widow – Page 17 – Peace, Love & Grief

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

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Peace, Love and Grief… Things Do Change (Over Time)

Earlier this week, someone close to my heart sent me an article written by someone recently widowed. The accuracy of it was absolutely heartbreaking. To be suddenly taken back to those early days and all of the raw feelings and emotions… Well, I caught myself crying halfway through the first paragraph.

There were several situations that he wrote about that touched my heart so deeply that I wanted to about them here… Maybe just to say, “Don’t give up. While it doesn’t completely go away, it does get better… It just takes a while.”

One of the first things the author wrote about was the new title we are given, “widower” in his case, “widow” in mine. It feels like such an awful word at first. I can remember the exact moment when I realized it now belonged to me… It was just a week of so after Bruce died, and I was in the drugstore picking up cosmetics (or shampoo or something equally mundane). In the aisle ahead of me, I saw two elderly women walking together and talking. To myself I thought, “They’re probably widows… out together. That is what a widow looks like.” Then I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in a glass case as I passed, and realized, “No… That is what a widow looks like.” Then, as the tears started to roll down my cheeks, I said out loud to myself, “You are a widow.”

That led to the writer’s next thought, which was all about “losing who you are. Just as he portrayed it – you go to bed one night as “you” (part of a two-some). Then in a breath everything changes… Suddenly, you wake up and half of “you” is just gone. It feels impossible to find your footing when your whole world has changed. Suddenly this person who knew you inside and out, who shared your world and slept by your side day in, and day out is gone… vanished…

I know for me, there were so many days those first few years when the pain was so bad my chest literally hurt… So often I sat on the floor in the middle of our home – cursing God while at the same time begging him to let me wake up from this horrible nightmare!

But… time has passed… More than eight years actually, and with the passage of time my world has taken on a new form… No, not one I would have chosen for myself, but one I have learned to lived within. For example, …

The word “widow” … I don’t mind saying I’m a widow these days. In fact, I actually use it a lot. Sometimes it is my “security blanket” with the rest of the world… It says so much to the world that I don’t have the energy (nor do I want) to explain. For example, when I buy something for my home, I am often asked if they should be talking to my husband or will I need assistance with installation? Usually, I just look at them and say, “I’m a widow,” and those comments end right there. That’s it. I don’t have to explain a thing… For me, it’s kind of nice not needing to say anything more.

Then, there is the “losing who you are” piece of the situation. Yes… you do. There’s no avoiding it. However, after a while (perhaps a long while), you find out who you are all on your own… You might even find you like yourself and want to know yourself better. I still miss Bruce, and being alone has its challenges, but over all I have learned to be content with myself… And that is something I have sought after my whole life. So, while I lost who I was… I am learning to be happy with who I am… And I have chosen to make that a good thing… Although it has taken me a long time to get here.

Bottom line – I 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

Peace, Love and Grief… This is Grief

First of all, I want to apologize. I missed last week. My daughter and grandson were moving to their new home, and we were crazy busy… Then, I came back home, and it is so quiet. It feels weird trying to readjust to being here alone… again. I have had music playing (a lot) to fill the quiet… and it seems that one song keeps playing over and over – Josh Grobam’s To Where You Are. I love that song… If I could say anything to Bruce at this point, I think that song would sum it up…

“Who can say for certain
Maybe you’re still here.
I feel you all around me.
Your memories so clear.” **

Hmmm… I still miss him…

I read something last week that said, “Mourning is what we do on the outside, but grief is what we do on the inside.” I have to agree… I might even go so far as to say, “Mourning has its season, but grief, well, that’s forever.” I say that because I smile, and I enjoy life, but my heart? Well… That part still hurts… That part still wishes this to be only a nightmare… And soon I will wake up, and he will be sleeping right beside me. Then, he will pull me close, and I will snuggle into his arms… safe… and loved…

(Yes, I know that isn’t really going to happen, but how I wish it would!)

