October 2022 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Do I Stay or Do I Go?

When Bruce died, we had only lived in this town for a short time. In fact, I knew exactly four people here, but only well enough to speak if I saw them – not well enough to call them in case of a crisis. At the same time, the closest family member then was my son who lived 6+ hours away. So, when Bruce died, I went to the hospital alone. I came home alone. I called everyone on my own… and I waited… alone.

I remember the waiting… That was a long night.

Honestly, I had great friends at work, and they rushed to my side, but even they were an hour away and it was in the wee hours of the morning. It took some time. The time spent waiting was probably the loneliest and most abandoned I have ever felt. My boss, at that time, was a wonderful woman and the first to arrive, and she stayed with me until a few family members were able to get here.

By the end of the day, despite the amount of travel involved, most of our family were here and I was surrounded with love and support. Of course, though, they couldn’t stay forever, and within a couple of weeks, I was back to being alone.

At the time, in my quest to figure out how to manage this new path I was on, I read a lot about people who move almost right away after losing a spouse… usually to move in with or be closer to family. However, everything I read said not to make any major decisions for at least one year… to wait… give yourself time to think clearly and make better rational choices vs emotionally packed ones. As for me, there wasn’t a lot to consider. My job was here. Our home that we had shared was here. I couldn’t even begin to imagine leaving.

God works in funny ways, though, and within a few years, three of my four children had moved to Florida. For the last several years, they have all been within 45 minutes – 2 hours from me, so we see each other all the time. It has been a blessing I never thought would happen and absolutely relish each and every moment we have together.

So… Life moves on (as it should), and things change (as they should), and now I find myself wondering if I should consider moving closer to them. Sitting through the last hurricane alone was a little scary, and is actually what really got me thinking about it. I know we aren’t that far apart now, but how wonderful would it be to able to meet up for breakfast before work, or have a weekly family dinner (mid-week), or to be more involved in my grandson’s day-to-day world?

So that is my quandary… and I don’t know what to do… Overall, yes… it would be a positive move for me, and more than likely a good investment. At the same time, it means leaving our space… our home. For years, I have known in my heart that Bruce picked this house and space and did a little extra work to make it a safe place for me. I will always be convinced that he knew he wouldn’t always be here, and eventually, I would be alone. Our neighborhood is gated; he reinforced the windows and doors to make them more secure; and he added a security system. (All things he had never done in our previous home.)

But… to be closer to the kids means I have someone to call when I have an emergency or need a hand with something (like hurricanes or illness). Being closer to the kids means, as I get older and time is more precious, I am spending more time with the people I care most about. Also, since I tend to keep to myself and still only know about four people in town, I am alone most of the time… Being closer to my kids, though, means that would likely change (at least a little bit).

But… I still feel Bruce here… I am sure it has more to do with my heart than the floors and walls. However, I can’t help but wonder if that feeling will follow me to a new space? Will I still feel him, or will it feel like I am letting go and losing him all over again? I don’t think I could bear that… I don’t think I could survive that.

Granted, there is a certain amount of privacy that comes from having some distance between us, but I’m not sure that is always a good thing. Lately, since I work virtually, I find myself wondering how much of this loneliness is simply about hiding from the rest of the world. I mean, I go out with friends from work, and I absolutely see my kids at least once a week. However on a day-to-day basis, I have to make a conscious decision to leave the house… To get out in the world and simply smile and say “Hi” to people. Sometimes, I think it would be way too easy for me to just hide in here, and that is not good at all.

At the same time, other than this space, I really have nothing to keep me here, and I am torn.

So… what about y’all? For all the widows and widowers… I know we all have to make our own choices, and we all have our own reasons for those choices…. But what did you do? What were your reasons? I am interested… I know I want to make a solid decision, but I am really struggling…
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All of us on this journey know that it isn’t easy. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief and life we are left to figure out is hard. Healing takes time… There is a lot of trial and error and moves at its own pace. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls and guard our joy. There are also challenges where we learn that we are stronger than we think we are… Both of these provide moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

Thankfully, as the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more of 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… Why Not Ask Why?

When Bruce died, I couldn’t understand why. He was still so young – only 52… We were still so young… For the life of me, it made no sense. For months, I waited for the autopsy report – for an answer as to how a health conscience man could be fine one moment and gone the next. I knew it wouldn’t change the fact that he was gone, but I really needed to know why.

At the time, there were many people who were also on my train… They needed the “why”, as much as I did. Yet, there were also others who questioned my need to know… “Why bother,” they would ask, “What difference would it make?”

I couldn’t answer those questions. (Now, I know I didn’t need to – I didn’t owe them an answer for any of those questions.) At the time, though, I began to feel that my asking “why” somehow made me bad – like I wasn’t trusting in my faith, somehow. But I needed to know… and trying to act like it didn’t matter only made me angry.

