grieve – Page 11 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Working on Grief

Sometimes loss happens slowly over time… usually due to some type of health decline. I have watched friends and family go through this type of loss, and I can’t imagine how hard that is. I have watched people I love grieve this type of loss twice – once before the loss (either in anticipation of what lies ahead or because they are slowly losing the person they knew or both). Then, sadly, the grief continues after the loss. The whole thing seems incredibly hard (and totally unfair).

For others, like myself, loss happens quickly. Bruce’s death was completely unexpected… We went to bed laughing and snuggling, but he never woke up… And my world was shattered. In fact, the shock was so great, it took me over a year just to truly believe that this wasn’t simply some awful nightmare. For the longest time, I continued to listen for his car turning into driveway or to look forward to his smile at the end of a rough day.

One thing I have learned, though, is that no matter how sudden or slow the loss occurs, the grief that follows cannot be ignored. Even if you try, at some point, that grief will bubble to the surface and demand to be dealt with. I am a “list” person, so in the beginning, I went hunting for a list of things to do to work through my grief. I just wanted to know what to do so that once the list was completed, I would feel better, the grief would gone, and I could get on with my life. (Silly, I know, but that was how I thought it would work.)

I will say I found a whole book of suggested actions to take that really were helpful in working through my grief. However, it still wasn’t like the checklist I had hoped for. Instead, I found that grief is one of those things that must be worked on and worked out daily… for as long as it takes – which is different for every person and every loss… And the other kicker – All of this work really must be done in your “ordinary” life. The problem is… it can take weeks or months for your life to resemble any definition of “ordinary”, (which may require more than a little bit of patience with yourself).

I remember when Bruce died, everyone came – his family… my family… friends… co-workers. Granted, after a few weeks, most of these people had to go back home. At the same time, there continued to be a never-ending stream of flowers, cards, phone calls, messages, and visitors that went on for weeks and months… This was not even close to an “ordinary” life. Also… while I was grieving during this time, I couldn’t really work on it. I was in too much shock and there was too much going on for me to figure out how this new feeling of complete loss was going to fit into my life.

For the next several months, I focused my energy on planning his memorial service. (This I had postponed until his ashes were returned to me and our families were able to come back.) Again – this was not even close to an “ordinary” life.

After that there was also the “business” side of loss – insurance, probate, redoing names on various accounts, and all of the other (unending) paperwork that had to be completed. Once again… nothing ordinary in any of these things.

However… there does finally reach a point where “your people” have gone back to their lives (believing you are doing “okay”), there are no more ceremonies, and all of the business is completed… This is when things get quiet… It gets real quiet… And while grief is hard from the beginning, this is when the grief gets harder. Why? Because with this overwhelming silence comes the feeling that this grief is going to literally devour you… This is where I knew I would have to find a way to face it (and work on it), if for no other reason than simple survival.

Also, about this time, I started hearing the term “new normal”. Oh my! How I hated that term. This life was not normal, nor did I want it to be. For me, that phrase seemed to imply something positive or exciting – like a new adventure… This new life was far from that.

It was also at this point that I constantly found myself wandering through our home looking for… what? Bruce? I don’t know. Other times, I could be found sitting in the middle of the living room sobbing and yelling at God… Or maybe just sitting on the couch in total silence – staring at the wall for hours.

Then, I found that list I wrote about earlier… True, it wasn’t the checklist I thought it would be. However, it was a great way to start taking the some of that energy from my grief and refocusing it in more positive, healthy ways. When that list was completed, and my grief was still there… still strong… still crushing, I knew that this journey was going to require more of me… It was going to be a day-by-day challenge with some days being more successful than others.

And that is where I am… Still working on this grief thing one day at a time.

While my grief no longer controls every waking moment, I still wake up each morning and am reminded that I am alone. At that point, I must make a choice as to what kind of day it is going to be… Will it be a day of grieving all day or will it be a day where I can say, “I love you, Babe… I still miss you,” blow him a kiss, and then smile as I move through my day.

I must say that some days that choice is easier than other days… Yet, to my way of thinking, that’s okay too. I am moving forward and that is my goal.
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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.

