March 2022 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Loss and Bitterness

(Before I get started today, I want to let you know that all is fine here. I took last week off to spend time with family who was visiting from out of state… And as we all know, time with those we love is precious time, indeed.)

“Loss is a crucible. It presses into the deepest places from which we loved, causing such pain we often don’t know how to make sense of the despair. Memories as crystal clear as if they were happening right now dance in from of us, letting us see the beauty of what used to be our life on replay. But those replays make us cry. Seeing what once was is as cruel as it is beautiful.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

I can’t explain what it is about finding a phrase that takes your emotions and putting them into such succinct words, but I can say that the validation I feel brings me great relief. Just knowing that someone else “gets it” … Someone else understands… So much of the time, I feel so alone, and I wonder if anyone else ever feels what I feel. Then, I read something like this paragraph above, and I know I’m not alone… My experience is my own… True. However, there are familiarities that let us know that what we are going through on this path is “normal” (as if anything in grief were “normal”).

With that being said, I learned something new over the last few weeks that did exactly that… It took emotions I have felt and gave them words… And because I can now adequately name that emotion, I can deal with it… And that word is “bitterness”.

I have written before that when Bruce first died, I denied feeling angry, but then later, I decided I was angry in those early months and years. I definitely acted out with anger… I beat the crap out of my mattress on many occasions… I screamed and cursed (sometimes even at God) … I fell down sobbing in the middle of our home in utter anguish and frustration… And yes, all of that was anger.

However, after the anger, when I found myself trying to reconnect with the world, trying to assimilate, if you will, back into my life, that was when something new took hold. I couldn’t put words to it. There was a part of it that felt like anger, but it didn’t come out as anger. For years, I have tried to figure out what it was and how to get past it. The problem was I needed to figure out the first question before I could even think about the second.

Then this week, I read this, “Bitterness is in part unprocessed grief.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

She went on to talk about the pain of grief and how we all know about pain. However, when grief is not acknowledged completely… when it is left to the person grieving to process it in isolation, the result can be bitterness.

You see, when we can lean on someone (each other) in our grief, there is a validation that occurs. We learn it is okay and “normal” to feel all the multitude of emotions we go through. Then, we can take our time, and work through each one. We can compare each emotion to others’ experiences and separate it from the other emotions we are feeling.

That is a process, but it works… And it works because we have others to give us perspective. However, when we are left to process our grief alone, we lose those alternative perspectives. Instead, we only have ourselves and our own experiences to draw from, and that, my friends, is a shallow well.

In early grief, most of us have so much support. People tend to circle around us and gather us in their arms. However, that can’t go on forever… They have lives… We can not be the center of their world for an indefinite time. The thing is, in early grief, most of us are shell-shocked. We haven’t even begun to feel yet… much less to process any feelings.

Am I saying that time is a waste? No… We need that support in the beginning. We need people to remind us to eat and sleep and even breathe. However, I am saying that we still need people and support for a long time after, but they may not be available to give it to us. So what do we do? Well, I think that is where we go looking for that support. Sometimes that might be in a group setting or maybe with a friend or family member… Or maybe we look to a therapist or a coach… There are also speakers and books with lots of helpful information. Honestly, I have done all of these, and I have learned something from all of these.

However, until this week… (9+ years into this journey), I had never heard anyone even mention bitterness… But that is the emotion I have felt most of all. That constant underlying current of unprocessed (un-dealt-with) hurt. All of those feelings of abandonment, frustration, guilt, loneliness, jealousy, resentment, and (still) anger… All of those negative feelings I have tried to push aside in order to fit back into my own life still need to be acknowledged and processed. Pushing them aside… pretending they aren’t real or don’t exist has not been helpful.

This year, I keep writing that I want to “look at this life before me and recognize the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learn to hold onto that with everything I have.” That is still true… That is still my goal. However, to get there… to recognize the joy, love, and hope, I also (not first, but also) need to process the pain that I still feel.

Still having those feelings doesn’t make me bad or awful or unkind or faithless. It is simply a part of me that has, or is becoming hard because I haven’t dealt with it. So, instead, I need to remember that grief is real. My own self-compassion tells me that it is worth processing so that this hardness can become something soft again… Then, in that soft space, I can find the joy, love, and hope I am seeking.

“I choose to sit with it all. The pain of the loss. The sweetness of possibility. The guilt of how I’ve weaponized my grief and hurt others. The forgiveness of a compassionate Savior. The absolute acknowledgement of the unfairness of how I was wronged. The honesty that resentment hasn’t made anything better or more peaceful. The consideration of how to let tenderness in again.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

This grief thing really is harder than anything I have experienced in all my years on this earth. Yes, grief has taught me a lot… But I still hate it. There are definitely more good days than bad, but I still constantly find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is by my side. Allowing myself the space to process all of that isn’t easy, because life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. At this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone. (That is why I reach out here each week.)

