loss – Page 16 – Peace, Love & Grief

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.

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Peace, Love, and Grief… A Part of Who I Am

Recently, I read a line that has stuck with me… It said that over time grief becomes like a second skin. I hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but it was true. While grief starts out as a sudden stranger intruding into our world, after a while, it is no longer something outside of ourselves… We become used to having it surround us day in and day out. Then, somehow, it simply becomes a part of who we are… At least, I know it has become a part of who I am.

This week, I have watched as a couple of friends have started on this journey. Their pain is raw, and their emotions are overwhelming. I wish I had the words to make it better… I wish I could give them a list of things to do to make that pain go away… I wish I could tell them that before long, they will feel better and go back to who they were…

But that isn’t going to happen… Grief changes us… permanently. There are no words that can take away the pain… Instead, all I can do this week is to reach out in love and walk beside them the same way other people did for me.

It’s hard… What they are going through is hard… It’s awful to find yourself suddenly thrown onto that path… A “grief journey” is what it is often called, but honestly, it feels more like the road to hell. For so long, it seems as if there is no light anywhere… No God to be found… No answers… No comfort… Only pain.

Bruce died over eight years ago, and it has taken me a long, long time to get my bearings on this path. For so long, I couldn’t move at all… There was a part of me that wouldn’t believe I was here… Maybe if I didn’t move, I would wake up, and this would all be over.

But life doesn’t work that way.

In the beginning, I was so angry – angry at God, angry at Bruce, angry at couples who passed me on the street, while holding hands and laughing together. Shoot, I was even angry at well-meaning people who tried to offer words of comfort. For me, in that moment, those words felt like fluff… They seemed so trite… so insulting… It felt as if the whole world wanted me to ignore my pain and just get over it… As if the world were convinced that a few “pretty” words should inspire me to just smile and move on.

But grief doesn’t work that way.

Instead, I found that I had to allow myself to feel what I felt. (Somedays I still do.) … I learned to let myself embrace that pain and hold it close. Then, I would scream and cry and shake my fist… I hit things and I threw things… all in an effort to get those emotions out… I had to let myself feel it… all of it… before I could take even that first step on this journey.

I have learned over time that when the grief and pain wash over me, I am allowed to feel it in its entirety… Then, with a strength I never knew I had, I can take a new breath and take the next step… It isn’t always easy, and it isn’t what I always want to do. But I have learned that I can release it… I know that staying submerged in it for too long at any one time can completely overwhelm me once again… And that is a dark, dark path… a scary and lonely space… And I don’t like being there.

They say that mourning is the outward signs and behavior we exhibit after a loss, but grieving is the pain. I think that’s accurate. It is the mourning that I find I have to push through, but the grief? … Well, that is the part that has settles into my soul… that is the part that makes me a little bit stronger as it becomes my “second skin”… That is the part that never truly leaves… Instead, it simply becomes a part of who I am…

“’All shall be well,’ Yaltha had told me, and when I’d recoiled at how trite and superficial that sounded, she’d said, ‘I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. There’s a place in you that is inviolate. You’ll find your way there, when you need to. And you’ll know then what I speak of.’” ~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Book of Longings

To my friends who have lost loved ones this week, as well as anyone who is new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for each of you. At the same time, please know that 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Sometimes It’s Still Hard to Believe

“We have been and always will be a part of each other.” ~ John Denver

This week, one of my daughters sent me some pictures of Bruce and I from a cruise we had all taken together. I recognized the trip immediately… As all of the fun and revelry of that week came back to me, a smile spread over my face.

What precious memories!

I remember sitting in the lounge chairs on deck, just reading and sipping drinks as we relaxed on that first afternoon. I remember dinners filled with laughter and silliness. I remember the “Bathrobe Party” on deck one night and doing shots at Senior Frogs in Mexico. I remember ziplining through the rainforest in Belize and touring the Mayan ruins. I remember going from one fun adventure to the next – hand in hand with the love of my life – enjoying every step along the way.

I remember all of it! Every fun, crazy, wonderful moment!

I actually even remember most of the pictures we took on that trip. I had seen them at some point before this week, but it has been years.

