widower – Page 38 – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love and Grief… For our friends and family

Did you know… 800,000 people are widowed each year?

Did you know… 700,000 of those are women?

Did you know… most widows live in poverty? (Over 115 million world wide)

Did you know… for the past thirty or more years the rate of poverty among elderly widows is consistently three to four times higher than elderly married women.

Did you know… “death of a spouse” is listed as the #1 stressor on the stress index scale and is considered one of life’s most devastating events?

Did you know… 60% of those who lose a spouse or significant other will experience a serious illness within 12 months?

Did you know… insomnia is one of the most common symptoms for a grieving spouse?

Did you know… if a man survives his 50s, he will likely live to “old age?”

Did you know… The average age of widowhood is 55, and 75 percent of women will be widowed by age 56?

Did you know… most widow(er)s lose 75% of their support base when their spouse dies?

Did you know… after 3 – 4 months most of the remaining support fades for a widow(er)?

Did you know… most widow(er)s lose touch with their in-laws within a year of a loss?

Did you know… scamming and manipulation are common practice toward the widowed?

Did you know… it really is possible to die of a broken heart? Widow(er)s have a 30% elevated risk of death in the first 6 months after their spouses died.

Did you know… almost half the women over 65 years of age in the US are widows and about 7:10 of these women live alone?

Those are the statistics, but let’s talk about the real world… Oh wait, that is the real world.

These are not pretty numbers… They do not reflect what Hollywood tells us. Instead, they tell us the truth… They tell us the reality of many of your loved ones’ lives.

Do you know someone who is widowed? More than likely, they spend most of their time alone. More than likely, they fall into many of these statistics. It is also more than likely they will not tell you. I know because I fall into many of these numbers just as so many other widows I have met on this journey.

While every statistic is not true for every person, you might be surprised to know what is true. To give you an idea, I will share “my statistics.”

When I read these numbers, immediately I know I am blessed. I have a wonderful job with retirement plans for the not-to-distant future. While I do not live in poverty, many of the women in my initial support group were unable to support themselves and were losing their homes. Several were looking for room-mates… someone to share expenses, or a room to rent in someone else’s home. They couldn’t make it alone financially, but their families were not able (or willing, in some cases) to help either.

I have not been seriously ill since Bruce died. We were both into health and fitness, and I have continued that practice to this day. I learned a long time ago that exercise produces endorphins (a natural, self-produced, “feel good” chemical)… and goodness knows, I can definitely use that!

I have had sleep issues since Bruce passed. For the first year or so, I would wake up most nights at the exact same time I was awakened the night he died. (Trauma related, I suppose.) Now, that only happens a few times a month. Most nights, while I go to bed in time to get 8 – 9 hours of sleep, I usually wake up every couple of hours and remain awake for 30 minutes to an hour each time. If I can manage 4 – 5 hours total, it is a good night.

Bruce was only 52 when he passed away, and I was 51… I believe that covers those two statistics…

I did lose MOST of what I thought would be my support base. However, I gained many new friends who have been by my side day in and day out. They have become my “trusted few,” and I am forever in their debt.

As for my in-laws, they are wonderful. I was terrified of losing touch with them (and told them so) after Bruce’s memorial. However, after 3 years, they are still as close to me as ever, and I love them so very much.

Since Bruce died, I have definitely encountered my fair share of scammers and manipulation. It is amazing how many people are quick to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable state. Some of it has come from phone calls or sales pitches. (Those were easy to recognize.) Other situations have come from people I thought were my friends or acquaintances who I thought genuinely cared. These are harder to recognize. However, I have gotten better at it… or maybe I have just learned to be a lot more cautious. I used to trust anyone until they proved (several times) they shouldn’t be trusted. Now I hold back on the trust until I am sure of their intentions.

I have not died of a broken heart (obviously), although I certainly thought I would the first year. My blood pressure is slightly higher than before (although still very normal). Now, (years later), good health through natural healing is my goal.

I live alone and spend most holidays alone. However, I consider myself blessed. Even though we are a scattered family, my kids make sure I am “covered” for the “big ones,”… and I am learning new ways to celebrate the others. What never ceases to stun me into silence, though, are the people who say they are jealous of my solitude… Inside, I shake my head… They have no idea! I always want to tell them there is a difference is choosing solitude and being thrown into it unexpectedly.

As for me, I really am adjusting… slowly. In other words, each day I am learning to to be a little more okay by finding the blessings in my circumstances.

But what about your neighbor, friend or family member? Do you see them or their situation in those numbers? Is there anything you can do to make a difference? Are you willing to do that?

Please… don’t be afraid to reach out and make a difference…

Do you want to share your story or your thoughts? 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… Where is the justice?

This Shouldn’t Be…
Left alone here without you,
All I have are pictures and memories for comfort.
It shouldn’t have ended – not so soon.
I don’t understand.
I can’t do this.
I need to touch you,
Feel you,
See you…
But all I have is this picture…
A permanent smile frozen in time;
Your smile…
Always engrained on my heart.
~ Linda, Jan. 6, 2014

It’s not fair!

How many times did I hear my children say that as they were growing up? How many times did I hear my students say this when I was teaching?

This is one of those statements that we tend to associate with children. However, if we are honest, it is a statement we continue to use even as adults. Perhaps we use the term “justice” instead, but we still use it and the intention behind it remains the same. It is only the topic that is new. We use it in reference to taxes, promotions or raises at work, within our families or peer groups… or in regards to just about anything that doesn’t go the way we think it should.

I know I have used this statement many times in regards to Bruce’s death… It wasn’t right! It wasn’t fair!… God must have made a mistake somewhere. After all, there are a lot of “bad” people out there… or people who don’t love their spouses… or people who want “out.” Why Bruce? He was a good man… we loved each other… we were looking forward to a “lifetime” together…

It wasn’t fair! (And so, for a season, I railed at God and told him exactly what I thought about it!)

As time has passed, however, I have developed a peace about the situation and stopped demanding justice. Today I thought I’d share my journey on this one, just in case there is any one else struggling with this same issue.

To get to the very basics of the issue, it is important to understand there is a basic need for justice built into all of us. In fact, this need seems to go back to the beginning of time. Throughout history, societies’ laws, social mores and religious thoughts have been built on a system of “rewards and punishments” all in the name of justice or “being fair.”

Ancient texts tell us that tragedies were often viewed as a punishment from God (or gods, depending on the culture). In some ways, many people today still follow that same idea. I often hear people say (and used to think myself), “I don’t understand. I follow the rules. I do the ‘right’ things, but then this (fill in the current dilemma) happens. It’s not fair.” And sometimes (for good measure) we’ll throw in a – “God must hate me.”