Recently, my book club just finished reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Learning to Walk in the Dark. Each chapter is about a different experience she has had in the dark, and the spiritual lesson she has taken away from it. In the epilogue, she brings it all together when she says that the book is mainly about living with loss… all different kinds of loss. But loss is loss, and where there is loss, there is also a certain amount of grief. She explains that living with loss “is tough enough in any place or time, but it is especially difficult in a culture that works so hard to look the other way.” Then she goes on to say, “The suffering comes from our reluctance to learn to walk in the dark… to become more curious about your own darkness.”

This week I have had a lot of time to think on this… to become “curious” about my own walk in the dark…

I can’t say I’ve had any great epiphanies except that we all find ourselves walking in the dark at some point. (That’s just life.) … And we all have to figure it out… At the very least, we have to find a way to be comfortable when we are there… Because the bottom line is you have day without night or light without dark… or life without death…

I hate this “walk in the dark”… this grief journey that seems to have no end… At the same time, it is because of this “walk in the dark” that I have become more of who I am… I have learned to sit with myself. I have learned to dig deep and listen… But the reason I have been able to do this at all is because of Bruce, himself… Because he taught me how…

“As my heart holds you
Just one beat away,
I cherish all you gave me
Every day…” **

And in all honestly, as for me, I’m not sure I could have learned this lesson any other way…

Thank you, Babe!

To listen to the song in its entirety, click the link below.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXnKt3Wclzo&ab_channel=JoshGroban-Topic

I miss Bruce. I hate that he is gone. He changed my world and continues to do so every day. I have come to learn that this walk in the dark has had 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

** “To Where You Are” is a song performed by American singer, Josh Groban, on his 2001 self-titled debut album. It was written by Richard Marx and Linda Thompson and produced by Richard Marx.

Peace, Love and Grief… Telling Our Story

“You have to tell your story, so people are aware and see the value you know to be real.”
~ Unknown

When Bruce was alive, we wrote a lot of notes, letters, and cards back and forth to each other. At least once a month he would turn to me and tell me that I should write our story… And that he couldn’t wait to read it. I used to smile, but I never took him seriously. All my life, I had been told I wasn’t much of a writer. Shoot, I had never even kept a journal… Yet, he was persistent and never gave up – suggesting it over and over.

“On my silent days, I miss you a little louder.” ~ C.C. Aurel

Then, he died, and my world went black. I don’t just mean dark… I mean black… Black like being in a cave when there are no lights… Black like not being able to see your hand in front of your face…. Black as in I had no idea how to move forward… I wasn’t even sure I could still breathe. In fact, I’m not sure I did for the first few weeks. I was raw. I was numb. I was in total shock.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t look at your picture and smile.
Or cry.
Or both.”
~ Dean Jackson

Sometime in that first month, my mom suggested that I keep a journal… Just a place to write down all my thoughts and emotions and get them out… A place to let it all go… A safe space to release everything inside that I couldn’t seem to untangle in my own mind.

That’s how it started… I just wrote…

Some of it was coherent, and some of it wasn’t. Some of it was sad, and some of it was very angry. I wrote things I wouldn’t (or couldn’t) tell anyone (and probably still wouldn’t). Sometimes I go back and read a page or two of those early journals, but I can only manage a page or two… The pain on those pages is more than I can bear to think about (even now) … But it is a good reminder of just how far I have come since then.

“Some days I just sit and remember.” ~ Unknown

After many months, my journal became a place to share the things I was discovering about myself and/or my faith. It was also a place where I listed the things I was grateful for each day. Some days I was thankful for so many things, and other days, I might have just been thankful for being able to get out of bed to face another day. (That exercise became a great way to pull myself back out of a pity-party before I fell too far down into the deeper depression of grief.)

“Suddenly, she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past, but the lost future, not what had not been, but what would never be.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

I’m not sure when it became a place to write daily letters to Bruce, but somewhere in that first year, that is exactly what happened. It was like a “Dear Diary”, only instead it was a “Hey Babe”. I knew he would never see them, but somehow it made me feel better to write it that way… I still do. Sometimes I share my day. Other times, I share my emotions or something I have learned. Sometimes I share a poem I read (or wrote) or sometimes it is a quote or a verse that touches my heart… Whatever is rattling around in my brain is what flows from my pen.

