Peace, Love & Grief – Page 13 – There is a peace that comes with acceptance, and a love that is always remembered

Peace, Love, and Grief… When the Rules Change

“I understand. I do. I’m a widow, too. It’s hard to lose the person you thought would always be with you… It’s like your life has become some sort of game where they changed all the rules in the middle. But it’s not the end.” ~ Karen White, The Sound of Glass

As I sit here this afternoon, I find myself thinking about Bruce and what he would be doing today…

One of two things – either we would be sitting on the beach enjoying the surf, blue skies, and sunshine, or he would have just returned from the gym, opened a beer, turned on the TV, and sat down to enjoy some sports before starting the grill for dinner.

Either way, I find myself smiling through the tears as I think back to a time when I thought we still had forever in front of us. I knew what we had was precious – something that doesn’t come along every day. I just had no idea that our time together would be so short.

“I thought we had forever…
I never knew we were counting down
from the day we met.”
~ Linda, Sept 2013

I don’t care how much time passes, I still find myself either missing him so much it takes my breath away or forgetting that he is actually gone and wanting to tell him whatever good or bad news I am dealing with.

Either way, in the end, I find myself frustrated and with tears in my eyes. I don’t think I will ever understand why this was our destiny…

I mean, it’s not something on my mind 24/7 like in the beginning, but when I am alone and thinking about the way things turned out… (scratch that) the way things are, I am bewildered by how much it still hurts and how much I still miss him.

I really just assumed we would grow old together… I think we both did. I can’t tell you how many times we would laugh about shenanigans we planned to instigate if we were ever put into a home or all of the plans to cruise the Caribbean and see the world from the bow of a boat… our boat… our future… a future that will never happened.

Instead, the rules got changed. Heck, I feel like the whole game got changed… Somehow, I landed in the middle of this “game”, and I have no idea how to play, what the “rules” are, or even what the goal is.

For someone (like me) who likes things organized – neat and clean with a bow on top, a list person who finds security in knowing what is expected and how to get there – this change is hard. (Shoot! Choosing to ignore the GPS’ directions is about as impulsive and daring as I get. LOL!) I like lists. I like order, I like a schedule. I like to know not only what is coming next, but when to expect it. (Let me just say that grief is not real compatible with that attitude.)

I smile when I tell you this, because Bruce always encouraged me to let go (just a little) … To realize that life will still go on (and be just fine) even if it deviates from my expectations. And because he never pushed me too far – just baby steps (and always with a smile of encouragement), I was learning to do just that. To take chances and let life be what it is… And I was learning to enjoy that ride… To learn that life can be fun even if it is unpredictable.

Then, he was gone, and I didn’t know how to keep doing that. Suddenly, that unpredictable part seemed awful and daunting. In the years since his death, I have often found myself going back to my comfort zone where things are predictable and orderly.

However, life isn’t that way. Life is constantly changing course and changing the rules on all of us – not just me. Some people adapt easier than others (such as myself), but that doesn’t mean I can’t do this… I can… I will… And in my heart, I know Bruce is smiling and saying, “You’ve got this, babe. You’ve got this.”

Loss is hard, and grief is even harder. I have learned a lot on this journey – mostly about myself… what I think about life, faith, and love. I still hate it, but I can honestly say that there are more good days than bad. Admittedly, I still constantly 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!

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… Grief Shaming

Last week when I wrote about our adventure to celebrate Bruce’s birthday, I mentioned that we took a ghost tour, which wasn’t…That is where I want to start today. (I will go ahead and put it out there that some of you may be skeptics about some of this story. However, I think the point of the story is something all of us who have grieved have felt at some point in our journey.)

So, on the first night of our trip, my daughter had scheduled a ghost tour. We were just looking for a fun time… nothing more. Ghost tours have always been something we enjoyed and so did Bruce. It seemed like wherever we went, he would always find one for us… And it was always fun. For him, the best part was that my daughter and I seem to have a thing with spirits and people who have passed. I don’t want to go into details, and you can call it my deep southern heritage, but there has been more than one “encounter” that has left me shaken.

As I said, we were just looking for fun and some good stories… That was it. However, we didn’t get one single ghost story associated with any house on the tour. The lady simply took us all over town talking about the real estate, the job market, and the flora and fauna of the area. All we wanted was a story… she could have made it up. We didn’t care. This wasn’t science class… We weren’t there for facts. However, even though we gave her plenty of opportunities to make up stories to answer our questions, we never got a story.

