Peace, Love & Grief – Page 14 – There is a peace that comes with acceptance, and a love that is always remembered

Peace, Love, and Grief… Be Still

When Bruce died, I received all kinds of cards and notes – some were notes of sympathy and others were meant to uplift or motivate. (Each one was a blessing and I still have them all tucked into a box with Bruce’s things.) Many of these were in the form of Bible verses – verses I have probably read all my life, but never have they held the meaning they did in those initial weeks after Bruce died.

One verse, though, stood out and has been a Godsend for me over the past nine years.

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

In the beginning, I built a whole bulletin board around it in my office at work. It faced my desk so that whenever anyone else was in there to talk to me, it was behind them… But it was still there for me to see… for me to draw strength from.

Several years ago, when our office was reconfigured to be an open office plan, I had to remove it, since I no longer had walls (or an office). However, that didn’t mean it was gone from my mind. It was still my go-to, especially when life without Bruce felt (or still feels) overwhelming. Then, when we started working from home a couple of years ago, I painted it onto a plaque to hang in my bedroom… Just a constant reminder each morning that I am not alone, even in my darkest moments.

Through all of the grief and anxiety of the past nine years, this verse has been a reminder for me that God is still in control… (even when it feels otherwise). It is a reminder that I don’t need to do anything – only be still… breathe… and believe… have faith. Through the years, this verse has become my meditation mantra. I start by breathing in (Be still), breathing out (And know), breathing in (That I), breathing out (Am God). Then I start dropping phrases – breathe in (Be still), breathe out (and know). Then I start dropping words – breathe in (Be still), breathe out (Be)… Then I just breathe.

I have been using this calming mantra for years – sometimes, several times a day, and (usually) it works. It is a favorite of mine in the evenings when the day is done, and I just need to quiet my soul. I don’t know about you, but for me, my grief seems to always be lurking behind every thought… every emotion… every moment. However, remembering to just be still… to just “be” … gives me the strength to keep moving forward knowing that I don’t have to do all the work. I can simply let go and just breathe for a while.

This grief thing is hard, and honestly, I hate it. I constantly find myself caught between emotions and the anxiety of day to day living. I am learning that each day may offer new tears, but it also brings new hope (when I am still long enough to notice it). 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 but finding ways to stay grounded has been my path to survival and healing. Life on this path is now 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 have to simply let myself breathe, while at the same time, looking at this life before me to find 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.

* Be advised that all comments are subject to approval prior to posting. Any comments determined to be spam or not in accordance with the mission of this website/blog will not be approved or posted. Furthermore, any comments determined to be hostile in nature will be reported to the proper authorities. Thank you.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Caution or Fear

“You will be hurt again, because being hurt is part of being alive.” ~ Tom, Downton Abby

Ain’t it the truth?? Since Bruce died, I have told myself that a lot of my behaviors is just me being cautious. However, I have spent the better part of the last few weeks, looking at my own behaviors and trying to come up with answers to why I do some of the things I do, and have realized that there is more fear driving my behaviors than anything else.

Some of the things I do just seem so silly and ridiculous. (I think that is just being human.) Other things are actually a bit self-limiting; I suppose. And to top it off, for years I have let everyone around me tell how I should “fix” myself, rather than spending time figuring things out for myself. Then, I have resented their “interference” and just kept doing the same things, which has resulted in no change at all.

I think one of the biggest areas I have missed out on is in relationships. (I’m not just talking about dating. I am talking about all relationships.) Since Bruce died, I have found it easier to just keep most people at arm’s length. Sure, there are a handful of people who really know me. However, most of these people have been a part of my life for a very long time… Most of them were a part of my life before Bruce died and have remained an active part of my life after. (Granted, there are a few that entered my world afterward, but only a very few.) These are my people… They are my “solids” – the ones I can call in the middle of the night and talk about anything… (or almost anything).

What I have realized lately, though, is that I don’t really let anyone new into my world any more. I am nice. I am polite. I am kind… but… I am not open, and I do not encourage a deeper bond… I would like a deeper bond… I miss that… So why am I this way? Why am I doing this to myself?

Well, this week, it kind of came to a head while talking to someone about friendships and meeting people. They simply asked me “why.” I don’t know how I managed an answer, but I did. And it was the first time I believe I have been honest with myself about this.

