Tag: feel what I feel

Peace, Love and Grief… You Feel What You Feel

This week, I listened to a speaker talk about emotional pain, such as grief. He talked about how when the pain is physical, we are more honest about how we feel. For example, if we have a broken bone, no one thinks less of us if we say it is hurting on a certain day. Shoot, even years later, if you say that an old injury is bothering you, no one thinks a thing about it.

Yet inner pain, which is just as real, is not treated the same. For whatever reason, we are more hesitant to say we are feeling a little down or that the grief is a bit overwhelming on a certain day. But why? Is it the reaction we think we will get? Or is because of a reaction we have gotten in the past? … Probably a little bit of both.

But just like a physical hurt, we must acknowledge and take care of our inner pain, as well, if we want it to heal at all. If you have ever lost someone you love, that is what we call our grief journey… That path where we struggle to find the healing balance which will allow us to deal with the pain, while at the same time, not letting it completely take over our lives.

For me, (six years later), I mostly function in a positive zone… most days, I am okay. In fact, if you ask me how I am, I will say, “Fabulous.” I can smile and laugh and live in the moment. However, I still have days or moments where the grief and sadness are dominant. It’s not a bad thing or an overwhelming thing… I just feel sad. Plain and simple, I miss Bruce. More precisely, I miss all the things he added to my life.

I’m not talking about a pity party… I’m not caught up in feeling sorry for myself. In fact, most people around me are completely oblivious that anything is wrong. I can usually brush any questions off with “I’m just tired.” But the truth is I’m just sad. I don’t know how to explain it… I’m not feeling sorry for myself. At this point, I definitely accept my reality as it is… I guess the best I can explain it is to say I just miss him.

You see, when you lose your partner, you lose more than just a person. That person filled so many roles… so many spaces in your life… And I miss all those things…

I used to always tell Bruce, he was my hero… and he was. He was also my best friend, my rock and my anchor… He brought a stability to my life that I had never experienced before him. I have spent most my adulthood going from one crisis to the next, but not with Bruce. With him, life took on a peace and fullness that is indescribable… and I miss that.

I have a friend who lost his wife a few months before I lost Bruce. I remember asking him how he was doing one day, and he responded, “You miss the little things… that’s where the relationship and the love came from.” Boy, he was right! Those are the exact things I miss…

I miss going places with Bruce… side by side – always together. I miss sharing the adventure of all those places and experiences we shared. I miss going to restaurants and sitting on the same side of the table so we could still hold hands (or snuggle if it was a booth). I know that probably sounds goofy, but it made me feel so special. I miss that he would always order an appetizer, while I ordered a full meal. Then, when I got full (which didn’t take long), he would finish off my food… always letting me pick whatever I wanted to eat, then laughing as I pushed my plate toward him after only a few bites.

I miss Sundays… It was out day to go to the beach together. It was such a quiet special time together. There wasn’t a lot of conversation. Instead, we just enjoyed the silence as we sat next to each other holding hands while watching the waves, reading or catching a quick nap.

Sundays also meant cooking together. There was something fun and romantic about sharing a space that is really meant for one. There was also something sexy about watching him cook while I sat at the counter – watching, talking, and sipping on a glass of wine.

I miss those days when he got home first and would greet me at the door with a glass of wine. Or when I was on the phone with someone and getting stressed, silently, he would come with a grin and a glass of wine.

I miss snuggling on the couch after dinner – either in silence or watching TV. It didn’t really matter. Just being together, breathing each other in, was the best part of those moments.

I miss playing games and knowing that he would never just let me win. Of course, he might play sports left-handed to give me better chance (LOL!), but he was just as competitive as I am. It was so much fun, knowing that whoever won would have bragging rights for days.

I miss having someone who loves me, even when I’m wrong. He was always there for me… No matter what, he always had my back. Whenever I was frustrated with myself, Bruce would just take me in his arms and hold me. He never tried to fix things or reiterated my mistakes. Shoot, I was already well aware of whatever I had done. I just needed to know that someone still loved me in spite of it… and he never failed to fill that need. He never left me doubting his love. It was always there – strong and constant.

This list could go on and on… There are so many things I miss… So many day-to-day memories that I would give anything to have back again. However, that is not meant to be…

Instead, this is my journey, and honestly, I think I’m doing pretty good. Most days the road is smooth and the sun shines. Although occasionally, the road is rough, and I can’t see the sun. On those days, the only thing I know to do is breathe and take it one step at a time… allowing myself to feel what I feel – knowing that a better day is always just ahead.

What about you? What do you miss about your loved one? I know everyone’s experience is different… We all miss different aspects of our relationships, and we all heal in our own way. However, that doesn’t mean we have to be on this journey alone. I believe this is where we can help each other… By sharing our stories and experiences, we can all feel validated and supported. Please feel free to reach out and 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

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

Peace, Love and Grief… Time Moves on But My Heart Doesn’t

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 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 was my perception.) 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; laugh more and live “normally” again. But what I found was after that first year, I still grieved… I still cried, and I still hurt. Life was marching forward, but I still seemed to be out of step with the rest of the world. I tried to laugh more… I tried to live a “normal” life.

But… what was “normal?” How could I live a “normal” life when I still hurt so bad?

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 into 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!”

And three years after he died, I found myself still 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 through 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.”

Even now, as the six-year anniversary of Bruce’s death is on the horizon, I find that I still miss him… and it still hurts… I’ve just gotten better at shoving it down deep when I am with others… Only feeling free to feel what I feel when I am alone (and writing).