It helps… a lot… I think it has become my best (and cheapest) therapy yet!

A couple of years after Bruce died, a childhood friend came into town for a visit. I wish I could say it was a great visit, but honestly, it just wasn’t. However, I believe one good thing did come of it… This friend suggested I start a blog about grief – some place to share my and Bruce’s story… some place to share my experiences and feelings with other widows… Some place to let them (and me) know that none of us are alone. Our feelings and thoughts are normal (if there even is such a thing) for our situation.

Over the years, I have told my and Bruce’s story many times. I have also written about my fears, my joys, my frustrations, and my celebrations. This has been the space where I have chosen to share things I haven’t said in any other space. Why? Because this has become my safe space… A space I share with the people who understand where I am and how I got here. People who understand that while grief can make somethings clearer, it can just as easily skew our thinking… And they don’t judge me for it.

Thank you! Thank you for allowing me this privilege to share not only my thoughts but our story – mine… and Bruce’s… A story that has value for me… I know he may never get to read it, but I hope somewhere… somehow… he knows I have written it… I am still writing it… Just like he suggested so many years ago.

“I have to let go of having you by my side. Holding your hand, talking face to face. But I will never let go of loving you, remembering you, honoring you and missing you.” ~ Unknown

I miss Bruce, and I love telling his stories. He changed my world and continues to do so… even now. I know, it can be 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, and 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

The Importance of Laughter

The sun sets at the end of the day.
The sky is pink.
I am reminded of you…
And I smile.

The full moon rises over the trees.
It lights up the world.
I am reminded of you…
And I smile.

The storm rolls in with its dark clouds.
It puts on a show for the world.
I am reminded of you…
And I smile.

The waves crash onto the beach.
There for a moment and then gone again.
I am reminded of you…
And I smile.

All around me life goes on.
I see you in every flower,
And feel you in the stir of the wind.
Your soul reaches out to me to remember…
I do…
And I smile.
~ Linda, 2013

There is a lot of stress in our house right now… Not because of anything bad, though. It’s all good things actually. My daughter who has been living with me for the past few years is getting married. He is a good man. In fact, he and I were friends before she ever came here to live, so you know he is top-notch on my list. They are also building a house and getting ready to move, which we all know is extremely exciting… and ridiculously stressful. There are boxes everywhere in our house – some holding items for the wedding; others holding household items for their new home.

On top of all of that, life is still moving forward with work and homeschooling and all the things that make up life. I am sure we can all relate… We have all had those moments in life where we can see the finish line where we know we will get some relief… We just have to figure out how to get there… Might I suggest a little laughter? I really think that is what we need a bit of right now. I say that because laughter has been such a blessing whenever I have found myself struggling to move forward in this journey.

I remember when I went through my divorce years ago. It took three years to get divorced, and life was extremely tense during that time and for a long time after. At one point, my mom sent me a CD of a comedian along with a note telling me I “needed to laugh.” As I put the CD into the player of my car, I shook my head thinking, “She doesn’t get it. My life is falling apart… I don’t think I can laugh anymore.” However, as is often the case, I was wrong, and my mom was right. Within a few short minutes, I was laughing so hard, I could barely breathe! It was such a great release!

Years later, when Bruce passed away, I found myself thinking I would never laugh again… It felt as if every bit of joy had been drained from my life. Once again, though, someone wiser than myself counseled me on the importance of finding some joy each day… Not just something to be grateful for (although can be a good place to start), but something that would make me smile… and, yes, maybe even laugh.

I will always remember the first time I laughed after Bruce passed away. A bunch of us were sitting around telling “Bruce Stories”, and before I knew it, I found myself laughing at some of the best memories ever! However, as soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped short. How could I laugh? My world had fallen apart! What in the world did I have to laugh about?