“Do you have a copy of these?” she texted.

“I do now,” I replied with a smiley face.

As I sat there staring at the screen – smiling and remembering that week, I also felt the tears start to slide down my cheek. Kind of like when it rains, and the sun is shining at the same time. It was one of those bittersweet, weird moments when my emotions are all over the place.

It seems like it is in those moments that I find myself sitting there, trying to comprehend all over again that he is really gone… Like forever, really gone.

It probably sounds silly, but there are times when is still hard to comprehend. I think there is this part of me that will always feel like he is still coming home. That this reality is actually, somehow temporary… Then, it hits me all over again… I am reminded that he will never have another birthday or watch another sunset. I will never again see him smile or hear him whisper that he loves me. We will never again snuggle on the couch or sit on the beach holding hands… ever… all of that is forever gone.

Those are the moments that catch me by surprise… Those are the moments where it is still hard to believe he is truly gone…

Forever…

Gone.

Then… I took a breath, and I looked at those pictures again. And at that point, I was reminded of something else… As surely as there is breath in my lungs, I know that as long as I (or anyone who loved him) remembers Bruce, he will always live on. He will always be a part of our world… and a part of my heart.

This journey is an odd one isn’t it? 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.

Peace, Love, and Grief… Letting Life Be

This weekend as I was sitting at the beach enjoying time with my grandson, I also found myself enjoying the waves, the sun, the dragonflies, the lone pelican bobbing on the waves… and the peace of knowing that somehow Bruce was there too. As I sat there, I also thought about a quote I came across this week in the book I am reading, The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd. The quote was so simple… “Let life be life, and let death be death.”

In the story, the main character had just lost her first child… Emotions I could definitely embrace, as I found myself going back so many years ago to the unexpected loss of little Baby Matthew…

I remember the fear, the sadness, and the pain… but mostly, I remember being told I shouldn’t grieve. I should “be relieved,” I was told, because while I was married at the time of his loss, our child had been conceived outside of wedlock… And the world can be a cruel place for such things.

I wasn’t relieved, though. I was sad… As my breasts filled with milk, my heart and my arms were empty. Yet, at the time, my only choice was to push all of that down deep inside, because there was no safe place to let it out. There was no place to “let life be life, and let death be death.”

Many years later, I found myself, once again, devastated by loss… the loss of Bruce. Honestly, at first, I didn’t know how to grieve him. I just kept trying to shove it down, but I wasn’t very successful. Instead, it showed up as depression and anger. All my life through every loss, I had been told “to rejoice” – “They are in a better place” or “their suffering is over” or (one of the worst) “God needed them more.” NOPE! This time I wasn’t having it. All of those empty phrases (and ones like them) only made me angrier.

However, that anger was met with words that questioned my faith… As if the fact that I felt sadness, anger, and devastation at the loss of Bruce also meant my faith in God must be lacking… Pardon me, but that’s a load of crap!

Even Jesus cried when his friend, Lazarus, died… And yes, I am well aware that there are different theories on why he cried – reasons other than grief. However, all we really know is that he cried… And for me… the idea that he had felt and expressed the overwhelming sadness of grief too… Well, the simplicity of that idea is extremely validating.

For me, it has taken years to work through the devastation of that loss – mainly because I had to give myself permission to grieve first. Then, I had to learn how to grieve, which started by going back and grieving all those past losses… most especially my precious Baby Matthew. Then… finally… I was able to truly face my emotions and grieve Bruce. (So much of that I have shared here on these pages… with you. Thank you!)

It has been a slow and arduous process… Learning how to have an emotion, sort it out – allowing it to just “be.” Then, finding the space for it in my heart before moving on… until the next time. Those times… those waves (sometimes tsunamis) of grief have become less frequent through the years.

I think it is because I have learned to let myself go through what I need to in order to come out healthier on the other side. I also think it has a lot to do with knowing that I had the blessing of being able to spend a part of my life with Bruce at all… To know that I was able to be with him up until his last breath is nothing short of miraculous for me… And as hard as those last moments were, I am thankful that I was there with him… That he wasn’t alone.