In fact, I’ve written about it several times over the past few weeks. I still miss Bruce so much and going through this current challenge without him has been beyond hard. When I am scared or frustrated, I think about how wonderful it would be to feel his arms around me and to hear him whisper in my ear, “It’s going to all be okay.” To feel that I was a priority to someone who loved me unconditionally… To feel that I could cry when I needed to without worrying about being “strong” or being a bother… To be totally and completely honest about my fears…

But, Bruce is gone… Time has moved on. Life has brought (and will continue to bring) more challenges… And I must learn to take each one in stride without Bruce by my side.

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 few 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 am I being punished… In fact, I truly believe, God loves me and has my back.

I know I was blessed… I know I still am. The fact that we had a life together at all was a miracle. But the sad reality is Bruce’s purpose on this earth was completed before mine. (Oh, how I hate it that!) But I have come to understand that my life now is determined by my perspective… And my perspective is my choice…

I know there are still lessons for me to learn (like this current path) and a purpose for me to explore. (Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be here.) But, I also know I don’t have to let go of my love for Bruce in order to do any of those things.

In other words, time does move on… Life moves on… but my heart… well, my heart doesn’t have to…

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

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

Peace, Love and Grief… And the Learning Continues

I know life is one long learning experience… I also know the minute we think we have it all figured out, life will throw us a curve ball. However, when it happens it is hard to see it as an opportunity to learn. For me though, this grief journey seems to have taken this same idea and multiplied it. Even the little things I think I have learned came around over and over. These last few weeks have been no exception. I have felt myself sinking lower and lower, and struggling to find a way out. This weekend, I spent some time on the beach putting my thoughts to paper and letting out the emotions.

Dear Babe,

Hi! I took today off… I just needed some time here on the beach… with you. Life has gotten so busy these days. Don’t get me wrong – I prefer this busyness to being alone, but lately it has felt a bit overwhelming. So much of the time, I feel numb going from one thing to the next. So, today is a “me” day… and right now is “us” time. I think this is what I need to get my bearings once again.

When I told Michael I was heading to the beach today, he responded, “Want to spend time with Papa?” Even he knows you are still my rock… my safe space in the storm. I read an article today written by someone (“an old man”) who has grieved many people. It was so accurate. He described the waves that come over you – even years later… And how that is normal. (Which is good to know since I was beginning to think I was losing it.) *

Lately, I have seen the waves on the horizon… I know the next three months are my hardest. It is one special day after another – each one a reminder you are not here, and I am alone… a reminder of what we had and how much I miss you… a renewal of anger, frustration, and confusion about why… Almost five years later and I still don’t get it… Why did it have to be this way? Why do I still wake up each day to a broken heart when I realize you aren’t there beside me?… I know this is real… I know it isn’t a dream… But it is still hard to accept.

I have let myself cry most of the day today… something I haven’t done in months. I think I needed it though. It’s one of those things I used to do as much as I needed, but now it is different. Now, I try to be aware of those around me, and how it affects them. I know it causes them distress. Yet, when I hold it in, I think that affects them, as well.

I don’t know exactly how, but my daughter can sense it. She is great about letting me have the time I need – like this time today, more time tomorrow and all of next weekend. She knows this time of year is hard for me. And while I know my grief is hard for her, she gives me this… This gift of time to grieve freely. She will call me out if I sink too low or become too negative… But her support is incredible, and I am thankful.

It’s weird but this past summer when I was struggling, someone else commented that I was “putting out a lot of negative vibes.” That really hurt to hear at the time, but I couldn’t argue it… I still can’t – They were right. They knew that wasn’t my normal behavior, but they didn’t know what was going on. I, on the other hand, couldn’t talk about it. Maybe I wasn’t willing or maybe I felt they can’t understand how much I still hurt, because they’ve never experienced it… I felt I couldn’t explain it because it can only be experienced. To be honest, my daughter doesn’t understand it either, she just understands me… But, I guess that seems to work.

As for the rest of the world, these next few months are ones of joy and celebrations. I will have to balance that with my own need to grieve and feel what I feel. Sometimes that is really hard… Does any of this even make sense, Babe?

I still miss you so much! Did you know when you died, it feels like most of me died too? I’m definitely not the person I was. When we met, I was excited about life and so naïve about people. You always smiled, but warned me to be careful… Now, I am quiet, not so trusting and pretty content to be alone with my family or my own thoughts. I don’t know… maybe all of this is a relatively normal part of the process.

Life really knocked the wind out of me when you died, and I don’t think I’ve gotten my breath back yet… Maybe that’s not entirely true. I guess, I have for the most part… But when the waves hit (like now), it still feels so overwhelming. Then, I come here… And between the waves and the writing, I can let go… I can cry… I can breathe… I remember… And I smile.

I miss you… I would give anything to have you here beside me. I’ll never understand why that wasn’t to be… But I am so thankful for what we did have… So thankful to have known real love – even if it was only for a little while.

My heart will always be yours, Babe… Always and forever, I will love you!

* The article: http://beautythings.info/2017/09/24/when-asked-for-advice-on-how-to-deal-with-grief-this-old-man-gave-the-most-incredible-reply/

This weekend was good for me. Thinking things through, writing things down and just letting myself feel what I did was very healing. The rest of this weekend, I have started to feel more positive… More like me. It’s strange, but as the old man in the article says, I “know that somehow <I> will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but <I’ll> come out.” That seems to be the lesson, I am learning over and over… The lesson that “The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too.” *

I am so thankful for this group. Your notes and messages are heartfelt, and I feel close to you through the experiences we share. Through these stories and thoughts we share, I hope others will realize what they feel is normal… We are all dealing with some pretty intense, emotional stuff, and none of us needs to handle this alone. Learning to navigate this journey is different for each of us. It brings its individual challenges and lessons. Through it we come to realize we are stronger than we thought we were. If any of this feels familiar, we are here, you are not alone. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or even a virtual hug, let us know… we are here for you. To leave a comment or story, go to the comments and leave us a note. *

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

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