I remember once discussing the abuse in my first marriage with someone “religious.” I was struggling with the effects left on my children. I stated that I didn’t understand why God had “let it happen,” and why he had “let my kids pay such a high price.” “After all,” I reasoned, “I was a ‘good’ Christian; I loved God and did all the ‘right’ things – I prayed everyday. I was at the church whenever the doors were open. I even taught at our parochial school.”

Truthfully, looking back, I think there may have been a part of me that knew better, but I wanted someone to tell me “God didn’t do this.” I needed to hear those words… I needed to know God didn’t hate me.

Instead, I was told “God had allowed it. In fact, he not only allowed it, he had probably directed it.” This person went on to tell me that until I figured out what I was doing wrong and got my life “right with God,” he would have no choice but to continue punishing me and those I love.

I was devastated. I had spent my whole life trying to be “good.” I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that God was angry and punishing me for reasons I didn’t even know… and I was supposed to just “figure it out.” (Let me interject here – when a person does this to their spouse, we think they are being ridiculous and talk about communication skills… hmmm. )

I remember coming home in tears and talking to Bruce. Always my hero, he took me in his arms and told me he didn’t believe any of that – He didn’t believe God works that way. Instead, he encouraged me to look at things from another perspective. What if we were to understand that life just happens… And God, in his love and grace, had actually rescued the kids and I from that environment, protected us through the court system, and sent Bruce to show us what true, unconditional love looks like.

I remember laying in his arms and feeling peace, love and comfort. This was a story that made sense. I wanted to believe him, but letting go of old ideas can be difficult.

Not long after this conversation, Bruce passed away…

I remember people “counseling” me in the “ways of God.” (Yes, I am rolling my eyes here.) I remember being told several reasons for Bruce dying, but the two that frustrated me the most were:

God had taken Bruce away to punish me for ____ (fill in the blank).
God had taken Bruce away because I loved him too much… and if you love anything more than God, he will take it away because “he is a jealous God.”

Seriously?? I was so angry. I kept thinking this wasn’t right… It wasn’t fair. And if this is the “nature of God,” I wasn’t interested any more… I was done.

What I didn’t know then, but have come to realize is “when we can’t find justice in the real world, we will make up a story to reaffirm its importance.” * That is exactly what I was allowing the world around me to do… make up a story to fill in the blanks.

I needed justice. But for there to be justice, there needed to be several factors. First, there needed to be blame. This was mine – I was to blame although I didn’t know my “crime.” Then there had to be a judge… that would be God. And a jury… again, God. And finally, the victim in my story – me (again) because God’s expectations (as presented) were ridiculously unattainable.

Okay – I realize this sounds overly dramatic. However, in my grief, this was how the combination of my pain, my need for justice and my religion played out. This combination caused my world to imploded even further. Now, feelings of abandonment were added to my list – abandoned by Bruce, God, my faith… This is where complete loneliness set in. I was a mess, and it was not a pretty sight!

But that isn’t the end of the story.

In my struggle to keep from drowning in my grief, I found myself trying to understand what it was Bruce had been trying to help me understand… What was it about his faith that made his understanding of God so different from the one I was raised to believe in?

I began reading the books he read and listening to the speakers he listened to… Before long, I began to realize that somewhere in our need to find “justice” in life’s events, some of us made God into something he isn’t… and was never meant to be.

Now, after years of reading, studying and deciding for myself what I think and believe, I am at peace with the knowledge that sometimes… life just happens. And God? Well, he wants to love me through it.

He is not out there waiting for me to mess up so he can say “gotcha.” He made me and all of my imperfections. Because of that, he expects imperfection. Did you know the word ‘sin’ in Hebrew actually means “to break the peace of shalom?” It is not about breaking rules at all… it is about disconnecting from God, ourselves and each other. With that in mind, I am learning to stop focusing on the rules and “being good.”… I am learning to give myself a break and to stop thinking I need to be perfect in order to be loved.

When I look at all the things happening in the world around me, I think perhaps we all need to be more focused on connecting with each other and with God. It was eye-opening to say the least, when I found whether I was reading the Bible, the Tao te Ching, the Bhagavad Gita or any other sacred text, they all call us to do the same thing – love God… and to show that love by connecting with each other… by loving each other.

It is such a simple instruction and yet we seem to get it so wrong.

So… if love and connection is the goal, then when we treat other people with disrespect, hate and anger that is when we disrupt the “shalom.” It is also imperative to understand that it is not our job to determine if someone is “worthy” before we act… We are simply called to act. This where we will all find peace…

This is where justice is found – in our ability to to share each other’s pain and struggles and to love and respect each other despite our differences. In this way, no one is left to cry, “It’s not fair. Where is the justice?”

Because the divine energy within each of us becomes the divine reality for someone else.

What about you? Did you struggle with anger after your loss? How did you come to terms with it? Would you be willing to share your story or your thoughts?
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

* Quote acknowledgment – Rob Bell

Peace, Love and Grief… Life with a purpose

Hey Beautiful,
… I’ve spent 10 years living day by day just knowing you were out there somewhere and knowing that somewhere, somehow we would meet. I tried not to think about it. I was just trying to be a good dad and give <my daughter> what she needed. I really believe God has a plan and I was just going to have faith and let it happen. Now it’s happened and I thank God and can’t wait to see you again. You’ve given me a fresh outlook on life and I have a purpose again. Thank you!

I love you so much!
Bruce, March, 2005

Life with a purpose… isn’t that what we are all looking for in some way? I remember when Bruce wrote this letter to me. He said I gave him a purpose, but I can tell you without a doubt, he gave my life purpose, as well. When he died, I was so confused… so lost. I couldn’t understand why I was still here, and he was gone. The first year without him, I felt as if I no longer had a purpose. Surviving day to day seemed to be the only purpose I could find… at first.

As that first year drew to a close, I began to realize that I was still here for a reason. It was going to be up to me to figure out that reason and find a new focus. That next year, I focused on my own healing – emotionally and spiritually. Don’t get me wrong, I think this is one of those “on-going, for-the-rest-of-your-life” kind of things. But what I did learn that year was our purpose is always evolving. We should not expect it to remain the same year to year or possibly even day to day.

Our purpose is “for a season” – a season of life… and then, it evolves into something else… something new and different. Sometimes that change may be so subtle, we can’t even pinpoint when it actually changed. Then, there are other times (like Bruce’s death), when the change is so sudden and severe, it leaves us reeling and struggling to breathe.

