widow – Page 41 – Peace, Love & Grief

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

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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.

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… Celebrating the dash between the dates

Tuesday, January 12… the 3 year anniversary of losing my Bruce… My hero, my gentle giant, my heart, my soul…

I spent days… no weeks… dreading this day. Knowing that this year I would be spending it on my own. I couldn’t say I was alone because there were a lot of people also grieving for Bruce. (He touched so many souls in his brief time here.) Also, there were a lot of people who offered their support if I needed them, and for that I am endlessly thankful.

The first year, I really didn’t know what to do. My sweet sister came, and we spent some time having a picnic at the beach… Then, a dinner of crab legs and champagne. It was nice, but in some way that I can’t explain, it just felt like it wasn’t enough. I just didn’t feel like it really celebrated Bruce.

Last year, two of my daughters were able to come and be with me for these days, which was a Godsend! As for the “celebration,” I knew I wanted to do something that I could carry on through the years whether I was alone or with others. I researched and came up with a few ideas. It worked… The day felt perfect; I had found a celebration tradition that felt right.

That brings me to this year…

I spent the day celebrating the dash between the dates… not mourning or focusing on that last date… the day my heart broke. I had already spent the previous days alone… meditating, writing in my journal, remembering, laughing, smiling, crying and preparing for this day.

I won’t lie. In some ways it was harder than I thought it would be and in other ways it was much better. (But, then again, isn’t that the way of grief?)

I woke up with the sun and set to work on a Bali flower basket for Bruce. These baskets of flowers are made to represent “giving back what has been given to you.” In Bruce’s basket, I included the following items:

⦁ Flowers – I’m not trying to be sassy here, but there were a lot of flowers to trim and arrange in the basket.
⦁ A flip flop charm as a token of Bruce, what he loved and his life’s attitude.
⦁ Rosemary because it is traditionally the herb of remembrance and love. (In fact, across cultures and time it has been used in funerals and burials.)
⦁ A letter from me to Bruce.
⦁ Two quotes: “Don’t die with your music still in you.” ~ Wayne Dyer and “If there’s a heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached to it.” ~ Jimmy Buffet
⦁ Incense to carry my prayers for Bruce to heaven.

Once the basket was ready, I headed out to the beach – to an area that is in line with the area where Bruce’s ashes were scattered years ago. The weather was beautiful! With the breeze, it took a few minutes, but I lit the incense, and recited a reading and a prayer from his Memorial/ Ashes ceremony. Then, I placed the basket in the ocean and watched the waves take it…

Once it was gone, I toasted Bruce using one of his favorite drinks – a Jose Cuevo Margarita. (Following the “tradition” I have set on every special day for him, I “shared” most of it with him by pouring it into the waves.) I wasn’t in any hurry to leave, so I spent about an hour or so on the beach talking to my Babe – remembering so many fond times at that same beach… crying, laughing and meditating.

The next part of my celebration took me to one of Bruce’s favorite restaurants in our town. Yep – seafood! Now I will say that in the last few years, I have become quite accustomed to eating out alone… it is not a new or daunting experience for me anymore. However, when the hostess sat this lone widow at a huge table for 6+, I just laughed! (There were some awkward stares, but honestly, that doesn’t phase me!)

My bigger issue was what to order. Bruce’s very favorite was oysters but I developed an allergy to those years ago. So, I went for what was usually his second pick – Royal Reds (shrimp) with a sweet potato. : )

Once I was back home, I went to work on the prayer flags. This has been an on-going project throughout the holidays that included my kids, their partners, my grandson and myself. Prayer flags are a Tibetan tradition and are made of brightly colored cloth. These flags are decorated with positive symbols and/or quotes. The flags are, then, hung outside. Tradition holds that as the wind blows through the flags, the prayers and positive energy are carried throughout the world, blessing all of us.