However, my last breath hasn’t happened yet… I am still here, and life is still calling me.

So, this week when I read, “Let life be life, and let death be death,” I knew exactly what it meant (for me, at least). … Life is what it is. I have to accept that. I can’t control any of it… And while death is a part of it, when death enters our world, we shouldn’t quit living… For life is such a precious gift… and I know, (for myself), I don’t want to waste it… I want to sit back, savor each moment, and enjoy it!

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you today. I know that sometimes this journey can feel so lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We have been here for each other for years, (and I am so grateful). While this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us, it is 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… Dancing in the Kitchen

Earlier this week, something popped into my Face Book feed – access to watch a live Jimmy Buffet concert via YouTube. (Thank you, Jimmy, and thank you, YouTube!) It never fails… If Jimmy Buffet is playing, I’m dancing… And in my soul, Bruce is there dancing with me… And my soul is completely at peace.

I know many times I’ve talked about the two of us dancing in the kitchen. I’ve also talked about meeting on a sailing schooner in the islands… But I’m not sure I’ve ever explained how they go together or why dancing in the kitchen holds such precious memories for me. It’s not a long story, but it’s the one I want to share today… Partly because it is a sweet story, but mostly because it has been on my mind all week, creating smiles throughout a week that has felt like chaos.

Yes, it all started on that 100-year-old sailing schooner where we boarded at a port in St. Thomas. I’ve already talked about how we met, so I won’t repeat that part. I want to jump ahead to the middle of the week…

Every night around 5 PM, one of two things happened. Either we were sailing for the next island so there was a party on the main deck with rum punch served liberally, or we were at another port and the entire ship (crew and passengers) all went ashore to enjoy the local night life. Either way, Bruce and I always managed to be together – dancing the night away. I love to dance… I have loved it my entire life. The problem is every else doesn’t always feel that way. (My first husband had a lot of energy – yes, but dancing was not his thing… So, we didn’t.)

So, here I was on my first trip as a single woman, and here was this man who was fun to be with, made me feel like I was the only woman in the world who mattered, made me laugh, and who danced every dance with me the entire cruise. I remember being on St. Johns at a bar called, Duffy’s. It was nothing more than a shack, and it was packed. At one point, the captain came over and asked to cut in and Bruce said, “No.” No explanation or second glance… just a “no” before he guided me to another part of the dance floor. I giggled. The captain was nice, but I wanted to dance with Bruce.

Later that same night, in that same bar, Bruce looked me in the eye, leaned over, and kissed me for the first time. Then he said, “You are the most incredible lady.” (I’m pretty sure I melted.) Later he laughed when he told me, he half expected me to slap him for “stealing” a kiss. I remember laughing and telling him that he didn’t “steal” anything… That kiss… That moment in time is forever etched in my heart.

***Dancing the night away onboard the Legacy***

Now let’s jump forward a year… same cruise, same time of year, same islands, same opportunities to dance. The only difference was we were now married, and this was our honeymoon. I was so excited with the anticipation of reliving that fabulous cruise from the year before. Bruce, however, had a different vision. We still went to the deck parties and the bars on the islands, but he wouldn’t dance. Every time I suggested we dance; he would just shake his head. I was so frustrated. I didn’t understand what had happened…

By the second night, I was beside myself. As we crawled in bed and turned out the lights, I let the tears come. Bruce pulled me into his arms and asked what was wrong. So, I told him… Last year, we had danced and danced, but now, on our honeymoon, he hadn’t danced with me even once, and I didn’t understand. I remember, Bruce looked genuinely confused. He looked me in the eye and said, “But now I know you love me. I’ve already won the prize. Why do I need to dance this year?”

He was completely serious, and I was completely caught off guard. So, I responded with the first thing that came to my heart, “Because I need to know you still love me.” Bruce didn’t say a word, he just held me close.

The next day, though, things changed. We didn’t dance every dance, but we did dance a lot… and each time he would lean in and whisper, “I love you.”

“I know,” I would respond with a grin.