The closest she came to a story was to say, “See this house… I get a feeling around this house.” (That is not a ghost story, in my book.) Then she would show us a bunch of pictures that just looked blurry when she tried to enlarge them and show us the “spirits” she had captured with her phone… Neither of us could make out anything in the pictures. They just looked like blurry windows and door frames.

At one point on the tour, two things happened almost simultaneously. First, she started telling a story about her late father. According to her, after he died, he would randomly ring her doorbell. (I am not arguing that part. I think there is a lot about the world we don’t understand. Plus, I have my own “Bruce” encounters. So, I am not one to judge.)

A few moments later, she was showing us another blurry picture, when I finally spoke up and said, “I’m sorry. I just don’t see what you see. I think I need these things to be really clear and ‘in my face’ for me to see it.” Then, I shared a picture from one of my own “Bruce encounters” where you can see the outline of his body standing next to me and leaving an impression in the curtains. (Despite how this may sound, I’m not crazy. Neither do I want to dwell on or defend this part of the story.)

She looked shocked and asked how I did that. I told her it wasn’t me… It was Bruce. Then she asked, “Well, have you told him it is okay for him to go? That he should go rest in peace? That you are fine without him? … That is what we did with my father and the doorbell ringing stopped.”

“No,” I answered. “I haven’t, and I won’t. I’m not okay without him. I need him to stay here… with me.”

Oh my goodness! If looks could kill. She wasn’t just appalled… She was quite upset with me. I guess in her mind, she had done the right thing… And I was doing the wrong thing. Evidently, I did not deal with my loss in the same way she had, and in her book, that was just plain wrong.

Now, I’m not here to discuss or argue whether my encounters are real or not… or whether it is really Bruce or could be explained some other way. Honestly, it doesn’t matter, because as crazy as it may sound, it brings me comfort to think that he is still here with me.

What I am talking about is her reaction… That, my friends, is grief shaming.

I have written about it before, although I have never given it a name. Whether you give it a name or not, though, doesn’t matter. The point is – this type of judgement is extremely hurtful.

So, what is grief shaming? Well, it is that judgment reaction from others when they are sure they know how you should grieve (and for how long). It is grief advice from someone who is sure they know the right way to grieve, and you are doing it wrong.

Let me just say… from someone who has been on the receiving end many times, this is mean. It is thoughtless… And it is cruel.

Here is the truth… Grief is hard, and it has no time limit. It is as individual as each of us. No two people will ever grieve the same, even if they are grieving the same person. Grief has to do with your relationship with that person, as well as, your past loss experiences, your support system, your faith and beliefs, and a myriad of other details. Let me also say that while there are circumstances where someone who is grieving may be struggling, that still doesn’t mean they are doing it wrong… It simply means they are struggling… And support is needed – not judgment.

Bottom line… There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no set amount of time when you should be “over it”. Instead, feel your way through it… Take it as slow or as fast as you are comfortable… and allow others who are grieving to do the same.

I have learned a lot on this journey – mostly about myself… what I think about life… and love… and my faith. I have learned that loss is hard, and grief is even harder. However, now a days, I can say that there are more good days than bad. Admittedly, I still constantly 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… Birthdays and Hope

What a busy (and fun) week this has been! This week held both Bruce’s birthday, (today) Easter, and more than anything, a renewed hope… the hope found in the joy of life… Something that nine years ago, I didn’t think I would ever feel again.

One of my goals this year has been to travel 1:1 with each of my kids. As I’ve gotten older, I have come to the realization that I have lived longer than I probably have left on this earth. As a consequence of that little bit of knowledge, I wanted to find a way to spend some 1:1 time with each of my adult kids… just talking, laughing, sharing adventures, and making memories. This week was the first of one of these trips.

One of my daughters and I decided to combine our trip with a celebration of Bruce’s birthday. Now… just to set the stage for this story, you should know that since his memorial/ashes ceremony nine years ago, I have chosen to spend every one of his birthdays alone… Sometimes I have traveled somewhere and other times I have simply stayed right here in this space that is our home… but always alone. That was how I wanted it… I wanted to feel free to celebrate however the mood struck me. Generally, it included at least a walk on the beach, some of his favorite foods, a toast of champagne, and… tears… lots and lots of tears…

So, when we made this decision, it didn’t come lightly. She didn’t want to spend her trip watching me cry, and I didn’t either. She wanted us to have fun, and so did I… We also both wanted to celebrate Bruce and what he added to our lives.

