grieve – Page 15 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love and Grief… And Just Like That, It’s Halloween Again

I can’t believe it is already Halloween… again! My goodness! Where does the time go? Throughout my life – while growing up, when my children were little, and while Bruce was alive, Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. However, the season always seemed to start WAY before December… In a way, Halloween has always marked the beginning of an entire season of fun – A time filled with holidays and big events with Christmas being the climax.

To this day, I am so very thankful for the last holiday season that Bruce and I shared. The memories from that year are so very precious now. Although at the time, it just seemed like another holiday season. With Halloween falling this weekend, I am reminded again, just how precious our time with our loved ones really is…

Until Bruce died, I never really thought of Halloween as a holiday with special memories, but I was wrong… As I look back, over the years I can find so many small things that still make me smile….

For example, when we lived in Michigan, there were no Trick or Treaters. We lived in a second-floor condo which required a code for entrance. There were no children in the building except my (then) teenage daughter and no way for anyone to enter. So, no one knocked on our door yelling, “Trick or Treat.” We didn’t buy candy, and other than the shenanigans at work, it was just another day.

Then when we moved to Florida, we decided to live in an apartment for the first year until we got our bearings. With the exception of my (then) toddler grandson dressed as a pirate and one group of teenagers (who knocked on our door at 10 PM) no one came. Again, other than the shenanigans at work, it was pretty much just another day.

Then, we moved to the house where I live now…

I knew there were a lot of children in the neighborhood, so I bought three of those huge bags of candy and tried to prep Bruce for what was probably coming. For him, it had been well over a decade since he had answered a door on Halloween to pass out candy. At the time, though, all he heard was “candy.” As soon as he realized I had hidden it somewhere in the house, it was “game on”… He went on a hunt despite my saying that it was for Halloween – not him.

I will always remember the Cheshire Cat grin on his face as he walked back into the kitchen with a handful of chocolate. He had found the entire stash in the third place he looked. I couldn’t figure out how in the world he had found it so flippin’ fast! According to him, the fact that I am so short narrowed the hiding places down by more than half. Then, he just thought of where there might be enough space for three huge bags… All I can tell you is that by Halloween, I had to replace more than one of those silly bags.

On Halloween, he grouched every time the doorbell rang, and I laughed and poked fun at him for being a crabby, old man… The next year, our last Halloween together, was different, though. He was actually excited about the night and loved answering the door. I stood back and watched him as he talked to all the kids (even the teenagers). He even found a mask he had bought years before and tried to scare a few poor souls. It was such a fun night, and we both fell into bed laughing at the end of it.

Now looking back, I don’t know if he was just trying to enjoy Halloween or if he knew what was coming and wanted to leave me with some fun memories… Either way, that night warms my heart.

The next year was my first year without Bruce quickly, and the day became a challenge that I wasn’t expecting. To my mind, Halloween is a kid’s holiday. It really isn’t about adults or family memories… And to be honest, we had only had one really fun Halloween together. However, that first year showed me that Halloween would come to mark the start of what is generally a few rough months for me emotionally…

Journal: 10/31/2013
(morning)
“The first of the holidays – this one always feels like the “kick-off” for the holiday season. I don’t really feel like celebrating but I did buy candy. I woke up this morning, and I just feel pissed. I don’t think this will be a good day… not really looking forward to it – don’t really feel like festivities or anything like it.“

(night)
“Halloween without you, Babe! Too hard!! I miss you!! I keep thinking about you answering the door last year and all the fun. This year is hard, though. I am listening to Jimmy Buffet and wishing you were here… Six kids so far and I am crying. Maybe I should just turn out the light and call it a night.
So sad… just so very sad… What is – is. Nothing I do will ever change it. I feel like I shouldn’t be here, but I am… maybe one day I will understand why I am still here.”

Then, years later, I spent Halloween with my daughter and grandson.

Journal: 11/1/2015
“Hi Babe… This weekend was really good for me. I couldn’t be with you, but I was with people I love. I’m sure you would guess that we stayed very busy. You would have loved watching our grandson… he is more excited about his costume and handing out the candy, than actually going door to door to get any (which just cracks me up.) Afterward, there was an impromptu party back at the house. It was wonderful chaos – the house was filled with very tired but laughing adults and kids too excited to settle down.
Saturday included an Octoberfest at their school/church. You would have loved it – German food and beer. I only teared up once… when the kids performed their Fall music program. I know you were there… I know you were watching… but I still wish I could have seen your face. You and your little “Beaudroux” had such a close connection, I know you would have been beaming with pride.
The night ended with a dinner party at a friend’s house. It was fun, and they made me feel so welcome. I can’t say I like it, but I am getting (more) used to going to parties without you by my side…
It wasn’t until the wee, dark hours of the night when I was actually alone with my thoughts that the tears fell. My emotions were a little bit of melancholy, sadness, loneliness and (believe it or not)… guilt. I miss you, Babe. I still managed to have fun but then I feel guilty about that. Crazy, I know, but that is what I felt. I wonder if that is normal?“

Through the years, I have gotten stronger. While these next few months are still difficult ones for me, I have definitely gotten better at taking it one day… one moment at a time. I am better at enjoying the time with friends and family and cherishing the memories we are making together. I have also learned to give myself some grace… I have learned that it’s okay to feel what I feel… It’s okay to grieve the fact that my heart is broken because Bruce isn’t here to share any part of this anymore.