But that isn’t the end… Once we were home, that is when the “kitchen dancing” started. We might be cooking dinner together, or in a heated discussion, or I might have just walked in the door from work. Next thing I know, he would turn on some Jimmy Buffet, pull me close, and we would dance… “I love you,” he would always whisper in my ear… And I knew he did.

This was us… This is one of my precious memories that brings peace to my soul… Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you today. I know that sometimes this journey can feel so lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. While this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us, it is 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… My Happy Place

I spent this morning sitting at the beach just enjoying the waves and the quiet. After a week of craziness, it was nice to just sit there and relax for a while. For me, there is nothing better… This is my happy place… The place where my brain reconnects with my heart and my soul smiles. Even before Bruce, the beach was where I always went to clear my mind and find peace. So many times, when life was hard, the ocean with its rhythms and vastness has always been the space where I escaped to.

I haven’t been out here very much over the last few years. Somewhere between the cancers and the business of life, my trips here have become fewer and fewer… And, if I am honest with myself, I could tell. My stress and anxiety had built up with no place to go. But I ignored it, as if it was just a normal part of life and nothing that I had any control over.

After spending the previous week at the beach, it dawned on me just how disconnected I had let myself become. Over time, I had brushed this beach time aside, telling myself that it was nothing more that a recreational thing. I was wrong… This is something I have been dearly missing. So, when I got home last weekend, I made the decision to “let myself” go out there at least two times a week… And (this first week) I have done just that.

I went on Monday, and despite the rain, which meant I had to be content to sit in my car and simply look through the windshield, it was still absolutely relaxing! That evening, I knew without a doubt that this has been the elixir I have been missing… This (for me) is an absolute need.

After Bruce died, I went out there daily even though it was the middle of winter. (Granted, a Florida winter is not that bad.) I would bundle up in a few layers, (which always included his favorite sweatshirt), shove my hands in my pockets, and walk that deserted strand for hours.

I think at the time, there was a part of me that was searching for Bruce. I so desperately wanted to go back to the life we had… to the person I had been… the person I was with Bruce by my side. It has taken me years, though to realize that that person is gone… And I can never get her back. There are parts of her I have found again – her strength, her determination, her love for her family and for life. Still, there are parts of her that I will never see again – her innocent belief in “happily ever after”, that belief that our love would be all we needed to grow old together.

I don’t mean to sound cynical, because I’m not… I am simply referring to the innocence of being so madly and completely in love that the idea of it ever ending never, ever crossed my mind… And now, that is different. Now, I know how precious every moment truly is. Now, I know without a doubt that I don’t want to waste any of that time being angry, frustrated, or anxious, especially about things that won’t matter (or be remembered) even days from now.

I want to take each precious moment and savor it. I want to pull everything good out of each day and hang onto it… Because what if there isn’t a tomorrow? Bruce didn’t get a tomorrow… And I thank God every day that we went to bed laughing and snuggled up in each other’s arms. I don’t know if I could have lived with myself if that last night together had been any different.

Then… as now… I need this space by the ocean… This space where I have always felt God, where I can’t help but sing or hum all the old hymns of praise as I walk along the shoreline… And now, this is also the space where I feel Bruce deep in my soul… where the memories of precious moments spent here together help me find my own peace… here, where my soul is happiest.

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. Sometimes, this journey can feel so lonely and other times I know I am not alone at all. For each of us this journey holds its own challenges and peace-filled moments. It is 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… The Initial Shock

This week as we prepare to celebrate the Fourth, I keep finding myself reading the news about the collapsed high-rise in South Florida. My mind bounces from the horror of those last few moments for the people inside to the need for the families to understand how and why this happened at all to the pain of the families who have lost or don’t have a final word about their loved ones. The whole thing makes no sense… It’s awful, and I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.

Yesterday, it was announced that the remaining part of the building is too unstable to withstand the coming storm, and the order for demolition has been given. While the Search and Rescue teams will continue, it has been days with no survivors. For the families who have held out hope against hope, all of this has to be devastating… And my heart breaks for each and every one.