“I don’t want to hurt like that again… like I have since Bruce died. I don’t think I can survive anything like that again… I can’t… I just can’t,” I blurted out, with the tears coming right behind the words.

It’s true… I don’t think I have ever verbalized it before, but it is true. Instead of getting to know people… Instead of giving them a chance, I tend to look for reasons not to get close to someone… And I am good at it. I can always find some reason – some small infraction that allows me to keep them at arm’s length without a second thought.

I miss the open way I used to be, and I miss new friendships and all that goes into them. Yet, the idea of losing someone I love is bigger than all of that. It is completely overwhelming to me. Yes, I know that I am likely to lose one of these “solids” in my life at some point. However, most of them were already a part of my world before I learned how devastating grief can be. I can’t control that… but I can control how many new relationships I allow. I guess, without even meaning to, I have been trying to protect myself from the chances of something so incredibly painful from ever happening again. Yet, at the same time, wishing for the very thing that I am pushing away.

What a quandary…

So here I am… forcing myself to look deep within. I can’t say that I know how I am going to change this, because I don’t know. Nor do I know if I am even ready to change this. I really don’t know if I could survive another loss like Bruce. But… I do think that recognizing it and facing it head on is the only way I will ever figure out what I really want to do…

This grief thing is hard. I hate it. In so many ways, I am not the person I used to be… (And I miss her). I am constantly finding myself caught between caution, fear, anger, loneliness… you name it. Each day offers new hope and new tears. I know it 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. I would guess that none of us wants to be on this path. Yet, this is where life has landed us. And at least for now, this is where we are. For me, life is now 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 have to simply look deep and let myself feel what I feel. At the same time, I need to look at this life before me and not be scared to find the joy, love, and hope life still holds… Then, being willing to hold onto those things with everything I have.

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… Grief is Not a Problem

Grief it not a problem… Yep, you read that right. It’s not a problem… You see a problem has a solution. Grief, however, has no solution. It is not something to be figured out and fixed. Instead, it is something you just have to push through – learning whatever lessons there are along the way. In other words, I would say it is more of a process. It is a way of dealing with a loss (any loss), and finding your way without that person or thing you lost.

I have grieved different things throughout my lifetime… the loss of grandparents, the loss of a child, the loss of my first marriage and all its dreams, the financial loss of everything I owned, and the list could go on and on. The greatest… no – hardest loss I have ever experienced, though, is the loss of Bruce… The loss of my best friend… The loss of a love that was complete and without conditions. That grief has been a process for me.

In the beginning, I was as naïve as most people when it came to loss and grief. The only real grief I had known had been met with platitudes of “life moves on” or “your grief shows your faith is small” and so many others. But those are lies!!

Yes, life does move on, but it is different and learning how to navigate that path is a process. No, grief is not an expression of the size or amount of your faith. Jesus cried when his friend died. Plus, if God was so okay with death in the first place, then what was the point of the death and resurrection? No… It is still a process of coming to terms with the loss, and honestly, I believe in my heart of hearts that God cries right along with us when we grieve. Of course, he would… If empathy and compassion are the things that are most helpful when we are grieving, then why would I choose to believe that God would offer me anything less?

In the beginning, I also thought of grief as a problem to be solved. I thought if I did all the right things – read the right books, went to the support groups, listened to the right speakers, etc., then once I had gone through the checklist, I would feel better. I would be okay. The “problem” of my grief would be resolved and put away.

But that isn’t the way it works… not at all…

I did all those things. I worked really hard to be a “good widow.” As I moved into the second year, I thought, “Okay, I have done all the things… It has been a full year… I have been through all the holidays, and ‘first-time-without-him’ things… Now, I should be feeling better.” I quit wearing black all the time and waited expectantly for life to pick up and go back to the way it was… (only without Bruce).

But unfortunately, I was wrong. Grief isn’t that way. Over time is has become different, but it is still a part of my life. I remember reading (at some point) that the grief I felt would never go away, but it would diminish… It would be like a scar or a limp – a permanent reminder of a great pain.

Meh… I can’t say that I totally agree with that.

