June 2015 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love and Grief… Growing accustomed to the loneliness

There is a song from the musical, My Fair Lady** that goes like this:

I’ve grown accustomed to her face
She almost makes the day begin
I’ve grown accustomed to the tune
That she whistles night and noon
Her smiles, her frowns
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now
Like breathing out, breathing in
I was serenely independent and content before we met
Surely I could always be that way again and yet
I’ve grown accustomed to her looks
Accustomed to her voice
Accustomed to her face**

Well, change the “She’s” and “Her’s” to “He’s” and “His” and that seems to be my dilemma. Bruce seems to always be in my thoughts… always a part of of me. In so many ways that is comforting, but it also creates a loneliness that I can’t seem to shake – no matter how hard I try to pretend it isn’t there.

I’ve spent the past 4 weeks with family. It has been craziness and chaos compared to my “normal” life… in other words, it has been wonderful! Don’t misunderstand, even with the commotion of a 5 year old boy (“Almost six, GG!”), I have had my moments of loneliness and grief. The difference is the fun and love-filled distractions that I have felt.

This week, though, it was time for them to go home… now it is quiet… overwhelmingly quiet… deafening quiet… a quiet that is completely filled with loneliness. It is a time of readjusting (again) to my “new normal.”
Only it’s not so new… why do I still feel so lonely. I’ve always been one to cherish my “alone time”… It’s where I regroup and gather my energy. But this is different… There is no choice in this and there is no end. It is what will always be.

Have you ever driven through Kansas? It doesn’t matter what road you are on, it all looks the same. It goes on and on… and on – no turns; no change in scenery. That is what this loneliness feels like… no matter how far down the road I look, it is the same… there appears to be no hope for anything different.

Today my eyes kept leaking… I was determined not to cry but the tears were just as determined to find their way down my cheeks. I just miss him.

I miss his smile and the way his eyes literally sparkled whenever he was happy. I miss just laying in his arms, looking into his eyes and talking. I miss watching him BBQ on the porch in his barefeet while dancing. I miss his kisses to start each morning and his hugs at the end of a rough day. I miss holding hands in the car and while we watched TV. I miss cooking together on Sunday nights and feeding each other as we worked together. I miss it all… all those little things that you grow accustomed to… All those things that are no more… All those things that will never be again.

Now the challenge is how to grow accustomed to this loneliness. It has been 2.5 years. Most people just assume I am “over it.” Only my closest friends and my kids can tell when it is a rough day. The rest of the world has done what it should – it has moved on… why can’t I?

Why do I still want him to be here when I walk through the door? Why (every morning) do I still look beside me in the bed to see if he is there? Does anyone ever really grow accustomed to this? Or do we just get really good at pretending? I remember my grandmother lived another 20 years after my grandfather died. Even then, she would have days where she would wear his sweater because she “needed to feel him hugging her.” I know that feeling…

This week is a struggle but unlike when Bruce first died, now I know that I will grow accustomed to this loneliness (this unending quiet) again. I know that I will smile again… I will laugh again. I will have good days and bad days… again. (Hopefully, more good ones than bad.) I have no expectations from other people at this point. That would be ridiculous… life moves on, and they all have other needs – other concerns. This is my journey… my story. I have to figure this one out.

Until then, my eyes may leak a little more than I want them to, and people may tell me I am too emotional… That’s okay. I am still moving forward… I am still making progress.

I am still growing accustomed to the loneliness…

Do you also know this feeling? Have you been where I am? 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 or just sharing an emotion can make us feel validated and bring us closer.

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.

** “I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face” was written by Alan Jay Lerner; Frederick Loewe

Peace, Love and Grief… A Tribute to a Father

His Love

A love that is pure
A love that sees who you can be,
Not who you are in that moment.
A love with no strings attached;
No conditions, no rules…
Just a love that is,
From a man who embodied love…
pure, complete love.
~ Linda, November 24, 2013

Father’s Day… hmmm – Interesting day. Let me start by saying that today’s blog is not really about grief. Instead it is filled with memories… it is a tribute to the man who became the father of my children. I am not talking about genetics or biology. I am talking about the man who loved my kids unconditionally – no judgement, no preconceived ideas or expectations – nothing but love. I am referring to Bruce… the man who came in to our lives for such a short time and changed everything we thought we knew about families and fathers.