I remember that moment when the reality of Bruce’s death was placed in my lap… And yet, I had no idea what that meant… I had no idea of the magnitude of what that would truly involve. I mean, I knew Bruce was dead when we were driving to the hospital. I can remember calling my parents from the backseat of the police car and flatly saying, “Bruce is dead.” I remember the Emergency Room doctor confirming it a short time later, as well as the hospital chaplain who came to “offer comfort.”

However, there is a shock that happens to many of us at that time. I think it is meant to protect us from what we cannot handle… to keep us from going completely mad… People tell us the logical facts of the death before us. Our rational brains understand the words… But the actual comprehension of that loss doesn’t occur for a while… For me, it was months.

I have vague memories of that time, but they feel more like dreams than real life. I can remember wandering from room to room looking for… what? Bruce? Yes? Maybe? I couldn’t tell you, since logically I knew he wasn’t there. At other times I would sit for hours staring at… nothing…Waiting on… nothing… Just unable to move.

“I know what it’s like to look around a room, eyes glassy with pain, and feel so very alone.”
~ Lisa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

That went on for months… It wasn’t until that shock started to lift that my mind was finally able to start dealing with the grief and pain. Before that, it was too much to manage. The strange part was throughout all that time, I continued to move through my everyday life doing all the normal, everyday things… Most people thought I was okay… Maybe even “fine.” After all, it had been months. They had no idea that I had simply been in too much shock to actually feel anything yet.

Then, when I finally did start to feel again, it had been a while, and people – those people – were shocked. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t “over it.”

Sigh…

There was such an avalanche of feelings at that point – anger, heartbreak, fear, loneliness, abandonment, cynicism… You name it, I felt it.

Does that mean everyone’s grief is that way? No… Of course not! Our grief and how we work through it is as personal as our fingerprints. This means we can empathize with someone else’s loss, but we can’t experience it, nor tell them how to experience it… We can only come along beside them and help hold them up as they grieve. To those people who did that for me, I am eternally grateful. For by allowing me the space for my grief, I have been able to heal in my own time, and in my own way.

“It’s hard to move forward when you feel like you never properly said good-bye or resolved your memories.”
~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. Sometimes, this journey can feel like nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. Yet, our love for those we have lost is something we all share. I believe the sharing of our stories is also 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… Surprises and Changes

Well, it looks like I did it again… I missed another week. I am so sorry…

It just seems like life lately has doubled its speed, and I am struggling to keep up. Can you relate at all?

In the last month, I have helped my daughter and grandson move, we had a wedding, and last week, I had all of my floors replaced. I don’t know what I was thinking, because this meant moving over 90% of my belongings into the garage (including toilets – which is a whole other story) … and back in (which I am still working on). Of course, part this process has also meant cleaning out and getting rid of things I don’t need or want any more. Bringing that stuff back into the house seemed pointless, but of course, it also meant a slower process. Of course, all of this has resulted in more space to work with so most things are not going back where they used to be… I know I will be happy when it is done, but the whole experience is one I don’t want to ever repeat again in this lifetime. LOL!

So… this cleaning out process… most things that I have let go have been no problem, but there have been a few things that required some thought… They required choices… And some of those choices were ones I wasn’t even thinking about making when this process started.

The biggest choice had to do with Bruce’s old dresser… Not the dresser itself but the memorial to him that I started right after he died and have added to bit by bit over the years. It consisted of his school yearbooks and awards, pictures (of course), his karate black belt, some Jimmy Buffet memorabilia, his favorite cap, the luggage tags from the cruise when we met (and he hung onto), and more… All things he had treasured and saved, which was actually a big deal because generally speaking he didn’t usually hang onto anything. However, through the years, as I cleaned out boxes and drawers, I had found these items, and learned a little bit more about him with each item.

Also, on this dresser were a dozen dried roses. I had bought them for myself (from Bruce) on our anniversary that first year after he died. They were still sitting in the same vase, the way I placed them eight years ago, perfectly dried with time. However, time had also turned them black, and because they were so delicate (and precious to me), starting so show a layer of dust that I couldn’t seem to get off without tearing them up. Years ago, one of kids gently tried to suggest it was time to throw them out, but I wasn’t ready, and they quickly let the subject go – never mentioning it again.