I will agree that the pangs of grief hit less often. However, the intensity… the pain… the loneliness and feelings of abandonment are just as deep as they were on day one… Maybe even more so, because now, I recognize that this is just how my life is. Yes, the frequency of the waves of grief is less often, but that is the only thing that is “less”.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the anniversary of Bruce’s death and how I was not handling it well this year. For whatever reason, I really struggled this year. My depression and grief took root, and I wasn’t sure I could shake it. It lasted for several very long weeks.

This is the way life is… tsunamis of grief at both expected and unexpected times, and each time, there are different means of coming up for air and pushing myself back out of the storm. This year, there were two things that pulled me through. One was a nice long walk on a deserted beach. This was something I had not been able to do for the past few years due to weather. However, this year it was a warm, sunny day. I don’t know if it was the sunshine, the rhythmic sound of the waves, or the fact that I always feel Bruce when I am there, but it was definitely cathartic. My soul felt a peace that I had not been able to find for weeks.

The second was a gift from friends whom I have not seen in over a decade. Two dear people reached out and sent me something called a comfort blanket. It is blue and covered with words such as “love”, “compassion” “strength”, “spirit”, “warm hugs”, “healing”, “courage”, etc. The back side is fleece, and it is the warmest, softest blanket I have ever encountered. As soon as it came, I snuggled up under it.

I know it sounds silly, but I would swear to you I can feel the love of my friends every time I touch it… And I touch it a lot. (I can’t help myself. It is quite soothing.) In fact, despite having tons of throws and blankets around this house, this one has become my favorite. I would almost go so far as to say it is my adult security blanket. Every morning, I snuggle under it as I sip my tea and do my journaling. I use it every mid-day when I lay down to rest and relax; and I crawl back under it at night as I sit in my rocker and read or watch TV.

The love and comfort I feel there has made a huge difference in this current part of my process. Knowing that people care… that they don’t think I’m crazy for still grieving… that there is no judgement or silly platitudes in connection with this blanket is probably the best thing about it.

Whatever it is, it has been helpful, and I can’t express enough gratitude to those who cared enough to reach out when I felt so completely alone… So, no… Grief is not a problem… It is simply a process that has many twists and turns. Each day, it brings a different experience and I learn something new about how to keep moving forward on this path.

Thank you, Michelle and Daniel! And thank you to all of my friends and family who have not given up on me, but instead continue to simply love me as I find my way.

Grief is hard. Each day offers new hope and new tears. I know it 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. I would guess that none of us wants to be on this path. Yet, this is where life has landed us. And at least for now, this is where we are. For me, life is now 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 have to simply let myself feel what I feel, while at the same time, looking at this life before me and finding the joy, love, and hope life still holds… Then, learning to hold onto that with everything I have.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Some Thoughts on Grief

I have spent this week, simply working to get myself back on the right track… To look inside and try to determine not only what I think about this grief journey so far, but why I think what I think. No, there was no great revelation that made my grief disappear, only a few small insights that (hopefully) will keep me moving forward… willing to not just survive but to enjoy this life and all that is still before me.

While abandonment is probably the strongest emotion I have felt since Bruce died, the second strongest emotion I have felt has been anger… I wouldn’t admit it at first. In fact, I denied it for a very long time, but despite the words coming out of my mouth, I was angry – VERY angry. I was angry at God for letting Bruce die. I was angry at Bruce for dying. (Sounds silly, but I was.) I was angry at myself for not saving him. I was angry at other couples for still having each other. (Mix that one with a lot of jealousy.) I was angry at people who tried to comfort me with what felt like tedious phrases and advice. (Sorry… But at first, I wasn’t interested in feeling better. What I wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.) … In other words, I was angry – plain and simple.

And… to be honest, each year in January, I get angry all over again. I don’t know why exactly, and I try really hard not to… So why?? Why is anger still my go-to when my grief comes in like a tsunami and threatens to take over my world again?

I’m still not completely sure, but I did run across this earlier this week, and it struck a chord for me…

“Every bit of it still makes me cry sometimes. It’s so dang unfair. Even worse, it’s all so dang unchangeable. And unchangeable can absolutely feel unforgivable. I grieve over it all. Grieving is like 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

How true… The unfairness of it all. The fact that it is completely unchangeable. The loss of so many dreams and plans… But mainly, the loss of a relationship that was such an essential part of who I was (and never would be again).