As night fell, I dressed up for a special night of Jimmy Buffet tailgating. (Our favorite!) I lit all the candles and opened my present “from Bruce” – it was a bracelet with a charm that matches my memorial tattoo. Then, I spent the next few hours dancing and laughing the night away (with Bruce in my mind’s eye) while watching Jimmy Buffet – Live in Anguila.

Once the show was over, I wasn’t quite ready to call it a night. So, I listened to a few more CDs that were favorites of ours – Kenny Chesney and Rod Stewart, while I poured over photo albums and old letters and cards.

It was a beautiful day… a day filled with love and memories of the man who forever changed my life.

I love you, Babe… I am so blessed to celebrate your dash…

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For each of us dealing with loss, the anniversary of that loss is something we must deal with year after year. My hope in sharing my day is to offer an alternative to the normal grieving process we so easily find ourselves in. I can’t say that these traditions make losing Bruce easier to deal with, but it provides me with a choice to celebrate his life and who he was… and I think he would like that.

Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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… Facing another anniversary and I still remember…

I thought we had forever…
I never knew we were counting down
from the day we met.
~ Linda, Sept. 26, 2013

As I approach this weekend, I find myself in tears. I have fought it all week, but now it is time to let myself feel what I feel.

On Tuesday, January 12, it will be 3 years… Three years since my worse nightmare came true…

January 11, 2013 was a Friday. It will be forever ingrained in my mind. I got home late, and Bruce was even later. As a truck driver, he often worked 12 – 14 hour days. However, given his occupation, we were both thankful that he was a “local” driver and home every night.

That Friday he had left for work around 5 AM and returned home around 8 PM. I had already eaten, (Chicken Lo Mein, which I still do not eat to this day), but I sat with him as he ate the dinner he had picked up on his way home. We talked about the upcoming weekend and what we wanted to do… go to the beach, use the kayaks, or go out on the boat… It really didn’t matter as long as we were together and near the water.

I remember Bruce laughing and saying, “Whatever we do is fine with me… We could just see where the day takes us.”

That night we did our usual bedtime routine, kissed goodnight and snuggled up to sleep in each other’s arms. A few short hours later, it happened… I woke up around 1 AM to a strange noise. Bruce sounded like he was snoring but more than that… like he was having trouble breathing. I remember shaking him and shouting, “Wake up, Babe. You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

But he didn’t wake up. Instead, he seized up and then stopped breathing.

“No!” I thought. “This can’t be. This must be a dream. This can’t really be happening.” It was all so surreal.

I remember calling 911. I remember talking to the 911 operator, while trying to get dressed, unlock the door for the EMS crew, struggling to put something solid under Bruce so I could perform CPR, counting while doing compressions and the EMS team arriving. I remember watching as they continued the CPR, used the “paddles,” injected him with an epi-pen directly into his heart. I remember the line on the monitor staying flat no matter what they tried. I remember standing to the side watching all of that… and I remember thinking repeatedly, “This can’t be real. This isn’t happening. I need to wake up. I need to make this dream stop.”

But I wasn’t dreaming. Instead, it was all just the beginning of an absolute nightmare.

I remember a pastor coming in to “console” me and saying, “Just think of it as someone hit the ‘delete’ button on Bruce.” I remember that same pastor and the police officer, who had driven me to the hospital, talking about football over my head as I cried. There I was crying and lost because my husband had just died in my arms, and they were talking about a football game. I remember wanting them to leave but not knowing how to tell them.

I remember the nurse handing me Bruce’s wedding band “for safe keeping.” I remember being allowed some time to “say good-by.” I remember stroking his hair and his cheeks. I remember thinking he was going to open his eyes at any minute and say, “Gotcha.” But he didn’t. Instead, I remember squeezing his toes as I left the room, something I had always done when I walked past his lounger at home… and I remember kissing his cheek and saying, “I love you, babe. I will always love you… and until I see you again – Good-by.”