However, to understand his impact, let me back up and explain a little bit here…
When I left my children’s biological father, my intent was to get my children out of a disfunctional and unsafe home. I just wanted to see them safe and protected. The court psychologist agreed and recommended no visitation for my ex-husband – not even supervised visitation. His recommendation was no parental rights (period).

When it came down to the final paperwork, according to my attorney, my ex-husband responded he would not fight the psychologist’s recommendation if I would agree to give him over 2/3 of the money (instead of the 50-50 set by state law)… I agreed. Essentially, I bought my children… I paid for their safety and a life of peace. I’ve never regretted that choice… It was the best deal I ever made.

After the divorce, I wasn’t looking for anyone – I wasn’t interested in a relationship. When I met Bruce, though, there was an instant connection, and we were married 10 months later. However, because we were 1000 miles apart, there had not been much opportunity for my kids to get to know him very well. They had met him and knew who he was, but they didn’t really know him… not yet.

I so badly wanted things to work for our new family so I started researching and reading everything I could find on step-parenting and blended families. Everything I read said it would take at least 2 years for our family to develop our new roles and relationships within our new family… and that was if things went well.

Bruce, on the other hand, had watched his own daughter struggle for years in a step-family relationship. He had his own concept of how he wanted to do this and (as far as I know) never read a single thing about step-families. He knew exactly what to do, and he did it consistently. Within 6 months, our family was a solid unit with my kids referring to Bruce as their Dad… In other words – he was amazing!

When I moved to Michigan to marry Bruce, my youngest daughter was the only one to come with me. My oldest had already graduated college and was living on her own. My second was away at college. My son was in the middle of his senior year, already 18 and did not want to move… To say my youngest daughter was angry about the whole situation would be an understatement.

The night we arrived in Michigan, Bruce was so excited we were there and greeted the two of us with smiles and hugs. My daughter pushed him aside, went straight to her new room, shut the door and remained there. I apologized to Bruce, but he only smiled and gave the same response I would hear for the next few months, “There is nothing to apologize for… she is angry. I can understand that, and my shoulders are big enough to take it.”

Much later I would learn he had left her a note on her bed that night saying just about the same thing. He told her that he was not trying to replace anyone or be her Dad. He only wanted her to know that he was here and he would always be here… for her… no matter what.

When she tells this story, she will tell you that she tore that note up immediately. She will also tell you that she put his words to the test… I will confirm that she did. She tried everything to make him not like her… much less love her. But he was true to his word… he never wavered, no matter what she tried. The amazing part? Within 6 months, on our first Father’s Day together, she baked him cookies and for the first time, called him her Dad.

That was who this man was… a big, gentle giant of a man with a heart that would not quit. Over the short time we were together, he built positive relationships with each of my kids. With my oldest (who was already a young adult), it was a peaceful, friendly relationship. I remember on one visit she introduced us to her neighbor as her mom and dad. The neighbor said, “Wow, you look just like your dad.” She didn’t try to correct him or explain. Instead, she and Bruce just smiled like Cheshire cats and hugged each other tight.

My second daughter and Bruce, were tight from the very first time they met, which was actually before we married. She had picked him up at the airport for me and driven him the 2 hours to our town. During that drive, she told him that she was glad to see her mom so happy, and she really liked him. Then, she went on to tell him that if he ever broke my heart or hurt me, she would “open a can of ‘whoop-a$$’ on him.” He used to laugh when he told that story because she isn’t much taller than me and just as petite. He absolutely loved her fire and energy for life, and they were best buds from that day forward.

When her son was born, he also instantly bonded with his “Poppa.” They would play or “hang out” watching football for hours. Bruce loved him with abandon and in his eyes, that boy could do no wrong. To this day, my grandson still talks about his Poppa and tells me that Poppa is his guardian angel. The bond between those two is so strong, it knows no bounds and seems to transcend this life.

My son was actually with me on the cruise when Bruce and I met. He was the world’s best chaperone on that trip. At one point when he saw Bruce holding my hand, he commented, “A little cheeky, don’t you think?” Cheeky?? What 17 year old says “cheeky?” (It took everything in me not to laugh out loud.)