Because of all that, I guess I really do dream in reverse. I never thought about it that way before. However, I do find myself thinking about how things would be if he were still here. Would we have followed our dream of retiring years ago and cruising the islands in the Caribbean? Would we still be in this house? What would we be doing? Yesterday? Today? Tomorrow?

These are the questions I think about all the time without even meaning to… It is just how I think these days. I know my life is still happening. I know there are still people who make me feel loved, and circumstances that still bring me joy. Yet, at the same time, my mind always finds its way back to the “what if…” thoughts of my grief.

“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

I really do miss that naïve person I used to be… That person who believed that love could conquer anything, and “happily ever after” was a real possibility in my world. But… now I know better. (And I can’t change that.) I know that life is life and death is a part of that. I know that my wishes may not all come true. However, I was blessed with the best wish ever… My wish to be loved unconditionally and completely came to fruition in Bruce. I will always be thankful for that, and I will probably always grieve that loss of that. However, maybe having a better understanding of how all this plays itself out in my head and heart will be helpful going forward… And maybe (hopefully) I can learn to recognize that simmering anger before it takes over and learn to feel it, then let it go… I hope…

Grief is hard. I know it 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. I would guess that none of us wants to be on this path. Yet, this is where life has landed us. And at least for now, this is where we are. For me, life is now 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, my goal is to let myself feel what I feel, while at the same time, looking at this life before me and finding the joy and the hope life still holds… Then, I want to hold onto that with everything I have.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Dear Bruce

I feel like I’m swimming in the dark.
On a moonless night, my frail arms and legs thrash about in black despair.
I can’t see where I’m going or where I’ve been.
I can’t see the danger lurking beneath the surface,
But I know it’s there.
I am terrified of losing what little independence I have left.
I grope for a glimmer of purpose to keep me afloat,
But I cannot find it.
Floundering. Gasping for air.
In thick water, I can feel but cannot see.
Then I sense your voice speaking to me stirring my soul:
“Look up, child.
Put your feet on the rock bottom.
It is solid ground. Holy ground.
Stand up and live.”
~ Missy Buchanan, Talking with God in Old Age

The anniversary of Bruce’s death was this past week, and as many of you know… I was struggling. First, I want to say, “Thank you!” Thank you to the many friends and family who reached out to me. Your support and love are what not only carried me through the week, but also made a huge difference in my ability to come out feeling okay on the other side.

And since that day was the focus of my week, my letter to Bruce seems to be the best thoughts I can share with you today…

Hey Babe!
Nine years… My that’s hard to believe. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday, and on other days it feels like forever. It’s strange, I know, but this year has been especially tough. I still miss you so much it hurts to even breathe at times. Yet… here I am… still here… So, there must be a reason.

It’s funny but I learned a few things today… First of all, even though I feel very much alone in all of this, I’m not. There are a lot of people around me who may not totally “get it”, but as the saying goes, “Compassion does not require understanding.” These are the people who are here for me… They care, and they love me.

I am not alone.

Second, grieving is a long process… and that’s okay. As long as I am moving forward and grounded in my reality, it is okay to take as much time as I need. I don’t need to rush through it or squash down my feelings to make someone else more comfortable. I, also, don’t need to throw it in anyone’s face, but it’s okay to work through this on my terms and in my own way.

Third, I’ve been saying for years that I wish I could just spend a day dealing with things my way – spending the whole day in bed crying if I feel like it. (Something I have never let myself do before, mainly because I am too scared I would never be able to stop and get back up.) Today, however, I stayed in bed most of the morning – crying, talking to you, and just getting a lot of crap off my chest – stuff I’ve been holding in for a long time. Then, I took my time doing only what I wanted, when I wanted… and it felt great!

Fourth, I love spending time at our beach and in our home, because I can feel you in both places. I went for a long walk on an (almost) empty beach. I went to the spot where we had your memorial service and where your ashes were scattered off-shore. I could almost feel you beside me. Yet, when I am here in our space, whether it’s porch sittin’ or in my reading chair, or in our room… I do feel you… I know you are here, and I know you can hear me when I talk to you. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

And finally…

“Not everything that’s been taken from us was by the hand of God. But when I mentally place each and every loss in His hands, it can be redeemed… Loss is never the end of the story.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

I’m counting on that, Babe… I love you – Always and Forever!!

