out there. I love them and I love that they care, but to you I say, “Love them, but don’t listen to them.” Instead, it is our job to share our experience honestly so they might understand. Why? Because one day they will be here too, and they will be just as lost.

When Bruce died, I started a journal somewhere in the second week. At first it was a lot of bullet points about how I felt… things I didn’t DARE say out loud because I was sure they were “wrong.” They weren’t. How you feel isn’t wrong and this was how I felt. Now, with this blog and your comments/messages, I am learning that this is how most of us have felt or still feel on the “hard days” that continue year after year.

Today, in an effort to break down some of the myths of our society, I would like to share some of my early thoughts and feelings with you…
Bruce died on January 12, 2013. These are bits and pieces from my journal the week of January 24, 2013:

* How do I feel? I feel off-balance. I am trying to process so many emotions at a rapid pace. This is not the time I can be brave. I am human… is it okay NOT to be the “good girl” right now?… I can’t. 

* I know tears help me release the pain. The tears do help when they come… but most of the time I just feel numb. Is that appropriate? Do people think I don’t care?

* I feel rushed by people to “get over it.” I feel like I need to put on a mask and pretend it’s okay so they will feel better. But I’m not sure if I care what they think.

* Grief sneaks up on you… it feels chaotic and VERY messy. Most people don’t want to hear what I have to say… or what I think or feel. They would rather talk AT me… they like to tell me what to think or feel. I don’t want to listen but I smile and nod like a “good girl.”

* Truthfully, I don’t want to go on without him… I feel completely incompetent to keep going. Should I tell someone? I don’t think I will ever feel “normal” again… sometimes I wonder if I will ever even smile again.

* This thing… this grief comes at me like the waves in the ocean. I keep being told to “experience” each moment as it comes, but I don’t want to… it’s too much. I can’t think straight. People are pushing me… they need to back off – leave me alone… my mind is mush.

* This pain is overwhelming; it is more than I can bear. It is too much – too hard. It is so intense that I have to push it down most of the time, just to survive that moment. I feel completely immobilized. Someone said to take 1 step at a time… just do the next thing and then the next thing… that sounds like something I can do… maybe. My goal? Just make it through today. I can’t think past that.

* People keep telling me that Jesus is here, but I feel completely abandoned. I think I will let someone else be religious for me for a while. I just don’t feel it… I don’t feel God. I don’t believe he is there for me anymore. I’ve always felt that God could handle my anger… I hope he can handle this, too. I know the “Sunday School” answer that God is my “source of peace.” I don’t feel any peace. Church answers feel very empty right now. I want to believe they are true… People say I need to believe they are true, but I think my issue is trust. Right now, I don’t trust God… not anymore. If being at peace means to be okay with “what is”, then I don’t think I will ever have true peace again. I don’t know if I will ever trust God again… How can I trust that he loves me? Who would do this to someone they love? Maybe it is too soon to even comprehend having peace. Maybe I am pushing myself too hard. Right now, I don’t even want to survive, so peace means nothing…

So why in the world did I share my thoughts for that week? What good could possibly come from sharing such darkness – such despair?

Well, for those going through this right now – you’re normal. Don’t panic or be scared to acknowledge what you are feeling. It’s real and it sucks! There is not an easy way around it. Take a breath; take one moment at a time, get through it and then move to the next. Lean on the rest of us and let us be your strength for a while. I am so thankful for those people who were my strength… I am eternally grateful!

Secondly… for those who have never been here… Is it possible that you may have been too quick to judge or give advice? Your heart was in the right place. We know you love and care about us. However, go back, reread and listen to the emotions behind the words – the absolute sense of darkness and loss. For just a moment, put your own ideologies aside and just FEEL what we feel. When someone is at that point of loss and despair, ideologies and “words of wisdom” mean nothing. They are incomprehensible and as empty as the hole in our hearts and our lives. So how can you help? What do we need? Just be there… listen to us, love us in spite of ourselves and hold us up when we can’t do it for ourselves. We need you, but this is one journey we have to figure out for ourselves and it may take us a while.