As time passed, I found myself laughing at little things such the sayings of my (then) toddler grandson or a joke on the radio. However, each time I would catch myself… and stop. Those same feelings of “what did I have to laugh about?” kept returning… And each time, I let it steal my joy.

I’m not sure at what point or even who said it, but somewhere on this path, someone suggested that perhaps I needed to give myself permission to laugh. At about the same time, I started reading one of Bruce’s favorite, “go-to” books, The Importance of Living by Lin Yutang. Within the first few pages, he presents the idea that a sense of humor has the function of not letting us “bump our heads against the stone wall of reality.” In other words, to be wise we need to learn to combine our reality with our dreams and a sense of humor.

At this point, the door truly opened. If this book was Bruce’s “go-to” and these were the ideas of the author… perhaps… just perhaps, Bruce, himself, was trying to tell me that I needed to laugh again. And if I took that a step further, perhaps by giving myself permission to laugh, I was also giving myself permission to heal.

And so, I did…

It started slowly. I started retelling stories and sharing memories of Bruce and I that made me laugh. By starting there, I found that I could honor Bruce’s memory and find my healing through laughter all at the same time. I quickly found that other people who knew him, were more than willing to dive in and share their funny stories as well. Over the years, I have had people add their stories to my “collection” of precious moments – from Bruce’s high school buddy sharing stories of teenage shenanigans to his sisters and parents telling stories of his childhood. In each story, I have been able to recognize the man I loved and his mischievous sense of humor. I can picture that smile he used to get on his face when he thought he was getting away with something… And I have laughed… long and hard.

Yet, that is not the end; that was only the beginning. Once I let go of the guilt of feeling joyful, it began to sink in that I am still here for a reason. MY life isn’t over, and I needed to stop acting as if it were… And laughter has been my bridge back to a life worth living… A life I enjoy!

What a blessing! I must say that in the past few years, I have learned to be so thankful for the healing gift of laughter and the balance that a sense of humor can bring to our lives each and every day… no matter what our current reality holds.

So, that is my goal… over the next few weeks, as we move through these milestones, may we remember that laughter is a blessing, and a life worth living is one filled with joy.

“If we don’t pause,
the hardships of the world will slowly de-sensitize us from the simple joys that life has to offer.
Stop and take a breath.
Enjoy the moment without needing the moment to be perfect.
Life is what happens between the cracks of perfection.”
~ Erik Wahl

Nowadays, very time I find myself laughing, I also find myself thanking Bruce in my heart for opening my eyes to one more thing… and reminding me that I am not alone here. Sure, it can be 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. Did you or have you ever struggled with the idea of laughing in the face of loss? How did you come to terms with it? Or do you still need support in that area? Would you be willing to share your story or your thoughts? 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. This is our community, and we are here for you. 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… Don’t Should on Others

“Don’t ‘should’ on others.” ~ David Kessler

This week, I was listening to a webinar with grief expert, David Kessler. (If you haven’t heard of him or listened to him before, I would recommend giving him a listen.) In the middle of the program, he made an off-handed comment saying, “Don’t ‘should’ on others.” At first, it made me laugh simply because I absolutely loved it! It made so much sense in the moment… and especially through so many moments this past week.

I’m sure most of us can relate, whether you are grieving or not, because as people, we tend to do it to each other. Have you ever heard someone or even found yourself thinking, “they should …” or “they shouldn’t …”? I have. I hate to admit it, but I have. I think it is fairly common to the human experience… We tend to judge others’ behavior based on what we would or wouldn’t do.

Then, when you apply it to grief, especially your own grief (with others judging you), it is extremely frustrating. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone ask me how long I plan to grieve. Really? Well, there are two responses I always want to give: 1. Well, how long will they be dead? That’s probably going to be your answer… And 2. There is no plan. Death happened. I wasn’t given an opportunity to plan for it. So, my “plan” is to simply figure it out as I go along.