However, last week as I looked at them… I mean really looked at them, I realized that they didn’t really bring me joy like the other items. They just made me sad… I reminder of the last several anniversaries spent alone. Then, I looked again, and decided, they were actually kind of creepy… Not something I needed to perpetuate. So… I did what I never thought of doing before… I tossed them out.

As for the rest of the memorial, I kept everything, but I moved them to different spaces. The memorial is gone… for me it is time, but he is not forgotten. I have simply moved his memories throughout the house rather than focusing all of those things into an official “memorial.” It feels better… It feels healthy… I couldn’t have done it even a few months ago, but now the time was right… And I’m good with it.

I remember a year after he died, I was finally ready to go through and remove things like his clothes and such. I had a wonderful neighbor who came over and helped me. She listened as I shared stories and hugged me when I cried. I kept a few things then, such as the outfit he wore when we got married. Everything else I offered to family members first, then took to the local charity shop. It had taken me a year to get to that point, but I was ready. Then this week, I broke up the memorial… Again, waiting until I was ready. Never doing these things because I felt pushed – I didn’t. Thankfully, the people around me have always been patient and let me do these things in my own time and in my own way.

Then, something else happened this week… You would think by now I would have found anything of his still in this house. However, as I was cleaning out a drawer to one of the side tables (one that held his poker chips, a weather radio, and his camera – all things I still have used through the years), I decided these items should really go somewhere else. So, I pulled them all out. Then something in the back of the drawer caught my eye… It looked like a badly tarnished chain.

As I reached in and pulled it out, I realized it wasn’t one chain… It was Bruce’s other two necklaces. (He had one that was an anchor, which I have worn with our wedding rings added since the night he died.) However, these two were ones he had also worn through the years. One was a St. Joseph medal. I had given it to Bruce on our wedding day, since St. Joseph is the patron saint of families and fathers. The other one Bruce had bought in Belize when we were on a cruise… (Supposedly) It was his initials in the Mayan language. I can remember him laughing about it and saying he hoped that was what it was, but how would he know? I remember we spent the next few days laughing and making up what it might actually say instead.

To say, finding those two necklaces caught me by surprise would be an understatement. When I pulled them out, and realized just what they were, it quite literally took my breath away. I would swear I felt my heart stop in that moment as I found another piece of Bruce… Another something to remind me that he is really gone… That I am here alone… That I still hate this… That I am still a little bit angry… And I still miss him more than words can express.

Splitting up the memorial and tossing out those roses was the right change to make, and I think Bruce would have agreed. (Actually, he probably would have thought I should have done it a long time ago.)… Yet, there is also a part of me that believes, he let me find those necklaces this week, because with all the change going on around me right now, I needed to remember the gift of our marriage, and the joy and laughter we shared…

So, thank you, Babe! I love 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… Just Thinking of Him

First let me apologize for missing last week. As you will read, we were having a wedding…

Hey Babe,

Wow! What a busy few weeks this has been! I am whipped! The wedding was a week ago, and we all missed you…

As the mother of the bride, my son escorted me up the aisle to be seated, and our grandson escorted me out afterward. It warmed my heart. Yet, in my heart, I so badly wanted it to be you.

Our grandson walked his mother down the aisle and “gave her away.” He was so serious. His mom had her own way of including you, though. She put your picture in a locket and attached it to her bouquet. It really made me smile to know you were a part if this, too.

She walked down the aisle to “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” I love that song. I know they chose it for them and their relationship. However, I can’t listen to it without thinking how I tried not to fall in love with you. I tried to convince myself that we lived too far apart – me in SC and you in MI. I tried to tell myself that we were too different – I was a Catholic school teacher, and you were a teamster truck driver. I even told myself that I was nobody’s “catch” – I was a 40-something divorcee with four children… What kind of crazy would want that?? … But you did… You wanted all that… every bit of it… And I couldn’t help falling in love with you, because of and despite all those arguments.