I remember the ride home in the same police car and thinking, “I’m alone… From now on, I will always be alone.” I wasn’t crying at that point… I was in such shock. I remember making phone calls (at 3:30 in the morning). I remember Bruce’s Mom crying out in pain and disbelief when I told her. Calls like that one are permanently fixed in my memory, while I do not even remember making others. However, I do remember the shock in each voice as I relayed the news that Bruce… My Bruce was dead. He was gone.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine at that point what that really meant.

I remember cleaning the house because everyone would be coming. I remember trying to clean the bed where he had died. I remember making lists, although I don’t remember what they were. Most of all, I remember thinking, “This can’t be real. This space… this house is ours. You can’t be gone! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me here alone!”

But it was real… he was gone… I was alone.

I have spent 3 years (on Tuesday) coming to terms with that reality. Some days are better than others. I am working on my perspective and attitude. I know that what I choose to see in life is what I will see. However, I won’t lie. It is hard. I make myself get up each morning and say “thank you” for a new day. However, I also will be thankful when the time comes, and I am with Bruce again. (Not trying to upset anyone or insinuate anything – just an honest widow’s statement.)

So what will I do on Tuesday? Well, this will be my first year facing this anniversary by myself. I won’t say alone because there are a lot of people also grieving for Bruce. There are also a lot of people who have offered their support if I need them, and for that I am endlessly thankful.

My plan for Tuesday is similar to last year, and I am sure I will share it next week. But for today… tonight… and probably the next few days, I will be reliving our last few days together (especially that night) over and over…

and still wishing this was just a very bad dream…

and still praying I will wake up with Bruce next to me… holding me…

the way I remember.

Each morning I awaken
And I am reminded all over
That you are gone.
I call out to you…
Sometimes in only a whisper.
And I still feel your soul respond to mine…
~ Linda, March 22, 2015

For anyone dealing with loss, the anniversary of that loss is something we must endure year after year. I don’t know if it ever gets easier. So far, for me it is still just as painful… the tears and grief, just as strong.

Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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… Old Year’s Night/New Year’s Eve

Where we’ve been and where we’re going… That is what the transition between December 31 and January 1 represents for so many of us. For those of us dealing with loss, it also means preparing for the reality of another year without our loved one(s).

In fact, even with my life moving in a more positive direction, I still miss and love Bruce. I still find myself wishing for “what was” instead of “what is.’ My journal entry for December 31 states it best:

Hi Babe! As I prepare to face another year without you next to me, I struggle. I miss you so much it still hurts – physically as much as emotionally. There is still a huge part of me that can’t believe you are gone (even after 3 years). There are so many sweet memories and I am so thankful for those. I, also, know your spirit will always be with me… will always be a part of me, but it’s not the same. I miss you! I would still give anything to have you here – physically beside me… I still love you so much!

So this week, while I find myself facing the beginning of 2016, I have looked back in order to decide how best to move forward.

Before Bruce, I was never really one for resolutions or parties. Even after we were married, the New Year wasn’t really anything significant for either of us. Honestly, with the exception our first two and the last New Year’s Eve, we didn’t really make a big deal of the Old Year/New Year thing. The first two, we spent in the Virgin Islands… The first was New Year’s Eve on board the ship where we met. (I wrote about that last week.) The second was Old Year’s Night at Foxy’s on Jost van Dyke. (Same cruise, only this time it was our honeymoon.)

Our last New Year’s Eve together was spent at a neighbor’s party. Bruce had worked late and had to work again the next day, so I thought he wouldn’t want to go. However, when he came home, he insisted he wanted to go. So, we agreed to go for about an hour. To my surprise (and delight), once we were there Bruce insisted we were having too much fun to leave. We laughed and danced together all night. Now, I have the most precious memories of that night – holding each other, laughing, dancing… not a care in the world – simply being present in the moment and loving it. To top it off the next morning, Bruce did something he never did… He called out to work and stayed home to “spend the first day of the new year with his ‘wifey'” (me). This simple gesture left me feeling so honored and loved.