Grief is hard. It changes us in ways we could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. This journey is not an easy path for anyone… and this week for me, it was definitely a little bit harder. I don’t think any of us wants to on this path, but this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. Life is now filled with challenges I never imagined. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all, despite the years since Bruce passed. This past week held a huge challenge for me. My goal now, though, is to let myself feel what I feel. At the same time, my other goal is to look at this life before me and find the joy and the hope life holds… And to hold onto that with everything I have.

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Heartbreak

“I want to dig a hole with my bare hands and stay there in a field and in the damp cold, and tell the world that I am so angry, so sad, so longing, I can hardly breathe.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

It is just a few days until the 9th anniversary of Bruce’s death, and I am struggling. I have cried more in the last week, than I can remember for a long time. I may tell the world I am fine… But on the inside, I am crumbling… absolutely crumbling.

Even though that date is still a few days away, already that seems to be the one thing I can’t stop thinking about. It’s so strange, I know. One minute I feel okay – I may even be laughing – and the next, all I want to do is cry… That’s all I really want to do – just let go and cry… and cry… and cry… until there are no more tears left to cry.

All I can think about is that night… Watching him die… trying everything I knew to help him… but failing… I failed! I called 911, did CPR, watched as EMS took over… And yet, that damn line on that machine stayed flat. No matter what they tried, it never moved. He was gone… I knew he was gone, but I didn’t want to know.

I remember the ride to the hospital, and the doctor’s words, “He’s gone.” I remember all of it – the lights, the smells, all the different people sent to “comfort” me… But there was no comfort. It was more like walking through a bad dream. You know that kind I’m talking about? The kind of dream where everything is just awful, and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t wake up. Everyone around you is busy and talking, as if everything were absolutely normal. But you know… it’s all wrong…

And it still feels that way. It still feels wrong to be here without him.

I hate this… I really do. I have so much I want to tell him… so much I want to share with him… But I can’t… And when I remember that I hurt and I cry all over again. The total despair I have felt since that night… the despair I can’t seem to shake seems to haunt the corners of every thought during this time of year.

Everyone else is talking about the new year and resolutions and new beginnings… And all I can think is I just need to survive this again… My world will never know the kind of joy we shared again… And when I realize that MY. HEART. HURTS.

It seems like every year, (even though on all the other days, I feel I am doing better), these days are a struggle. They are a reminder of my greatest loss… and my greatest failure.

I know I need to pull myself together. I need to make myself think of other things. Yet, I think that in order to pick up the pieces of my heart and move forward, I may need to let myself spend a few days feeling what I feel without worrying about what someone else thinks.

Yes… it has been nine years. At the same time, though, it still hurts like it was yesterday. I don’t know how to stop that hurt… All I know is I still love him… And I believe I will always love him.

Grief is hard. It changes us in ways we could never have prepared for, and in ways no one else might understand. This journey is not an easy path for anyone… and this time of year, for me, it is definitely a little bit harder. I don’t think any of us wants to on this path, but this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. Life is now filled with challenges I never imagined. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all, despite the years since Bruce passed. This next few week will hold a huge challenge for me. My goal is to let myself feel what I feel. At the same time, my other goal is to look at this life before me and find the joy and the hope life holds… And to hold onto that with everything I have.

Thankfully, 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… Another New Year

It’s hard to believe that another year has come and gone… Another New Year’s Eve behind me… Another night spent wondering what life would be like if Bruce were still here…

Before Bruce, I rarely celebrated New Year’s Eve. It’s one of those things that my family never celebrated when I was growing up… It was just another day with the only tradition to mark its passing that of black-eyed peas and collards for dinner. (And I hate collards, so I always kind of dreaded it! LOL!) Then during my first marriage, I was just too tired for a late-night party after all the energy expended on Christmas with an ever-growing family. I do remember a couple of years when we went to a party, but those were usually based around my ex-husband’s business and its customers – not a party just for fun, but one with a business goal in mind. That was fine. It was what put bread on our table. My point is that New Year’s Eve just didn’t have any significance in my life… until Bruce.