Like most weddings, the ceremony itself had a way of touching the hearts of us who have married our soulmates. As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered our own special day. It wasn’t big or formal – just our family and the judge at the courthouse. Yet, I can remember every moment like it was yesterday… the way you held my hands as you looked me in the eye, and we said our vows. I especially, remember afterward how we clung to each other – so happy… so excited… so in love… promises of “happily ever after” floating in our minds… It was such a happy day.

At the reception, last week, they had all the married couples come out on the dance floor for a dance. It was a little sad to stay seated. I would have loved to have danced with you. I remember the week we met… We danced all week. I also remember the New Years before you died… We danced all night. I used to love that… I used to love the way you held me close when we danced. I swear, even now, when “our song” plays on the radio, I can almost feel you here… holding me close once again… I miss that… I miss you.

Last week’s ceremony was a bittersweet reminder of us… It made me smile because I do believe in “happily ever after.” I love you, Babe, and I will always feel blessed for being your wife!

It has been over eight years, and I still miss Bruce. I hate that he is gone. He changed my world and continues to do so every day. Just thinking about him and our story can put a smile on my face. I don’t know that I will ever get over losing him, but I do know I will always be thankful for having known a love like ours.

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. For all of us, it is easy to feel like this journey is nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. Yet, our love for those we have lost is something we all share. Sharing our stories is 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… The Journey

“I cannot share thy journey, but I can walk beside thee.”
~ Diana Gabaldon, Written in My Own Heart’s Blood

When Bruce and I met and got married, I was still healing from 20+ years of domestic violence. It had left its tole, with a diagnosis of PTSD. On the outside I could smile and act like I had it together. However, there were many residual aftereffects that (try as I might), I couldn’t always control. It was not unusual to wake up in a panic with a need to just “get away.” I can also remember times when I just knew Bruce would be furious with me, because that was the only reaction I had known for too many years.

I’ve told this story before, but it seems appropriate to share it again today. We were in the kitchen cooking together – laughing and being silly. I poured Bruce a beer and went to hand it to him. Somewhere in the exchange, the beer left my hand, but missed his and ended up on the floor – a mess of glass and beer covering the entire kitchen floor. I looked at Bruce and completely panicked. I remember racing to the bathroom, locking myself inside, and sitting on the floor as I cried – terrified of what he might do.

After a few minutes, Bruce quietly knocked on the door and asked to come in. Hesitantly, I opened the door a crack… And he greeted me with a smile. Then he held his arms out to me, and I fell into them… So, relieved that this man was a man I could trust. After holding me for a while, we went back into the kitchen. He smiled at me as he poured himself another beer (in another glass) … Then, looking me in the eye, he held it out… and just let go. Beer and glass once more covered the floor. I was stunned! He, on the other hand, just pulled me close, as he reassured me that he loved me… always… no matter what… and he swore he would never hurt me… ever!

Days later as I shared this situation with my mother, she made the comment, “Bruce is not (insert ex-husband’s name).” She was right, and I would like to say that was all it took. I would like to say that I was fine after that… But learning to manage the memories and trauma of 20+ years can take a while. Bruce, however, never walked away… He was always there by my side. He couldn’t share what I had experienced, but he was determined to stay by my side as I figured out how to move forward.

I won’t lie. It took years before the nightmares and aftereffects were manageable… Then, not long after, I lost Bruce… In a breath, he was gone, and I found myself thrown back to those old terrors. Even once I thought I had my feet back under me, my ex contacted me with the same old verbal attacks and threatening language. My first reaction was one of panic. I sat in the middle of my living room – terrified. Then, it was like Bruce touched my soul to say he was still here… still by my side.

So, this time, I took action… action to protect myself. I knew I could do it, because Bruce taught me that I am worthy, and I am not alone. I know Bruce is with me… Still walking beside me. And whenever, I feel lost about what to do next, all I have to do is stop and remember…

Thank you, Babe!

It has been over eight years, and I still miss Bruce. I hate that he is gone. He changed my world and continues to do so every day. Because of him, I have had the tools I needed to survive this journey (so far). I have come to learn that this journey has a lesson built into every step and every breath. Thank you for the opportunity to share those with you. For all of us, it is easy to feel like this journey is nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. Yet, our love for those we have lost is something we all share. Sharing our stories is 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