Tag: grieve

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.*

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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…

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… Permission

“How do I live without your love? One breath at a time…” ~ Linda, December 2013

As another week ends and a new begins, I find myself back here… writing to you. Just sharing my thoughts and experiences. In the beginning when I started this blog, that was my purpose. To simply share my experience as a widow. At the time, there seemed to only be a lot of advice for widows… a lot of “how it should be” and “how I should respond,” but not a lot of “this is how it truly feels” or “this is my experience.” When I did happen to find one of those, I read it ravenously, looking for anything that might sound similar to my own experience… Anything that would help me feel like my own reaction was normal. Now it is several years later and here I am, still doing this same thing and for the same reason.

Here’s the thing… I remember the shock of the first few weeks and all of the awfulness of that first year. I remember hating holidays or any special day that (for me) had become nothing more than another reminder that Bruce was gone. I remember when year two started, and from what I had read, I was “supposed” to feel better – all of the “firsts” without Bruce were behind me and life “should” move on. However, it really wasn’t that way for me, which only left me feeling like I was doing something wrong… that I couldn’t even manage to grieve “correctly.”

Please don’t judge my grief.
Don’t compare it to your own or someone else’s.
You see what I choose to let you see,
(Except in those moments when it overflows
And pours from my soul.)
I may smile.
I may walk with my chin up,
But you do not know what pain is growing on the inside…
Consuming my soul.
It is easy to where you do
And decide I am fine.
But you would be wrong.
You see what I choose to let you see.
My pain is there.
It is real.
I deal with it all day, every day.
Do not believe this mask I wear…
~ Linda, June 2014

It was a few months later that I started working with a life coach. I’m not saying that is the right path for everyone, but it was right for me. Surprisingly, we actually didn’t even talk about grief that often. Instead, it was a lot of conversation about being the “best me” I could be in any given moment. It was about analyzing how and why I reacted to the things around me, while also giving myself the grace to feel whatever I was feeling.

That was when I reached the point where I knew I needed to find my voice. I needed to simply put my own experiences out there for anyone who might need to know that whatever they were experiencing or not experiencing, it was “normal” … Whatever they were feeling or not feeling, it was okay. The books filled with advice, the hours in support groups, the people around me with their own expectations – all of that was a nice place to start. However, it wasn’t the “be all end all.” It wasn’t law or dogma; it was simply advice… And that means, when all is said and done, you can take it or leave it.

It reminds me a lot of having children. There are a lot of “experts” out there who have written books on parenting. There are also dozens of people who are more than ready to give you advice and tell you how you should parent – quick to judge, slow to listen. There are even people who have never had children who do this using the words, “If I were a parent, I would …” (Fill in the blank accordingly.)

Well, losing a loved one and grieving – whether it is a spouse, a child, a sibling, a parent, a friend, whomever it is – is remarkably similar. There are “experts” with books and ideas, and people with experience and without experience who want to tell you how it should be done… And maybe I am the same, because here is what I have to say to all of that…

“Give yourself permission to take a path that is yours, and don’t worry if it is different than everyone else’s… Be true to you, because in the end, you are the only one with in your situation, and you are the only one who knows.”

So alone…
No one to talk to…
No one to understand…

How do I explain these feelings to someone who’s never been here?

How do I go on? …
I’m so tired…

So tired of smiling when I don’t feel it.
So tired of listening to everyone else.

No one listens…
Do they care?
Or is it that they just don’t notice?

They can’t tell this smile is empty…
This heart is frozen…
Dead…
But no one notices…
No one sees…
~ Linda, March 2015

Grief is one of those things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. For me, it has been the most challenging journey I have experienced. It has broken me down to the roots of my soul and has taken me years to feel any semblance of “normal.” I believe that sometimes we feel like this journey is nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. However, 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

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

Peace, Love and Grief… No!

This week I was reading an article about grief and loss written by Pastor John Pavlovitz. In the article, he talks about that moment when a person realizes they have lost someone they love, and that one word which seems to always emanate from their lips – “No.” Such a simple word, but the meaning, in such a time as grief, speaks volumes.

