griever – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love and Grief… The Worst Day of the Year

I hate today.
With all my soul, it is a day I wish had never happened.
But it did happen.
And now I remember every moment.
Like a movie on a loop,
It plays over and over in my mind
Until each horrible detail is imprinted there.
Most days I force myself to think of other days.
Days spent at the beach or on the boat.
Moments spent dancing barefoot in the kitchen
Or snuggling in each other’s arms sharing intimate conversations.
Those are the days I love…
Those are the days I want to always remember…
Not this one…
~ Linda, January 2018

This week held the worst day of the year for me… the anniversary of Bruce’s death. In keeping with my 2018 mantra of Self-love and Self-care, I made the decision to do something different this year.

In the past, I started the day watching the sunrise at “our” beach with flowers, prayers and a toast to the life of a great man… the man I love! I have lunch and dinner at his favorite spots. In the afternoon, I hung new prayer flags on the back porch… a tradition I still love. (Each flag is painted by hand and represents something about Bruce. Throughout the year as the wind blows, the good will in each flag is spread throughout the world until each flag either disintegrates from the elements or is carried off on the wind.) Then each year, I ended the day with a Jimmy Buffet dance party… and in my mind Bruce was always there, too.

I still love these ways of honoring Bruce… They are meaningful and beautiful! However, as this year’s anniversary approached, I realized last year’s flags are still in good shape, so I didn’t want to replace them. Plus, my mantra for the year is about Self-love and Self-care. So, I decided to do something different… something to honor not only Bruce, but our relationship and our shared passion…

Bruce and I loved to travel… It was how we met, traveling in the Virgin Islands over the Christmas holidays in 2004. However, since he died, the only traveling I have done has either been for work or with/to family. While I never lost that urge to see the world, somewhere along the line, I convinced myself I couldn’t do it alone. This year, though, I decided to pick those dreams back up and go… And I can’t think of a better way to honor Bruce… and us.

Since his ashes were spread in the ocean five years ago, I figure I can find him on any beach anywhere in the world. Admittedly, I haven’t gone far this year (just a few hours south). But this is a new place I’ve never seen before this weekend… So, it is still a new adventure (for us)!

As I drove into town, the expected rain for the day was actually beautiful sunshine. I made a quick stop for flowers and beer before heading to the waterfront tiki-bar/restaurant for lunch. (Thankfully, eating out alone is something I forced myself to do almost immediately after Bruce passed. So, now it doesn’t feel awkward at all.) The water was beautiful, and the meal was great! I toasted Bruce with a Mojito (one of his favorites). Then as I sat there, I wrote him a letter to go with the flowers and beer.

Hi Babe!

I can’t believe it has been 5 years! Good grief! I will always remember that night like it was yesterday… I miss you so much. I keep trying to move forward, but it is hard. I still want to share every little thing with you – every accomplishment, every “awe” moment, every smile and every tear… but that isn’t meant to be. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.

This year I decided to change gears, be brave and do something new… In some way to honor not just you, but us! We always loved to travel. It is how we met and what we loved to do – new adventures!

Up until now, all my travels (since you died) have been for others (work or family). But I decided to start traveling for us. I still want to see the world… and I know you are by my side. : ) I can’t hide from the world forever, and knowing you are with me makes me braver. Thanks!

I have been so sad this week as today got closer… I hate January 12… It’s a truly sh**ty (sorry) day… I do still wish you were here… to see your smile and hold your hand one more time would be the best gift ever! I know one day we will be together again… Our hearts are too connected for anything else. Until then, I will miss you…

Thank you for loving me when were here, and thank you for still loving me now. I pray you know I will always love you! You will always have my heart! Always and forever!
Me
xxxooo

After lunch, I headed straight to the beach, where I “gave” Bruce the beer, flowers and letter. Then, I just sat there talking to him, writing… and crying. It was my time to let go and grieve out loud for a bit. (Life just seems too busy these days for much of that.) More than an hour passed before that promised rain finally came, sending me to the shelter of the hotel. But that wasn’t all… I ended the day the way I always have… A little wine, a little Buffet, a little dance party, a few smiles… and a few tears.

Overall, it was a beautiful day. I don’t regret my choice to do something different, at all. In fact, it felt so right, I know I will be doing this more often. After all, grief shouldn’t just be about the tears…

For me, it must also include continuing to do those things Bruce and I loved doing together… Then, I can remember the smiles…

“Love yourself and love your life; it’s the only one you have.” ~ Joyce Meyer, Good Health, Good Life

For each of us dealing with loss, the anniversary of that loss is something we must deal with year after year. While nothing will ever make the loss of Bruce easier to handle, this year’s anniversary was cathartic and peace-filled… And I guess I can’t ask for more than that. My hope in sharing my day is to share an alternative to the normal grieving process we so easily find ourselves in. I know I am not the only one… We are all dealing with some extremely 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

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Peace, Love and Grief… A New Year… A Fresh Start

I know most people start the New Year with resolutions… habits to change and ways to improve. While great in theory, the reality is 80% of resolutions have been abandoned by the end of January and throughout the year another 12% will go by the wayside, as well. The reasons people abandon their resolutions are varied, but generally it boils down to the reason behind the proposed change. If you aren’t passionate about the change – if you are only doing something because you think “you should” – then you are less likely to stick with it… which makes sense.