The next year was my first year without Bruce. It was the year I did not celebrate anything. My son and I had rented a yacht in Key West to “escape” Christmas and returned home early that evening. My neighbor insisted that we come to his party again, but it wasn’t the same… not for me. My heart just wasn’t in it. The last thing I felt like doing was celebrating the start of a New Year without Bruce.

Jump ahead to last year… I met up with a childhood friend, I had not seen in over 30+ years. We spent the evening reminiscing about the past and talking about the present. Several things came up in conversation that night that changed 2015 into a positive year for me. Two of those things have stood out for me as the biggest game changers this year.

First, my friend suggested I write this blog about loss and grief… “Tell the real story,” he said. The real story – including the pain, the hurt, the awkwardness, the struggles, the things that are said (that shouldn’t be), the things left unsaid, the surprises… everything.

Why? Because as a society, we really don’t talk about death or grief. We have let Hollywood “romanticize” it, if you will, and that is way off base from the reality. My intention and hope was (and is) to be honest and build a space where anyone dealing with loss and grief can realize that their experience is “normal” even if it isn’t the “Hollywood” version… And most important – to feel safe sharing their experiences, as well.

Second, my friend suggested a “theme” for the year versus a resolution. Why not a resolution? According to research, 93% of resolutions are abandoned within the first month. Why is that? Because we tend to make our resolutions based on what we “perceive” we should do (lose weight, exercise more, etc) versus what we have an inner drive or passion to do. In other words, working toward our life’s purpose… And for me that meant sharing my experience with others with the hope of helping.

So 2015 became my year of “Celebration, Creation and Contribution.”

This mantra played out in so many ways for me… I Celebrated (really celebrated – not just observed) every holiday, including the anniversary of Bruce’s death. (You’ll hear about that later this month.)

I have always been a Creative person, but when Bruce died I put most of that aside. It seemed to take everything in me just to keep breathing. However, this year, I made the decision to change that… I started painting, playing piano and singing again. I even started writing (despite being told all my life I am “not a writer.”) In fact, thinking creatively has given me the confidence to look past the “good” opinions of other people. This, in turn, has opened so many opportunities for me.

And finally, Contribution… This was the year to be vulnerable – to pull outside of myself and do something for others. Refusing to stay focused on my own situation was hard at first. I had to “fake it till I made it” for a good portion of the year. But a few months ago, it actually clicked… it became heartfelt. I love the things that I can do to help others, especially life/development coaching and this blog. Contributing to the world around me has taught me to love and accept everyone around me… to send peace and love where before I might have responded with judgment or anger.

My thought from the beginning has been: if I could help even one other person, then it would be worthwhile. From the messages I receive, it appears that this year of Celebration, Creation and Contribution has made a difference in at least a few lives. In truth, though, even if it hadn’t, I know it made a huge difference in my own life. I have learned firsthand that focusing on myself causes me to be stagnant or spiral down… feeling alone and abandoned. But when I focus on someone else’s needs instead of my own, we can move forward together and connected.

What about you? What one small decision or change can you make to move forward? If you are on the healing side of grief, what did you do to move forward?

Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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… The Best Christmas Present

The year was 2004. The day was December 26. I will always remember this as the day I received the best Christmas gift ever. My son and I were off on what I thought was to be a week-long adventure to the Virgin Islands. This adventure, however, lasted much longer than a week… It changed my life.

We flew from SC to St. Thomas and boarded an old sailing schooner christened The Legacy. (If I had been writing a novel, I could not have added better foreshadowing, for the legacy Bruce left is what continues to shape my life.) We were all given a Rum Punch, ushered into the dining room and given forms to fill out for the different ports we would visit.

There were several people at our table. The crewman, in his haste, dropped off a pile of forms for all of us but no pens or pencils. As a teacher (at the time), I always carried a handful of pens and pencils. So, I quickly pulled them out of my backpack and started offering them to the people seated around me.

