July 2022 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… I Speak Your Name

“So long as they speak your name, you shall never die.” ~ Dan Brown

If you were paying attention, you may have noticed there was no blog from me last week. Instead, I was at the beach with Bruce’s sisters. It was our annual trip – a tradition started years ago… before I ever even came into the picture. However, once I was in the picture (and ever since), I have been included.

The first year, I was quite apprehensive about going. My previous in-laws made no bones about how they felt about me from the very beginning. Suffice it to say, I was always the outsider. So, the idea of spending a week with new sisters whom I barely knew scared me to death.

In fact, it’s funny now, but that first year, I was so scared that Bruce ended up flying into the same town too, and stayed at a hotel across town, just in case. He knew I wouldn’t need him, but I didn’t. All I knew was that I was so apprehensive about the whole thing, I needed that added security of a “just in case”. (He teased me about it for years, but I didn’t mind. His willingness to be my “just in case” only made me love him that much more.)

Times have changed, though. Now (for me, at least), this annual trip is a chance to spend some very special time with the family he grew up in. It is very much a safe place where I am not an outsider. Instead, I am family (and all that entails). From my perspective, one of the best parts of the week is that his name comes up in conversation a lot… and not just from me. His sisters talk about him as much as I do. I think we all need it… After all, they shared a life with him, too… They have so many memories with him growing up and throughout their adulthood.

It is so nice to know I can talk (and/or cry) about anything “Bruce” without worrying about being a “Debbie-downer” or ruining someone else’s day or vacation. I love it!

They have stories about the Bruce they grew up with – the boy, the teenager, the young adult, the brand-new dad… All the things that were pre-me. It is a side of Bruce I never knew, but each year I get to know that part of him a little bit better. In return, I get to share stories of our quiet conversations, a great husband, an adventurer, and so many other parts of him that they never had the chance to know.

And all of that is important…

Years ago, when I started this blog, one of the things I kept saying was, “As long as there is a breath left in my body, I will speak your name… I won’t let you be forgotten.” … That is still true… And a whole week of sharing Bruce-isms and memories has made my heart sing…

I love you, Babe… And I promise, I will always speak your name – not just because I won’t forget you, but because I can’t forget you.
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. Thankfully, though, there are moments where our souls can be refreshed – Moments where I learn a little bit more about life, faith, and love.

As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more of these good moments than bad. Each day, I continue to learn more and more about those things that seem to help me heal and move forward – like sharing precious memories. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without my love… without Bruce. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

In fact, none of us need to be 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… Looking for a Reason

Several weeks ago, my friends and I were chatting about a news article… (a pretty normal occurrence). While I don’t remember the specific details of the article, I do remember that a man had died (much too young) and (without knowing the exact cause of death) his spouse had started suing multiple people – just looking for someone… anyone to blame. At first the conversation was all about “what is she thinking”… “She doesn’t even know why he died yet.”

While that might be true, I still felt like I knew exactly what she was thinking… or at least pretty close… because I remember being in those shoes…

To say it was a shock when Bruce died would be an understatement. He was such a health-conscious person. He (for the most part) watched what he ate. He worked out regularly at the local gym. He was always researching supplements and vitamins – and trying those that seemed like they might improve his health in some way. He had a yearly physical on top of the ones required by his job.

In other words, he really did look after his health… He even inspired me to do a better job of being healthy.

In the weeks before he died, we had been out biking on the trails and kayaking in the canals and creeks. In the hours before he died, we had had a lengthy discussion about what we wanted to do that weekend… with kayaking the clear favorite endeavor. We snuggled in the bed that night as we fell asleep… All felt right in my world… I was so happy… So content… To think that he would be dead in less than six hours never crossed my mind… but that is exactly what happened.

After he died, I was absolutely drowning in questions. I didn’t understand. I was truly confused. How does this happen? Did someone miss something somewhere? I didn’t get it… It made no sense to me. The hospital told me that it appeared he had a heart attack, but that the medical examiner would do an autopsy and have a better (more clear) answer… It would only take “2 – 3 weeks” both the hospital and funeral director told me.

So, I waited… and I waited. I just wanted an answer… I needed an answer. Why in the world had my seemingly healthy, 52-year-old husband died?

At four weeks, I called… “They are running a little behind,” I was told, “four more weeks at most.” Then, you guessed it, four more weeks… and four more. Yep… it took four months to get our answer… Four excruciating months of not know… not understanding.

During those long months, (years before this blog was started), I would post comments on social media about my frustration at waiting so long and my desperate need for an answer. We all know how that goes, right? Some people offer empathy, others offer advice. There was a lot of compassion, and those people will never know how much that meant to me.

I also remember others telling me to let it go… why did it matter?… how was knowing going to change the ultimate outcome?… and that list of questions went on and on. I am sure that there are people for whom that would be good advice. However, for me, it was just a clue that I couldn’t talk about my grief and anxiety with those people… They are wonderful people, and I know they meant well. Nevertheless, that was not the “advice” I needed at that point.