How we handle the big days can vary year to year, moment to moment. Sometimes we manage these better than other times… We’re only human, and this is a tough journey. What about you? How do you manage your big days? This journey is filled with challenges I never imagined. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, (one holiday to the next), when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate.

Thankfully, I know I am not alone. We are here for each other and, 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.

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

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

* 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… Contemplations

I have good friends.
I have good family.
I am in a good place.
So, why does it still hurt so bad?
~ Linda, 2021

Hi Babe,
It’s odd how life just continues to plug along… Some days it feels like only yesterday you were here, and other days it feels as if I have been alone and missing you forever. This is that time of year that gets hard for me… all the holidays plus so many of our special days… Sometimes I just sit here in the quiet… waiting… listening… wishing I could hear your voice just one more time… But I don’t… All I hear is the never ending quiet. A quiet that at times brings me comfort and at other times threatens to swallow me.

I love looking around and finding odds and ends that remind me of you. Sometimes it is a little memento of a special time we had together, such as a shell picked up while diving on our honeymoon. Or maybe just seeing your tools still in the garage… waiting. (You would be proud. I’ve learned how to use a lot of them.) Then, there are your books – books on fishing and sailing, books on health and working out, books on travel, and books on philosophy. Many of them I have read by now, and the others just make me smile because they are so completely “you”. Somedays I just love picking up a photo album, curling up on the couch, and thumbing through… remembering the days and moments caught on film – how absolutely precious these are to me now.

I miss you so much, and I don’t know if I will ever get used to living in this world without you… Which is kind of strange, since we didn’t even have that much time together… only eight short years. The thing is you changed my world so much…

Before you, I can remember crying and wondering if I would ever know what it was like to be loved… really loved… There was so much hurt and pain left by my first marriage. I had been convinced (by him) that I wasn’t worth loving. But then you came along, and suddenly I was loved – totally and completely! Everything I had ever imagined or wished for came true with you… I knew it was rare… I knew it was a precious gift… What I didn’t know was just how short our time together would be… That has probably been the hardest part to accept – our life together had practically just started, and just as suddenly, it was over.

Sigh… (It’s times like this that I have to remind myself to breathe.)

I miss you, Babe… More than you could ever know. And I love you… I will always love you – Always and forever!

I miss you.
I think of you and my heart warms.
So then,
How do I face tomorrow?
How do I face another day without you?
My heart was broken into a thousand pieces when you left.
How am I to pick it up and move forward?
I still don’t know…
~ Linda, 2021

I say this every week, because I believe it is important… this is not an easy path for any of us. It is not a path I ever saw myself on, and you probably didn’t either. 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. Each time I think I have it figured out; I find I don’t at all. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate.

Peace, Love, and Grief… On Being a Good Widow

Somedays the pain is so great.
Somedays it is too much.
But still I must put a smile on my face
And walk out to face the world.
I must pretend all is well.
But inside…
The pain is so great…
It is too much…
Too much…
~ Linda, 2013

All my life, I was raised to the “a good girl.” I can’t say I ever got it quite right, but that was always the goal set before me. I never thought it was unusual. After all, it was the same for (almost) all the kids I knew… That was the expectation – “be good.”

I don’t think there is really anything wrong with that goal, and I can’t say that I resent it at all. I just think there needed to be a clearer picture of what that should look like. Somehow, for me, “being good” became equivalent to being a pleaser. As long as I could make others happy (and not upset with me), then that was good… And I was good. And sadly, that mindset followed me into adulthood.

In my first marriage, when things got violent, I just kept thinking that if I could be better – a better mother, a better wife, a better housekeeper, a better “whatever”, then he wouldn’t be so mad, and everything would be better… I just had to be good. The problem, however, was this: what was “good” one day wasn’t “good” then next. Life in our house was a guessing game, and the kids and I were losing. It took me a long time to leave, and while logically I knew he was the only one responsible for his behavior, I was still ashamed. I was the one who couldn’t do it anymore, and a big part of me felt that maybe I should have just been better.

Then I met Bruce… And my whole world changed! He never asked me to be better. He never expected me to be “a good girl”. He loved me…. me! And his only expectation was that I love him back. I could drop all attempts at changing who I was to try to please him… I could just be me – the good and the bad. For the first time, I had “permission” to let go of all the phony stuff and just be myself… And I was still loved… not just a little bit… I was loved totally and completely… simply for being me.

What a blessing!!

Then… he was gone. Just like that, in the middle of the night, he took his last breath and left me here – all alone. To say it was devastating would be a huge understatement.

The first few months became a blur… I walked around in a daze, just trying to remember to breathe. Slowly, I became aware of the people around me. I had a great circle around me that was supportive. I also had a few people who wanted something else…

My grief… my sadness was making them uncomfortable. For them, I needed to “Get over it”… “Smile”… “Don’t cry” … “Move on” …

It didn’t take long for old habits to reappear. In my mind, I remember making the conscious decision that I needed to be “a good widow.” I needed to be careful not to make those around me uncomfortable. I needed to hide my grief and my tears. I needed to smile at the world, so that the world could be happy.

One day, I remember being admonished for crying, and being told, “How do you think that looks to others? How do you think that makes them feel?” So, I tried harder… And, over time, I got better at being “a good widow”. In other words, I got better at hiding my feelings. I got better at not talking about Bruce so often. I got better at pretending I was okay…

Only I wasn’t okay. I was imploding – slowly but surely.