So… Please, don’t tell me I “should” get over it… I “shouldn’t still be grieving… I “should” move on… I “shouldn’t” ____ or I “should” ___… (fill in the blanks with something that makes the speaker more comfortable).

Yet, that comfort level is exactly what I mean… When we use that term, we are usually judging someone else based on what we would do… Because what we would do is also what makes us the most comfortable… And I am as guilty of that as anyone else. (Not when it comes to grief, but definitely when it comes to other things.) It just took hearing it this week and having someone explain the why behind it for the lights to come on for me.

I hate to admit it… I hate that I have been known to do this, as well. Yet, understanding this has led me to a few new thought processes. For example, instead of being offended or upset when someone makes a comment about my own grief, I now know that they are really talking about themselves and their feelings. It isn’t about me – not really. I also know that I need to be more aware of my own judgements and looking closely at why I feel the need to “should” them at all.

As a result, when all is said and done, my goal going forward is to just let it all go – what others are saying I “should” do and what I find myself saying others “should” do… It’s just not kind or fair to any of us. Let’s all just assume we are doing the best we can, give each other some room to breathe, and let the rest go.

This grief journey has been one of the most difficult experiences I have ever had. It has broken me down to the roots of my soul and has taken me years to feel some semblance of “normal.” Yet at the same time, it has opened my eyes to so many things I never took the time to think about before now… And every time I find myself thanking Bruce in my heart for opening my eyes to one more thing and reminding me that I am not alone here. Sure, it can be 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. 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.

To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. * Who knows… your story may the answer for someone else.

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 One More Time

Bruce’s birthday is coming up in just a few days. It’s really hard to believe I’ll be celebrating his birthday again without him. It was always such a big deal when he was alive. With the exception of one or two years, we always spent the week of his birthday with his folks on the Alabama coast. It was always such a fun week – days spent in the sun on the beach, dinners when his mom cooked all his favorite foods, and nights spent with his folks playing games or just telling stories and laughing.

I love those memories… I miss those days…

Before the pandemic, I would usually travel to some beach somewhere to celebrate… and remember. Then last year, the world shut down, and I couldn’t even make it out to our beach right here at home. This year, I didn’t even try to travel with everything (still) going on. However, I do plan to spend the day on the beach… sitting, writing, thinking, remembering… and (hopefully) relaxing.

Bruce’s birthday was always a week of relaxation for both of us… We looked forward to it for months! Life lately has been so busy. Sometimes it feels like every single second is already planned with the all the things that must be done now. So, the idea of taking even a day for Bruce and I most makes me feel like I should say, “Thank you, Babe, for still making sure I just relax every now and then,”

Between the busy-ness and his upcoming birthday, my mind has been all ever the place the past few days. So, I’m sure even this blog is going to be all over the place… with one thought leading to another.

For instance, once of Bruce’s sisters has a birthday just a few days earlier. This year a photo montage was put together for her, and I was asked to supply some pictures of her and Bruce. This turned into a wonderful amount of time spent pouring over photo albums of Bruce’s life from birth until our time together. The thing is Bruce wasn’t a fan of having his picture taken. So, to go through all those photos just makes me smile. I love seeing the moments in time – recognizing his mannerisms and facial expressions that which (evidently) were always a part of who Bruce was. These pieces of him, I know I will never forget because I am blessed with a permanent record to revisit at any time.

From there, I found myself wanting more, such as videos. However, those are harder to come by. I only have two videos of Bruce. (Again, he wasn’t a fan.) In one, he is playing with one of the cats, but he never says a word. I love watching it, though… I love watching the way he moves… and remembering. In the other video, he is playing with our grandson. It is a great video! We are all laughing, and the interaction between the two of them is adorable. In it, Bruce says one word… He laughs as our grandson tries to shoot M&Ms into Bruce’s mouth and says, “Almost!” That’s it… That is the only word I have.