Within a short time though, my son let his guard down and stopped trying to “protect” his mom. Soon after, he and Bruce had built a solid relationship. This relationship was such a blessing for my son. For the first time, he had the experience of a healthy, male role model and friend… a man to show him “how to be a man”… a man to show him “how to treat a lady”… all things I could never do.

From the beginning, Bruce was willing to do whatever was needed to move our family forward… anything from teaching teenagers to drive and helping with homework to offering unconditional love and acceptance as they tried to figure out how they each fit into this world. It was an amazing experience! How could a woman not love a man who loves her children so completely?

And what did we give to Bruce in return? A family… a BIG family… and all the love and craziness that comes with that. : )

That was my husband… That was the man who became my children’s father… That was the man we lost… and grieve… and still miss. So as another Father’s Day comes and goes, I will tell you what I have told Bruce every year…

“Thank you, Babe, for being a Dad to my kids… being a Dad is so much more than biology… It is a life-long commitment. Thank you for stepping into their lives and showing them what a healthy man and a healthy marriage looks like. Thank you for loving us all unconditionally – no judgement, no preconceived expectations – nothing but love. You were the missing piece in our family. In our short time together you taught us so much and brought healing where we did not think it was possible. You forever changed our lives. I have told you every day and I will say it again, ‘You are my hero and I will love you forever!'”

Holidays are hard when someone we love is gone. Perhaps you have a memory or story of your loved one that you would like to share with our community. Please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences by going to the comments and leaving a note.*

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… Please, don’t say that

Do Not Tell Me
Do not tell me how to feel;
my feelings are my own.
Do not tell me to stop my grief;
my grief is my own.
Do not tell me what Bruce would want me to do;
Bruce was my own.
He was my love…
and still is.
My pain is here and always will be.
There is no end to our love,
and there is no end to the pain.
~ Linda, January 20, 2015

A couple of months ago, I wrote about how some people will compare grief and loss between people who are grieving in the belief that they are offering comfort in some way… but it’s not comforting. In response to that blog, I have had several people respond that they, too, have encountered that same conversation on more than one occasion (with the same effect).

I mentioned in that same blog that there are other things that have been said that also have the same effect. That is my topic this week… another “please don’t.” By writing this, I don’t want to sound angry or bitter (because I’m not). I do want people to understand that some “standard phrases” that are commonly used when dealing with mourners are actually hurtful. But if we don’t say anything, how will others know?

Another phrase that I have a hard time hearing is “Bruce would want you to…” or “Bruce wouldn’t want you to…” Don’t get me wrong, when I hear this from someone who knew Bruce and loved him, that is fine… In fact, I will listen to what they have to say. (I may not do what they say, but I will listen and consider it.)

What I am referring to today is different. I am referring to someone who either barely knew Bruce or (even more frustrating) did not know him at all. How could someone who did not know him possibly begin to tell me what Bruce would want or not want? I realize that what they are really telling me is their own opinion… what they think I should do.

But they don’t stop there. Instead, they attempt to give their opinion more “authority” by using Bruce’s name. I appreciate their concern. However, by using the emotion attached to Bruce’s name it feels extremely disrespectful… It feels manipulative… It feels completely wrong.

The first year, I would get very upset but I wouldn’t say anything. I was struggling with so many emotions, but I wanted to be polite. So… I would let the conversation continue. However, somewhere in the second year, I started to turn my thought process around.

I began to look deeper into what was being said, and I began to realize that people meant well… They just didn’t know any better. Perhaps, they hadn’t really thought it through. So, what I am trying to achieve today is an understanding of why this particular phrase should be limited to the people who really knew and loved the deceased.

For example…

Earlier this year a childhood friend stopped by while passing through town. We spent some time together reminiscing and talking about what has transpired for each of us since we were children. During our conversation, he asked about losing Bruce and what life was like now. I honestly don’t mind talking about it, so I shared my thoughts, experiences and frustrations. I mentioned the fact that people say things without realizing how hurtful it is. At that point, he told that if he were to do that, he wanted me to be honest enough to tell him.

A few days later, on the anniversary of Bruce’s death, he called to express his condolences for the day and to ask how my girls and I had spent the day. During the brief conversation, he made a comment that “this would be the year Bruce would want me to move on.”