So, the two of us headed to one of his favorite seaside towns – an old pirate town, actually… and what a fun time we had!! We started and ended the trip at one of his favorite taverns. It has changed a lot since Bruce was last there, but it was still just an old dive bar with a great band, great drinks, and lots of laughter.

Throughout the week, we hit all of his favorite spaces, plus a few new spaces that he would have loved if they had existed at the time. We took a ghost tour, which wasn’t… It was a disaster that made for lots of laughter for the rest of the week. We spent time on the beach (of course), went shopping (that was for us, not him – lol!), did a cocktail tour (which was for him… and us. LOL!) and took a sunset cruise, which ended up cruising by an island that held great memories with Bruce, as well. We slept in every morning, and toasted his life every night… And we laughed… a lot!

What I didn’t do was cry… not once… not one single tear. That was a miracle, in my book! … and one for which I am so thankful (and a little bit proud)!

It isn’t that I’m over Bruce… I’m not. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. However, my new goals have included “finding the joy” and remembering to live my life – not just watch the rest of the world live theirs as I sit on the sidelines.

I think that is what made this birthday celebration trip so perfect… It was all about remembering the good times, the laughter, and the love… but doing so with even more good times, laughter, and love versus the tears due to a lack of hope. I, also, feel like I can honestly tell you this without even a hint of regret for how we celebrated, because in my heart, I know Bruce was smiling and laughing too… How do I know? I know because this was a man who left behind a legacy of unconditional love and a “license to chill”… and that is exactly what we did… And as long as there is a breath left in this body, I will continue to love and celebrate him and our time together in a way that is fitting for us.

Loss is hard, and grief is even harder. I have learned a lot on this journey – mostly about myself… what I think about life… and love… and my faith. I still hate it. However, now a days, I can say that there are more good days than bad. Admittedly, I still constantly 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… Regrets?

Do I have regrets?

Are there things I would change?

I’ve always said “no” to these questions. The life Bruce and I shared was a good one… In fact, I thought it was going to be a happily-ever-after one. We had each spent so long without love that when we found each other, we both knew just how precious the love between us really was.

Each moment we could spend together, we did. We went to bed together and woke up together. We ate together, watched TV together, read books together, spent out days off together… You get the picture – “together” was our word.

Of course, we had our disagreements… who doesn’t? But it never stopped our love… We didn’t use our love as a weapon to hurt the other or our arguments as a reason to deny our love to each other. (Personally, I think we had both had enough of that in our first marriages.)

So… no… I do not have any regrets on how we lived our lives together.

But… do I have regrets and are there things I would change? Well, you already know I have written about my guilt for not being able to save Bruce the night he died. I think that will always be a struggle for me, (but I am working on it.)

However, there is another part of the story that I haven’t shared with very many people… Mainly because it is my regret… Yet… at the same time, I don’t know if I would actually do anything different. This thing… I do believe it was the right thing to do, but sometimes, the right thing can be the hardest thing to do.

The night Bruce died was awful… That experience was a horrific trauma that I think I will relive over and over until the day I die, too.

The night he died, I called 911 and performed CPR until EMS arrived. (At the time, it felt like forever, but it was probably only about five minutes or so.) When they arrived, they took over the compressions, inserted a tube/bag to help him breathe, and hooked him up to a portable monitor to watch for a heartbeat… A heartbeat that never came. Instead, that line on the monitor remained flat.

They tried all kinds of rescue attempts… shots to his heart… the paddles… I couldn’t even begin to tell you everything (mainly because I was in too much shock at the time to remember). What I do remember, though, is that no matter what they tried, that line never moved… I stood there and watched in absolute shock and disbelief… How could this be real??

Eventually, they stopped everything except the breathing apparatus, loaded him on a gurney, and took him outside to the waiting ambulance… Then, they sat there… waiting… We were all waiting for a policeman to arrive and drive me to the hospital, because I was barely functional. I can’t say how long all of this took… For me, time had stopped… Life had stopped.

We all knew what no one was saying… Bruce was gone… Or was he? I don’t know… I do know miracles happen. Yet for me that night, there were two thoughts racing through my mind:
1. It had been a long time since I had prayed for a miracle. In fact, I had stopped praying for miracles in the chaos of my first marriage, since God didn’t seem to be listening.
And
2. What if I did pray? What if God did listen? Bruce had been like this for a long time… What kind of life would he have after something like this? “Not one he would like,” I thought. He would hate a life like that… A life of dependence on others for every part of his care.