How do I find joy in this when you were my joy?
I am sinking on my own.
I know I need to find some peace in this,
But all I want to find is you.

How do I reconcile what I know with what I feel?
I can’t…
Instead, I smile like a good girl,
Finding neither joy, nor peace…
Nor you…
~ Linda, 2013

Much later, I was to learn that this behavior is called “covering”. Covering is when a person “hides” a part of themselves in order to fit into the societal norms around them. (Most people in this world cover for something. I imagine, if you dig deep enough, you might be surprised to find what it is about yourself that you are covering.)

When I learned about covering, I realized it is something I had done all of my life… I did it in my first marriage, when I smiled at the world despite what was happening behind closed doors within my home. And here I was doing it again… Pretending this pain did not exist inside me… Pretending everything was fine, just so no one else would be uncomfortable… Pretending so I could fit into the vision they had of me.

For me, at the time, I didn’t know this behavior had a name. I didn’t know this is a normal behavior. I thought it was just a “me” thing. So, I started this blog. This became my safe space to simply be me… to express whatever pain or crazy feelings I was having on this journey. I quickly found I could express myself, while the people who know me could choose to read it or not. I wasn’t forcing anyone into my world of grief – it was an optional journey for anyone else. And because of this space… this once-a-week download of whatever is happening inside, I have been able to find some peace.

Over time, I have slowly learned how to be honest with the world around me while still maintaining a balance of not making everyone else crazy with my grief. More and more, I am able to be who I truly am, and that has saved me. It has allowed me to express myself in a way that more easily accepted… It might not be a permanent solution… It might not be the best solution, but it has worked for me… And because of this weekly space, I have been able to really and truly be “a good girl”, “a good widow” and more importantly… a better me.

I say this every week, because I believe it is important to recognize… this is not an easy path for any of us. It is not a path I ever saw myself on, and you probably didn’t either. 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. Each time I think I have it figured out, I find I don’t at all. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate.

Thankfully, I know I am not alone. We are here for each other and, 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… Like a Kaleidoscope

So many times, I heard (or read) the analogy that life is like a kaleidoscope… Each new twist brings a new perspective… A different way of looking at the same things… the things that make up our lives. That being said, grief has to have been the one thing that not only twisted the kaleidoscope but shook it up to the point that life as I knew it became unrecognizable.

“The death of a spouse or partner is different than other losses, in the sense that it literally changes every single think in your world going forward. When your spouse dies, the way you eat changes. The way you watch TV changes. Your friend circle changes (or disappears entirely). Your family dynamic/life changes (or disappears entirely). Your financial status changes. Your job situation changes. It effects your self-worth. Your self-esteem. Your confidence. Your rhythms. The way you breathe. Your mentality. Your brain function. (Ever heard the term ‘widow brain’? If you don’t know what that is, count yourself as very lucky.) Your physical body. Your hobbies and interests. Your sense of security. Your sense of humor. Your sense of womanhood, or manhood. EVERY. SINGLE. THING. CHANGES. You are handed a new life that you never asked for and that you don’t particularly want. It is the hardest, most gut-wrenching, horrific. Life-altering of things to live with.” ~ Kelley Lynn, My Husband is Not a Rainbow

I’ve never read anything more true! Everything in my life is so different than it used to be. In the beginning, I was so resistant to those changes. In fact, it took me almost a year to move anything of his – his clothes, his shoes, his books, even his reading glasses. I walked the rooms of this house just searching for anything that might indicate he wasn’t really gone… but he was. And eventually, I had to accept that.

It took a while, but I got there… I finally accepted that he was gone, and no matter how hard I wished and prayed otherwise, he wasn’t coming home… I was alone. Thankfully, I have some great friends and family who helped me go through things a little at a time… They were patient and didn’t push or rush me. They just kept telling me to do it my own time and at my own pace. (Thank God for those people.)

“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

Of course, time has moved on. Now, I can change and move things without feeling guilty or feeling like I am pushing him aside… I don’t want my home to be a museum. I want it to be a space filled with love, precious memories, and life as it happens now. However, it wasn’t an easy road to get here, and I would still put it all back if it meant I could have Bruce back, too.

This week, I was blessed to dream about Bruce two times. The first time I dreamed that he was sick, and I was taking care of him. In my dream, he just kept smiling and telling me that he loved me. I woke up smiling… It has been a long time since I heard those words and his voice… I knew it was only a dream, but it felt so real… and those few moments in my sleep felt absolutely priceless. (Honestly, all I wanted to do was to go back to sleep and see if that dream would come back.)

The second time I dreamed of him, it was just a normal day… just life… and the two of us. As I lay there, halfway between being asleep and being awake, I found myself wondering which was the dream? Was Bruce fine, and I had only had a bad dream that he had died? Or was Bruce gone, and I had only dreamed everything was fine?

I got my answer once I was fully awake… Sometimes that is the hardest… To not fully remember. Then when I do wake up, I grieve his loss all over again. Yet, at the same time, I love, love, love those dreams. I would rather have those dreams every single night and feel like I was able to spend a few precious moments with him, even if it means I will grieve and hurt when I wake up, than to not have those moments at all… For me, that would be worse.

Today while I was having my nails done, my nail tech noticed my wedding ring. “I don’t see that one very often,” she said.