The following year, I felt drawn to start this blog. My purpose was (and is) to tell the true story of dealing with loss. I wanted to tell the whole story – the good and the bad, the celebrations and the struggles, the highs and the lows… I wanted to write about the realities of being the one left behind after a loss.

Why?

Partly because I can write what I can’t say. When Bruce passed away, I had a very quick “reality check.” I learned that we (as a society) have let Hollywood dictate our opinions about loss and grief – how is to be experienced and what we should say to one another for comfort. Then, (according to Hollywood) we are all supposed to forget it, move on and “live happily ever after.”

But that is a myth; it isn’t the reality. I guess I felt my purpose has been to point that out… to let others dealing with loss know they aren’t alone. When I started, I decided that even if it only helped one person, that would make it worthwhile in my book. While I know it has made some people uncomfortable, according to the messages I receive, it has made many more people feel validated in their own experiences… so this blog is a worthwhile purpose “for this season.”

However, while I write honestly about my feelings and experiences here, I know my grief is “old news” to those closest to me. Therefore in my everyday life, I don’t usually talk about this stuff anymore… If I really need to talk to someone, I will. But generally, I try to ensure it is a rare conversation.

Which brings up another “why?” Because, while I want to help others going through similar experiences, I don’t want my whole life to be focused on the frustrations of loss. I want to live a “normal” life. Plus, I have learned that what I focus on in life will expand… and I don’t need any more sadness or frustration in my life.

For example, I found myself struggling this week as this holiday weekend approached. For me, Easter is more than a religious celebration… It is a family celebration of life. However, I knew that I would be alone, and loneliness is a huge issue for me, as it is with most widows and widowers (even years later). Since I have a hard time expressing that, no one around me knew. So, as I found myself focusing on the “alone” piece, the “pity party” started in my head.

However, about mid-week I made a choice. I decided to change my focus from “alone” and redirect it in a positive way. I couldn’t change the “alone” factor, but I could make my time alone positive and productive. So… I completely “unplugged” this weekend. I started on Friday evening, and have spent the last 2 days enjoying a quiet, spiritual retreat weekend. It has been beautiful… and definitely much better than feeling sorry for myself.

This year, while I am still writing this blog (and will continue until it no longer serves a purpose), I can feel my day-to-day purpose shifting. My current focus seems to be around spiritual growth. For what? I have no idea, but I have definitely been drawn in that direction… And I am willing to follow this path and remain open to new ideas and experiences in my life.

In some ways, I feel I am following Bruce’s lead. His calm, steady, quiet faith was unshakable. I always loved to hear him tell how he knew I was “out there somewhere” and we would meet when it was time.

From the time we met until the night he died, he wore an anchor on a chain around his neck. A simple, silver anchor – the symbol of hope. He used to say that it symbolized his hope and his faith all those years as he waited for us to find each other. He would talk about being lonely for years, but how he never gave up hope or settled for something less than what he knew was right.

Now I wear that that chain with the anchor (and our wedding bands). It is my reminder that life always offers hope… and that is where I need to focus.

What about you? Do you ever struggle with why you are still here and your loved one is not? Would you be willing to share your story or your thoughts?

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… When their next breath depended on you

Earlier this week I saw an article on line about a rescue worker who responded to a call. He immediately begin performing CPR, then realized he was working on a loved one. He became so emotionally overwhelmed, he had to let his partner take over. There were hundreds of comments following the article – some showing support and compassion for the man, but many others judging and criticizing the man for becoming too overwhelmed to continue.

For me, the article hit way to close to home. In fact, it shook me up so badly, I can’t really remember any more details than what I have written. I can’t remember what type of emergency responder he was or who the love one was. But the comments at the bottom, keep echoing through my head… and dragging out the memories of that night…

I remember waking shortly after midnight. We were still snuggled up, but Bruce sounded like he was having a nightmare. I remember trying to wake him. I called his name and shook him hard several times. As I was reaching across him to turn on the bedside lamp, he seized up, then went suddenly limp. I was frozen for a moment – not quite sure what to do. My instinct was to call 911. However, I also knew if I was over-reacting, he would be so upset with me. (Keep in mind, this debate in my mind took less than .5 second.)

I called 911.

Some of my memories of that night are foggy while others are as sharp as if it all just happened. I remember talking to the dispatcher while racing to open the front door for the EMS crew. I remember the dispatcher asking if Bruce was still breathing… It know it sounds ridiculous, but I couldn’t tell. He sounded like he was trying to breathe but couldn’t catch his breath. Finally, I said, “No, I don’t think he is breathing.” (I remember thinking how stupid I must sound.)

The dispatcher asked if I knew how to do chest compressions. I did. In fact, up until that point, I had been “the” CPR certified person in our office for years. He asked if I could move Bruce to the floor so the compressions would be more effective. I couldn’t – Bruce was a body-builder and more than twice my size. Plus, our bed required stairs for me to got up onto it.

Instead, I had to find something solid and get it under him before I could start the compressions. I found something that would work, but getting it under him was another problem. It took all my strength to roll him onto his side and hold him there while I positioned the board beneath him.

I remember thinking I was wasting SO much time… I needed to move faster.
I finally started the compressions while counting out loud. I was only on 53 or 54 when the EMS team walked in and took over. They immediately moved him to the floor as they took over the compressions and inserted a breathing tube attached to a breathing bag. I realized immediately that the pulse line on their monitor was flat. I watched from a few feet away, as they tried injecting medication directly into his heart… but the line on the monitor stayed flat. Next, they tried the “paddles”… but still, the line on the monitor remained flat.

I remember standing perfectly still… frozen in space and time – completely silent… yet on the inside, I was screaming for him to come back… but I already knew. No one said a word… They didn’t need to – we all knew.

They continued doing CPR as we waited for a police officer to arrive who could drive me to the hospital behind the ambulance. There were no sirens and no one beside me in the squad car… just myself and my worst fear coming true… and I couldn’t make any of it stop.

At the hospital, they led me to a “consultation room.” There was one dimly lit lamp on a table and two couches on opposite walls. I remember sitting there alone at first. I remember I didn’t want to be there. I already knew what the “consulation” would be, and I didn’t want to hear it… I didn’t want to hear those words.

It was only a few minutes before the attending physician came in and said the words that made everything final and real… a confirmation of what I didn’t want to know for sure.

In that moment my world fell apart. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I remember thinking for so many years, Bruce had been my hero – my knight in shining armor – and now, in his moment of crisis, I had failed him.