We met on a cruise which ran from the day after Christmas until New Year’s Day. That New Year’s Eve is one I will never forget. After a week of getting to know one another, Bruce and I danced the night away on the deck of that sailing schooner. We even toasted and kissed at midnight. Then someone walked past us and made a comment that they thought there was something more than a ship-board romance between us. I’ll never forget… Bruce looked me in the eye and said he agreed. He wanted to take things further after the cruise was over.

That would be such a sweet New Year’s Eve story if I stopped there. However, to be honest, it kind of freaked me out in the moment, and I actually ran and hid in my cabin. (Because that is what a logical, mature woman does, right? Good grief! Sometimes I am ridiculous!) Obviously, we worked things out, because 10 months later we were married. So for me, New Year’s Eve will always be the start of “us”.

In the years that followed, we tended to make New Years a private affair. Bruce usually cooked lobster or crab legs for dinner, and we always stayed up and watched the ball drop in NY City. Then we usually ended the night with a slow romantic dance – usually to Rod Stewart’s Have I Told You Lately. It was quiet, but it suited us.

Now jump forward to December 31, 2012. Bruce had to work, so I spent the day alone. Our neighbors, though, had invited us to a small party at their house. So, Bruce made sure he was home in time for us to go. We were only going to stay for an hour or two, though, because he had to be at work the next day at 5 am.

It was such a fun night. We laughed. We danced. We celebrated with friends… And we stayed way longer than planned. Before we left to come back home, we kissed and toasted as the year rolled into 2013. Then once we were home, we danced one more time… I swear, if I close my eyes, I can almost feel his arms around me as we slowly turned in time to the music… one last time…

The next day, Bruce decided to call out from work – something he never did. As we lay in the bed that first morning of 2013, he pulled me close as he told me that that was the way he wanted to spend the entire year – with me in his arms. I felt like I was in heaven… It was the best New Years ever!

But life had other plans, and a few weeks later, Bruce was gone. No longer a part of my world or my life.

Ever since, New Years has held a certain bittersweet, melancholy for me. My kids have been great about including me in their plans each year, and I always have a good time. Yet, somewhere in my heart there is a hole that is never filled. This year, though, for the first time in a long time, I found myself alone for New Years. Turns out, I was exposed to Covid this past week, and while I am vaccinated and boosted, I know that doesn’t apply to everyone. I don’t think I could handle it if someone got sick, because I spread it around. So I made the choice to stay home until I know it is safe.

However, that means it has been a very quiet New Year’s Eve and Day. I am sure I have probably been in my own head too much. All I keep thinking is how much I still miss him… And how lonely life can be without him… And I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if he had been here beside me for one more dance and to toast another year together… another year of “us”.

I miss you, Babe!

Grief changes us. This journey is not an easy path for anyone… and this time of year, it can be just a little bit harder. I don’t think any of us wants to on this path, but this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. Life is now filled with challenges I never imagined – especially during the holidays. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all, despite the years since Bruce passed. These next few weeks will hold many challenges for me, but my goal is to look into this new year before me and find the joy and the hope life holds.

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Peace, Love, and Grief… Being Hopeful

“Sometimes you have to let go of the picture of what you thought it would be like and learn to find joy in the story you are actually living.” ~ Rachel Marie Martin

Sometimes I think this is what the grief journey is really all about… Letting go of what was and what was supposed to be and finding joy in what is. We all change and grow throughout our lives, or at least, we are supposed to. But for most of us, those changes are slow… they happen over time. This gives us a chance to adapt as we move forward, and it gives those around us time to adapt to the changes in us as well.

The problem with losing a loved one is that the change happens fast… real fast… like “in-a-moment” fast. We have no time to adapt… And if we are struggling with the change, no wonder those around us struggle at the changes in us too. We want things to be as they were. They want us to be as we were. However, neither of those things are possible anymore… Our lives are forever changed, and so are we.