“No,” I replied. “I don’t always wear it… It’s my wedding ring. I usually only wear it when I am really missing him.” Then the tears started, so I stopped talking. She gently squeezed my hand and said, “He was pretty special, wasn’t he?” And I just nodded… I couldn’t talk… there were no words for all the feelings rushing into my heart.

In that moment, I also realized that my kaleidoscope has been twisting back and forth a lot lately, and it has been throwing me off balance. But as I sit here and process everything, I know it’s okay… and I’m okay… I’m just missing him… that’s all.

I have said it before – this is not an easy path for any of us. It is not a path I ever saw myself on, and you probably didn’t either. 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. Each time I think I have it figured out, I find I don’t at all. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate.

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Better Week

Well, as rough as the week before was, this past week was much, much better. Don’t ask me why… I couldn’t tell you. I can only say that this is the way of grief sometimes. For me, as time has passed, my good days overwhelmingly outnumber my bad days… Yet, even on my good days, I still miss him… I just seem to handle it better.

So how did I make it through that rough patch? It sounds silly, but I put my wedding ring on. Usually, it rests on the chain Bruce wore with his anchor charm and his wedding band, and I wear it tucked into my clothes. No one knows it’s there except me. Throughout the day, I touch it just to remind myself that I’m not alone.

However, when I am struggling, such as when I was going through cancer treatments a few years ago, I tend to pull it off the chain and place it back on my hand… Then, it becomes a reminder of the love we shared and just how amazing that was… It reminds me that I’m not alone… that I have been and still am loved – absolutely and completely.

Maybe for any of this to make sense, you should know the story behind the story…

Let’s back up a bit… Okay, let’s back up a lot! When I got married the first time, we were both still in college, and money wasn’t just tight, it was almost non-existent. So, instead of a diamond engagement ring, I received a pearl ring. I have always loved pearls, and this ring was lovely. I wore it for years!

Then, on our 10-year anniversary, my (then) husband called our children into the room to make this big speech and presentation about love and marriage and how he had always wanted to change out that pearl for a diamond… And so on and so on… You get the picture. The ring he presented me was huge, and I was completely surprised and overwhelmed by the whole thing.

With four kids and me as a stay-at-home mom, money was still tight! How in the world did he manage it?? Well, that answer came almost immediately. My ex shooed the children back outside to play, before telling me that he had purchased the ring as “90 days same as cash.” I now had 90 days to figure out how to pay the XXX thousands of dollars needed for the ring… I was floored! We couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want it. Yet, I didn’t dare ask him to take it back, because I was too scared of him and his reaction. So, instead, the kids and I lived off Cheerios, mac and cheese, and rice-n-beans for months as I struggled to pay for that ring.

Many years later, after our divorce was finalized, I took the ring to a jeweler. My plan was to trade it in for a Mother’s ring with each of my children’s birthstones. The jeweler was so kind, assuring me they could definitely work with me. As the she analyzed the ring, she kept going on and on about the value of the gold. However, she was totally silent about the diamond itself. Finally, I asked about the value of the diamond. I will always remember her words…

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” she said, “but this isn’t a diamond. It isn’t even cubic zirconia. It’s just glass.”

Are kidding me?? I could have cleaned that thing with Windex?? I had spent months giving my ex thousands of dollars out of our budget to pay for what?? (I’ll never know, but it wasn’t to pay for that ring… That’s for sure!) I remember laughing as I left the store… He had done it again! He had won and played me for a fool for the last time…

Now let’s jump ahead…

After Bruce and I spent a weekend sailing on Lake Michigan, he told me that he wanted to go look at rings. I was a bit surprised. We both knew we were in love. We both knew this was a forever thing, but we hadn’t actually talked about marriage. As we walked into the store, he asked me what kind of ring I wanted…

“Real,” was all I had to say. I was serious, but he just chuckled. I had no idea where to begin as we looked at all the rings. I hadn’t thought about it up to this point. Bruce pointed out a few that he felt would look good on my hands, (which are kind of small). Feeling self-conscience and practical, I chose a small princess cut. It would fit my hand and also not get in my way on the boat. I remember the smile on his face as he handed it back to the jeweler without saying a word.

Now jump ahead several more months…

The neighborhood where I lived had a tower that looked out over the river. One evening, as Bruce and I sat up there enjoying the view and the sunset, he pulled me into his lap, looked at my hand, kissed it, and said, “Something is missing.”

I had no idea what he was talking about; the trip to look at rings was long forgotten in my mind. Since I was always switching out what rings I wore, I thought we was looking for a certain one. Next thing I knew, he had pulled a ring out of his pocket and placed it on my finger.

I can’t even begin to tell you how shocked I was. That ring was the same one I had chosen, except it was twice the size (and it was real). I didn’t even know what to say. I can’t tell you the exact conversation. I can only remember the tears in my eyes when I asked him about the size, and he responded by telling me that he didn’t want anyone to ever look at that ring and have any doubt about how much he loved me.

Less than a month later, we found ourselves back in that same store selecting our wedding bands. Once again, I found myself looking at the simpler pieces – just a plain band to sit beside this beautiful gift he had already given me. He looked at those with me for about half a minute before he pointed out a band with additional stones. It fit perfectly with the engagement ring to produce one solid unit, becoming the most exquisite piece I had ever seen.

I remember watching the snow fall outside as the tears fell down my face as I came face to face with the realization that this man was the greatest gift I had ever received. On a personal note, I had already lost everything I owned, and was content with so much less. Yet, he wanted the world to know that I was worth so much more to him.

