August 2022 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Finding Hope in a Season of Grief – Part 2

(Continued from last week)

As I wrote last week, the years passed and life went on, but my faith was struggling.

Bruce was beyond supportive. He knew I needed to fill this part of my life. Together, we went from church to church trying to find a place where we might fit in… but I was scared. I wanted “more”, but I didn’t feel welcome to experience “more”. He was encouraging, but not pushy. I, on the other hand, held back… My trust in the church – any church – was gone.

Then, just 2 months prior to Bruce’s death, my faith finally came crashing down around me. Little did I know what was ahead of me and how impossibly hard it would be to grieve when I had no faith… and no hope.

You see, I had (finally) found what I thought could be my new “church home”. I can remember sitting in this small Episcopal church (a denomination, I thought would be a little more understanding about divorce). I had been attending for several months and was starting to feel like I just might actually fit in there.

That particular week, the pastor started a homily on the “evils of divorce”. I was a little bit wary at first but thought that he would give a caveat about abuse being a reason to leave. As the minutes passed, I remember crying and thinking, “He isn’t addressing abuse… Life choices aren’t always that simple.” Then he said, “Divorce is never okay, even if there is abuse.” I was completely stunned. I wasn’t welcome, after all… I never would be… And so, I left… I literally got up in the middle of the service and quietly walked out. All I knew was I couldn’t do it anymore… My heart couldn’t take it any more.

I think I must have cried for a week straight. (I know I cried so much I gave myself two black eyes.) At that point, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had lost my faith… It was gone… (or so I thought). Then, two months later, Bruce died. With no faith to fall back on, I lost all hope. Losing my faith and my love so close together had taken away my hope… And I had no idea how to get it back.

Time, although I couldn’t see it then, became my friend and the key I needed. Slowly… very slowly… I started to deconstruct, then reconstruct my faith…. And I learned quite quickly that my struggle wasn’t with God. My struggle was how God was being interpreted and presented.

First, I went back to the basic concepts I knew I believed without a doubt. Granted, it took me a while to strip away the dogma and other people’s interpretations, and finally figure out for myself what I believe… rather than what someone else was telling me to believe… To come to an understanding of my faith vs someone else’s faith.

I have to be honest; this was all possible because of Bruce and the legacy he left behind… a faith that he lived but never preached.

I started by reading the books he had read and listening to the speakers he had favored. Over time, I have found new authors and speakers and entire communities that share my quest for a faith that is built on a God that can’t be defined or put in a nice, neat box. A faith that is that is as individual as each one of us.
Even today, I am still working to reassemble a faith that is mine… a faith that is as genuine as Bruce’s was. However, by doing this… by working hard to understand what I believe, hope is also returning to my world.

My faith is noticeably different from what it was, but I can say without hesitation that it is mine… And the hope that I now feel is different too. It is less naïve and much more grounded. It isn’t based on miracles or punishments. It is not based on whether or not I am considered “worthy” or “good enough”. Instead, it is based on a loving relationship… It is filled with a hope that things can be better, but not that they necessarily will be… nor do they have to be for this hope to keep going.

Instead, this faith has given me true hope that continues to carry me through this season of grief.
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls – Moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, 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.

Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Finding Hope in a Season of Grief – Part 1

This week, one of my journal prompts was: “Have you walked through a season of grief? How did you maintain hope?”

Pardon me while I shake my head (just a little). You see… I’m not sure I did. If I am honest, I would have to say that when Bruce died, I lost all hope for a very, long time. Finding my way back to having even a little bit of hope has been quite the uphill journey.

Before we get there, though, let’s back up… Let’s back way up…

From the moment I was born, I was raised in the church, so my faith was always important to me. It was a big part of who I thought I was. I have always sang in the choir, and attended retreats, Sunday School, and Bible studies. As I grew older, I also cantored at mass. I taught children’s choir, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday School. I even taught at the school. I helped with the flowers for Holy Days, and worked at all of the fairs and carnivals. And, (of course), I raised my children the same way within the church.

In other words, I did all the things. If the doors were open, the kids and I were there. Even through the worst, chaotic, violent days of my first marriage, we were there. I remember back then – I kept believing that if I could just “be better” … If I could just muster a little more faith… then maybe, just maybe, God would help me.

Eventually, though, I reached the point where I knew I just couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t “enough”, and I never would be… Would I really go to hell if I left? Did it matter? After all, I was living in hell… And worst of all, because I was there, my kids were too.