After Bruce died, I think one of the biggest adjustments was that my “person” was no longer here. In a healthy relationship, the other partner becomes our priority. It was no different for Bruce and me. I was his priority, and he was mine. We were always looking out for the other – putting them first, building them up, looking out for what could make their world a little bit better. But the moment he died, I lost that. My “person” was no longer here. I had no one to be my priority, and I was no longer the priority in anyone else’s world. No matter who… no matter what…

Logically, I knew this was just the way life would be. I understand it (logically). It’s a little harder when it is played out, though. It’s odd, I guess. I can’t say that I was a priority to anyone before Bruce. At that time, though, it was okay. That was just life… I didn’t know any different. But then when Bruce came along, and I learned and experienced a love that was totally committed. That was such a new and different experience for me. I really did feel like I had walked into a fairy tale, and we would live “happily ever after.”

When that didn’t happen, I struggled just to “be” … just to exist…

Several months after he died, I started working with a life coach. I can’t say we really worked on my grief. Instead, we worked on how to live life again… At the time, I was just trying to survive. To get up each day and do the things life required of me. She taught how to be not only a functioning human but to look for the joy in each day and each moment. It started with a whole conversation about “be-ing” – about movement and change that is a part of life. An understanding that we are human “be-ings” – meaning our calling is to “be” … to grow… to move forward… She taught me to look at the things happening around me, and to lean into those moments that bring me joy in order to sustain me through the harder moments.

For the most part, I think I do pretty well… This time of year, though, is a little bit harder. Now, add onto to that the fact that this is my first holiday season alone again in years – not necessarily a bad thing, but it adds a few challenges to my thought processes. This Advent season, I find myself needing to work just a little bit harder to hang onto those joy-filled moments. Otherwise, I don’t know how I would get through some of the lonelier times.

In my Advent readings this year, the author has talked a lot about hope, which makes sense. That’s what Advent is – a time of hope… a time of waiting for something better to come. This, I guess, is my current struggle, because in the moment when I became a widow all of my hope was gone. I have had the best – Bruce, and after all these years, I don’t really know how to hope anymore… but I want to…

Over the years, I have learned to feel joyful again… It was tough, and it took time, but I did it. Now, I really want to find hope again. Be-ing a widow may have stolen my hope in the beginning, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find it again. It doesn’t mean I need to spend the rest of my life feeling the best has already happened… And so that has become my goal… To let go of past expectations, and to learn how to have hope again.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Birthdays, Exhaustion, and Love

This week has definitely been filled to the brim with all kinds of love and fun. Not only was there Christmas to think about, it was also my birthday. It probably sounds odd, but since Bruce died, my birthday has held mixed emotions. I am happy to be alive and love spending time with my family. At the same time, the idea of celebrating without Bruce feels awful… There is a part of me that still feels disloyal to him and his memory whenever I get caught up in the joy of celebrating anything… much less my birthday.

My kids were getting a little bit stressed when they realized the date was quickly approaching and I had no idea what I wanted to do to celebrate. So, they ended up making an entire weekend out of it… I felt like a princess all weekend – doing all the things I love with people I love… And the best part, while I am absolutely exhausted, I never felt those normal guilt-ridden emotions I have felt in years past.

We started with a wonderful dinner at a “fine dining” establishment. The funniest part – it may have been a fancy restaurant, but I spotted our table immediately, because there were two huge balloons announcing my age to the world. While my kids grew up going to establishments such as this one since they were quite small, they have never been ones to get caught up in pretense. So, the whole thing struck me as completely hilarious! I’m not sure how the management felt about it, but they rolled with the punches and made it an evening to remember.

For me… I wish more than anything Bruce had been there too, and yet, with all of the love at that table, I would swear I could feel his smiling eyes, and hear his quiet voice saying, “This is good… Just enjoy the moment and be happy.”

The next day, we all got up early and headed out to the immersive Van Gogh experience downtown. It was beautiful, but I have to admit the laughter and family time together was the best part of the day. Afterwards, we found a restaurant by the water and enjoyed a lunch filled with wine and great stories. And while the art museum would not have been Bruce’s thing, he would have muddled through for my sake, and enjoyed the water-front restaurant as much (if not more) than the rest of us.

The best part of the day, though, has always been one of my favorite things to do… riding around looking at Christmas lights. My daughter found one of those miles long displays that offers their own radio station, hot cocoa, and lots of picture opps along the way. I wish Bruce could have been there, but throughout the ride, I found myself remembering our first Christmas together. Bruce was so excited when he found one of those light displays and couldn’t wait to take me. It probably sounds crazy, but that night just seemed to meld into this one – beautiful and fun!