Finally, for all of us… we need to come to terms with the idea that this is a growth process. It is a change in our soul and lifestyle – not just a weekend retreat. It is a new reality with new challenges… and we didn’t ask for any of it. But somewhere down that road, we can find peace again. At first in small moments of time, then over time it can grow and fill our lives a little bit at a time. It will happen but only if we are patient with ourselves and each other.

 

This is my story but this is our community… the place where we can share our experiences. Please share yours by going to the comments and leaving a note, comment or question.

This space is a weekly blog. For daily affirmations please like our Facebook page of the same name, www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

Time changes nothing on its own…
That is my job now.
This is a journey.
It is mine…
I must own it to survive it.
~ Linda, September 15, 2013

This past week I traveled to southern California on business. It was quite the journey for me considering the length of the trip, the time difference and the fact that I had NO idea where I was going or how to get there. It was a wonderful trip, but I can say that after being away for a week, it is a treat to be home. However, as anyone grieving can attest, the journey home isn’t always an easy one…

But this is the way life is…. life is filled with journeys – true journeys and metaphorical journeys. It is how we grow and learn and develop. It is how we discover new things about ourselves and how we expand our lives. In fact, when we suffer loss, what is it called? Right – we call it a grief journey. Like all other journeys, there is something to be learned, but unlike other journeys, we did not choose this one. It is not a path anyone would willingly take, but we don’t have an option. The only choices are to move forward or stand still. Many times along the way I have hesitated, not quite willing to take the next step, but eventually I take a breath and put one foot in front of the other… moving tentatively until I can get my bearings.

Bruce and I met while cruising in the Virgin Islands. So, it only seemed fitting that through the years of our marriage, we did a lot of traveling. Like any journey, you learn a lot about a person when you travel with them. Bruce and I were no different, We learned right away that traveling in a car for any extended amount of time was not the best idea. Why? Well, Bruce did not eat or drink while driving, and he liked it quiet. I, however, eat, drink, sing, talk, play games, in other words – I like to be entertained. In fact, it was during a trip from Michigan to Alabama that I learned Bruce didn’t like opera. I was driving and he was napping so I sang opera the whole way. Guess who was not amused… Go figure! We both laughed about that one for years!

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the night Bruce died and I mentioned the ride home from the hospital… alone. I remember thinking at the time that this would be my life now… always coming home alone to no one. What I did not realize was the enormity of what that would entail. Some days it is quite daunting, and I find myself hesitating before I can walk inside.

The expanse of this lone journey, began to dawn on me in the early weeks after Bruce’s death. I would turn the corner and see Bruce’s truck in the driveway. My first instinct was happiness and excitement. Bruce was home! Then, it would hit me full force and I would remember… Bruce was not home; no one was home. The truck was still sitting there because I couldn’t bring myself to sell it yet. Months later after selling his truck, I learned that coming home still wasn’t any easier. In fact, it is now more than 2 years later and I still find myself wishing with all my heart that he would be there to greet me when I walk through the door. I no longer cry or breakdown, but I secretly wish for all of this to be a dream… for him to be there waiting to greet me with a hug and a smile.

Yesterday, it took 2 flights to get me home. On each, I was seated next to an elderly couple. It may seem odd but a year ago, that would have been really hard. I would have been a bit jealous – wondering why they were allowed to grow old together while Bruce and I weren’t. (Sometimes that is still a struggle for me. It is something I will never understand; I just have to accept.) Yesterday, however, I found myself remembering what it was like to fly with Bruce. We would always snuggle up. (Yea.. we were that couple.) Sometimes, I would lay my head on his shoulder and snooze, and other times we would play games on his phone or share a set of headphones and listen to music together. For us, it didn’t matter what we did; it was the time spent together… it was our journey together. As I was thinking about this, I looked over at the couple next to me as they giggled together and played a card came on their tablet. I smiled and wondered if they appreciated the pure joy present in that moment.

When I finally arrived home, I knew the house would be quiet and empty. I found myself sitting in the driveway for a few moments gathering my thoughts, my emotions (and my courage) before I went inside. I consciously reminded myself how blessed I am to still have this space that was ours. This space where I can still feel Bruce’s presence and remember him. I guess what I am saying is that I am learning to look at what I still have instead of what I don’t. Learning to look for the blessings and be thankful for them, has been my way of moving forward through this journey.