When he died years ago, I had several voice messages that I used to play over and over, I loved hearing his voice… I especially loved the one where he said, “I just wanted to say ‘I love you, Babe.” However, I lost those years ago. I got a new phone about the same time the company changed the Voice Mail app, deleting all saved voice mails… including Bruce’s.

I hate that… I am so afraid of forgetting his voice… The inflections and cadence that was his… The sound I grew to love… The sound that filled my heart and calmed my soul… I would give anything to hear his voice just one more time… But for today – for this week – I will have to be content with the sound of his laughter and one simple “Almost!”… And some quiet time on our beach… and that’s okay.

This grief journey has been one of the most difficult experiences I have ever had. It has broken me down to the roots of my soul and has taken me years to feel some semblance of “normal.” Celebrating his birthday this week will bring its own challenges, I know. I will have to really push myself to stay out of the rabbit hole. I also know 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. 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.

To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. * Who knows… your story may the answer for someone else.

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… Sometimes It’s Still a Struggle

This week, has been a little bit hard…

Hi Babe!
It’s getting closer and closer to your birthday. (Not that I need to tell you that.) Each time I think about it, though, I feel sad that you are no longer here to celebrate your day. I am so sorry… Sorry that I still miss you – that there are still times when I seem “stuck” somehow. But I am even more sorry that I couldn’t save you that night… And because of that, you are gone.

I know that everyone says there was nothing I could have done… Yet, somehow I still blame myself. I try no to dwell on it, but there are still times, like today, when I just can’t let it go. You were always there for me… and for my kids. I constantly said you were my hero… my whole world.

Then, one night – one moment – you needed me… and I failed you…

At first, I couldn’t even comprehend what was happening… I just thought you were dreaming. It took a few moments before I realized I couldn’t wake you. I finally turned on the light and tried again. Even once I finally made the decision to call 911, I was second guessing myself. What if you woke up and were upset that I had made a big deal over you…? You hated that kind of thing.

Then, I had to make sure the door was unlocked so the paramedics could get inside… And I had to find something hard to slide under your back, because you were too big, (and I was too small) to move you off the bed. Finally, I had to figure out how to actually get that thing under you. It took everything I had to lift you enough to slide it under you. It wasn’t until then, that I was finally able to start CPR.

So much precious time was already lost at that point…

I couldn’t tell you how long it really took – I have no idea. It was probably less that a minute, but it felt like forever. It felt like one of those dreams where you know you need to run, but your feet just won’t move… It’s like your shoes are made of concrete, and your brain is screaming at you to hurry up and move… But you just can’t!

I tried… I tried to hurry, but there was another part of me that just kept thinking this had to be a dream – a God-awful, terrible dream!

I can remember straddling your body and doing compressions on your chest… I can remember thinking that help was never going to get there. I can remember the voice of the 911 operator walking me through every motion and assuring me that help really was coming. I can remember looking at your face and begging you to open your eyes and look back at me…

But the problem was – you were already gone. I don’t think I realized that, though, until I watched the paramedics work on you. I remember exactly where I stood… and watched… I can remember… But none of it felt real… A life filled with this much love couldn’t end like this, could it?

I know I cried, because I can remember holding tissues, but I don’t remember how they ended up in my hand. I remember being asked a lot of questions as I stood there – watching – but I couldn’t tell you even one of the questions I was asked. I can remember the flurry and speed as they worked, while at the same time there was this other part of me that was so disconnected and kept thinking, “What a mess. I will need to clean this up before I can go to the hospital.” Please, don’t ask me why I thought that… I was probably in shock. I still didn’t think any of it was real… It just couldn’t be how “we” would end!

(deep breath… and another)

That was exactly how it ended… with you gone… and with me always wondering if I could have done something more to save you…

I am so very sorry, Babe! My heart is ripped to shreds… I still love you so very, very much… And that is forever!

This grief journey has been one of the most difficult experiences I have ever had. It has broken me down to the roots of my soul and has taken me years to feel some semblance of “normal.” Most days I think I am doing pretty good, but sometimes (like now) I am struggling. I have to really push myself to stay out of the rabbit hole. I know 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. 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.