Many years ago, I gave up on resolutions. I always seemed to be in that 80% that gave up after a few weeks. A couple of years after Bruce died, though, I decided to try something different… Something that still recognized the new year and the fresh start it promises, yet at the same time spoke to my passions rather than my shortcomings. At the suggestion of a friend, rather than a resolution, I decided to have a theme (or mantra) for the year… A statement to reflect the attitude I wanted to carry out.

The first year was a year of “Celebration, Creation and Contribution.” This was the year I started letting myself celebrate holidays (guilt free) and writing this blog. I didn’t make a commitment to do anything – not really. It was simply a commitment of the attitude I wanted to show in each action I undertook. I made a few notes for myself as reminders and placed them where I would see them at least once each day. If I somehow got off course, it wasn’t a big deal. I simply got back on course – no guilt… no feelings of failure.

Each year has held a different theme… Each year, the theme chosen has been directed by where I find myself on my journey. For example, last year my theme was the year of “‘Thy will’ through letting go and forgiveness.” It was such a necessary step for me. Up to that point, I had found myself holding onto so much hurt… Hurt I allowed, even though it was simply a product of people who honestly didn’t know any better.

If you are reading this, I’m sure you know what I mean… The hurt created by things people say or don’t do in response to our grief. I am referring to those things most people in our culture believe are comforting or motivating, but in reality, are just the opposite. But 2017 was the year I learned to accept and understand they really don’t know any better… It was the year to let it go. Admittedly, I wasn’t perfect at this… But I was definitely better… And that was the goal.

So what about this year? Well, I have decided I need a year of self-love and care. (I know – it sounds totally selfish, but it really isn’t.) Here’s what I mean…

First, I am referring to my physical self. Despite carrying health insurance, I haven’t been to a doctor since Bruce died. I had convinced myself that if the doctors didn’t catch Bruce’s heart issues (and he went annually), then why bother? As long as I was working out and eating healthy, other than an actual injury, what more would they do anyway? However, the real truth was I just didn’t care anymore. What did it matter if my health was good or bad? If something DID happen, I was okay with that… After all, that just meant I would be with Bruce… and I was definitely okay with that. (I know, that sounds horribly morbid, but it is the truth, and I have always promised to be truthful here… and the truth is I didn’t care.)

Secondly, I am also referring to my own attitude about myself. I have written before about my previous marriage and the emotional baggage left from that… about Bruce’s unconditional love and fabulous encouragement in whatever I chose to pursue. No matter what, Bruce only saw the good, and that meant everything to me. However, when he died, I felt I had been plunged back in time… My confidence was shaken, my self-esteem was at a new low and my self-worth was almost non-existent.

I know it sounds crazy, but without Bruce’s confidence in me, I was losing my confidence in myself. This isn’t good. Did you know the way we love ourselves is passed on to our children? Yes, my children are adults, but I am still an example. Plus, I now have a grandson in my home, who repeats my words back to me with eye-opening clarity.

Recently, I learned that women (on average) criticize themselves eight or more times a day. I know I am guilty of that, but it needs to change. I need to be kind to myself… If I wouldn’t say it to someone else, then why on earth would I say it to myself?

So, yes, this is my year of self-love and self-care. It is quite a change for me. Daily, I have been reminding myself of my theme and the why’s behind it. So far, I believe I am off to a good start. I have been drinking more water (and less wine), made a doctor’s appointment (ugh), and start each day with a prayer for help and a positive affirmation…

Nothing huge… Nothing grand… Just small actions to remind myself that I do have value and I am worthy. Sometimes it’s hard to remember, but just because we are now on our own, doesn’t mean we no longer matter. I do and you do… Besides, if we aren’t kind to ourselves, why should anyone else treat us any different? We are the ones to set that standard.

If any of this feels familiar, please take eleven minutes and listen to the link below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZkSNblaRA4&feature=youtu.be

Happy New Year to our virtual group. Please know my thoughts and prayers are for all of us as we begin another year without our loved ones by our side. Our support for each other always touches my heart, and I feel close to you through the experiences we share. We are all dealing with some extremely 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

Thank you.

Peace, Love and Grief… Feels a lot like whiplash

There is no “happily ever after.”
What happens is
You finally meet someone who loves you so much
They take your breath away.
And in a moment…
In that breath
They show you what love is
And who you really are.
Then in a flash…
In another unexpected moment
They are gone…
And you stand there,
Trying to comprehend something that can never be understood.
And inside…
You die, too.
~ Linda, July 2014

In the insurance world, whiplash is a common injury complaint from those involved in auto accidents. What exactly is whiplash? Well, it occurs when a person is traveling in one direction, but due to a sudden stop or change in direction, the person’s body is also forced to suddenly change direction. When this change occurs too quickly to control the body’s movements, the result can be a “sprain or strain” to soft tissue (usually the muscles of the neck and shoulders), aka – whiplash.