I’ve learned a lot on this grief journey so far. (That’s the whole point of this blog, right?) Although at first, I was quite resistant to learning anything. What in the world did I need to learn alone that I couldn’t learn with Bruce by my side? In time I have come to learn that isn’t the point. It wasn’t about Bruce and I being together until the end of our lives. Instead, it was about us being together and loving each other until the end of his life. My journey of love with Bruce taught me so much. I know we will be together again one day, but my life isn’t over… I know there is more.

My journey of grief has also taught me a lot and Bruce still gets credit for that. Why? Because when he died, I found myself trying to learn more about who he was and what made him tick. I did this by experiencing all the things I had taken for granted while he was here. I found myself reading what he read, listening to his music and trying to do the things he had enjoyed. It’s funny, but while I was doing that, I ended up learning so much more about myself, as well. I have learned that there is still so much more out there for me. As long as I have breath, l have a purpose. I know without a doubt, I still have so much to learn and so much more to give back.

 

This is my story but this is our community… the place where we can share our experiences. To share yours, please go to the comments and leave a note, comment or question.

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

All is Well…
~ Linda, September 16, 2013

In each breeze, let me feel your touch.
In each sunrise, let me experience your joy.
In each storm, let me feel your strength.
In the quiet, let me hear your voice telling me…
All is well…
Each moment was planned.
Each smile was for me.
And your acceptance of life as it is
was your gift to help me through this storm.
I loved you…
And even now, you love me.

(Our last picture together; taken 1 month before Bruce died.)

When I started this blog a month ago, I had a dual purpose. One was to create a virtual community of support for anyone suffering loss. The other was to help those around us understand how best to offer support.

Our society tends to treat loss, grief and mourning as one event, but that is wrong. While each of these are connected, they are all separate actions that form a process that is never ending. With the right support, one does eventually come to some kind of peace… but there is no timeline for that journey nor any specific “right way” to get there.

What do I mean? Well, since Bruce died I have been questioned or given unwarranted advice about choices I have made. At first, this was extremely frustrating. As time has passed and I am able to think with less raw emotion, I have come to realize that people say these things because they honestly don’t know any better… In fact, many times it has come from the people who still have their spouse or significant other by their side. Once I realized that they truly have no idea what they are saying and they really do mean well, I understood that it makes no sense to be upset… instead I want to help set the record straight.

Today’s story is about Bruce’s death and cremation, and the questions that followed it – mine and others. I don’t belittle the hurt behind the questions or the idea that someone else may have made different choices. (Of course, they would.) My hope is that by being honest, we can move away from the idea that grief is something we need to “do right” and replace it with the realization that it is a process. A process that requires the griever to live and bargain with each moment as it comes… none of it is easy or rational. It is a moment by moment journey and we do the best we can in each moment…

It was Friday night, January 11, 2013. I worked late but still managed to beat Bruce home. I arrived at 6:30 PM and brought Chinese food home for both of us. (I still don’t eat Chinese food. Surprised?) Bruce got home about 8-ish; he had worked a 15 hour day and was exhausted. I was so excited to see him that I ran to the door to greet him and take his cooler. He didn’t want much to eat – just soup. As he ate, I sat with him and we talked about what we wanted to do on Sunday (the only day we had off together). We decided either kayaking or the beach… just being together and near the water was all we wanted.

When we went to bed, we were laughing for the most part… I tend to be a worrier and Bruce was always so chill. We would laugh that he was Pooh Bear (with a beer not a honey pot) and I was Piglet (a tiny worrier). I was fretting about something, and he kissed my forehead, pulled me close and said, “Stop worrying, Piglet… It’s time to sleep.”

A few short hours later, I woke up, still in his arms but he sounded like he was having a nightmare. I tried to wake him. I called his name and shook him over and over. Suddenly, he seized up, and collapsed. I was terrified. I called 911 and started CPR. Within moments, EMS was here and they took over. But I already knew… they tried a breathing bag, an Epi-pen and the “paddles”… but the line on the monitor stayed flat. I watched, screaming in my head for him to come back… but I knew. No one said a word… we all knew; they just kept doing CPR. They waited (actually waited) until a police officer came to drive me. Then, we all headed to the ER. It was so surreal… no sirens, no one beside me… just me. Once at the hospital, they put me in a “consultation room.” Within 5 minutes the doctor came in and told me what I already knew.