To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. * Who knows… your story may the answer for someone else.

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 – Happy Life day!

“Hey, Babe! Guess what today is! It’s my “Happy Life Day.” Your mom just called me to say, “Happy Life Day.” I love her! … I miss you!” ~ Linda, March 2021

Today I got a call from Bruce’s Mom. She was calling to tell me “Happy Life Day.”

“What is that?” I thought, and just as quickly, she explained that three years ago today, I was given the scary news that I had breast cancer. Yet, here I am, three years later, alive and well and moving on… Happy Life Day!! (She knew what a big deal this has been… She had it marked on her calendar – not me.)

Bruce’s Mom (my mom by default) is such a sweet woman… such a dear friend! I can’t imagine how hard it must be… Her son is gone. He never had the chance to fight for his life. And yet, here I am… I was given the chance to fight. I was given the blessing of life… Happy Life Day!

It’s hard to live with the fact that Bruce wasn’t so lucky… He wasn’t given the chance to fight… I know… “survivor’s guilt” of a sort, I suppose. I know it’s hard for me… I can’t even imagine how his own parents must feel… I’m still here, while he is gone… The whole thing is just plain awful!

Earlier this week, though, I heard a phrase that caught my attention, “In order to leave something significant behind, you have to leave.”

That’s what Bruce did… at least for me. I have learned so much about myself, my faith, my views… all because of him… and the legacy he left in his wake.

There is a (huge) part of me that questions God all the time. “Couldn’t I have learned all this from him while he was still here? Did he really have to go for me to figure all this sh## out?” (Please excuse my language, but God knows I’m a bit rough around the edges and still a little bit angry about the whole “Bruce dying” thing.) Anyway, I don’t know… I don’t have an answer… He’s never given me one.

This path for me started months earlier… Just a few months before Bruce died, I got up in the middle of a church service, tears streaming down my face, because I had suddenly realized my faith wasn’t my own, and because of that, this church was becoming toxic (for me), rather than a blessing. I didn’t know what I needed to do, but I knew I couldn’t stay.

I remember coming home in tears. Bruce never asked a single question… He just held me while I cried. (And I cried so hard, I had two black eyes the next morning.) When I was finally able to vocalize what had happened, he just held me even tighter. I remember he told me that he knew my faith was important to me, I shouldn’t give up, and I needed to give myself the time and grace to figure it all out… And God would give me both.

He was right… It has taken years, and I am still on that path… And it is all because of him that I haven’t given up… I haven’t quit. It is all because of this wonderful man who knew and loved me enough to recognize my need for faith…

He knew me… And he knew I just needed some time…

Something he didn’t have…

Something he never got…

My faith tells me that I have to believe that is because his work here was done. (Although, I would still argue against that point.) However, he did have a huge legacy to leave behind… A legacy of faith and spirituality… A legacy of unconditional love and patience… A legacy I pray I can live up to… because I still love him… And as much as I can’t wait to be with him again… I am thrilled to be celebrating another “Happy Life Day,” and I will continue to fight to be here for as long as I am needed.

This grief journey has been one of the greatest challenges I have ever had. This journey has broken me down to the roots of my soul and has taken me years to feel some semblance of “normal.” I know 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. 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.

To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. * Who knows… your story may the answer for someone else.

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 Season to Be Still

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

Springtime is always a time when the pace of life seems to pick up. The weather is more conducive for getting outdoors, and even in normal times, people are ready to get together again and just enjoy life. Last year, we were just starting to see the effects of the pandemic. Instead of getting together, most of us retreated in an effort to stay safe and healthy. This year, most of us admittedly are tired of the restraints, but still following them for the same reasons. (Yet, I yearn for some time with friends.)

In our house, though, life is still definitely picking up the pace. One of my daughters is getting married this summer, so there are plans and decisions to be made… And so many things to do, it makes my head swim. Because she is getting married, they are also building a house. Again, so many plans and decisions to be made, and so many things to do… And I’m just sitting on the sidelines! After a year of sitting quietly, this is busy!