REALLY? I had not seen this person since I was a teenager… He never even met Bruce. How could he say that? What could he possibly know about Bruce and what he might want? Since I had been given permission, I was honest and spoke up (for the first time ever). “Please don’t say that,” I said. “It really bothers me. You never knew him… You can’t know what he would or wouldn’t want.” He apologized and said he understood. To be honest, I don’t know if he really understood or not. I hope he did.

For me, that was a hard step. It felt really awkward to ask someone not to say something. It felt rude even though they had told me to do exactly that. Since that day, I have had this conversation with only a few people… only those who have given me permission to say something. I won’t correct just anyone. However, when those phrases are used by someone who shouldn’t, a wall of defense automatically goes up… I can’t help it. I will get quiet and try to end the conversation. In that moment, all I want to do is get away.

On the other hand, when I am with my kids, it is not uncommon to hear the phrase “Bruce would want ____” several times a day (from all of us). It is just a natural part of the conversation. And believe it or not, I am perfectly okay with that.

Why? Because they knew him. That is the only difference but it is one that matters. They knew him, spent time with him and loved him. Their opinion of what he might or might not want is completely valid… so I listen. I may or may not agree, but I am not offended. Instead, I am grateful for their loving honesty.

So here is the bottom line… When it comes to telling someone what their loved one would or would not want:

⦁ FIRST ask yourself, “Did I know that person?”
⦁ And “Did I know them well enough to know what they would or wouldn’t want?”
⦁ If the answer to BOTH of these questions is “yes”,
⦁ AND your relationship with the mourner is good and solid,
⦁ THEN… PERHAPS, it is okay to say it.
⦁ However, if the answer to ANY of these is “no”, then… “Please, don’t say that.”

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

Peace, Love and Grief… What about the ring?

What to do about the ring? That has been one of the quandaries for me since Bruce passed… but not his ring – mine. When Bruce died, I was handed the only jewelry he ever wore (and never took off) – his wedding band and a silver anchor necklace. Immediately, I slipped his wedding band onto the chain and placed it around my neck where it has remained ever since.

As for my wedding band, I didn’t even think about it for almost a year. I still felt married so for a long time it never even occurred to me to “do” anything with my ring. Over time I began to notice that different widows did different things in regards to their wedding bands. Some took it off immediately. Others moved it to their right hand, wore it on a chain around their neck or had it made into a different piece of jewelry. However, others just continued wearing it… I continued wearing it.

For me, I just couldn’t bring myself to take off my ring… it meant too much to me. When Bruce asked me to marry him, we went to pick out rings and the conversation went something like this:

Bruce – What kind of ring do you want?

Me – Real.

Bruce just laughed. He had heard the story before. After I divorced my first husband, I took my wedding and engagement rings to a jeweler to see if I could trade the value of the rings towards a Mother’s ring with the birthstones of my children. The jeweler kept talking about the value of the gold but not the diamond. Finally I asked, “What about the diamond?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” she said. “The stone isn’t even cubic zirconia… It’s glass.”

GLASS??? That poor jeweler must have thought I was crazy, because I just started laughing. My ex-husband had gotten the last laugh after all. All those years of hearing him talk about the beautiful diamond in that ring, and I could have been cleaning it with Windex. (That story still makes me laugh!)

Anyway, with Bruce, I actually picked a small marquis cut diamond set in white gold. Bruce asked me why I wanted such a small stone. I explained that my hands are pretty small so a large stone just looks funny. Plus, with all the sailing we did, a large stone would probably get in the way.

A few months later while packing to move from SC to MI to get married, Bruce flew down to help the kids and I pack. At the end of the last day, he asked me to walk with him out on the dock for “some quiet time and one last look at the water.” As we sat watching the sun set over the river, he took my hand and looking at it said “Something’s missing.” Then, he took out a ring and placed it on my finger. It was the same ring I had chosen with one exception… it was a larger stone than the one I had picked. I looked at him with tears in my eyes. “It’s bigger,” I said.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt how valuable you are to me,” he said. “I want you to always look at this ring and know without a doubt that you are my world.”

A few weeks later when he placed the wedding band on my finger, I realized immediately that he had done it again. I had picked a simple band, not wanting to “break the bank.” (After all, he was taking on a wife and 4 kids… that was going to have enough impact on the finances.) But what he gave me was a beautiful wrap with 6 small diamonds to surround my engagement ring. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen… and even more beautiful because of the love that came with it.