I remember the night Bruce died, and realizing the responsibility of calling everyone to tell them what had just happened fell to me. There was no one else to do it… I was alone. I had never done anything like this before. when I called, I didn’t even think to ask people if there was anyone else around. It didn’t even dawn on me. (Thankfully, there usually was.) Of all the calls I made that night, though, there are a few calls that still stand out in my mind.

One of the first calls was Bruce’s parents. I remember talking to his mother, and I think I will forever hear the echo of her horrified “No” when I told her the news. It was awful, and it encompassed everything I was trying to deny.

The calls to my two daughters who were closest to Bruce were made shortly afterward with pretty much the same reaction. It wasn’t just a quiet “no” of disbelief for my sake; it was a “no” for what it meant to them, as well… For a loss that felt like more than they could bear.

Talking to Bruce’s daughter was another call that still stands out in my head. We had been playing “phone tag” for almost 24 hours, before we finally connected. By that time, she knew something was up, but I don’t think she had the slightest idea what I was about to say. The shock and anguish in her voice broke my heart all over again.

Don’t get me wrong, I am pretty sure that almost every person I called that night responded with that same word, whether it was for me or them or both. However, those first few weeks are such a blur that these are the voices that still haunt in my dreams.

Yet here is the strange part…

From what I remember, “no” was not my response when the doctor told me the news at the hospital. Not that I wasn’t completely devastated… I was. I just wasn’t surprised. I knew before the ambulance ever left the house… I had witnessed his last breath. I had started the CPR. I had watched as the EMTs did everything they could, while the heart monitor line stayed flat. I sat and waited with the ambulance as we all waited for a police officer to arrive and take me – following the ambulance, rather than racing to the hospital… Plus, there were no sirens when we did finally make that trip. So, I knew… I didn’t want to know, but I did.

So, when the doctor came in to confirm what I already knew, I don’t remember saying anything except to ask if I could be with him for a while. Then, I stayed by his side until the Medical Examiner’s office came to get him – stroking his face and hair, touching his hands one more time… Actually, I think I was waiting for him to open his eyes and smile at me… Because, honestly, I knew he was gone, but I hadn’t accepted it or processed it.

That acceptance took weeks… I remember that it hit me about the time I brought his ashes home. I do remember the “NO!” at that point. I remember wailing in the middle of the floor in our living room. Looking around at our home… our world… and refusing to accept the reality that had been dealt. Knowing without a doubt that I could not move forward with him by my side. The horror of that moment in time will always be etched into my soul. I remember begging Bruce to come back… begging God to let him back… To let me wake up from this God-awful nightmare.

At the same time, I also remember feeling his presence next to me and a quiet voice in my soul saying that he would be by my side for as long as I needed him. In the beginning, I hung onto that promise like it was oxygen. Through the years, I have felt him less and less. I am guessing maybe I am adjusting, and (maybe) need his constant presence less than I did. However, there are a lot of days (several lately) where I have reminded him of his promise and let him know I need him… still… And when I have the privacy, I still sit in the middle of the floor, and cry “no!”

“No” for him… “No” for me… “No” for us… Just “no!”

Having been through more trauma than I would want to remember, I can honestly say that grief has been the most challenging journey I have experienced – maybe because it breaks you down to the roots of your soul. Sometimes I believe, we feel like this journey is nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. However, 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

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

Peace, Love and Grief… Sympathy, Empathy, or None of the Above

It’s been about a year since we started homeschooling my grandson. Every 4 – 6 weeks we pick up a new “life skill” to embrace. We have learned about all kinds of things – etiquette, nutrition, organization, conversation skills, etc. This week, we moved into the realm of “empathy and kindness to others.” One morning this week, we were watching a video from Brene Brown, (the queen of empathy in my book).

The point of the video was to explain the difference in sympathy and empathy. To do so, it showed a fox falling into a pit. When his bear friend saw him there, he immediately climbed down into the pit with him. He knew he couldn’t fix the situation but understood that just being there… just climbing into the pit with the fox was the one thing he could offer. The mere act of sitting with the fox in his time of trouble was the bear’s way of showing he understood, he cared, and he was there.