As fate would have it, Bruce was seated right next to me. He declined, however, and pulled out his own pen. In fact, as the rest of us joked and talked, he sat quietly and filled out his forms – listening but not really taking part in the banter. “Too bad,” I remember thinking. No matter, though… it was a very small ship and within just a few hours we ran into each other again.

It was a magical week for me… the beauty of the islands, time with my son and this new person who made me smile without even trying. The connection between us was so easy and natural. By the end of the week, even the other passengers were taking notice and making comments.

One of these comments was spoken directly to us the last night of the cruise, New Year’s Eve. Someone casually walked by and said, “You two seem to really have something… don’t let it go.” (That threw me a bit,… I hadn’t thought that far ahead.)

Bruce, however, not only took it in stride, he looked me in the eye and added, “They’re right. There is something pretty amazing between us. I don’t want to lose it.” I was shocked… terrified, actually. I had just spent 20 years in a violent marriage and another 3.5 fighting for a divorce. All I wanted was peace in my life… The last thing I was looking for was another relationship.

So, true to my (old) form, I ran away.

Not literally… In reality, I was not nearly so dramatic. I just excused myself and went back to my cabin. However, the next morning, as everyone was preparing to disembark, I told Bruce it wasn’t going to work. I remember many of the excuses I blurted out: “I had fought too long and too hard to be on my own to give it up again.” “We were too different.” “We lived too far apart.” And on and on…

He didn’t argue. True to his own nature, he gave me a gentle kiss and quietly walked away. (Later he was to tell me that he spent a few extra days in St. Thomas watching The Legacy at port. He said he just kept thinking if it was meant to be, it would work out… and he was hoping it was meant to be.) I, however, cried all the way home… somehow I knew I had just walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to me.

But the story (as you know) doesn’t end there.

I sent Bruce an email almost as soon as we were home, told him I had really enjoyed our time together and asked if we could be friends. I added that if I didn’t hear back from him, I understood and would always treasure our week together. Jump ahead 1 month and I was flying to Michigan to see if this thing between us was real or just a ship-board romance… By the end of the weekend, we both knew this was a forever thing. Jump ahead 10 more months and we were married.

Bruce opened up my life like a flower in spring. I experienced real, unconditional love. I learned how a healthy man functions and what a healthy marriage really is. Throughout our marriage, I grew in so many ways. Some of the biggest changes were my self-esteem, my self-confidence and (biggest of all) learning to trust. I loved Bruce with every part of my being and told him daily that he was my hero and the best Christmas present I had ever received.

When Bruce passed away on January 12, 2013, my world went dark. It was completely unexpected, and I found myself thrown backwards emotionally. It was as if all those things I learned with Bruce were gone… my self-esteem, my confidence and my ability to trust… all gone. Not only could I not move forward, I seemed to be spiraling down further and further as time passed.

But that is still not the end of the story…

Even after all those years together, there was still so much about Bruce I didn’t know or understand. I had always recognized that Bruce had an inner peaceful quality that I didn’t have. There wasn’t much that could shake him… he just seemed to take life in stride. Whenever I was stressed or worried, he would remind me that “the river never tries to move the rocks… it just flows around them.” At the time, I used to roll my eyes and tell him he didn’t get it. He would just smile and hug me.

As I found myself at my lowest point, I could hear him repeating this phrase in my mind… and I must say, the rocks in my river were feeling more like boulders. I decided I wanted to know more… I had to know more. So, I have spent the last couple of years, learning about my husband and what made him tick. I have listened to the lectures he listened to; I have read the books he read… And I have come to truly understand the man I married and love.

This past year, I have started traveling down the path Bruce made for me… his legacy for me. My life is once again moving forward in a positive direction because of Bruce. So here I am, as I write this blog on December 26, 2015 – the anniversary of the day we met – knowing without a doubt that I was right all along…

He really was the best Christmas present ever.