His next breath had depended on me, and despite everything,… he had died.

Believe me when I say, I know it is hard to lose a spouse. I know it is even harder to watch them take their last breath… I also know the worst is knowing that their next breath… their very life depended on you, but you failed… I know because I failed.

It took several months for the autopsy results to come back. The cause of death was listed as “hypertensive heart disease” – high blood pressure. (Bruce had been on medication for years for his blood pressure.) The Medical Examiner called to further explain his findings… the piece of the puzzle he felt I needed to know.

As he explained it, Bruce’s heart was twice the size it should have been. This was caused by the hypertension. The high blood pressure forces the heart to work harder to pump the blood. The heart like any muscle grows when it works hard… forcing the heart to work harder. Over time, this creates an unhealthy cycle.

The M.E. also asked if anyone had performed CPR on Bruce that night. I told him I had tried, but had failed. As we talked, he was very kind and explained that I was really “too small to be effective at CPR.” He said that CPR is used as an attempt to help someone who is technically already dead and most times is not effective… especially when performed by someone my size on someone Bruce’s size.

However, he went on to explain that, in reality, no one could have saved Bruce that night. Because of his heart size, Bruce needed a heart transplant. Without it, once his heart stopped, there was no way to restart it… no one could have saved him that night… It was already too late.

While my rational mind understands all of this, emotions are not rational. If I am honest, despite the years, my guilt over my own failure remains.

At first, I tried to deal with my guilt by talking about it, but people weren’t really equipped to help. Their response usually sounded something like, “You know you couldn’t have saved him.” (Yes, I know.) “You’ve been told there was nothing anyone could have done.” (True.) “Don’t say that. You know better. Stop thinking like that.” (True, but what I feel and what I know are two different things, and I don’t know how to make it stop.)

Eventually, I quit trying to talk about it… I don’t blame people for being uncomfortable or for the things they said. They were trying. They meant well. (And I appreciate that effort.) They wanted to help by having me look at the facts… The problem was (and is) I know the facts, but that doesn’t help me deal with my emotions. (I, also, know I have said similar things to others when trying to help.)

Besides, if I don’t know what I need to help me through this, how could anyone else?

My rational mind understands all the facts. I have no regrets about our relationship or how we spent our time together. I am thankful that I held Bruce while he took his last breath. I am so thankful I was with him, and he didn’t die alone. However, I think I will always feel that I failed him… The one time he really needed me, I let him down.

I think I will always question myself and wonder, “What if…”

After being coached and being a coach to others, I know that regret and guilt are emotions that get us no where. They are not productive emotions. They cause us to bog down where we are – unable to move forward because we are spending too much time looking behind.

Most days, I try to stick to the rational thoughts and ignore the emotional side of that experience. However, when I read the comments following the article this week, so many of those feelings re-surfaced stronger than ever. People were so quick to judge… so quick to say what (they believe) they would do. I think we all want to believe we would be “the hero” – do the “right thing” – “save the person in need.”

I thought I knew what I would do. I thought I was prepared to “be there”… to help anyone if needed. I was wrong. I learned that’s not the way life always turns out. What we think we would do and what really happens is often light years apart. This week, I found myself wondering what these same people would think of me. What would they say? What about the people in my life? The ones who loved Bruce, too?

Knowing all that I know… having experienced this for myself and knowing the reality of it, there are (many) days when I am terrified of ever finding myself in such a situation again. I know that learning to trust myself again and being able to forgive myself are a big part of my healing process…

And I am still working on that.

What about you? Did you have any guilt or regrets that you would be willing to share? Or any advice on coming to terms with the guilt or regrets?

Please share your story with us… 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… Who Am I?

Who am I?
I am a Mom, a friend, a listener.
I am a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on.
I am everyone… and I am no one.
I am a woman, a lover, and now
I am a broken soul;
A heart torn in half.
Who am I?
I don’t know…
But I am searching.
~ Linda, September 21, 2013

Who am I? For most of us, that may seem like such a simple question… Or maybe even a “who cares” kind of question. But when your world turns upside down, who you are comes into question for many of us. At least, it has for me.

Research shows us that most men identify themselves strongly with their jobs or careers, while most women find their identity wrapped up in the success of their family. Please keep in mind, this is not all men or women – just a “majority” statement. But even if these generalities are true, each of us still has other items in our lives that we also wrap our identity around.

But what happens when any of these things are gone? We are still here… But who we are changes. With that in mind, we need to be very careful what we wrap our identities around, because when those things are out of our control, it is too easy to end up lost.

After my first marriage, I felt so beaten down that I had no idea who I was. However, I was excited at the prospect of making that discovery. In my first years alone, just to be able to think for myself without any worry of reprisal was amazing! I began to realize who I was as a mother, a friend and a woman. After a few short years with Bruce, I finally felt like I had a firm grasp on the total package of who I am.

However, after that fate-filled day in 2013 when Bruce died, I suddenly realized how much of my identity was centered around us as a couple – “two people united as one.” I believe that is normal… I believe that lives intertwining is simply a result of loving someone completely. Nevertheless, trying to see myself without him, made “who am I” a very tough question once again.

About a week after Bruce’s death, I remember walking into our local pharmacy seeing two women who were easily 25 – 30 years my senior and thinking, “I can’t be a widow. That is what a widow looks like. That can’t be me.” Since that day, I’ve come to understand that “widow” is a label society has given me… a box I must check on forms that ask my marital status. While in some ways it may be only a part of my identity, it is a hard part accept. Perhaps it is hard to accept, because it is not who I am… not really. That is only a small piece of me… I am so much more than a label.

I also have a great job… one that I am extremely passionate about. In fact, I love going to work, and I do not dread Monday mornings. However, my job is not who I am either. In fact, I would say it is the other way around… It is “who I am” that allows me to bring such passion to my job.

Honestly, I still identify very strongly with being part of a couple. Thinking of myself as “just me” is still hard – even 3+ years later. I am still struggling to figure out how I fit into this world – where my space is… and where I belong.

However, despite that struggle, despite feeling a little lost, I know who I want to be… who I am working daily to be.

First, I am grateful… grateful that I am a daughter, a sister, a Mom, a “GG” and a friend. I know I am blessed by each of these relationships. For my kids, their spouses and my grandson, I want to be a source of support and love. For my family, my friends and neighbors, I want to be a positive impact on their lives. For the world around me, I want to be love and peace… I want to be willing to serve in whatever capacity I am able in any given moment.

Like anyone else, I know I have good qualities that I am working to build up, and not-so-good qualities I am working to overcome.