After a while, a gazelle happened by and peered into the pit. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, “How terrible!” Then she went on acting as if all was normal – making small talk and offering to make a sandwich.

After watching this, my grandson asked, “So empathy is good, but sympathy is bad?”

“No,” I responded. “It is just a different way of responding.” Then I went on to explain…

It is different levels of commitment to the person hurting. Empathy is when we truly understand the other person’s pain. Maybe we have been there before. Either way, it is when we care so much that we can feel the depth of their pain and hurt. We can’t fix their pain, but we are willing to simply be there… to sit with them and hold their hand for as long as they need.

Sympathy is when we understand the other person is hurting, but maybe we don’t truly understand how bad the pain is or we aren’t close enough to the other person to truly feel their pain… Sympathy is still a kindness, it just doesn’t have the same depth of commitment.

This, then, led me to think of my own friendships… And how traumatic events have a way of separating our friends into those who are filled with empathy, those who offer sympathy, or those who just can’t deal with it at all and choose “none of the above” as they walk away from the relationship entirely.

Like most adults, I have been through several traumatic events in this lifetime. Each time I have had the same experience…

There have been friends who couldn’t handle it. For one reason of another (I will probably never know what those reasons were), they chose “None of the above.” For one reason or another, they simply excused themselves from caring, and moved on. However, for me, it felt like they simply made the choice to walk away.

Each time though, there have been other people who readily showed they cared. They were able to offer a hug or some nice words of comfort. There were times when they tried to offer well-meaning advice. (Although, generally speaking, they weren’t really around enough for that.) These were usually people who were in “my circle” but not my BFF’s. The fact that they cared meant a lot to me, and I appreciated their kindness and heartfelt sympathies.

Then, finally, there have been the people who were willing to climb down into the pit with me. These are the people who never tried to fix things… or me. They simply offered me the solace of their companionship. They have sat with me as I cried or hugged me in my darkest moments… And despite how hard it has been, they seem to always understand and are always there for me.

The craziest thing about this particular group… the thing that has surprised me the most every time is this… With the exception of my sister and one or two other people, this group is usually formed by people outside my closest relationships… These are people I may not have been particularly close to before the trauma. Yet, they are the people who understood the intensity of the pain and stepped in to help me bear it.

Of all the traumatic events I have experienced, I think losing Bruce has been the hardest. It has been over eight years, and I am still grieving. (Even as I write this, the tears are filling my eyes.) Even though I had experienced the different reactions of people before, I was (and still am) surprised by the people who have chosen to walk away… People I thought would be there for me come what may.

At the same time, though, I have also been just as shocked by the people who have stepped into my life… People who have held my hands as I worked my way through mountains of paperwork, and people who have sat with me and simply held me as I cried. These people – the ones who have blessed me with their unending empathy – are my heroes. I don’t know that I would have survived any crisis, especially the loss of Bruce, without these loving souls by my side.

So… To those who needed to walk away, that’s okay. We can only do what we are able to do in any given moment. To those who offered me your sympathy, thank you. Your caring words of comfort still fill my heart, and I appreciate your kindness.

And to those who have given me your empathy… In Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, she says, “After years of being taught that the way to deal with painful emotions is to get rid of them, it can take a lot of reschooling to learn to sit with them instead.” This is what you have done for me… You helped me learn to sit with my grief. For this, I owe you my life, because I couldn’t have survived these past eight years without you… From the depths of my soul, Thank You!