Why not ask why? What was wrong with needing to understand why? One minute he had been fine – laughing, teasing, loving… and a few short hours later, he was gone… Like someone had snapped their fingers and suddenly he was gone… Who wouldn’t ask why?

It took four months to get the medical answer to why… Yet here I am year later, still asking God… the universe… whoever is listening… Why? I still don’t understand. It still causes me to pause and take a deep breath before moving on. However, I don’t feel guilty about asking why anymore… I think it is a perfectly normal, valid question.

It has taken me a while to get here, though…

Growing up, questioning was frowned on. Don’t question authority. Don’t question your faith. Don’t question (period). Acceptance of what was or what I was told was the “good” way to behave. I didn’t dare question… I didn’t dare ask why.

That, however, got me knot some bad situations. For example. My first marriage… I was suppose to just accept it – chaos, violence, all of it – no “why’s” allowed.

As for my religion… why would God do this or allow that? What about parts of the Bible that contradict each other? NOPE! Supposedly doubt was okay – at least that is what we were told… But only if you accepted the answers to your questions at face value and then let it go.

In other words, “why” was always a bad word – like talking bad or being disrespectful in some way. So, asking that question made me as if I were bad, as well.

Yet, I’ve always kind of been that square peg – trying to do the right thing, but never quite fitting in. So when Bruce died, I think I was just finally at that point where I simply couldn’t keep playing the game. This time it hurt too badly to simply accept it. I was angry… This was wrong… This wasn’t fair… This time I needed to ask why. I couldn’t simply accept things as they were… I couldn’t “be good” anymore… I was hurting more than I have ever hurt… I was angry and confused… My world had fallen apart beneath my feet.

That was then; this is now…

Scientifically, I understand why he died. In my heart, though, I still find myself asking why… Sometimes I find myself asking Bruce why he left me here alone… Sometimes I ask God why he let Bruce die… I know I’ll never have a real answer to any of those questions. I also know that, more than likely, I’ll never stop asking.

The difference, though? Now, I don’t feel guilty for asking. It’s okay to feel what I feel… and it’s okay to question God (or the universe or whatever)… And… it’s definitely okay to ask, “Why?”
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All of us on this journey know that it isn’t easy. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief and life we are left to figure out is hard. Healing takes time… There is a lot of trial and error, and moves at its own pace. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls and guard our joy. There are also challenges where we learn that we are stronger than we think we are… Both of these provide moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

Peace, Love, and Grief… It’s Okay to Grieve

Losing a loved one… losing a spouse is hard. Everyone deals with it in their own way according to the relationship and each individual personality. From the outside looking in, it appears that some people grieve long and hard while others seem to grieve quietly or move on quicker. Honestly, I believe that how a person grieves it up to them… and no one else.

In my experience, people were very understanding for the first six months or so. Even for the first year, most people were understanding and offered support. After the first year, though, I started noticing the judgement… It didn’t come from all directions, but it was frequent, and to say it was frustrating would be an understatement.

I can remember comments made about moving on or how I wasn’t the only person to ever lose someone… Back then, I was horrified and hurt at these types of comments. They weren’t helpful and only caused more pain for me to work through. I can remember people who wanted to “fix” me with essential oils or shame me with religious dogma or by telling me to consider how my on-going grief might be affecting others… No matter the approach, the ultimate message was, “Stop grieving. Stop feeling what you feel. Smile and go back to being who you were before all this.”

It was a terrible message, (not to mention impossible)… For the longest time, I questioned myself and if there was something wrong with me. There wasn’t… It was just that my way of working through this whole thing was slower than some, but just right for me. I didn’t need to be fixed, and I definitely didn’t need to be shamed. All these things did was to create more pain.

I know I’ve written about a lot of these situations before. I’ve written about things not to say to someone who is grieving. I’ve written about doing what is right for you if you are grieving and taking the time and space you need to heal. I still think that is all true.

This last week, however, (while I was away taking care of the grand-puppies), I thought about a few things…

1. Don’t feel bad about feeling bad. Your feelings are valid. This is hard and traumatic. The last thing you need to add to your pile of hurt is someone else’s opinions, especially when they have no idea. Also, (if you believe in the Christian faith), take comfort in knowing that there were times when even Jesus felt forsaken and alone, too. In other words, he gets it. He understands and there is no judgement for how you feel – only compassion. (No matter what some people will tell you.) Religion should never be used as a weapon – it should be a comfort… especially in times of hurt and grief.

2. Healing isn’t a switch – neither is love. It isn’t something that we can just turn off because that person is gone. There are good days and bad days. There are better days and not so better days. There are times when we just need to let ourselves cry, and times when we know we need to monitor our sadness for our own sakes (and no one else’s). Healing is a journey, and it takes time. So, take all the time you need… You owe yourself at least that much.