In other words, for me, “who I am” is really centered around the qualities within me and the legacy I leave behind as I encounter the world around me.

More than likely, I will always feel a little lost without Bruce, but the biggest part of realizing “who I am” is to remember that time doesn’t stand still. Who we are changes as our lives change. So the best thing I can do is to strive each day to be just a little bit better “me” than the day before…

What about you? Do you have a story to share? A story about coming to terms with who you are without you loved one?

Please share your story with us… This is OUR community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

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

Peace, Love and Grief… The tiger in a cage

I am learning.
Healing is finding peace within myself…
Not trying to draw it in from others…
Linda, Septermber 15, 2013

Grief is one of those things that people try to understand while at the same time trying to avoid the experience. I remember being told to “give it time.” In time, my “heart would heal.” However, some people (and books) were actually daring enough to admit that the pain would never completely heal… I remember reading that it would be more like a scar that still caused a dull ache every now and then.

Perhaps both of those experiences are true for some people – however, not for me. After three years, I can say without a doubt, it still hurts… a lot! For me, grief is more like a caged tiger… You may think you have it under control, but you must check the strength of the bars daily just to be safe.

Soon after Bruce passed away, I started tracking my dreams in my journal. I have always believed that our dreams subconsciously tell us a lot about what we are really thinking and feeling. They are our mind’s way of processing our life and emotions. Writing and tracking my dreams has allowed me to acknowledge and deal with a lot of emotions throughout this journey. I wrote about one of those dreams on the morning of January 24, 2013, just two weeks after Bruce’s death.

I don’t think I can survive this. Everyone says I’m doing great, I’m gonna be okay, I’m strong… but I don’t think so. This is more than I can bear. My heart is in pieces. I can’t even breathe and to move feels like a huge chore… This pain is too intense. No wonder some people die of a broken heart. Survival is such a struggle right now… You were my whole world… and now my world is gone.

I woke up last night about 11:30, and the song, The Hurt and the Healer, was playing. (I’ve never heard it before.) Before I woke up, I was dreaming I was on a playground, curled up in one of those baby swings. My guardian angel was pushing the swing and gently coaxing me to climb out. Then, he started singing that song, and I woke up… I think that dream and that song were sent to me for comfort…

This dream was all about my “tiger”… But I don’t believe it was “in its cage” yet. I was only a few weeks into this journey – I was still numb and raw and struggling for air. This was the dream of a woman who wanted to quit… But my life has become a testament of that same woman who has refused to quit.

As I said, for me, grief is like a tiger in a cage. One must learn to live with that tiger because ignoring it is denial and that holds a different set of dangers. Instead, one must learn to be courageous, and acknowledge it. However, never think the tiger has become tame enough for you to simply leave the door open or to go into the cage and sit peacefully beside it. No, it will always be dangerous… It will still devour you if you allow the opportunity.

In the last year, I have learned to decide my attitude before the day begins. I have learned to keep my tiger in its cage by starting the day with gratitude before my feet ever hit the floor. I have learned to be very careful about the first things I “feed” my mind in the morning. I stay away from email, Facebook, the news, or anything that might move my thoughts in a negative direction before I have had time to remember the blessings still surrounding me.

Before I started this practice and on the days I forget, it is like opening that tiger’s cage. It is dangerous territory. There is a saying that the things we focus on, expand. So for me, when the negative stuff is the first thing in, my mind starts to focus on that. Soon that focus turns to my grief and pain… And before I know it, the pain has expanded and takes over my day (or several days).

The other thing I must remember is that I will impact every person I encounter in a day… So my first choice of the day will not only impact me, it will impact everyone I meet, as well. It is up to me to decide if that impact will be a positive or a negative one.

I know that my grief and my pain were never my choice… That is my “tiger.” However, how I deal with it, my attitude and my daily outlook IS my choice. So, whether I choose to let that tiger loose or place it safely in its cage, is up to me.

I am responsible daily for choosing my attitude… And that attitude will determine the impact I have on the world around me.

I don’t always make the right choice… Some days I open up that cage, walk right in and sit for a while. But as time goes on, I am spending less and less time in that cage…

And that is my choice.

Do you have a story to share? A story about coming to terms with your grief? A story of your own tiger and how you handle it?

Please share your story with us… 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… There is more than one definition for “getting over it”

After my Grandfather died, my Grandmother continued living in her house out in the country. One day, a friend of theirs stopped by her office to tell her that he was concerned about her living “out there all alone.” He suggested that she should consider getting a dog for protection. She told him, she didn’t want the mess or work of owning a dog, nor did she want to worry about what to do with a dog while she was at work or traveling. “No,” she told him. “That would never do.”

Then, he continued voicing his concerns and told her that if she wouldn’t get a dog, she should consider remarrying so she would have a man to protect her. She looked him in the eye and responded, “I’d rather get a dog.”

That story always made me laugh!! However, when she was telling it, I had no idea I would one day understand there was more to this story that only SHE could understand at the time. She loved my grandfather – that was not her issue. But dating or getting married were not on her list of “things to do.”

Now that I am a widow, as well, I understand her response so much better…

“When are you going to get over this?”… “When are you going to move on?”… “You need to consider moving forward.”… “Life moves on, you know.”… “I think you may be ‘stuck.'” … “Bruce would want you to move on.”

I started hearing these statements in one form or another almost immediately after Bruce passed away…

The first time, I was furious! Two weeks after his death, I had a well-known security system installed in my home. Within hours of leaving my home, the sales agent using the information from my forms, called and asked me to attend a Super Bowl party with him. That was bad enough… but worse to me was the reaction I received when I vented to a neighbor. He stated that I should go on the date and “start moving on.” Seriously?? I could not even begin to comprehend his thought process.

At the time, I thought surely this was a one time scenario. I had no idea that was only the beginning. The craziest part (to me) is that everytime someone makes one of these statements about “getting over it,” it is almost always in regards to dating again… as if that is the qualifier of “moving on.”

At first, it really caught me by surprise. If I made a statement that I was “doing better,” “feeling better” or even simply “feeling happy,” nine times out of ten, the other person in the conversation would reply with some comment about dating. Then, I would find myself getting frustrated and angry… Why is dating the definition of “doing better?” Who made the decision that dating is the deciding factor?

Recently, I was in a widow’s on-line chat group when someone mentioned that she felt “pushed” by friends and family to date again, but it had only been three months since her husband had passed away. She didn’t feel ready but wanted to know what others in the group had done.