Those of us on this journey know that grief is challenging. We know what it is like to watch friends walk away or for strangers to step up. Sometimes we may feel like this journey is nothing but a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. However, 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

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

Peace, Love and Grief… My Own Journey

Time changes nothing on its own…
That is my job now.
This is a journey.
It is mine…
I must own it to survive it.
~ Linda, September 15, 2013

When I left my teaching career and joined the corporate world, travel quickly became a part of the job. Over the years I have traveled all over the continental U.S. – sometimes with others, most times alone. While this past year corporate travel has been restricted, either alone or with my little family, we have still rented homes and traveled here and there. We travel by car, keep our distance and are safe, but we do it because we just seem to have a need for a change of scenery. Sometimes we have gone to places that are so familiar it is almost like going home, and other times we have no idea where we are going or how to get there.

Without fail, we seem to always have a wonderful time. Yet, I can say without question that after being away for a while, it is always a treat to come back home. However, as anyone grieving can attest, the journey home isn’t always an easy one either…

I know… This is simply the way life is. Life is filled with journeys – true journeys and metaphorical journeys. It is how we grow and learn and develop. It is how we discover new things about ourselves and how we expand our lives. In fact, when we suffer loss, what is it called? Exactly – the world calls it a “grief journey.”

Like all journeys, there is something to be learned along this path… Unlike other journeys, we did not choose this one. It is not a path anyone would willingly take, but we weren’t given an option. And to make it a little bit more difficult, the only choices are to move forward or stand still. So many times, over the past few years, I have hesitated… not quite willing to take the next step. Eventually, though, I have managed to take a breath and put one foot in front of the other… moving tentatively until I get my bearings.

Last week, I wrote about when Bruce and I met while cruising in the Virgin Islands. So, it only seemed fitting that through the years of our marriage, we did a lot of traveling together. Like any journey, you learn a lot about a person when you travel with them. Bruce and I were no different. We learned right away that traveling in a car for any extended period of time was not the best idea. Why? Well, Bruce did not eat or drink while driving, and he liked it quiet. I, on the other hand, like to eat, drink, sing, talk, play games, etc. (In other words, I like to be entertained.) In fact, it was during one such trip from Michigan to Alabama that I learned Bruce didn’t like opera. I was driving and he was napping… So, to stay awake, I sang opera for hours. Guess who was not amused… Go figure! In all honestly, though, it was a good learning experience that we laughed about for years!

Several times I have written about the night Bruce died and the ride back home from the hospital – alone. It still feels like just yesterday… I can remember thinking that this would be my life now… always coming home alone to no one – just an empty house. What I did not realize was the enormity of what that would entail. Even all these years later, I can say that there are still days that can feel quite daunting. So much so that sometimes I find myself hesitating before I even get out of my car and walk inside.

The expanse of this lone journey began to dawn on me in the early weeks after Bruce’s death. I would turn the corner and see Bruce’s truck in the driveway. My first instinct was happiness and excitement. Bruce was home! Then, just as quickly, it would hit me full force and I would remember… Bruce was not home; no one was home. The only reason his truck sat there for as long as it did was because I couldn’t bring myself to sell it. Yet, even months later after I did (finally) sell his truck, I learned that coming home still wasn’t any easier.

In fact, there are still days when I find myself wishing with my whole being that he would be there to greet me when I walk through the door. While I no longer cry or breakdown, I think there will always be a part of me that secretly wishes for all of this to be a dream… That somehow I will wake up and he will be there waiting to greet me with a hug and a smile.

Right now, with my daughter and grandson here, it is easier to come on inside. There is almost always someone here to shout “hello” from another room, (although I know that will not always be the case). I know, the time will come again when I will come home to a house that is (again) quiet and empty. I am sure I will (at times) find myself sitting in the driveway for a few moments gathering my thoughts, my emotions (and my courage) before I go inside. Yet, I also know I will just as quickly remember how blessed I am to have shared this space with Bruce at all… And to still be able to live here… in this space that was ours. This space where I so often feel his presence and remember the love and life we shared.

I guess what I am saying is that through the years, I have learned to look (more often) at what I still have versus what I don’t. I am learning to look for the blessings and be thankful for them, which has been my way of moving forward through this journey.

We all know grief is challenging, and with some days or scenarios harder than others. Sometimes this journey can feel like a lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. However, 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. When we open our hearts to one another and take a chance, we can survive whatever lies ahead. 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

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