One afternoon, I found myself pouring out the details of my life to our parish priest. However, before I could even finish, he told me that he already knew the trouble our family was in, and he advised me to leave. He told me that I would have the support of the church… So, I did… I left.

It took years to finalize everything. Those were scary, turbulent times with some of the hardest situations I have ever endured… Still… I did it! I made it out with my kids by my side! The future finally looked bright. It held so much hope.

Wouldn’t you know it, though? Before I hardly had time to take a breath, my world took another tumble. I can’t really remember which happened first, because in my memory it all happened simultaneously…

In a timespan that felt like overnight, I lost everything I owned. I had invested my money from the divorce with a “family friend.” (That person is currently serving time in a federal prison for securities fraud and running a Ponzi scheme.) Yep! That’s where my money went… Every dime.

At about the same time, I lost my job…

I had met Bruce and started the drudgery of getting an annulment. The problem? It required a ton of paperwork. AND… each time I turned in said paperwork, I had to pay thousands of dollars to “move to the next step”. But suddenly, I didn’t have any more money, and I had to drop it… That was the reality.

Before too long, I was told that “some people” were concerned about having a divorced (and dating) person on the staff. I was supposed to be a role model, after all. Before long, I was given a choice to leave Bruce or my job… (Well, we all know how that choice went, and I don’t regret it for a moment!)

How about that support I had been promised? It was a nice idea in theory, but it didn’t really exist. Instead, I was left confused and devastated. I think this was one of the first times I had my eyes opened to the “them vs us” clique mentality so rampant within the church. (A space that I was taught was supposed to be inclusive was actually extremely exclusive.)

What I came to realize was that to really belong, one must do as they are told – no space for questions or different opinions, thoughts, and ideas. Please understand this was not everyone. I had wonderful, dear friends to lean on, and I don’t want to sound bitter… My point, though, is how traumatic and gut-wrenching the whole set of circumstances were.

But God can make good out bad, and a few months later, my world blossomed!

Bruce and I were married… I found a new job in a new state… And… I found a new church. This time, though, it was different. For the first time ever, I simply sat in the back row and kept to myself. I desperately wanted to be there… I needed to be there… At the same time, I couldn’t risk being shunned again.

The years passed, and life went on. My faith was struggling. Bruce, however, was beyond supportive. He knew I needed to fill this part of my life. So, together, we went from church to church trying to find a place where we might fit in… but I was scared. I wanted “more”, but I didn’t feel welcome to experience “more”. Bruce was encouraging… but not pushy. I, on the other hand, held back… My trust in the church – any church – was gone.

Then, just two months prior to Bruce’s death, my faith finally came crashing down around me. Little did I know what was ahead of me and how impossibly hard it would be to grieve when I had no faith… and no hope.

(To be continued next week)

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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls – Moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Garden of Grief… or Joy?

One of my favorite things about my home office is looking out the window at my flower garden… It makes me smile, especially when everything is blooming. My garden is filled with all kinds of flowering plants from crepe myrtles and angel trumpets to rain lilies and milkweed, and everything in between…. But my yard didn’t always look like this.

When Bruce and I were first married, we were living up north in a condo. He always had a couple of potted plants on the porch during the summer – tomatoes or okra or some such. He always talked about how he used to have a garden and would love to have a regular garden again one day.

I, on the other hand, had never been much of a “plant person”. I grew up around lots of people with green thumbs, but I just never seemed to have a knack for it. It was hot and dirty… No, thank you.

When we started looking for a house down here in Florida, Bruce was so excited about the idea of having a garden again. I was excited for him, but made it quite clear that the yard was his… He could do with it what he wanted. It just wasn’t my passion at all.

When we finally moved into our home, the garden was put on hold until the following year while Bruce fixed up a few other things that were more pressing. He never gave the idea of a garden though… From the day we moved in, he was planning his garden… He knew what he wanted to plant and where it was going.

He never got the chance, though. Bruce passed away in January, before he ever got the chance to place the first plant in the ground.

That first spring after he died, as the weather started warming up, I started looking at the yard and thinking about all the plans Bruce had made. It didn’t take me long, though, to decide what I was going to do. After all, I needed to do something…

I found a checklist in a book of things to do to help me work through my grief… Things to honor Bruce’s memory… And one of those things was to plant a memorial garden. Shoot, I had a whole yard as an empty canvas… A whole yard that I could dig up and plant… A whole yard to help me burn off this ache in my heart… And so, I started…

All I had was a shovel, a rake, and a hand spade, but that didn’t matter. I started digging… Slowly, I built the beds by digging up the grass and hand-turning the dirt. I sifted out the stones and rocks and carefully placed the earthworms back into the freshly turned soil. It took hours on hours, weeks on weeks, and months on months.