I was sadly surprised by the responses. There were a number of people who responded that they had experienced the same thing. However, for a variety of reasons, many had chosen to date just to get people to leave them alone. The majority stated they weren’t interested at all… In fact, they actually resented the person they were dating rather than being happy or excited, because they felt “pushed.”

How sad… so many people were doing something they did not want to do, simply to avoid a conversation that they found frustrating.

At the time of the first conversation I had with my neighbor, I too was frustrated with the response I received and found myself trying to defend my position. For the first couple of years, whenever this subject came up my response was the same and my frustration grew. In fact, there are some people I gave up talking to entirely because that was all they seemed to be able to focus on.

I have found that time has mellowed my thought process, and hence, my response. I don’t get frustrated, and I definitely do not feel the need to defend myself. All of that is really pointless – such a waste of energy. Truthfully, we all have an opinion about what we think we would do in another person’s shoes. (It really doesn’t matter whether we are talking about being a widow or what to eat for lunch.) It is what we do with that opinion that makes the difference.

There will always be some people who want to force their opinion onto the people around them. Sometimes these people are so sure they are right, they may even be a bit aggressive. I’ve learned to recognize these people by their “You should…” or “You need to…” statements.

Other people are genuinely curious. They mean well but they don’t understand why you do what you do. However, these people will not tell you what to do. They will ask questions and listen to the answers… They truly want to understand.

I respect this second group. I don’t mind the questions or the conversation that follows. I have learned that one of the best places to start is often by asking for their definition of “getting over it.” Over time, I have found that everyone defines it differently… so do I.

For me, “getting over it” or “moving on” means that I am able to live my life in such a way that I am happy… genuinely happy. Life will continue to throw curve balls – it always does. But my growth (my “moving forward”) is found in how I handle each situation.

After my divorce, I learned a lot about healing first… becoming whole first. After I left my first husband, I still waited over 3 years before I dated. I knew I needed that time to heal. And despite pressure from other people, I did what I knew was right for me.

Since Bruce died, I have found myself doing that again… Taking the time I need to heal in order to feel whole and happy again. My life may or may not include another relationship at some point. However, my point is I am okay either way, because having another relationship is not my goal.

I know without a doubt that no one can ever complete another person. We need to be whole first on our own. So when I define “getting over it” or “moving forward” for me, it means to become a whole, happy, healthy person on my own…

Which, in fact, I feel like I am… I simply want to see where life takes me and enjoy the ride.

Do you have a story to share? A story about coming to terms with your loved one’s death? Or others trying to tell you how to cope? How did YOU handle it?

Please share your story with us… 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 can’t be the man I love

Some days I am just lonely… I could be in a crowd of people or with a group of dear friends, but knowing that Bruce is gone – I feel lonely. Today is one of those days. I remember another one of those days. The day I picked up Bruce’s ashes from the funeral home… That day I felt the most alone I have ever felt – both physically and emotionally.

I need to start this story by going back… back to the hours, days and weeks after Bruce passed away. Some of these memories are sketchy, which is normal due to the shock the body experiences at times of such trauma. But because I almost immediately started keeping a journal, most of these early experiences were captured there. When I reread these entries, I find that I remember some of it, have absolutely no recollection of other parts of it, and still other vague, foggy memories are triggered as I read what I wrote and felt.

Our last time together was on a Friday night. Bruce passed away in the wee hours of Saturday morning. When the Medical Examiner’s office came to pick up his body from the hospital a few hours later, I was preparing to leave. Someone handed me a card with the Medical Examiner’s information and told me I could “call tomorrow to make arrangements” for Bruce’s body. In all honestly, I had no idea what they were talking about. Now, it is obvious, but at the time, I was so lost and confused… in complete denial and incredibly overwhelmed.

Most of my and Bruce’s family started arriving at our house later that morning and on into the evening. I don’t remember a lot about who showed up when, but I do remember bits and pieces of those first few days.

I remember my sister showing up with tons of tissue, which was brilliant on her part because I never used to keep this in my house. (Now I keep it in every room since I never know when I’m going to need it.) I remember my Mom and sister cooking and waiting on everyone there… meal after meal. (They worked so hard!) I remember the awful, quiet when nobody knew what to say, because there was nothing to be said that would make any of us feel better. I remember people saying they would stay for as long as I needed them. (Which, of course, was an impossible promise.)

I, also, remember being asked if I knew “what Bruce wanted”… which I did. Whenever he and I had these discussions, Bruce had always said he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered in the ocean. As he put it, he “did not want to sit on a shelf somewhere.” He didn’t want a viewing or a church service… He hated being the center of attention, and even in death, he wanted everything to be simple. But that was pretty much all I knew. It’s not like we ever really thought this was going to happen any time soon… We had never sat down and wrote out a plan.

At some point on Sunday, Bruce’s Dad (who is one of the dearest people I have ever known) asked if I had called a funeral home yet. I was stunned! ME? I was the one who was supposed to do that?? I don’t remember exactly what I said or how that kind, dear man answered me, but a short time later, I found myself looking in the Yellow Pages for a funeral home in a town I barely knew.

I didn’t know one funeral home from another, but opted for the one that was less than a mile from our home. I remember the man who answered told me no one was there that day, but he would have someone call me first thing Monday morning. “… By 10 am, ” he assured me. I don’t know what I expected to hear when I called on a Sunday, but it seemed odd that I couldn’t even set up an appointment… and stranger still was the amount of time I would have to wait to even start making any type of arrangements.

Monday morning came and went with no call. By mid-afternoon, I finally called again and was told, “Oh yes. I got your message. But we got busy here and I forgot.” Since customer service is a huge part of my own job, I was a bit appallled. Even if he did forget, why would he say that to someone who is already dealing with a tragedy?? At this point in my journey, I know I should have just called another funeral home. However, at that point, it didn’t even register that I had options.

A short time later, my sister, Bruce’s sisters and I went to the funeral home to meet with the director and “make arrangements.” All I remember is he asked so many questions… and thankfully, Bruce’s sisters were there to answer – I couldn’t remember anything. (I don’t think I could even spell my own name.)

I remember giving the funeral director permission to write the obituary. (Never mind, he didn’t know Bruce at all). All I knew was I couldn’t do it. I also remember choosing the container for Bruce’s ashes. I knew I would be spreading his ashes in the ocean, so he wouldn’t need a permanent container. The one I chose had a picture of an ocean sunset (or sunrise, I suppose) on it. I had noticed it when we walked in, and it reminded me of our trips to Key West. That was the only thing I remembering feeling confident about… everything else is just a blur.