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

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Triggers and Little Glimpses of You

Over the last several years, I have found myself trying to notice my triggers. You know, those little things that can set off a wave of unexpected grief. For the longest time, these waves would hit, and I had no idea what in the world had triggered it. All I knew was that suddenly, I felt like I was drowning with no idea which way was up.

Finally, I decided that it would be in my own best interest to start noticing… watching for those things… those triggers. Over the past several months, I have come to realize that stress is one of my biggest triggers… And there seems to be plenty of that to go around. I don’t know why exactly, but I believe it is the simple need to lean on someone you love and trust when everything else in your world feels out of control… And living here alone has really brought this trigger into full view.

At work for the past few weeks, the stress has been monumental. There is a rather large project that fell off the rails due to someone else’s lack of work ethic, and now, I find myself bending over backwards to make it right. The first week and a half, I found myself working 10 – 12 hour days, skipping lunch and breaks, in an effort to still make the deadline.

However, as things sometimes go, I thought the project was complete (and on time), only to find that it wasn’t what someone else higher up was really looking for. So, after some tears of frustration, I started over… Then, a few days later, I started over yet again. (You get the picture, I’m sure.)

The thing is, after that first week and half, I realized that I was working myself into pure exhaustion. I knew I couldn’t keep up that pace. That pace was actually only working to increase the stress I was already feeling. Plus since I work from home, I needed desperately to reset that boundary of when to stop for the day and just walk away. For me, (who puts a lot of priority on doing things correctly and on time), this whole situation was a real struggle.

By midweek, I found myself smack dab in the middle of a grief wave… no – not a wave… It was more like a tsunami. I was drowning and had no idea where to turn to make it stop. I knew it was the stress, but I just couldn’t figure out how to reign it back in. As a result, I found myself, sobbing (you know what I mean? I am talking about ugly crying), and begging God, Bruce, and the Universe to just make it all stop.

Why does it still hurt so badly?
I would give anything
For a word of encouragement
Or a long hug…
From you

I am drowning.
I come up for air,
But it isn’t enough…
Then, I am back down
Struggling for one more breath.

I sit here in the silence,
Praying for the sound of
Your truck in the driveway,
Your footstep on the porch,
Or your key in the lock.
But they never come…
Always, just this unending, damnable silence.

The only sound these days
Is the sound of my tears…
My sobs…
My begging God for this nightmare to end
And for me to wake up in your arms
One more time.

On the good days,
I need you here to share my joy.
On the rough days,
I need you…
That is all – just you.
~ Linda, 2022

You may think I am nuts, (and maybe that’s not too far off – lol), but through the years there have been little things that happen around here, that I take as a sign that Bruce is still around. Sometimes it is something as subtle as an object being moved across the room or his players on the foosball table being moved into his “signature starting position”. Other times, it is more obvious. For example, at Christmas, his stocking moves almost constantly while the others beside it hang perfectly still. (And yes, I have moved it to different spots to be sure it isn’t just the position in the room.)

So… As I sat there, I kept telling him that I needed him… Even just a sign that I wasn’t alone would be amazing… but nothing. Nothing happened… Instead, I went to bed feeling that much more alone. The next morning, however, as I walked by the foosball table, I noticed it immediately, and it took my breath away. Not only were his players “in position” – ready to play, the ball, which lives inside the table, was sitting exactly on the center line.

He had heard me… He was there… I wasn’t as alone as I had felt…

I know, it probably sounds silly, and I know most people will be skeptical. That’s okay. I am all about people believing or not believing what they choose. (After all, there is a lot in this world we don’t understand.) As for me, this little glimpse of Bruce… this moment when I no longer felt alone… meant the world to me… And if that is all it takes to get past another wave of grief, what does that hurt?

Today, as I sit here, I am just thankful for a man who loved me enough that I can still feel his love so many years later.

This grief thing really is hard, and honestly, while I have learned a lot, I still hate it. There are definitely more good days than bad. However, I still constantly find myself wishing for a world where he is by my side. Grief has also changed me in ways I could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. Life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. And each time I think I have it figured out, something happens, and I find I haven’t figured it out at all. However, these little glimpses of Bruce and remembering how blessed I am to have known his love (even for a short time) has been my path to survival and healing. At this point in my journey, I am learning that while it can be hard to remember in the moments of grief, I am not alone. And while it is okay to remember the past, I must also keep looking at this life before me and recognizing the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learning to hold onto that with everything I have.