Now… do I think rings equate love? No, not at all… But his love and the sentiment encircled within this ring will always make it my most treasured gift. Therefore, last week, when I was missing my husband… when life felt so very lonely… When I felt lost and abandoned… I pulled that ring off the chain and placed it back on my hand… And there it has stayed.

Each time I look at this ring, I smile… I remember the man, and I remember our love… and my heart feels warm… So, … I know his intent was that he wanted the world to see that ring as a symbol of how much he loved me. For me, though, it is so much more than that… It is a reminder of everything that made us who we were as a couple – our love, our loyalty, our devotion, and our friendship. It is a reminder that I am not alone… I have been and always will be loved…

… And when I am sad and down, remembering all of that makes me smile again.

Once again, I thank you for giving me a safe place to vocalize my feelings – whatever they may be. I have said it before – this is not an easy path for any of us. It is not a path I ever saw myself on, and you probably didn’t either. I don’t think any of us actually 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. Each time I think I am figuring it out, I find I haven’t. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate.

Thankfully, I know I am not alone. We are here for each other and, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Some Weeks Are Just That Way

I think one of the worst parts of grief is that you just never know what to expect… So many times, I think I am doing great… I am fine. Then, suddenly, I’m not…

I sit in the sun, enjoying its warmth.
On the horizon, I can see the ever-present clouds –
The darkness of a storm
That can hit at any moment.
Somedays it stays on the horizon,
Present, but not a threat.
Other days, it blows in –
Shutting out the sun
And attacking my very soul.

I never know from what direction the wind will blow.
Will it blow and keep the storm away?
Or
Will it blow the storm directly in my path?
I never know moment to moment
Where it will be,
But I always know it is there…
Somewhere…
~ Linda, 2015

This week, the wind blew that storm directly into my heart… It has been an unquestionably rough week… I can’t explain it, and I have absolutely no idea what triggered it. This wave of grief just seemed to come out of nowhere… All week I have tried to push it down and keep moving forward. However, because I don’t know where it came from, it has been a true struggle to get out from under it. I have cried every night… and most days… Simply put – the only thing I know is that I just miss him.

This week
I have missed you,
And
I have remembered you.

I have cried for you,
And
I have danced with you.

I am tired of hurting,
But
I’m not tired of loving you.
~ Linda, 2021

It seems so silly doesn’t it? Why am I in this position? It has been well over eight years. Yet, this week my heart feels as broken as it did that first night. Until this week, it had been a long time since I wondered this house searching for… what? Him? I know he isn’t here…

Life moves on.
Time passes
But my heart stands still.
Lost in a space
Where I can still hear your voice,
Where your smile still greets mine.
Frozen in this space
Where you should be…
But you aren’t.
~ Linda, 2020

The only difference between then and now is the expectations I allow to be placed on myself. I keep thinking “smile, Linda” no one needs to see your tears or hear you cry. I keep trying to distract myself with other things… other people. I keep smiling at the world in an attempt to force myself to feel something other than this…

Push those feelings down.
It’s been too long…
Don’t talk about it!

Push them down!

Why can’t you let him go?
What’s wrong with you?
Is this normal?

Push those feelings down!
Push them down!

… And when you come up for air…
Be sure you are smiling.
~ Linda, 2019

This week, I wanted nothing more than to just melt inside myself – to stay inside and ignore the world. However, I knew for me that would be the worst thing I could do. So, each day I made myself get outside – sometimes I went for a walk (and made myself say hello to my neighbors); other times I rested on the porch and watched the neighborhood children play or tried to ground myself in the nature around me. There definitely was some comfort to be found out there. However, my heart and mind were not so easily soothed… It seems like each time something made me smile, all I could think about was the idea that Bruce was no longer here to share in all the simple things that at one time brought us so much joy…

I can’t believe you are no longer here…
… No longer looking at the blue sky.
… No longer smelling the fresh air of morning.
… No longer feeling the sand under your feet.
… No longer looking at the same moon
or smelling the salt air
or hearing the whisper of the wind.
… No longer able to share an experience.
… No longer a part of this world.
… No longer a part of my world.
Will this ever feel normal?
~ Linda, 2017

Each week I try to present an honest look at my journey as a widow… to share some tidbit – something I have learned (if possible), and something positive, because that is more a reflection of who I am (or who I try to be). I don’t know about this week… The tears are still streaming down my face even as I write this. I just don’t feel like I have much to offer this week, except the honesty of where I find myself. I’m just in a hard place… I know I will be okay, but right now, the one thing I want in this world is the one thing I can’t have… and my heart is completely broken…

They lie…
Time heals nothing.
It still hurts…
And I don’t know how to make it stop.

I’ve learned to smile at the world.
I’ve learned to push the hurt down,
And say, “I’m fine.”
But
It still hurts.

I have learned to laugh again.
I have learned to find joy in quiet moments
Spent with those I love.
But
It still hurts.

I think it will probably always hurt…
Simply because you aren’t here.
~ Linda, 2018

Sometimes I can’t breathe for the pain of it.
Other times I smile
And laugh at the thought of our memories.
You were always that way…
Making me smile or laugh
When I wanted to cry…
When the pain was so bad.

Now my heart hurts…
Truly, physically hurts with the missing of you.