So, what did I pray?

Well… I remember telling God I was scared… I told him I wanted Bruce alive and with me more than anything… Then, I told God that if Bruce couldn’t live a life where he was able to take care of himself – a life of independence… a life he could enjoy… Then God needed to take him home… And he did… Bruce was pronounced ‘dead’ almost as soon as we arrived at the hospital.

To this day, I believe that was the hardest prayer I have ever said… But I also believe that it was the right one. It wasn’t a prayer about me or what I wanted. It was about Bruce… and what he would want.

Some days (when I am feeling so absolutely alone), I wonder if things would have been different if I had said a different prayer that night? I don’t know… I’ll never know… And while there are days when I regret that prayer (for my own sake), I still believe it was the right prayer for him… And that is where I find my peace.

Loss is hard, and grief is even harder. I have learned a lot on this journey – mostly about myself… what I think about life… and love… and my faith. (But I still hate it.) Now a days, I can say that there are more good days than bad, but I constantly find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is still by my side. Allowing myself the space I need to heal and process everything hasn’t been easy. Yet, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

Peace, Love, and Grief… On Being Joyful

I hate death… There you go… I said it… And I am thinking 1- You aren’t surprised by that statement, and 2- Possibly, you fill the same. Now, before anyone feels the urge to talk to me about religion and death, please note that I didn’t say I fear death – I don’t. Also, my faith is strong, and I completely believe in life after death. I know without a doubt that I will see Bruce again… someday… However, who knows when that will be. So, none of that changes how I, (as the one left behind), feels about death… or more specifically, his death.

Let me see if I can explain in a way that makes sense…

This last week in my gratitude journal, one of the prompts was, “’Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!’ – Philippians 4:4.”

As I pondered this verse, I thought… Rejoice… Joy… Hope… All of these are feelings I used to take for granted. When Bruce was alive, these feelings overflowed in my world! Even on my worst days, (shoot, even when we were arguing), he still filled my world with joy and hope… Then, he died, and I thought all of these feelings were gone… It felt as if that part of me died with him.

It has taken a long time, but in (very) recent years, I have come to realize that I was wrong. Those feelings aren’t dead… or gone… However, they are most definitely different.

When Bruce was here, I really just felt what I felt in any given situation. I didn’t dwell on it, and I didn’t analyze it. Mainly because, at the end of the day, when all was said and done, I was so happy and content… so joyful that my life was with Bruce. Nothing else could steal that joy from me… Nothing!

After he died, though, that all changed for me. At first, there were feelings of guilt whenever I felt even a glimmer of pleasure, much less joy. How in the world could I dare to be happy – to smile or laugh – when Bruce could no longer do the same? He was no longer here to enjoy the sun or the sky… or the people we love… How could I dare to enjoy life on these terms? It felt like a betrayal of him… of us…

Yes, I know… I have read so many articles and books that say this is normal. Yet, I have to tell you that I didn’t feel normal. I didn’t feel like me, and I didn’t know how to feel like me… the old me… the happy me… That person was so lost to me.

However, life isn’t meant to be stagnate, and although I fought it, life really does move onward…

I have learned – no… I am still learning that these emotions, (joy, happiness, and hope) are the emotions I now have to seek out. Sometimes, I would even say, I have to chase them down. Even then, there is a process where I have to remind myself that not only am I allowed to feel these, it is good for me to feel these. Plus, I know without a doubt that Bruce would want me to feel all of these, (as often as possible). I know he wants me to be happy… to feel joy… and to rejoice in this life. After all, these emotions are what he brought into my life. That couldn’t have been for nothing, right?

So… for his sake and mine, I will continue this journey, finding the joy along the way, and rejoice every time I do until we are together again.

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

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

Peace, Love, and Grief… Loss and Bitterness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace, Love, and Grief… Support

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace, Love, and Grief… Dreaming in Reverse

“Grieving is dreaming in reverse… But when you are grieving over something or someone that was taken away, you wish you could go back in time. You dream in reverse.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

I ran across this quote this week in a book I am reading, and the truth of it seemed to almost slap me in the face. This is how I feel every single day… every single moment. I would give almost anything for things to be different… For Bruce to still be here. For this Sunday afternoon to be spent laying on the beach next to him, pinkies entwined, instead of sitting here writing about grief.

At the same, every time I think of Bruce and any of my precious memories of our time together, I smile. Why? Because I am dreaming in reverse. Because those are the memories that captured our love for each even in the most simple of moments. My grandmother always referred to these as “precious memories.” I also adopted that term not too many years ago, because that is exactly what they are – precious memories.