Thanks to you, I know I am not alone… None of us are… We have each other. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together into this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. 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… Support

After Bruce died, I knew I couldn’t do this thing alone. I knew I was struggling. I knew I needed support. So, one of the first things I did was to look for a grief support group. Most of the groups in my town met during the day, and since I was already back at work, that wouldn’t work for me. However, there was one group, a national grief support program, being offered at a church in my town. Admittedly, I was very angry with God at that point and not very thrilled about the religious aspect. At the same time, it didn’t sour me on the idea, and so I went.

From day one, it was made quite clear that because I was not a member of that church, my faith (and my anger at God), were immediately suspect. To be fair, I know a lot of people who have been through this program in other towns and found it quite helpful. However, in my experience here, this program was presented in such a way that that particular church’s dogma became interwoven and rather than being helpful, it became quite offensive. I wasn’t allowed to pray out loud, and was constantly being told that their Biblical interpretations were the only right ones. In fact, the night that I decided I had had enough, was the night they told me that my grief was a sin, and it was offensive to God… That was it! I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was done. I may not have the best self-esteem on the planet, but even I knew that was crap (for lack of a better word). Even my own self-compassion told me that was not support… That was not what I was looking for or what I needed.

So… Let’s talk a little bit about support today? What is isn’t… and what it is…

I can remember so many phrases that have been used through the years that, honestly, were not supportive. Some have been religious in nature and were used mainly in the first few months. These included things like:
“God needed another angel.” (Nope! I don’t think so.)
Or
“He is in a better place.” (Well, let me tell you, it’s not better for me.)

There are a thousand more like these, but you get the picture…

Then there are the phrases intended to give me “grief advice” that have continued through the years. These include things like:
“You need to move on.” (Seriously? Don’t you think I would if I knew how?)
Or
“You’re not the first person to go through this. You need to get past it.” (Yes, I know… But again, empty words, my friend, … empty words.)

Then there are the people who just drop out of your world. I get it (kind of) … This grief thing is very uncomfortable… Trust me! I’m in the middle of it. I know exactly how uncomfortable it can be. The thing is, when someone chooses to walk away, because my grief is hard for them to witness, then I have learned just how misplaced my trust and friendship were with that person. So… go… But please, don’t show back up months or years later and think we can pick up where you left. I have had the added grief of losing that friendship… And I’m not real interested in going through all of that again when things get hard again (and they will because that is just a part of life).

Then, there are the people who just want to pretend that this grief thing never happened. These people struggle to accept that because this loss, I am different… But look at me… I have changed. I can’t be who I was, because that person no longer exists. When I say “I can’t” or try to do what is emotionally healthiest for me, their response seems to fluctuate between impatience and downright anger. (I just don’t get this one at all.)

Trust me… All of these things… not supportive. But, thankfully, that’s not the end…

There are also the things that are supportive… And, honestly, it is a shorter list and requires way less energy…

As far as what to say… First of all, please realize that there is nothing anyone can say to really make it better. If one feels they must say something, the following felt much more supportive (to me):
“I am sorry” or “I hate this for you.” (Thank you… Me too!)
Or
“There are no words, but I’m here.” (Thank God, because I can’t do this by myself!)

Honestly, though, you don’t need to say anything. Just sit with me… Just walk beside me for a bit… or as the characters on Grey’s Anatomy did when their friend was grieving “lay on the bathroom floor with me.” (Figuratively, of course.)

As far as the rest goes… Please keep your judgements about what I should do or not do, how I should feel or not feel, etc. to yourself… Please… Just allow me some space and some compassion… Allow me to even have some self-compassion. Let me know that you support those things that help me heal, no matter how slowly (or how silly they may seem)… whether these things include tears or writing or small ceremonies on special days… or anything else…

I guess what I’m trying to say is that we aren’t looking for anyone to “fix” it or “fix” us… That can’t be done. We have to figure this out one breath at a time… All we really need from everyone else is your love and your compassion… And that’s it… That is support.

This grief thing really IS hard, and honestly, while I have learned a lot, I still hate it. There are more good days than there used to be, but I still constantly find myself wishing for the past. Grief has changed me in ways I could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. Life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. And each time I think I have it figured out, something happens, and I find I haven’t figured it out at all. However, finding ways to stay grounded and remembering how blessed I am to have known Bruce’s love (even for a short time) has been my path to survival and healing. At this point in my journey, I am learning that while I remember the past, I must also keep looking at this life before me and recognizing the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learning to hold onto that with everything I have.