(After the wedding, we had the two rings soldered together so it was actually one solid ring.)

With all of these beautiful memories in mind, I didn’t want to take this ring off. Everyday, I would look at it and remember how much I had been loved, and how much I had loved him. It was a material representation of what we had… I couldn’t let go… I just couldn’t.

After the first year, I began to realize that while the ring brought me comfort, it also created some awkward conversations. Inevitably, someone would notice the ring and ask about my husband. I would answer that my husband had passed away and the conversation immediately became awkward. Caught off guard, people didn’t know how to respond, but I didn’t know how to answer any different. I came to realize that for my own sake, I needed to do SOMETHING different.

Doing what I usually do, I started with some research. Immediately, I found that there is no such thing as “widow’s ring etiquette.” There is no etiquette on what to do and when to do it. The bottom line is each person does what feels right for them… and what feels right at one point may change over time.

Eventually, I came upon something called a “widow’s ring.” While this tradition is rarely followed in the US today, it can be traced back to Victorian Europe (maybe earlier). A widow’s ring is set with dark stones and worn either in place of or with the original wedding set.

At this point, I decided to place my setting on Bruce’s chain and wear them both around my neck. My finger felt so empty as I started my hunt for the perfect ring. I didn’t have anything in particular in mind. I just knew without a doubt when I saw it, I would know.

Sure enough, seven months into my search, I found the perfect ring last week in Mexico. I knew it the moment I saw it. It was nothing like I had imagined but I knew immediately that this was the perfect symbol to represent our life together.
It is not dark stones at all. (I think that would have been too sad, too negative and definitely not a representation of Bruce and me.) It is a beautiful blue/violet tanzanite… the color of the ocean where we met and spent so much time sailing, as well as the sky we dreamed under. The stone is surrounded by a triangle – the symbol of strength, hope, spirituality, past/ present/ future and both the masculine and feminine (depending on the direction it points).

I was searching for a widow’s ring, but that is not what I found. I found something I prefer to call a “life ring.” Why? Because it perfectly represents Bruce and I – our life before we met, while we were together and as we wait to be together again. I love it! It feels absolutely perfect.

So, here I am two years and five months into this journey and a symbol of the life Bruce and I share(d) is in place… one more hurdle jumped successfully.

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

Peace, Love and Grief… Life lessons in Jamaica

When this blog posts (a day late), I will have just returned from a beautiful week-long cruise with one of my daughters, her husband and my grandson. However, as I am starting to write, I am sitting in a hotel in Alabama contemplating the remainder of my drive to the NOLA port and the upcoming cruise.

While I am excited to have time to relax with people I love, I am a little bit anxious… this is my first cruise since Bruce passed. Cruises were our thing… We met on a cruise, honey mooned on a cruise, cruised with my daughter and her husband on their honey moon. (It was fair. She went on our honey moon cruise, too. : ) ) In fact, when we lived in Michigan, we had a sailboat with a small cabin, and spent many summer weekends on our own mini cruises.

But that is only part of my anxiety about this cruise… When you are grieving, most “firsts” without your loved one are encountered during the first year. Yet, here I am 2+ years later experiencing another first.

The Christmas before Bruce passed, we gave each other a trip to Jamaica which we scheduled for March. Bruce had been before and was so excited to take me and show me around. (He had planned every detail from a beach side bungalow and had a romantic, private, beach side dinner to day trips all over the island.) But that trip never happened… he died a few weeks after Christmas. I couldn’t bring myself to go alone, so I cancelled that trip… not sure if Jamaica would ever be in my future.

This cruise, however, makes a stop in Jamaica. I am excited to finally get there, but it is bittersweet to go without Bruce.Thankfully, I will still be with people I love.

This is my journal entry for that day and the lesson life taught me in Jamaica…

Day 3 – Montego Bay:

Today we are in Jamaica. We docked in Montego Bay while we were eating breakfast. This morning I was so nervous and anxious about this port of call that I was sick to my stomach. My grandson chatted all through breakfast telling me all about the island – its national bird, the flag, and everything else his mother taught him in preparation for this trip. By 9 AM, we were off the boat, sitting on our tour bus and I was feeling calmer. We had a 2.5 hour drive ahead of us as we headed to the other side of the island for a tour of the Appleton Rum Estate and Distillery.