Thankfully, 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 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!

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.

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.

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!

Peace, Love, and Grief… Friendships

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” ~ Oscar Wilde

I think one of the things I miss the most since Bruce died is our friendship – the companionship and compassion that flowed between us so easily on a daily basis. Even when we didn’t see eye-to-eye, we could still have a conversation. We were still respectful of the other’s opinion while we searched for some common ground to stand on. And how could a true friendship function any differently, right?

Neither of us liked confrontation or conflict. Yet, what true friendship has neither of those? After all, no one expects to agree all the time. We know there are going to be differences… Differences that may challenge us to think a little bit differently. We don’t need to change the other’s mind. It is simply about compassionate listening in order to understand how someone else’s experience shaped and led them to where they are and how they think.

I miss that… a lot!

Especially in today’s world, where it sounds and feels like so many people are sure that their side of a matter is the only right one. What happened to having those difficult, respectful conversations in order to find some common ground and ultimately, some peace… Something that allows us to gain some understanding and keep the relationship intact.

Bruce and I didn’t agree on everything. How could we? We grew up so differently. In fact, at the time we met, I was a parochial schoolteacher in the deep south, and he was a union truck driver in the upper mid-west. I don’t know that you could have found two people more different. And yet, our friendship was one of the most open, transparent relationships I have ever known.

I was raised in a very religious, strict home where men were what mattered… Women and children were somehow “less than”. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the story of how my father was so disappointed that I was a girl. According to the story, he told my mother to name me whatever she wanted; he didn’t really care; just make it easy to spell. So, as a female child, I grew up knowing without a doubt that I was “less than”, and that shaped my world.

That lack of self-value followed me into adulthood, until I met Bruce. Suddenly, here was this man who didn’t just use words, but demonstrated through his actions that I have value. I was not “less than.” He taught me to believe in myself as a woman. To give you an idea, when we were married, I wanted to keep my maiden name. It was me… It was who I am… who I had been for decades. My choice didn’t phase him in the least. In fact, he was quite supportive no matter how often it was questioned by others.

I also remember another time when we were first married and working different shifts. At some point, someone made a comment about how after so many years of bachelorhood, Bruce must be enjoying having someone to cook, clean, and pack his lunches. He looked at me and just started laughing. I was absolutely incensed! Seriously?? I could see the support (and amusement) in his eyes. Knowing I had that, I jumped in and simply said, “I don’t.” Bruce, however, was better than me and simply said that we both worked hard… as a team.

I really miss that… having someone to validate me as a person, and not limit me or confine me to such a narrow purpose.

Don’t get me wrong. I have friends… great friends, in fact. I just miss his friendship especially, because of what an impact it had on my life and my own self-worth. So, this morning, when my journal prompt was, “The journey of life is a long one, and the only person guaranteed to be with you on this journey is yourself. What kind of friend do you want to be for yourself,”* I lost it. I just sat there, staring at the page, crying for quite some time, as the truth of it hit me deep in my core.

I have spent so much time over the years lamenting friends who let me down or walk away when we disagree that I seemed to have forgotten something… How can I expect from others, what I am not willing (or able) to give myself? I am well aware that our actions demonstrate to others how we will allow them to treat us. So the question becomes “what am I saying to myself about myself?”

Bruce believed in me – as a woman, as his wife, and as his friend. Shouldn’t I, as well? Bruce demonstrated his love and desire for a deep, committed relationship based in our friendship. Yet somehow, I have forgotten how to do that within myself.

Which leads me to my new goal on this journey… Deciding what kind of friend I want to be for myself. I am not trying to sound selfish or crazy. (I think there might be a fine line here.) However, we all need to be at least as kind to ourselves as we are to others… I need to follow Bruce’s example and remember to speak kindly to myself… to show compassion when I feel anxious or make mistakes… and to be loving, kind, and respectful of me.

That feels so weird… So different than how I was raised to think. Yet, it may be one of the most important lessons I can learn on this journey.

* Switch Self-Love Journal, Day 76

I say it all the time… 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!