Then, last night was a night we have waited three years for… You see, Bruce and I used to always go see Jimmy Buffet in concert every year. It was always such a blast, and one of those things I didn’t think I would ever do again after he died. But in 2019, my daughter bought us tickets to go (for my birthday). However, the concert got delayed a year due to JB’s medical issues. Then, last year it was delayed again due to Covid. (We were beginning to wonder if we were ever going to get there.) But last night, there we were in all of our parrot-head attire finally enjoying a fun, music-filled night. I will say, last night it really did feel like he was there beside me – dancing and humming along.

So today, I am exhausted. It was an absolutely, fabulous weekend. One I thought I was fine to ignore, but instead I learned a great lesson… I learned that I can have fun… I can laugh and dance and all those things that used to be such a huge part of my life… and I’m pretty sure, Bruce approved… I am pretty sure he was watching… and smiling… (At least it felt like he was, and that’s really all that matters.)

This grief journey is not an easy path for any of us… and this time of year, it can be just a little bit harder. I don’t think any of us wants to on this path, but this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. This journey is filled with challenges I never imagined – especially during the holidays. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all, despite the years since he passed. These next few weeks will definitely hold many challenges for all of us.

Thankfully, we are not alone… 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… One Day at a Time

When it comes to death and the aftermath of losing someone we love, grief is the word we tend to use the most. According to the dictionary, grief is defined as deep sorrow, usually in response to death. I can’t argue that… It is true. However, this week I realized there is another word that seems to be a little more accurate. It is defined as the complete loss or absence of hope. This time of year, that sounds a little more precise, especially when everything around me is about family and joy. Yet here I am without my other half, and all I seem to feel is… despair.

Most of the time, I feel like I have come such a long way since that awful night years ago. However, lately, I seem to cry whenever I am alone. I still miss him. I would still give anything to have him next to me. Just the two of us snuggled on the couch, gazing at the lights on the tree, and talking about nothing and everything. But… for me… for us, that will never happen again. That is where I fall apart and the despair happens…

“Psalmists failed to capture this kind of despair… I want to dig a hole with my bare hands and stay there in a field and in the damp cold, and tell the world that I am so angry, so sad, so longing, I can hardly breathe.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

When we were married, I always thought we would live “happily ever after.” We were so right together. How could we not live happily ever after? But that was not our destiny… As it turns out, “happily ever after” is something only found in fairy tales and Disney movies. So now, I find myself wondering how to reconcile my never-ending longing for this man I still love with all my heart with the fact that he is gone, and I am here all alone.

This week as I was reading Sarah Bessey’s book, Out of Sorts, the chapter was about her grief. For me, there was a common language there. I seemed to be able to relate to every word. When she talked about her own grief journey, I kept thinking, “Yes! Exactly! That is where I was… And if I’m honest, sometimes still find myself.”

“At the beginning of my journey…, I was filled with grief for my own small concerns, yes, but also for the world. I had run out of words. And faith. I was grieving in a personal and spiritual way… Silence was akin to prayer for me for a long time. I simply moved through my life with silence in my spirit, waiting on God. I couldn’t pray, but the part of me that had once prayed was waiting. Simply waiting.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

That was me, too! … And this week, it still is… at least a little bit… Struggling to put my emotions into words, and finally just resorting to a desperate silence. I am trying so hard to enjoy this precious season, and most of the time, I feel like I am enjoying myself. But then, I hear a song or see something that touches my heart and the one person I want to share it with isn’t here. It is more than just grief that follows that realization… That is despair.

I guess I am learning that some years, the holidays are going to be just a little bit harder than other years. Some days are harder than other days. And some moments are harder than other moments. I need to remind myself that it’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to cry. I don’t need to apologize or make excuses to anyone else for what I feel. I simply need give myself permission to take a few deep breaths, feel what I feel for as long as I need before moving on.

“Let yourself grieve. When something ends, it’s worthwhile to notice its passing, to sit in the space and look at the pieces before you head out.” Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

This grief journey is not an easy path for any of us… and this time of year, it is just a little bit harder. I don’t think any of us wants to be here, but this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. This journey is filled with challenges I never imagined – especially during the holidays. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all, despite the years since he passed. These next few weeks will definitely hold many challenges.