This link below is to a song that describes it best. It was the last song we danced to on Christmas Night 2012, just a few short weeks before he passed.

When we lose someone, our lives change drastically. The aspects they added to our life seem to be gone forever. But as time passes, we can learn to pull the best of those aspects into our own lives.

Have you ever felt that way? What did you do? Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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… Learning to sing again

Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. At four years old, I was started singing in our church’s children’s choir. At seven, I started piano lessons. In middle school, band was added to the agenda, and in High School I added singing competitively and musicals to a world I loved.

In truth, music was my outlet. It was how I worked through my emotions. As a teenager, I would play out my emotional highs and lows on the piano, and as an adult, I would utilize either the piano or singing. Whatever I was feeling, music was a safe place to express myself.

This love for music extended into my adult life. My kids and music were my life. I taught music in a small parochial school, directed show choirs, directed childrens’ choirs, sang in adult choirs, was a member of the Director’s Guild, sang as cantor at our church and taught voice and piano lessons.

When Bruce and I married, I moved to Michigan. This meant a change in my job, but singing was still a major part of my life. Music was so much a part of who I was that I could not imagine a day without it.

Then Bruce died and the light in my world went dark… I stopped playing piano. I stopped singing. It was as if my music was gone, too. My poor parents tried many times to convince me that I just needed to try. They tried to remind me how much music had helped me in the past, but I couldn’t…

I don’t mean I wouldn’t… I mean I couldn’t – really and truly, physically couldn’t. I would try to turn on the radio and just sing along but nothing would come out… except tears. I didn’t know how to explain it to anyone including myself. (Evidently, this is a common response to stress, but I didn’t know that at the time.)

Whenever someone would bring it up, I would respond, “I don’t sing anymore – not since Bruce died,” and leave it at that. I also tried playing piano but that usually just ended in a crying session. After a while, I just accepted that this was one of those changes I needed to accept… Bruce was gone. My music was gone. I just needed to move on with my life.

After a few months, I learned to use other creative outlets for my grief, such as painting or gardening. These were quiet endeavors that allowed me to get lost inside my own head… I’m not sure – perhaps I am over-analyzing it, but I think I was struggling so hard to keep from falling completely apart that I needed the outlet to be quiet… controlled, if you will. That way I could keep myself together and not “go off the deep end.”

I remember about a year after Bruce passed away, I opened a fortune cookie and it read, “You have music inside you. Let it out.” I remember smiling and thinking, “Not yet… I’m not ready.” A few months later I was listening to Wayne Dyer when he said, “Don’t die with your music still in you.” (Yes, I am aware that he was referring to one’s life purpose, but it really struck home with me.)

That lasted for almost two years… Two years of no songs… just silence. Until…

Until last Christmas, when I decided to participate in Christmas again. As I wrote recently, one of the first things that triggered the Christmas season for me in the past was playing the first Christmas music of the year on Thanksgiving Day. I spent last Thanksgiving with one of my daughters, her husband and my grandson, and true to tradition, they did the same.

At first I cringed a little bit… I wasn’t sure how to respond until I heard a sweet child’s voice. My little Bubba singing as loud as he could and filled with more joy than I could imagine.

I smiled, said a quick prayer, took a deep breath, opened my mouth and… (wait for it….) sang along. : ) In fact, we all sang all weekend. I even sang all the way home. I don’t know how to explain how victorious it felt to be able to sing and express myself again in a way that is pure joy and fun for me.

This year, my life has taken a completely new direction. As I have moved more and more into the life coaching realm, I know without a doubt my life’s purpose now is one of serving and helping others. While I don’t feel called to make music the central focus of my life again, having it back in my life gives me a fun outlet that feels like an old familiar friend.

I, also, know that my creativity helps me approach life in a more positive way… and all because of the sweet innocence and love of a child.