Even the neighborhood kids came and lent a hand on occasion. With the normal curiosity of children, they would ask about Bruce. I didn’t mind, though. It gave me a reason to talk about him… and smile.

It took well over a year to get things to a “basic level of done”, but as any gardener will tell you, no garden is ever really “done”. Over the years, I have added, moved, or gotten rid of plants here or there but that same basic garden is still there… smiling back at me.

Most of the plants have some type of connection to Bruce or our family. For example, I have a couple of shrimp plants since he loved shrimp. I also have five angel trumpets – one for each of my children. Oh, and the muscadine grapes because it smells like my grandmother’s back yard used to smell. I don’t want to bore you by explaining each and every plant’s meaning to me, but you get the idea. Each plant is personal to me… each one means something to me so that when I look at them or touch them, I smile.

It’s odd, but as much as I thought I hated yard work, this labor of love changed all that. I found myself spending hours in the yard every single weekend… Until I couldn’t. The year I spent fighting cancer, I had to hire someone to take care of the yard. As I have moved into the recovery stage, I’ve been able to work in the yard a little bit here and there, but I still can’t do it for hours. I wish I could, though… I actually miss it.

Today was sad, though. I came home to find most of my rain lilies pulled out. Someone, who meant well, thought it would “look better” and removed them. “It’s just lilies,” they said when they saw my tears. I know that. (I really do.) They kept saying it isn’t a big deal… But that’s just it. It is a big deal… to me. The rain lilies, I think, are some of my favorites. You see, they bloom after the rain… kind of like me learning to smile again after all the grief… Like I said, each plant is personal to me. **

I know the day will come when I no longer live here. I am sure someone else will come along and remove and replant and redo each and every garden bed. (And they should.) But for right now, this garden reminds me that I can do this. I can keep moving forward. This idea from a book that started as a “grief garden”… as a memorial to Bruce… has become a source of joy for me. I love sitting on the porch or looking out the windows and simply feeling joy. I love this space that can make me smile simply by existing… and that’s pretty special.

** For the record, this is all being made right… an honest mistake made with the best of intentions.
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls – Moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

Peace, Love, and Grief… Loneliness

I hope you don’t judge me, since my goal is moving forward not back… Yet, this week started off really rough! I was completely down on myself. I don’t know why (or how) I managed to let myself get so far down the rabbit hole. At the same time, I know it’s normal… We all do sometimes.

I think the hard part (for me, anyway) is not having anyone here with me… more specifically – Bruce! For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with my own self-worth… I think that comes from several places in my life. The exact sources aren’t really important to list here, but it was a constant message of “not being enough”.

Bruce, however, was my hero, though! He always made me feel like I was “enough”… Maybe even more than enough. Whenever I had doubts, without exception, I was comfortable enough to reach out to him. It makes me smile when I think about the times, I would come to him with tears in my heart (and eyes), and he would simply take me in his arms to hold me for as long as I needed. So many times, not a word was spoken between us, until he would kiss me and tell me that he loved me.

I think maybe one of the most challenging (and crumbling) parts of this journey is the loneliness. It’s crazy how it creeps in without me really noticing until I am deep down in the rabbit hole. Then suddenly, things start to fall apart, and I find myself feeling as if I have no one to really turn to. Granted, I know that isn’t really true, I have wonderful people in my life. (However, when you are in so deep, that is hard to remember.)

The problem is when I get to this point – the point of utter defeat and desperation – I can’t reach out. I somehow convince myself that this is too much to dump on someone else. Or (even worse), I also tend to convince myself that I am a bother, and no one would care anyway. Plus, who needs more rejection? (Ridiculous, I know, but it is where my mind goes.)

(sigh) Loneliness is a horrible, misguided companion!

I heard a quote this week from Fr. Richard Rohr that seems apropos, “Suffering follows any great commitment of love.” Boy, did that hit home… The grief and pain from losing Bruce (even nine years later) can still be a struggle for me.

Sometimes, there are triggers that send me reeling. However, like this week, there was no trigger… It was simply the loneliness of missing him in particular… of no longer having that person in my life who “gets” me totally and completely… who can take one look at me and know what I am feeling or thinking… that person who know me inside and out – the good and the bad – and still loves me anyway. For me, that person was Bruce… And, God knows, I miss that… I miss him!

Some weeks are better than others… Some are harder. This week, though, I would have given anything to have had that… HIM back in my world.
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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.