3. If you are watching someone grieve, no matter what you believe that grieving person should be doing, don’t say it. That is really just how you believe you would grieve. It is based on your personality and your relationships – not theirs. Simply be compassionate. Sit with them. Listen to them. Don’t be afraid to say the name of the person who died or to tell stories about them. Trust me when I say that means the world to the person grieving. To know it is okay to say their name – that the loved one is not forgotten is a comfort. (And if you are worried that mentioning the loved one will only bring up sadness and memories, you are wrong. The person grieving can think of nothing else. Talking about them is often a huge relief.)

That’s it… nothing earth shattering. Just a reminder to all of us that grief is hard. It is individual… and the best we can do is to just be kind and patient, and most of all… just keep loving each other.
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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 and life we are left to figure out is hard. Healing is slow… There is a lot of trial and error, and it takes time. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls and guard our joy. There are also challenges where we learn that we are stronger than we think we are… Both of these provide moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Maintaining Joy

This week I was asked a challenging question… How do you maintain joy in troubling times?

I have always been a positive person. However, since Bruce died, this is a struggle for me. Since joy is more than happiness… It is a deep inner feeling… a way of being… It is a “knowing” that what is happening around you, can’t “kill” what’s inside – like an assurance that in the end all will be well. At the same time, the trauma of Bruce’s death and the aftermath of grief have definitely affected that part of me.

When my daughter and grandson lived here, she brought with her a “24 Hour Rule”. This meant that you get 24 hours to feel sorry or sad or whatever negativity is haunting you. Then, you need to check yourself – reign it in and take the necessary steps to move forward. I remember, at first, thinking “Hmmm… We’ll see… I’ll feel what I feel for as long as I feel it.” Yet that attitude is exactly how I can end up so deep into the rabbit hole that I can’t get out… So, I decided to play along and give it a try.

For me, it turns out that even 24 hours can be too long… In that amount of time, I can get way too deep in that hole. Instead, I have found that small doses of grief and missing Bruce is healthier for me than allowing myself a 24 hour “deep dive”.

For example, this week while porch sittin’ with a friend, they told me about their own heart attack years ago. As they described their experience, I couldn’t help but think that this was probably what Bruce endured. After all, Bruce had a massive heart attack that night… only he didn’t recover… From that day to this, I have occasionally questioned what he was aware of, but I have never researched or read about a heart attack from a survivor’s account… Maybe because they were exactly that – survivors… and Bruce wasn’t… Or… maybe I’m just not ready yet.

My friend described how they were aware, but couldn’t move – as if they were paralyzed… Did Bruce have that sensation? Did he hear me call 911? Could he feel me performing CPR? My friend hadn’t mentioned pain, but did it hurt? Was he scared? Did he even know what was happening? … So many questions…

My friend, also, talked about “the light”. They described how they saw it and were drawn toward it. In their case, though, that was about the same time that EMS used the paddles to shock their heart. Luckily, for them (and those who love them), they were immediately drawn back to the present. They went on to tell me that it was at that point that they actually felt the pain and were able to move again.

I wondered about Bruce… Was he drawn to the light? I am guessing he must have been… Was it a choice? Could he see what was happening here? Or was the light so intriguing that nothing else mattered? As I sat there listening, I wondered all these things.

I was cognizant of a few things, though, as we sat there…
1. This was my friend’s story. It wasn’t about me or Bruce. I needed to let go and listen. My friend was who needed to be heard in that moment.
2. It would be healthier for me to ponder all of this later… on my own and in small doses.

So, that’s what I’ve done this week – ten minutes here… two minutes there. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve wondered… but I still have no answers. In the next few weeks, I may even look up some of these heart attack survivor stories. After all, this is also a part of Bruce’s story, so I want to know… I need to know… Or at the very least, to understand better how he experienced that night, too.

Then maybe, in time, I can meld our two stories from that night together… Maybe I can even find some peace. However, I know that if I try to do this too quickly, or all at once, it will absolutely cripple me emotionally… It would definitely steal my joy that I have worked so hard to regain.

So… slowly and in small doses… guiding my focus and guarding my joy… That has become my journey… That has become my “new normal”. That is how I am learning to maintain my joy in troubling times.
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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 and life we are left to figure out is hard. Healing is slow… There is a lot of trial and error, and it takes time. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls and guard our joy. There are also challenges where we learn that we are stronger than we think we are… Both of these provide moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

Peace, Love, and Grief… What Do I Do with a Hurricane?