I feel your soul.
I know you are here.
But I need to see your eyes and your smile,
Feel the comfort of your arms.
I want to breathe in your presence
And feel your love in all these things.
But that isn’t to be…
All I have are the memories,
The memories of our love…
And…
Sometimes I can’t breathe for the pain of it.
~ Linda, 2013

Thank you for not leaving me alone this week… Thank you for giving me a safe place to vocalize my feelings – whatever they may be. I have said it before, and I will say it again – this is not an easy path. It is not a path I ever saw myself on. You probably didn’t either. I don’t think any of us want to be here. Yet, this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are.

This journey is filled with challenges I never imagined. Each time I think I am figuring it out, I find I haven’t. Honestly, none of us ever know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger, and that alone can make this journey feel so completely baffling and hard to navigate. Thankfully, I know I am not alone. We are here for each other and, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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… Who Am I?

How do you identify? That seems to be the question of the day lately… In some ways, it is easy to answer, and in other ways, I’m not always sure what to say…

Currently at work, we have a company-wide Diversity and Inclusion training program happening. As one of the company trainers who will be leading the training in the next quarter, I have been studying the material and asking a thousand questions of the facilitators who are currently training the program.

I realize there will be some who will read this and roll their eyes, but honestly, it is a great program. There is no guilt or beating anyone up emotionally, nor is it intended to tell anyone what to think. It is simply a “who are you” and “who do you want to be” kind of program… I like it… And it has me thinking…

The program starts with a screen filled with hundreds (or so it seems) of boxes labeled with different things one might associate with or relate to – sexual orientation, religious preferences, marital status, race, nationality, life experiences, etc. … You name it, and it is there. Each person is instructed to pick as many as they wish – anything you identify or associate with who you are as an individual. Then, we take turns introducing ourselves using our “boxes” of “who we are.”

In my first class, I probably picked about 25 or more boxes, “widow” being one of them. Then, as I listened to others introducing themselves, I found myself crossing off any items I thought might be either controversial or might make others uncomfortable… “Widow” was actually still on my list when I started to talk, but I never said it… I looked at it and skimmed on past. At first, I wasn’t even sure why I did it… All I knew was I didn’t want to say it in front of a group of 20+ strangers.

Weird, huh? Especially since it is not a secret… It is something I write about every single week and put it out there for the whole world to read… Yet, I never mentioned it.

I have spent a lot of time over the past few weeks trying to figure out why. Honestly, I’m not completely sure. When Bruce first died, I think I told everyone I met that I was a widow. I was so appalled and angry that he had died, and I was still here that I just wanted the world to know how unfair it was that I was alone… I wanted the whole world to know that I didn’t like it one bit. At that point, coming to terms with that title and all it encompassed was consuming my world. So, I guess it made sense that I was always using it to describe me and who I was.

Over time though, I came to realize that the words “I’m a widow” or “my husband died” are some of the fastest ways to stop a conversation. People aren’t just uncomfortable with that information; they literally have no idea what to say or how to respond. It can be an awful way to throw my struggles out into the middle of the room, while no one else knows quite what to do with it. So… somewhere over time, I simply stopped telling people.

The strange thing is being a widow is still so much a part of who I am… of how I identify myself. It’s not like it is a label I want… It is simply a label that is accurate. It is constantly in my head (usually somewhere in the background). Yet, it is one of the few things, which I find I keep to myself most often in public. This forum is actually one of the few places I feel comfortable talking about it openly.

So… Here is my dilemma, I suppose… I am a widow. It is a huge piece of who I am, because it has had the biggest impact on me over the last eight+ years. The circumstances that created that title changed everything about me. And while I am moving forward and find myself healing a little more each day, I still haven’t managed to expand past it in many ways.

I know I have grown. I know have healed in so many ways. Yet, it still boils down to the fact that I am a widow, in the same way that so many of my friends are married. It is a big part of who I am. I wish I felt comfortable explaining that in a room full of strangers, but I have a feeling that when it is my turn again, I will likely leave it off – partly because I know how uncomfortable it can make people and partly because I dread the perception that others might have.

Then again, maybe I will talk about it… I know this class is supposed to the space where we can help each other realign or reshape our views about certain labels. I know it is a chance to be honest about who I am… And who knows… maybe it will help me find a way to be honest about who I am without stopping the conversation or making everyone in the room uncomfortable… Maybe it will even be a way to open the door to anyone else struggling with how to be honest about a label and how it is perceived.

“When you let others label you, invariably they make your world too small.” ~ Unknown

Whether you are new to this group or whether you have been visiting with us for a while, I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you… and for all of us. This is not a path any of us want to be on. Yet, here we are. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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… It’s Okay to Feel What You Feel

“… Emotions such as grief, fear, and despair have gained a reputation as ‘the dark emotions’ not because they are noxious or abnormal but because Western culture keeps them shuttered in the dark with other shameful things like personal bankruptcy or sexual deviance.” ~ Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark

Did you know that according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual IV, also known as the “psychiatrist’s Bible”, patients who grieve longer than two months are considered depressed and it is suggested that prescription drugs should be considered for treatment? Good grief! Are you kidding me?? That has got to be one of the most ridiculous things I have ever read!

Honestly, at the two-month point, I was just beginning to realize that this was not a dream… There was no healing those first few months… I am pretty sure I was in shock during that time. I don’t remember a lot, except being thankful for a daily routine of working out, going to work, returning home, dinner, and bedtime. (Then, getting up and doing it all over again the next day.) Being able to simply “do the next thing” in my day without thinking about it was what kept me functional.