These things they are working towards are exciting milestones in life, which means there are emotions attached, as well… Feelings of excitement and hope, (and sometimes stress and frustration). For me as a parent, they are also a reminder of doing those same things with Bruce… Our wedding, and the purchase of our home together here in Florida. Over the past few weeks, I have found myself crying tears of joy for them, and tears of grief for me… And usually all at the same time…

I have said many times in the past that grief is a maddening experience. It is. It is a time of struggle and emotional chaos. It is a time of trying to make sense of something that simply doesn’t make sense. Everything I thought I knew is gone, and I have spent the last 8+ years relearning how to live. That is maddening… That is grief.

Yet, I have done this long enough to know what I need to do… I just need to be still for a while…

I learned early on this journey that my spirituality was what I needed to build up in order to survive this loss. I had to explore what I thought I knew and find my own way in the dark. It has taken a long time, but I have worked hard to bring my heart and mind together to create a spirit of peace and love.

It wasn’t easy, though…

From the very beginning, despite my anger and distrust toward God, a certain verse ran through my mind constantly. This verse has never had any special significance for me in the past, so I have no logical way to explain it… I won’t even try. I simply believe I needed to hear those words, and they have been a true source of strength for me through the past eight years.

“Be still and know that I am God.“

I couldn’t get those words out of my head. I wrote them in my journal. I mulled over them in the quiet moments. They were a constant in the back of my mind, and despite my anger, I couldn’t make them go away. There was something there for me, I felt it. I was looking for some type of comfort… something to bring peace to my soul, and I came to believe that the secret was somewhere in these words. It was… but probably not in the way most people might think.

It wasn’t about church or religion. It wasn’t about “do’s” and “don’ts.” It was much deeper than that, and at the same time, it was much simpler… It was a simplicity I learned it by watching Bruce and reflecting on how he lived such a genuine life with no pretense or games.

First of all, Bruce was not a “church-goer.” (He would go if I asked, but it wasn’t his thing.) Instead, you could find him on any Sunday morning sitting in his lounge chair with his coffee and his Sudoku, watching Meet the Press. At the same time, I have never known anyone to live a life more true to the principles of God, acceptance, and unconditional love. He was a genuine man with a sweet, gentle spirit and a simple faith. I watched him place a cross in his pocket each morning and heard him pray every night. Then, he just lived what he believed – no sermons or lectures, no push for anyone to think his way. He just lived it.

To him, it was that simple. He never found God in a building… He believed God was found in how you lived your life… In how you chose to fill your heart. So back to that verse, “Be still and know that I am God.” It took me a while to figure out what I needed to get out of those words. For the longest time after Bruce died, I couldn’t even pray… I was too angry. I didn’t want to be still, and I certainly didn’t want to “hear” anything from God. (I wasn’t interested in anything he might have to say.)

Then one day, while reading one of Bruce’s books on philosophy and spiritualism, it hit me. This verse doesn’t say anything about God talking or me listening. It simply says to “be still.”

The only action required was no action. For me, that meant a practice of sitting quietly, breathing deeply and purposely not thinking. In other words, the practice of meditation… An action of clearing my mind; not filling it. It meant the age old practice of simply being in that specific moment. Then letting your breath carry you to the next moment and then the next… Nothing more.

That was exactly what I needed… And what I still need, especially now, in this season… to slow down… to be still. I know when I allow myself the time to be still, both physically and mentally, I automatically reconnect to my God. This is turn grows within me a connection of spirit and peace. It is not about religious rules or being good enough… It isn’t about the contentment of making the “right” decision or the longing for days long gone.

Instead, through those quiet, still moments, I have learned that I can let go of the chaos or sadness. I have learned that I can rest peacefully – trusting that God is sitting quietly beside me… holding me close – no more, no less. I believe that he is my Source, and this life as we see it, is not all there is. There is more… so much more. I just have to remember to take the time to be still… and know peace…