When we lose someone, our lives change drastically. Did you feel you lost something that had been an integral part of who you were? What did you do? Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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… What do you do with the stocking?

From what I see in my neighborhood and on Face Book, most of us have already decked our halls… I did mine after I returned from my Thanksgiving trip. Inititally, I wasn’t going to decorate this year. Not to avoid the holiday, it just seems like a huge amount of work, and I’m the only one to see it.

“I’ll just put up the Christmas Village,” I thought. Then, it was the nutcrackers… As I opened each container, I found myself smiling as I remembered Christmases past with Bruce and my kids. It was such a beautiful, bittersweet trip, I ended up decorating after all… But this experience was quite different from last year’s.

That first year, I ignored Christmas, so there was nothing to think about. Last year, though, I thought I was ready until I opened that first container… and there right on top, was Bruce’s stocking… Right where I had packed it after our last Christmas together… A Christmas when I thought we still had the rest of our lives to celebrate this holiday over and over.

Journal Entry – Dec 2, 2014

Hi Babe… feeling down… really struggling and missing you. Yesterday was okay – good actually… Until I started some Christmas decorating last night. : ( I thought I was ready. I thought I would be okay, but it broke me. I didn’t do Christmas last year, so this is my first time unpacking this stuff since you died. And since this box represents our last few weeks together, the memories are bittersweet and the tears seem to be endless. All I managed to get out were two nativity sets, the light brick and the stocking holders. (What am I going to do with those?) Hang one stocking? Do I hang yours? I don’t know what to do there… What do I do? I cried myself to sleep and woke up still crying. I’m not very good at this whole widow/grief thing. I can’t seem to just “move on.” I still love and miss you so much! How can this be my life? How can you be gone? How does someone with so much love and life just cease to exist? I don’t think I will ever understand this.

I keep remembering how much you loved Christmas – all the decorations and the music… your big ole’ grin when you watched me decorate or when you put on the Christmas music; your big smile that first Christmas when you laid on your belly in the snow to cut down the tree my youngest daughter had picked; how much you loved all the treats (even though you swore you didn’t eat sweets) and how excited you got about getting me the “perfect” gift. You loved the fact that this season was all about family and that was what you celebrated. When we were in Michigan, your folks would be there for the whole month and we would spend as much time as possible with them. This was also the time we would spend a week with my family back home. All that is gone now… It was you, Babe. You brought the magic to our lives and now you’re gone. Now I don’t know what to do. I’m so lost… I thought I could do this, but now… I don’t know.

Journal Entry – Dec 3, 2014

Hey Babe! Wow! Yesterday was tough. I didn’t leave the house all day… Shoot – I couldn’t stop crying all day. I’m still kind of emotionally tender today, but definitely doing better today. The stocking thing really threw me for a loop. I ended up going on-line and searching. Turns out, my reaction is common… What to do with the stocking throws a lot of us for a loop. There were all kinds of ideas and suggestions. I’m going with the only one that made me smile when I read it. I’m hanging your stocking and placing paper next to it. Then, I am going to write Christmas memories on the paper (as I remember or people send them) and place them in the stocking. I’ve already had three people send memories. : ) It makes me smile. I still cried some, but I managed to finish the decorating. I still wish you were here… you loved all of this… I don’t know about next year, but this will work for this year.

So… What am I doing this year? The same… Bruce’s stocking is right next to mine – where it belongs. The paper is there and I am writing and adding memories as I remember them. This year I wasn’t caught off-guard, and the memories make me smile. I still wish he were here. I probably always will because I still love and miss him.

Over the past few months, gratitude has become a part of my new mantra, so instead of crying over what is lost, I am thankful for what was… for all the wonderful memories of those Christmases past.

And, believe it or not, I find myself looking forward to whatever new memories are waiting to be made.

Have you ever found yourself caught off-guard like this? What did you do? Would you be willing to share your story or thoughts? To do so, go to the comments and leave 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