We all are different… We heal differently… We grieve differently… And we all have a different timeline for those things. For anyone to decide that everyone should “magically” be healed within a certain (very small) window, is just silly.

For me, I know for the whole first year I was simply focused on breathing… just surviving from one day to the next was my goal. I couldn’t think any farther ahead then the next moment.

I remember dreading all the “firsts”… For me, that order was the first Valentine’s Day, his birthday, Easter, summer and the beach, our anniversary, Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, New Years, and the awful anniversary of his death. I dreaded each one for weeks before the actual day. Then, trying to figure out what to do… how to spend the day… or if I even wanted to recognize the day at all was overwhelming.

Most of those days, I ran away and ignored the world…

I remember traveling alone for the first time. It was a business trip, but it still felt strange… No one to take me to the airport. No one for me to call and say, “I made it here safely.” No one to greet me when I got back home. It was hard… I especially remember trying to just get my breathing under control as I drove to the airport in the wee hours of the morning.

I also remember wearing black for that entire first year. To the rest of the world, it probably wasn’t even noticeable… everyone wears black these days, and as a woman in the business world, it just looked like any other professional woman in any other office. The thing is I didn’t do it to make a statement… It was simply a reflection of how I felt at the time. It wasn’t until somewhere in the second year, that I started to realize the color was starting to set my mood rather than reflect it. Then, I knew that it was time for me to stop… but not before that.

I have written many times about people being uncomfortable with my grief and wanting me to “put it aside”, so to speak. I’m not sure if that is for my benefit as much as it just makes them more comfortable not to be confronted with it. (I understand… It’s hard to see someone you love struggling with sadness and grief.)

In fact, many of you have written to me stating the same thing. Yes, we are sad… We are grieving… But the best way to heal is not by ignoring those feelings or shoving them down deep inside. Honestly, I found expressing my grief really was best for me… And I did so with my writing, by sharing stories, in my dress, in my paintings, and so many other ways that I can’t even begin to name them all.

My point, though, is this… If you are grieving, then do so with no apologies to anyone else. Let yourself feel what you feel. Then, be honest about those emotions so you can keep moving forward. Like me with the black clothes… It was a good thing in the beginning because it let me express myself in my own quiet way. However, once I realized it was no longer an expression of my feelings, but instead was swaying my emotions, I knew it was time to stop…

That is what I mean… It’s okay to feel what you feel… And no one has the authority or right to tell you when to stop… You just keep doing those things that help you move forward… Even it it’s baby steps… And that’s okay!

Whether you are new to this group or whether you have been visiting with us for a while, I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you… and for all of us. This is not a path any of us want to be on. Yet, here we are. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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. Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Message for Me

The last few weeks have found me cleaning out and throwing out. I have bins upon bins in my garage due to several circumstances… I had to move everything out of my house when I had new floors installed this summer; my daughter and I emptied out a storage unit we had been renting together; and I will be working from home permanently, so I went and got all of my stuff from the office. I don’t want all this stuff, though. So, I am determined that nothing is coming back into this house until I go through it and decide if I really want to keep it… Everything else is either charity or trash.

(Sigh)… What an undertaking… However, slowly but surely, I am making progress.

It has also been quite interesting to see old family pictures, newspaper clippings of my kids, pictures of Bruce and I that I had forgotten about, and the list goes on and on. Each day I unpack and go through at least one bin, and today, I chose one of the bins filled with stuff from my office.

I was just there gathering my stuff this past week. It was so eerie going into that huge empty building. There was no one there except me and the security guard… and the silence was deafening. It was also sad… the idea of not going there again… not seeing my friends… or hearing people laugh across the room… or even that low hum of business… of people focused and working.

I will miss all that…

I have worked in that office longer than I have worked or lived anywhere… over 12 years. It probably sounds weird, but that office holds a sweet spot in my heart. In the weeks and months after Bruce died, it provided me with a space to go to that felt “normal.” Because of what I do, Bruce had never been inside my office, so it didn’t feel weird that he wasn’t there. It felt like it was supposed to… It felt like it should… It felt like work.

That space quickly became a sanctuary away from the overwhelming grief and silence I felt at home. I think that is why I went back to work so soon after he died. I just couldn’t continue to sit in this house any longer, staring at the walls and waiting (praying) for him to return. But the office offered a distraction… There was work to do, and people all around me doing exactly that. And, whenever I felt too sad or needed a break from all of that, I simply shut the door to my office for a little while.

A few months after Bruce died, the son of one of my friends there was killed in a horrible accident. In the months that followed, she and I reached out to each other in our grief for support… and hugs… and just to know there was someone who understood the pain that we were both drowning in.

One particular morning, she came into my office, handed me a piece of paper, and sat down. She had had a dream the night before, and in her dream, Bruce had asked her to give me a message. At the time, I took that piece of paper and taped it to my computer. I needed that daily reminder that I wasn’t alone…

However, over time, my mind grew accustomed to that piece of paper, and after years of it sitting in the same space, I barely noticed it. In fact, in the 17 months we have been working from home, I don’t believe I have thought of that piece of paper back in the office at all. I simply forgot all about it… until today when I was unpacking that bin from the office.

And there it was… torn and stained, but still there…

“From Bruce: (2/6/2014)
I pray that you will realize the depth and breadth of God’s love for you – a love that has no limits. I pray that you will have a revelation of His immense love for you knowing that nothing can separate you from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Neither death nor life, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers in all creation can keep God from loving you. May God’s demonstration of His love through His son be so real, that there will be no room for doubt. May you experience the fullness of God’s love today.”