“Instead of hoping for what will one day be, you long for a more innocent time when you lived more unaware of tragedy. But the griever knows they can’t go back in time. So healing feels impossible, because circumstances feel unchangeable.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

Healing does feel impossible at times – mainly because of a couple of things…

First of all, after the loss of someone you love so much, it is hard to know which way is forward. You know the expectation is to “heal,” but how does that happen when it hurts so badly. How do you move through each day? How do you learn to smile again or to laugh? How do you fill the time the two of you used to share at the end of the day or on your days off?

Sometimes people are quick to give advice on how to do these things, but they have no idea how the actual application works. It would be like telling a baby to just get up and walk, then not understanding why they don’t. As if it were that simple… As if there is not a process – a building of strength, balance, and confidence – before that baby can even attempt that first step.

It is the same with grief. We want to feel how we did before we lost this person we love, but that is no longer possible. So, then we have to try to figure out what this journey is supposed to be like, and how we are supposed to feel and function. We also have to build our strength, our balance, and our confidence before we can even attempt to move forward – wherever that is.

I don’t know how to explain it, but “dreaming in reverse” can sometimes be the way we do those things. We have to be careful not to get “stuck” looking back, but still… Those memories often times hold the clues we need to move forward… I guess it is somehow linked to remembering the love we had for each other and learning to love ourselves that same way – with that same abandon and sense of adventure.

The second reason I have found for struggling to heal in the wake of loss is a fear of forgetting this person we (still) love so very much. It can be terrifying to think that we might forget who they were, what they sounded like, how it felt to be with them, and all the things that made them “our person.” For example, in my case, I have pictures of Bruce. (Although I wish there were more.) I treasure these moments caught in time, mainly because that is all I have left. I also have three videos of him – three… that’s it. And he only talks in one of them… He is playing with our grandson and says one word – “Almost”. That’s it… That’s all I have… one word… and it leaves me terrified of forgetting his voice.

So how do you heal, (or as some people say, “move on”), when you are trying so hard to hang on and not forget? I don’t know what to tell you except that the whole “dreaming in reverse seems to help… All of those precious memories seem to bring me comfort… This is the space where I do remember… where I know Bruce and our love for each other still lives on.

So, if you ever read this and wonder how I can still be here writing about grief nine years later, here’s why… Bottom line – it’s hard… This whole grief thing is just plain hard… And no one has the answer on how to heal or move forward, because there isn’t a “one-size-fits-all” answer… Which means each of us has to figure out our own path… Talk about hard… talk about rough… talk about feeling overwhelming and impossible at times.

So yes… These are some of the reasons we constantly find ourselves “dreaming in reverse”.

This grief thing really is hard, and honestly, while I have learned a lot, I still hate it. There are more good days than there used to be, but I still constantly find myself wishing for the past. Grief has changed me in ways I could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. Life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. And each time I think I have it figured out, something happens, and I find I haven’t figured it out at all.

However, finding ways to stay grounded and remembering how blessed I am to have known Bruce’s love (even for a short time) has been my path to survival and healing. At this point in my journey, I am learning that while I remember the past, I must also keep looking at this life before me and recognizing the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learning to hold onto that with everything I have.

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

Peace, Love, and Grief… Falling in Love Along the Way

Life is filled with journeys – true journeys and metaphorical journeys. This is the way life is…. It is how we grow and learn and develop. It is how we discover new things about ourselves and how we expand our lives. I write a lot about my grief journey. However, today I want to talk about the wonderful journey life held for the two of us when Bruce and I met… and how we fell in love along the way…

The year was 2005, and our relationship was just beginning. We had met just a couple of months earlier while in the Virgin Islands, and now we were trying to figure out just what this “thing” was between us. During this time, we had started emailing and calling each other. We both knew how wonderful things had been on the cruise, and we knew our relationship seemed special. However, we were 1000 miles apart and both of us felt like we needed some face-to-face time (not on a cruise) to see what was real between us and what wasn’t.

After some conversation back and forth, we both realized each of us was trying to plan a trip to see the other. At the time, I was living in a small town with a lot of caring and loving people… Which is exactly why I wanted our time together to be in Michigan. I did not want the whole town watching while we tried to figure things out… I really needed this to be between just the two of us. So, it was decided that I would be the one to travel… I booked a trip to Michigan for President’s Day weekend.