Within the next day or two, my Mom and Dad left. Over the next few days, when his ashes were still not back, his family and my kids needed to leave, as well. The only person who remained was my sister. God love her! She stayed for as long as she could, but she has a family and responsibilities too… And eventually, she needed to go home as well.

I don’t really remember saying goodbye to anyone. I do remember walking back into the house after my sister left, and for the first time since that night being completely alone… and scared. I didn’t think I could do this… I didn’t want to do this. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me… Anything but this!

In my journal, I wrote:

Can we just begin again? Can I have these 8 years back? I know they were great, and I don’t really have any regrets – we hardly ever fought. I just want the time back! I want to feel his arms around me, a kiss on my neck from behind. I want to wake up on a lazy Sunday morning and make love knowing neither of us needs to hurry and go anywhere. I want to fall asleep in his arms. I want to skip the dinner dishes to snuggle with him on the couch. I miss hearing him call me “Babe” and Micheal, “Boudreaux.” I miss his empty beer cans on the counter and his mess in the bathroom. I miss the sureness of him sitting in his easy chair every morning – drinking tea, doing sudoku, watching the news and letting his heating pad do its magic on his back. I miss his strong hugs, his friendship, and his cheesy smile when he was trying to “pull one over on me.” I miss him. Please, send him back. I need him… I need him soooo much. Please, God! Don’t make me do this!

On the afternoon of January 23, the funeral home called… Bruce’s ashes were finally back and I needed to go pick them up. I didn’t really know my neighbors well enough to ask anyone to go with me, so I went alone.

I… was… terrified! This was too real! Too final!!

When I got to the funeral home, the death certificates weren’t complete, so I refused them. The secretary who had called and was assisting me, grudgingly took them back and started complaining that she had been out, she wasn’t feeling well, no one had told her anything… blah, blah, blah…

Really?? All I could think was, “My husband is dead. Why are you complaining to me? I really don’t care.” Of course I didn’t say that… Instead, I apologized that no one had told her, that I had inconvenienced her, and that she didn’t feel well. (Ridiculous!)

Then, to make matters worse, she tried to give me the wrong ashes. (Holy cow!) She kept insisting that the 5 small metal urns she was holding were Bruce. However, I saw the container I had chosen on the back of the shelf. I refused the ones she was trying to hand me and pointed out the correct one, explaining that I had chosen a temporary urn, since we would be spreading his ashes in the ocean.

After a frustrated sigh, checking and rechecking the tags and paperwork and a (never-ending) monologue about what she wanted done with her own ashes, she finally took Bruce’s ashes off the shelf and put them into a shopping bag – complete with the funeral home logo!… I was so horrified! A shopping bag??!! Do these people also put their logo on the sides of their caskets?? I was completely disgusted… It felt so commercial… so irreverent… To put it simply, it was just plain wrong!

Once I was back in my car, I remember looking at the container and thinking, “This can’t be Bruce! How can the man I knew and loved be in this small container.” I didn’t dare look inside… I knew I couldn’t handle that. Instead, I placed the container in my lap and literally wailed all the way home. It was the most UNreal experience I’ve ever known.

Once I got home, I place his ashes on his dresser and lit several candles around it. Then, I sat vigil for the next 24 hours (or so). I remember thinking I didn’t want to leave him… I couldn’t leave him… I needed to stay right there and protect him. I can’t explain why this seemed so important at the time, all I know is it did. For whatever reason, I needed to do this.

As I sat there, I wrote in my journal… Here is a small sample:

I toast to you, Bruce.
the best man who ever lived.
You taught me love and kindness.
You taught me to live life and not just work.
You taught me that even when family makes you crazy, it’s okay. They are wonderful and to still love them.
Be happy, Babe! Don’t sail too far away – wait for me, again…
I love you!

During those hours, I remember one thought kept going through my mind over and over, “How can this be Bruce?” Surely he was more than this dust sitting in front of me. I remember wondering, “What is it that makes us who we are? Is it our soul? What is a soul? What is our spirit? What is it that makes us who we are?”

I can’t say that I have all the answers, but over time, I have come to know this for sure…

The part of us that makes us who we are, whether you call that spirit or soul, is not physical. Like our thoughts and emotions, it cannot be seen or held or touched. Instead, it is an energy that we put out into the world. It is just as real and just as present as our physical bodies, maybe even more so… but it was not in that container of ashes. Those ashes were only the “physical Bruce.”

And I love Bruce’s spirit… his soul… his energy… and according to what I believe, that part is eternal…

Do you have a story to share? A story about coming to terms with your loved one’s death? If so, please share it with us… This is OUR community. Feel free to share your thoughts and experiences by going to the comments and leaving a note.*

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… Hearts, Presidents and Us

The day this is posted will be Valentine’s Day… and the next day will be President’s Day. However, in 2005, these holidays fell on consecutive weekends instead of the same weekend. For Bruce and I, these weekends were significant.

In 2005, our relationship was just beginnning. After returning from the cruise where we met, we had started emailing and calling each other. We knew how wonderful things had been on the cruise, and we knew our relationship seemed special. However, both of us felt like we needed to some face to face time (not on a cruise) to see what was real between us and what wasn’t.

In an email to Bruce, after one of these conversations, I wrote:

“Here’s a question… What’s the weather like in Michigan in February? Could a person get a horse drawn sleigh ride and then find a place to get warm? Or is it too miserable? (Just a question, mind you.) Actually, every weekend is filled up from now to February 12, but President’s Day weekend is a long weekend for us, so I was just thinking… I don’t know… Where do you think a person should go?”

To which Bruce responded:

“February in Michigan is usually cold and snowy. Perfect weather for a sleigh ride. I think we could find a place to warm up afterwards… We really think alike. Monday, I was checking the internet for airfares to SC for the weekend of February 12.”

At that time, I lived in a small town with a lot of caring and loving people… Which is exactly why I wanted this face to face get together to be in Michigan. I did not want my whole town watching while we tried to figure things out… We needed this to be between us. So, needless to say, I would be the one traveling… I booked a trip to Michigan for President’s Day weekend.

Valentine’s Day that year was exactly one week before President’s Day. I was teaching at a small parochial school with a mostly female (married or dating) staff. All day long, I watched the other teachers receive flowers and candy. I don’t know why I thought he might send me anything. I knew Bruce and I weren’t technically “in a relationship.” (We were trying to figure out if that was what we even wanted.) But I also knew neither of us were seeing anyone else and feelings between us were strong. However, as the day wound down and the kids headed home, I was resigned to the idea that at best there might be a card in the mail when I got home… And, honestly, who could really have expected anything more than that?

