Month: February 2015

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?