During that first year after Bruce died, there were so many things that either we did together or he took care on his own, and I had no idea how I would fill that void. Almost ten years later, and the challenges still keep presenting themselves. Over time, though, I learned to either do those things on my own (using a lot of You Tube videos) or I have (thankfully) been able to pay someone to do. This last week, however, was different… This last week’s challenge came in the form of a hurricane named Ian…

Throughout my life, I have found that there are two categories of people when it comes to hurricanes – those who stay and those who leave. Granted, the reasons behind each decision are as individual and vast as the people being affected by the storm. I’m also not saying one decision is better than the other… just that each adult makes that decision for themselves.

Most of my life has been spent living in coastal towns, which means hurricanes have always been a part of my world. Personally, I don’t find them a great adventure, as some do… They are just like a price to pay for living where I live… and that’s my choice.

While Bruce has always loved the coast, he grew up in Michigan, so hurricanes were not something he had ever had to think about. In fact, years ago when we first moved down here to Florida, I remember him making the comment that he would love to see a hurricane. (What???) I remember looking at him and telling him that he would be here alone, because I have no intention of staying in harm’s way… He chuckled, but I don’t think either of us changed our minds.

Truthfully, we both had different emotions when it came to storms in general. I, on the one hand, have been in three different homes that were hit by lightning, so I am not a fan. I’m not scared, and I don’t cry… I just don’t like them. Bruce, on the other hand, liked nothing better than to sit on the porch during a storm and watch the lightning show. Needless to say, he sat out there by himself. LOL!

During our time together here in Florida, Bruce never did get to experience a hurricane. In fact, for another year or so after he died, our area of Florida was spared, so I didn’t have to think about it. However, soon after my daughter and grandson moved in, we had our first hurricane with suggested (not mandatory) evacuation. We decided to put up the shutters and leave town.

There were a couple more hurricanes through the years, and we did the same. However, there was one which was predicted to be a category 1 and not headed directly at us… So, we decided to stay. We prepped the house, got our hurricane supplies, and hunkered down.

I won’t lie… It was a little bit scary. I mean… I wasn’t hiding under the bed or anything, but I didn’t like it. We could hear all of the outdoor sounds, such as the wind, the trees breaking, things being tossed around, but because of the shutters, none of us could see what was actually going on. (That was way too far out of my comfort zone.) In the end, we were fine. We didn’t have power for a day or two, and a few bushes were lost, but nothing major.

Which brings us to Ian this last week…

First of all, it was in the Gulf… Sure, we would get some stormy weather, but I wasn’t worried. In fact, I would say most people in our little town weren’t too worried. We felt bad for those on the west side of the state, but were relieved it wasn’t our turn… Little did we know, it would be our turn too.

Granted, we didn’t get the full fury seen by SW Florida, (and my heart is breaking as we learn more and more about what Ian did there). Yet, Ian was still a hurricane when it passed over our town, and it was slow moving. I keep hurricane supplies and plenty of food and water all the time, so I didn’t need to worry about any of that. However, by the time I realized what we were likely to experience, it was too late to put up the storm shutters or leave town. (And where would I go if I tried to leave? That storm was so massive, it was wreaking havoc in all directions.) So, I pulled all of my outside furniture in, and prayed for the best.

I kept telling myself that I had done this before… I could do this again. I should also tell you that experiencing a hurricane while completely alone is whole other another story.

My biggest concern was the retention pond behind my house. I had already been watching the flooding left in Ian’s wake, so that was my biggest worry. While we had been feeling the bands for days, Ian was set to actually hit our town sometime during the middle of the night, which meant I wouldn’t be able to watch the pond level. When the last light of day dissipated, the pond was about four feet from my property line, and we were forecast to get another 8 – 10 inches of rain.

To say I didn’t sleep, would be an understatement. While the sound of the wind was quite loud, it was actually the worry over the pond that kept me awake. I was up every few minutes to check and see if there was water coming up on the porch. (I couldn’t see any farther in the dark.) I texted friends (who were also wide awake) and watched weather channel like a fiend… I should also confess that the whole time, I kept talking to Bruce and telling him that this was his wish – not mine. (LOL)

(Sigh of relief!) While it took about two days for Ian to pass, in the end, though, all was well here – the pond held, my house is fine, and I only lost a few plants… Not too bad at all!

The biggest thing for me, though is that fact that I did it… and I did it alone! As a widow, I can tell you that things like this are a big deal! Most people I know have families or roommates, so they don’t have to do things like this all alone… And honestly, I would have never thought I could have done this alone, (nor would I have tried to do it alone on purpose).

But I did! And I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of proud of me… I also sincerely believe that Bruce would be impressed and proud, too! (As a side note, however, (proud or not) I still wouldn’t do this by myself again, if there is any way to avoid it. Just sayin’! LOL!)
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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 and life we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls. There are also challenges where we learn that we are stronger than we think we are… Both of these provide moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.