As I walked into the office to “clock out” for the day, the school secretary said, “Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were gone. This package came earlier this morning and somehow I missed getting it to you.” … And there on the counter was a medium sized box.

I opened it and inside was an Island Bear holding a dozen “roses” and a note.

He hadn’t forgotten me after all. The gift was perfect – it wasn’t overly romantic, but it was definitely something to remind me of our time together on the cruise.

The next weekend I flew to Michigan. I remember being so scared! What if I got there, and he wasn’t who he said he was or who I thought he was. What if things got weird? What if it was a bust?… But… Then again… What if it were wonderful?

I will always remember walking down the corridor at the airport, and there was Bruce, leaning against the wall watching the passengers walk toward him. As soon as he spotted me, his eyes lit up, and he smiled like a Cheshire cat.

The weekend was beautiful! We had our first “land” date. On Saturday, he tried to take me for a sleigh ride (he had made reservations) but there was not enough snow on the ground. Instead, he took me exploring all over the western side of Michigan… Which is beautiful, by the way!

We went out to Lake Michigan to see the icebergs and snowy beaches. (Ewwww!) We went to an Ice Carving competition (something you won’t find on the sidewalks in SC). We even found a cozy pub where we could keep warm while enjoying some spiced cider. One night we went out with his sisters. It was an instant connection between us girls. On our last night together, he cooked a wonderful dinner for me (including fish he had caught and peas he had grown in his garden).

On the night we had dinner with his sisters, right before we headed out, I remember Bruce taking me in his arms, looking into my eyes and saying, “I don’t want to scare you off,… But I really think I am falling in love you.”

“I’m not scared,” I answered. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Valentine’s and President’s Day weekend always found us reminiscing and smiling… so thankful that we took a chance (and won). These days marked a very special moment for us… That moment when we knew our lives would be forever intertwined… when we realized we our souls were inseparable…

Bruce always did something special during this time of year. He always thought it up and planned it. (All I had to do was show up.) Every other year, he planned a trip, just like that first year. Once we went further north to a ranch in Michigan – that was the year I finally got my sleigh ride. One year, it was a trip to St. Augustine. And our last Valentines together, we went to Key West. Each of these memories has a special place in my heart… each one is unique and precious.

That was then… But this is now…

Physically, Bruce is gone… This year, like the past few years, I will not be receiving any bears or flowers or candy or cards. I will, however, always know that I still love him…

And in my heart, I know he is still with me… and he always will be.

Are these holidays special for you too? Do they hold special memories that you would like to share? Sometimes sharing our memories is a way of making sure our loved ones are not forgotten. Please do so… This is our community. Feel free to share your thoughts and experiences by going to the comments and leaving a note.*

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… And time moves on

It Still Hurts

Sometimes I can’t breathe for the pain of it.
Other times I smile and laugh at the thought of our memories.
You were always that way…
making me smile or laugh when I wanted to cry…
when the pain was so bad.
Now my heart hurts…
truly, physically hurts with the missing of you.
I feel your soul;
I know you are here.
But I need to see your eyes and your smile;
Feel the comfort of your arms.
I want to breathe in your presence
and feel your love in all these things.
But that isn’t to be…
All I have are the memories;
The memories of our love…
And…
Sometimes I can’t breathe for the the pain of it.
~ Linda, Oct. 19, 2013

I remember when I wrote that poem. It had been 10 months since Bruce died. For the rest of the world, their lives were back in order. (At least that is the way I saw it.) But, not for me. My life was still upside down. I was still experiencing all the “dreaded firsts,” and I still had 2 more months to go before I would finish that “first year.”

I don’t know why, but there is a notion or a feeling that if you can get through (aka survive) that first year, it will all be okay… You will feel better… Life will start to feel normal again.

That, my friends, is a lie.

I remember starting that second year with so much hope that I would feel better, cry less and hurt less. But what I found was I still grieved; I still cried, and I still hurt. Life was still marching forward, but I still seemed to be out of step with the rest of the world.

On January 23, 2014, (after the one year anniversary of Bruce’s death) I wrote:

Good morning , Babe… Sad today… miss you so much. I know I’m doing better ’cause I have more and more good days, but today I am sad… went to bed sad, cried most of the night and woke up sad… Something about walking into the bedroom and knowing that I was crawling in to this bed without you… again, was too much. I just miss you! I try not to let myself dwell on it too much because it gets me too down, but other times, I need to let it out… It’s been forever since I felt the touch of your love, Babe.

A few days later on February 4, I wrote:

Hi Babe! Loving you this morning… I cried myself to sleep (again) last night. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever not cry myself to sleep… or miss you so bad my heart feels like it will rip in half. Still kinda teary this morning. The thing is – now (because it has been more than a year) I feel like I have to hide it… It is so frustrating!

Even this week, I found myself struggling and wrote:

Hi, Babe! I am really missing you tonight! How can this be real? Here I am – 3 years later – and still half expecting you to walk though the door – OR – to wake up and find this has been one horrible nightmare. I sit here at my desk looking at pictures of us and I remember all the smiles and all the love. I’ll never understand why it had to end or how to make the hurting stop. I think… No, I know, what we had was so special and I’ll never stop loving you! It took us so long to find each other that we never took “us” for granted. I have no regrets for how we spent our time together. But I never thought our time together would be so short. It went by so fast.

Why am I sharing this? What is the point?

My point is this – the pain never really goes away. It is as if you broke a leg but never had it set correctly… it just healed as it was. You learn to live with it… You learn to laugh and walk and maybe even run, but it is never the same.

Over the last 3 years, I have learned to crawl, then walk… and even run. I have learned to laugh again. I have learned to dance again. I have learned to live life again. I have learned to trust that God or the universe or whatever you want to call it has not abandoned me, is not against me nor is he punishing me… In fact, he loves me and has my back.

I know I was blessed… I know I still am. Bruce’s purpose on this earth was completed before mine, and that is a sad reality that I have to accept. ( But I hate it!) However, the fact that we had a life together at all is a miracle.

I have come to understand that my life now is determined by my perspective… Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder than others… and that is actually normal. But ultimately… it is my choice.

What do I know… even when days are hard?

I know there are still lessons for me to learn and a purpose for me to explore.

If you have experienced loss, you have probably learned lessons, too. This is our community, please share your story with us. Feel free to share your thoughts and experiences by going to the comments and leaving a note.*

Maybe you learned something different… There is no one right answer. Who knows… you may hold the answer for someone else.

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