I was allowed to stay with Bruce about an hour until the Medical Examiner came. I remember stroking his face and his whiskers. I remember thinking he was going to open his eyes at any moment and say, “Gotcha!” I remember telling him how much I love him… and I remember crying. There was no one… I was completely alone and I knew deep inside that was how it would be from now on.

When the ME’s office came and took him away, the police officer took me back home. That was when I remember calling people. It was 3 AM but I didn’t know what else to do. I was so numb and confused. It just didn’t seem real… It was like some horrible dream and I just knew I would wake up at any moment and Bruce would be here… and he would hold me tight. He had to still be okay… He was my hero. I told him everyday that he was my hero…

My first marriage was violent and after 23 years, my kids and I ran away with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Soon along came this wonderful man named Bruce who loved us all with no conditions… just complete and total love. He loved me and he loved my kids… who could ask for more? He really was my hero. How could a loving God take that away? How could Bruce really be gone? It seemed so wrong… so impossible.

I spent the next few hours cleaning the house and preparing for everyone to arrive. Alex, my son, was here first… always willing to take care of his Momma. Everyone else came throughout the next few days… it is kind of a blur. I remember some things but not a lot. I was in such complete shock. I just remember that I had to concentrate just to breathe… (even writing this, I can’t breathe.)

As everyone came in, I remember so many people saying, “We are here for as long as you need us.” But that wasn’t true. Within 1.5 weeks, everyone was gone. I hadn’t even come to terms with anything yet. I wasn’t even breathing yet… but they were gone. I know they all had lives to get back to… they really couldn’t stay indefinitely, I know that. But now I was all alone… so completely alone.

I was trying so hard to be strong and brave so Bruce would be proud. I just wanted to do this “right” and do what I remembered he had wanted. We had talked about death and what we wanted… and he always said that he did NOT want a viewing. (He hated being the center of attention.) He wanted to be cremated and to have his ashes scattered in the ocean. He did NOT want to end up on a shelf somewhere. He was very specific about that… So that was my plan. I had no idea what I was doing and there was no one to guide me… but I was going to give it my all.

It took 2 weeks for the funeral home to call, and I went to pick up his ashes by myself. At first, they tried to give me the wrong ashes. Then, they put them in a plastic bag, like the kind you get at the grocery store. I was so appalled. How dare they! This was a man… He was my husband… He was my soul. I cried all the way home. Once here, I lit a candle in front of the container and sat vigil for the next 24 hours. How could such a wonderful man be inside such a small container? It was too much to comprehend. I just sat…

The next day, I knew what I had to do. I sent the family an email stating that I wanted to hold a memorial to scatter his ashes on his birthday at sunrise. That was still a few months away and every response said, “yes.” I spent the next few months carefully planning and writing that memorial. At one point, his Mom (whom I love dearly) asked if she could could keep some of his ashes. As hard as it was, I had to say “no” – I didn’t want to cause any pain or be mean, I only wanted to do what Bruce had asked. He was my world; my allegiance was to him. I needed to do this right. Thankfully, his family was understanding and supported me completely in following Bruce’s wishes.

On the day of the memorial, it was supposed to rain… but it didn’t. It was beautiful. At sunrise, Alex and Jared (my son-by-marriage) took Bruce’s ashes out in the kayaks past the breakers and scattered them. The memorial and brunch were perfectly “Bruce”… I know he was smiling. For such a sad day, it was beautiful.

No, I did not keep any ashes. I wasn’t trying to be mean or unkind to anyone. I was merely trying to do as Bruce had asked. When people stated that they wished I had saved some, I sent the sand from the beach… that was all I had. In fact, it is all I have for myself.

I hurt … so do all of us that loved him. I am so proud that he was such an amazing man… so full of unconditional love… such a hero to all of us. We were all so blessed to know him and to love him. I still cry for him several times a day. I will miss him until the day I am allowed to join him.

This is a simple story… but it is one of love. While someone else may have done things different, please understand that my only intention was to do what Bruce had asked of me because I love him. And I know if the story were reversed, he would have done the same for me.

Because, after all… isn’t that what any of us would try to do?