What I did need was an answer… any answer. And if I am honest, I too wanted to blame somebody… anybody. Surely, a healthy man doesn’t just die in the middle of the night for no reason!

At four months… the evening before his memorial, we finally got an answer. Bruce had some heart issues that had either gone undetected or (as much as I don’t want to admit it) he had ignored. I will never know for sure.

Yet, I do know I am not the only one who still has questions… A couple of years ago, Bruce’s mother requested (and received) a full copy of the ME’s report, and kindly shared it with me. I have spent many hours over the last few years going over it and researching every term to better understand what happened to Bruce.

I don’t know what he knew or what choices (if any) he made. After he died, I found all the paperwork I would need to “legally process” his death in a stack on the counter… Which leads me to believe, he knew something was wrong.

I, also, can’t blame anyone else for decisions or choices he might have made. At the same time, I can’t be mad at him, either. Ultimately, the Medical Examiner told me that the only thing that would have saved Bruce’s life was a heart transplant (before this episode that killed him). Knowing Bruce, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew that and made the choice not to do it… Obviously, though, I don’t know anything for sure. In fact, I’ll never know… and I have to learn to be okay with that.

I have to be okay with not having anyone to blame, and instead learning to accept his death as a part of his life… a life I was miraculously blessed to be a part of…
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. This crazy journey is where I am continuously learning about life, faith, and love. And while there have been some great life lessons on this journey, I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. I didn’t ask to be here, and I don’t want to be here… But I am here anyway.

As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad. Each day, I continue to learn more and more about those things that seem to help me heal and move forward. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without my love… without Bruce. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Fresh Perspective

Puzzles are my thing… I love ‘em. Jigsaw puzzles, word puzzles, sudoku, mazes, riddles… you name it. I love the challenge. Simple or difficult – it doesn’t matter. I love the thought process – the creativeness that is part of the process. I love the way it stretches my thought processes and the feeling of accomplishment when I am done.

Bruce would always chuckle and tease me about my “nerdy side”. However, nine times out of ten, I would find him seated right there beside me – joining in.

Lately, I have come to realize that I do something whenever I get stuck on a puzzle… I walk away – maybe for an hour or two… maybe a day or two… maybe longer. However, the bottom line is when I return to it, I have a fresh perspective, which means I am usually able to finish in just a few minutes. That’s all it took… walking away, resetting my mind, and taking a fresh look at all the possibilities.

A fresh perspective… a fresh look… a reset… Call it what you want, there are times in our lives when we need one… and not just when we are doing puzzles. Have you ever had to walk away from someone in a heated discussion? How about when you are working on a project? Writers do it… artists do it… (Shoot, I have even done it as a parent.) I think we all do it at times. But why?

I think it has a lot to do with how we manage our focus… For example, when we are in a heated discussion, it can be hard to hear what the other person is trying to communicate because we are so caught up being heard ourselves. Sometimes, it is hard to see past our own frustrations when a project is not going the way we intended, or our kids’ behavior is nowhere near what they have been taught.

To go back to my original example, I know when I am working on a puzzle, I find myself so focused on wanting it work a certain way, there are times when I can’t see past that one option… the one I am stuck on. For whatever reason, all of the other possibilities are lost somewhere in my periphery. I know they are there… they have to be. I just can’t see them in that moment. However, when I come back later, suddenly the single focus is forgotten, and I can see so many other possibilities.

I think it may be the same with grief…

I have written about being cautious and watching myself when a grief trigger (whether it is a wave or tsunami) hits me. There is a very fine line between letting myself feel what I feel and not slipping down the rabbit hole so far that I forget there is still a wonderful life going on around me. There is a caution there that I can not ignore.

Sometimes, (okay – many times) I have to stop and conscientiously make myself let it go and think of other things. Then, later that day or the next, I can let myself think about it. Still, I still have to proceed with caution, because it is all too easy for me to only focus only on my grief and what is missing from my life… And when I do that, it becomes too easy to miss all of the other incredible possibilities or opportunities for joy going on around me.

I don’t know that this need to reset and find a fresh outlook will ever end… I kind of doubt it. I think I will always find myself in moments of grief when I need to reset and find creative ways to move forward. Through it all, though, I have learned to see that reset as a gift… a way to push through those moments and make to the other side without falling apart.

I just need to remember whenever grief overtakes my focus… Whenever it is hard to think of anything else, this ability to take a moment and walk away… to see life anew is a gift I am worthy of giving to myself.
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Peace, Love, and Grief… Deja Vu

Grief triggers are the worst! You know what I mean. Those little things that catch us unaware, and with no warning, we find ourselves plunging backwards in time to a space where we are once again raw and lost in our grief. It can be a song, a smell, someone body movements that are all too familiar… Anything can be trigger… It is like a sudden experience of déjà vu where you feel literally transported back to another time.