The tour guide, who called herself “Momma”, asked if anyone was prone to car or motion sickness. Everyone on the bus laughed (unknowingly) at the question. However, no one seemed to feel it was an issue, and soon we were on our way with “Momma” pointing out the sights as we passed through the city. Within minutes, however, we were leaving the city and starting the climb into the steep hills. “Momma” told us to relax… “Poppa”, our bus driver, was the best around and for us not to worry. Then, (bless her heart) she chattered and sang for the next 2 hours in an effort to both educate and distract us.

It didn’t take very long for all of us to realize exactly how precarious this drive was. The roads were narrow, winding and filled with potholes. There were no guardrails on the edges of the road and sometimes there wasn’t even room for 2 cars to pass… just a honk of the horn to tell the on-coming driver that it was “our turn.”

I was sitting near the back by a window. My view was either straight up the moutain or straight down. At times we were so close to the jungle that we literally drove through some of the bushes or hit the low hanging branches. (And God protect the pedestrians who were walking along the road, as well.)

People began to quiet down and just watch the road… some were even video-taping this adventure. Me? I fell asleep! When I awoke a while later, it dawned on me that here I was in Jamaica, and I had just stumbled onto another lesson on this journey of life – one that Bruce had demonstrated so many times before.

Bruce was someone who studied different philosophies constantly. I believe that is why he was such a calm, spiritual person. Nothing seemed to phase him. I, on the other hand, have always been a worrier. (Maybe I still am, but that is where this story fits in.) One philosophy that he brought up quite a bit was from the Tao. Whenever, I was worried, he would tell a story about a river. As the river flows along and encounters a rock in its path, it does not try to move the rock. Instead, the river simply flows around it (or over it) and keeps moving.

Jamaicans have the same philosophy in one phrase… “No problem, mon.” They will tell you there are no problems… only situations. There is always some good in the situation or something to be learned from it. Therefore, it is “no problem.”

Riding in the bus today, I realized that my worrying is really a trust issue. According to my faith, I am supposed to trust, but that has never come easy for me. I am a list person – I like a plan… I want to know what is ahead. However, throughout my adult life more often than not, my plans and lists have not become my reality. In fact, every time I think I am getting it all together, God (the universe or whatever you wish to call it) has laughed and changed things entirely.

Before I lost Bruce, I was always able to get back up, brush myself off, and start again – faith still intact. However, when I lost Bruce, I completely lost my trust in God. I felt so abandoned and angry… Trusting God was not happening… I just couldn’t do it.

Several people who have already been down this road have told me this is normal – not to worry – I would figure it out in due time. In the meantime, God’s shoulders were big enough to handle it and still love me.

However, so many other people were appalled and told me that I had to stop feeling the way I did – I had to trust God. There is a problem with that idea though… emotions are not attached to switches and dials. They have to be processed and worked through – not “turned off” or shoved down just because someone says so. That is where I have been.

But back to the bus ride…

While on the bus, I watched those people who were scrutinizing every move our driver made. For all the world, it appeared they would have loved nothing more than to give our driver, Poppa, instructions on how to do this right (aka – their way). But despite all their video tapes, gasps and comments, Poppa kept right on doing things his own way. The result? We arrived at the estate perfectly fine and with quite an adventure to share and remember.

I realized then that this is the way I have been trying to live my life since Bruce died… wanting to trust God, but hanging on and trying to stay in control for dear life – not trusting Him enough to relax and enjoy whatever might come next.

I also realized that I need to live my life more like I was on the bus. There were a few of us in the back, who realized right away that we really had no other option but to trust the driver. So we sat back, watched the scenery and actually saw the beauty of Jamaica and rested – safe in the knowledge that Poppa knew what he was doing much better than we ever could. In other words, I need trust the God that I say I believe in. I need to realize that even when the road is scary, he can handle it. He knows much better than I do, and I can rest – secure in the knowledge that he is in charge… so I don’t need to be.

As I write this, we are leaving Montego Bay, a place Bruce wanted to share with me. I think he still did… and I think that maybe I finally understand what he was trying to help me learn all those years…

If you want to live the life you are meant to live, then there really is no other option except to trust…

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