That year (like this one), Valentine’s Day was exactly one week before President’s Day. I was teaching at a small parochial school with a mostly female staff. All day long, I watched while the other teachers received an unending flow of flowers and candy. I don’t know why I thought he might send me anything. It didn’t make sense, since technically we really weren’t in a relationship. Quite the opposite, actually… We were trying to figure out if that was what we even wanted. However, neither of us were seeing anyone else and feelings between us were growing stronger every time we talked. By the time the day wound down and the kids had headed home, I had resigned myself to the idea that at best there might be a card in the mail when I got home… And honestly, how could I really expect anything more than that?

As I walked into the office to “clock out” for the day, the school secretary said, “Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were gone. This package came earlier this morning and somehow I missed getting it to you.” … And there on the counter was a medium sized box addressed to me. My heart leapt!

I was so excited that I opened it immediately. Inside was a teddy bear dressed for the islands – holding a dozen roses and a note. My heart melted! The gift was perfect! It wasn’t overly romantic… It was simply something to remind me of us and our time together on the cruise.

The next weekend, I flew to Michigan. I was so scared! What was I thinking?? What if I got there, and he wasn’t who he said he was… or who I thought he was? What if things got weird? What if it was a bust? What if… What if… Then again… What if things were wonderful? What if this was something meant to be?
I was so nervous on that plane ride and nervously talked the ear off of the gentleman next to me. But he was great and encouraged me to go for it…

I will always remember walking down the corridor at the airport. Even now, I can close my eyes and still see Bruce standing there, leaning against the wall watching as the passengers walked towards him. As soon as he spotted me, his eyes lit up, and he smiled like a Cheshire cat, (a grin I would grow accustomed to and learn to love with all my heart).

Our weekend together could not have been better. We had our first “land” date as soon as we left the airport. On Saturday, he tried to take me for a sleigh ride, which I had told him was one of my lifetime wishes. He had made reservations, but there was not enough snow on the ground. So, instead, he took me exploring all over the western side of Michigan… Which is beautiful, by the way!

We drove out to Lake Michigan to see the icebergs and snowy beaches. (It was crazy!! I have never seen a real iceberg, or a beach covered in snow.) We went to an ice carving competition (something I had also never experienced living in the south). To warm back up, Bruce found us a cozy little pub where we could snuggle up and enjoy some spiced cider.

One of the nights while I was there, we made plans to go out with his sisters (which held its own set of worries for me). After all, meeting family is a big step, and I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Then, before we headed out, Bruce took me into his arms, lifted my chin so he could look into my eyes, and said, “I don’t want to scare you off, but I really think I am falling in love you.” And at that point, I knew… There was no hesitation…

“I’m not scared,” I answered. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

And that was the start of our journey…

After that, Valentine’s and President’s Day weekend(s) always found us reminiscing and smiling… so thankful that we took a chance (and won). These days marked a very special moment for us… That moment when we knew our lives would be forever intertwined… when we realized that our souls were inseparable…

Throughout the years, Bruce always did something special during February. He was always the one to come up with an idea and do all the planning. (All I had to do was show up.) Every other year, he planned a trip, just like that first year. One year, we went further north to a ranch in Michigan, (which was the year I finally got my sleigh ride). Another year, we took a trip to St. Augustine. During our last February together, we traveled to Key West. I loved these trips! (It didn’t matter where we went – our time together was the blessing.) Each trip created its own precious memories and a special place in my heart.

That was then… But this is now… Physically, Bruce is gone, and I am on another part of my journey… One that is bit harder. I no longer expect to receive any bears or flowers or candy or cards. (Although, my kids always take me out and do a great job of making me feel special.) While that first President’s Day weekend is gone, I will always treasure the memories of that time together – a time of discovery and wonder. But none of that really ended when Bruce died, because I know that I will always love him… And in my heart, I believe he is still with me… and he always will be.

This grief thing is hard, and honestly, while I have learned a lot, I still hate it. There are more good days than there used to be but I still constantly find myself caught between various emotions and the anxiety of day to day living. I am learning that while each day might bring new tears, it also brings new hope. Grief has changed me in ways I could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. This journey is not an easy path for anyone. However, finding ways to stay grounded and remembering how blessed I am to have known Bruce’s love (even for a short time) has been my path to survival and healing. Life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. And each time I think I have it figured out; I find I haven’t at all. However, at this point in my journey, I know I simply need to breathe, while looking at this life before me and recognizing the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learning to hold onto that with everything I have.

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