I have these occurrences happen to me at least two to three times a year – give or take… I think the hardest part is that you really aren’t prepared for it… So, keeping your emotions under control and not completely falling apart, is (for me) the hardest part of the challenge. For the first few years after Bruce died, I didn’t really worry about falling apart. I let myself feel what I felt. However, for the last few years, I understand that almost a decade has passed since I lost my love. I am even more aware of how others may be under the impression that I should be past all of that. Therefore, the tolerance is extremely limited… I know… I (kind of) get it… At the same time, they are wrong.

Granted, I am better at thinking about other things and pretending all is well… But for the most part, it is just that – pretending. Here, I can be honest and say that it still hurts. My heart is still raw and broken… And this week I was reminded once again, just how raw and broken it still is…

Let me back up just a little bit… Over six weeks ago, my son had an accident and ended up with a metal plate and several screws to hold him together. Despite living on his own since he was 18, he has needed to live with me for help and support as he recovers. It has been a long road for him, but he has been doing everything he is supposed to do in order to be independent again as soon as possible. His hope was to be able to move back to his place later this month after his follow-up.

Life, however, doesn’t always follow our plans. Through no fault of his own, the surgical site became inflamed, and we found ourselves heading to the local ER at 5 o’clock in the morning. This was not the hospital where he had his surgery nor is his doctor anywhere close by. However, we weren’t too worried about all of that. We both assumed they would clean it, re-stitch it, and let him go with some antibiotics…

As I was turning into the hospital parking lot, it was dark and almost empty… Then, it dawned on me that the last time I been to this ER was with Bruce on the awful night so many years ago. I have written about that night several times in the past… It was an awful experience… and suddenly, here I was walking through those awful doors once again.

I took a deep breath as I parked the car and walked inside.

This time, though, rather than being immediately directed to the “Consultation” room, which is evidently reserved for those whose loved ones arrive to the ER already dead (as in my experience with Bruce), we were asked to simply sit and wait in the lobby… Okay… so far, so good.

I took another deep breath and busied myself helping my son fill out the necessary paperwork. Before I knew it, we were called back to an exam room. I immediately got up and followed my son and the gentleman pushing him. As we walked through those double doors, there on the right was the “room” – that damn Consultation Room. That place where I sat in unbelief for what seemed like hours waiting for someone to tell me something… anything… where I sat while a doctor told me that my Bruce was gone… where I sat in shock while the police officer and hospital staffer assigned to “console” me actually ignored me and talked about the upcoming Super Bowl game.

This was a room I never wanted to see again. As we walked past it, all the things I have tried to push back into the darkest corners of my memory popped back into the forefront of my thoughts. I immediately, turned my eyes back to my son. “Think of him,” I told myself. “He is the one who needs you right now. You don’t have time to think about all that… not now… You can do that later.”

Then, in the next moment, I realized where we were headed… We were walking into the exact same exam room where Bruce had been… Where I had spent what felt like both an eternity and a single moment in time, with Bruce’s body… Touching him, stroking his hair, begging him to wake up…

I know Bruce died in our home, in our bed… in the space where I am each and every day. (It’s strange, but I actually find comfort there.) Yet, this space where I found myself – this exam room was the space where I had to accept that he was gone… where I had to actually say my goodbyes. This is the space where my world collapsed around me (and has never fully recovered).

This space was one of those triggers I was talking about… One of those triggers that you aren’t expecting and can’t avoid. While we sat in that room waiting, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I couldn’t lose it. I couldn’t fall apart. I was there to be the strong one… to be my son’s voice and advocate. I had to hold it together no matter what. So… I paced. I sat. I found myself talking about anything and everything – just not about the last time I was there.

After five very, long hours, my son was admitted and moved to a room – not what we had expected. (In fact, at this point the experience for my son went quickly downhill. However, that is not my story and does not belong here.) I, on the other hand, found myself going back home to grab some items we would each need for we thought was ahead.

While the ride home is less than ten minutes, it felt like an eternity. But I was driving. I couldn’t fall apart (yet). I need to hang on, just a little… bit… more. I can’t begin to tell you the relief I felt as I walked through my own door, into our space… a space where I am safe to feel what I feel, where the tears could flow without any eyes to judge me or make me feel ridiculous… A space where I constantly feel Bruce’s presence and comfort. This was the moment I could finally let myself feel all those emotions.

This week has been a long one – filled with long hours, exhaustion, and frustration over sub-standard care. I have learned that while my grief still hurts, I am stronger than I think… Also, I have been reminded (once again) about the preciousness of life and how quickly our world can change…

I say it every week… Loss is hard, and the grief we are left to figure out is even harder. But this is a journey where I am continuously learning about life, faith, and love. There have been some great life lessons on this journey, but I hate that losing Bruce is how I got here. After all, I didn’t ask to be here… I didn’t ask for any of this. As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad as I learn those things that seem to bring me a little bit of healing each day. Through it all, though, I still find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is here beside me. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without him. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!