This precious message was originally sent to me at a time when I was struggling with my faith and praying for answers… I wasn’t even sure I wanted to believe in a God who had let the love of my life die in my arms. Then… to have that same message reappear in my world today… a time when I find myself solidly on a path of faith where Bruce’s own legacy has guided me consistently over the years…

Well… All I can say it that my heart is full today, and I am so thankful for the love and blessings that Bruce still brings to my world.

To old friends, (whose names I recognize week to week), as well as anyone new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you. This is not a club that anyone wants to join. Yet, here we are, and none of us are alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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.
Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Finding My Way

“And when we examine the deeper issues of our beliefs or questions – particularly when the roots of those beliefs are not merely information but gut-level experience rooted in sadness and grief – well, it is sacred ground or scary ground, a minefield. That’s okay. One thing I’ve learned is that the Holy Spirit can be trusted. When the time is right, the time is right.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith

Over the past few months, I have had several friends say that they have moved away from the faith of their childhood, and are searching for something more… Not a new religion, but a faith that they can call their own… A faith born out of who they are and the experiences that have brought them to this point.

I get it… I started on this same journey well before Bruce died…

It’s funny… when we first met, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew what my religion taught. I could go through the rituals and say all the prayers. I could stand and kneel and fold my hands and bow my head. I could quote scripture and place my offering in the basket when it was passed. I spent my days trying to “get it right” … wanting this religion to hold all the answers…

But it didn’t… It couldn’t… not for me at least… I was divorced (Oh my, no!) and about to remarry. (Well, you can’t get much more “sinful” than that.) I can remember sitting in choir and hearing people talk about my situation. I can remember having a fellow teacher tell me I was no longer welcome to take communion. I can remember being made to feel that my faith was somehow “less” simply because I refused to stay in a violent marriage, and instead, chose to find someone who could love me and my children unconditionally.

Don’t misunderstand, it wasn’t the priest, (he was quite supportive), or my friends, (they were wonderful). It was only a handful of people, but it still hurt… And it left me doubting my faith and my religion. I hadn’t quit or given up yet, but the seed had been planted.

Then there was Bruce… He was a quiet, humble, private man who knew what he believed. He was a man who knew what unconditional love meant and how to express it. Seemingly without effort, he lived a life that was true to what he believed and centered on those around him. When we first met, I remember thinking that I needed to be sure he was “saved” … that he was a “Christian.” After all, I couldn’t marry someone who wasn’t a Christian.

However, it didn’t take me long to realize, he lived the most Christ-like life I had ever experienced. It wasn’t too long before I was asking him questions… I loved our conversations about God and faith. I soon learned that our biggest difference was he didn’t give two hoots about dogma or what someone else said he should think. He was quite capable of figuring out his own spiritual path.

Only months before he died, I found myself leaving church mid-sermon and in tears, because the pastor was insisting that his view point of a certain scripture was the only right one, and any other opinion was from the devil himself. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore… As much as I love my God and my faith, and as much as I wanted to “get it right,” I knew this path was not the right one for me…

I cried and grieved for days as I realized, I couldn’t go back… and I really didn’t want to… I needed something more… I needed to start from scratch and figure out what I truly believed – not what anyone else was telling me to think. I no longer wanted the faith of my childhood or the faith of my parents. I needed something that was mine and spoke to my heart… Something more relational; something that was big enough to allow me to push back – to debate and question and doubt… Something that would expand my own thoughts and fill me up so I could live a life that was true to what I believe. In other words, I was looking for something more like what Bruce had. I mean, the rituals and all are nice and definitely filled with emotion in the moment. But I needed something more… Not a list of do’s and don’ts… I needed something that was real all the time – day in and day out – moment by moment.

Then, less than two months later, Bruce died… and I floundered. I was so mad at God. I stopped praying… I stopped my devotions… I stopped singing… I stopped all of it. In my grief, I just couldn’t care about a God who didn’t seem to care about me.

But time passed… and my faith is too deeply rooted, I suppose, to let go completely. So… I started thinking about the many conversations with Bruce about what he believed, which led me to read the books he had read, and listen to the speakers he had listened to… In a lot of ways, I was starting from square one. In other ways, my prior religious upbringing, gave me a lot of background knowledge that helped me find context and value in the things I was learning.

For the longest time, I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one on this journey. Then, a couple of years ago, I learned about a whole movement within the church that is heading in this same direction… (like another Reformation, only better, because I am actually blessed to experience it firsthand.)

I am still on this journey, and hopefully, will be for the rest of my life. I love not having all the answers. I love reading and thinking and comparing all of the different aspects of what I thought I knew, what I am learning, and how all of it is shaping what I now believe.

So, as I sit here this week, listening as my friends find their own way, I understand their pain, their frustration, and their struggle. Still, I find myself smiling… Yes, it is a bittersweet moment, because I keep thinking about the fact that I would never have been on this path if it weren’t for Bruce… (And maybe even because of my grief over his death). His legacy of living a life that was true to his beliefs, has been a shining example for my own path… He did and still does give me the courage to keep digging… to keep reaching… and to simply keep on…

And I am forever thankful for that.

To old friends, (whose names I recognize week to week), as well as, anyone new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you. At the same time, you really AREN’T alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to 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.