The injury itself is a little bit different from other injuries. For example, it can’t really be seen or proven. Only the person experiencing it knows how real and how painful it actually is. Because of that, other people may or may not believe it is real. In fact, most other people will have an opinion on how long it should take to heal. Yet, research shows us that the severity and time required to heal varies from person to person depending on several, different factors. The main factor, however, is how sudden or violent the change in direction actually was.

So by definition, whiplash is “soft tissue damage which is the result of a sudden change in direction.” Interesting…. because if someone were to ask me, I could define grief the same way – “Soft tissue damage (to my heart) which is the result of a sudden change in the direction of my life.”

I know that for myself, my… no, our life was moving in a wonderful direction. We had plans. We had dreams. We were happy. Then suddenly… in one short breath, everything changed. Bruce died… And with him, our plans, our dreams, and our happiness were suddenly gone. The direction of my life suddenly stopped. The resulting pain to my heart felt was as real as any physical injury, although no one could actually see it. There were times when my chest literally ached… times when I struggled to breathe… And none of this was figurative – It was real.

Just like a whiplash injury, no one could see my pain. I had no way to prove it, and to be honest, I wasn’t really inclined to do so anyway. Then to add to the pain, there were also plenty of people who were more than happy to tell me their opinion of my pain, such as how long it should take me to heal, how much they thought it hurt (or didn’t hurt) and how to “get over it.”

After the shock of the sudden, initial change in direction, I began to realize I had to pick my life back up and start moving again… only this time, my only choice was to go in a totally new direction. A direction I would have to travel alone… with my own plans, my own dreams and searching for my own happiness… There was no more “us,” “we” or “our.”

It has taken 3.5 years, but I can finally say that I am slowly learning to do this. There will be days… maybe even weeks (at this point) where I function quite well. I am able to smile and laugh. I can reach out to others to help and serve.

However, there can still be reoccuring pain, also. For example, this week has been one of “those weeks” that has held some of this pain for me. All week, I have fought and struggled not to let myself spiral down… I have struggled not to cry or dump my pain on the people around me. Why? Because I know that after this much time (3.5 years) combined with the fact that most people see me having more and more “good” days, I’m not convinced people will understand… and I don’t want to deal with their reactions on top of everything else.

Honestly, though, I know I shouldn’t let that get to me… That will only add to my frustration and my pain. Instead, I know what I need. I need to find some time alone… time to stop for a bit and let myself sort through my feelings, acknowledge them, and give myself permission to grieve and probably even cry a little.

Then… just like a whiplash injury, slowly and carefully, I can start to move again… being grateful and loving life once again.

What about you? Does any of this ring a bell with you, as well? Do you know also experience those days of reoccuring pain – when the grief hits you full force? Do you need support right now? Or 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… A Tribute: Saying goodbye to my friends

At one point in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy says, “My! People come and go so quickly here!” I agree! I couldn’t have said it better myself!

I know that people come and go in our lives. I know that is just a part of life and the price of relationships. But I also know… it sucks! Saying goodbye to friends as life moves us forward is just another type of loss… one that almost everyone has gone through at some point in time.

I have spent a lifetime moving – 15 times (so far) to be exact. Believe me when I tell you that saying goodbye is one of my least favorite things. And this past week, that is exactly what I have had to do…

Bruce and I lived in this home for less than 2 years when he passed away. In that time, we knew a few of our immediate neighbors on a first name basis. We would wave and maybe even talk if we were all outside at the same time. In the last month of Bruce’s life, we even went to a few parties with our neighbors. However, we were just beginning to get aquainted… I could never have imagined what these people would come to mean to me in such a short time.

I remember when Bruce passed away, I didn’t even have their phone numbers. I had to send my son to their homes to tell them the news. I didn’t expect anything; I just thought they should know. It felt as if they were at my door immediately, bringing gifts, phone numbers and asking what they could do. I was so surprised.
Since that time, one of these neighbors in particular has become my second family. They have been so wonderful and supportive as I moved through this grief journey. Never once did they tell me what to do or how to feel, but they were always available.

These two people have spent the last 3 years watching out for me as if I were their own. If there was a strange car in the driveway or someone in my yard, they were here in the blink of an eye to find out who and why. They know my kids and welcome them in to their home, as well. (In fact, my grandson calls them his “buddies.”)

When something here was broken or needed to be fixed, they took care of it for me without a word. They watched my pets when I was gone, and (definitely) spoiled them more than I ever would. They taught me how to take care of the plants in my yard, which ignited a love for gardening.

When it was time to go through Bruce’s things, she was the one by my side the whole time. I knew when I was having a hard day and couldn’t even open my door to acknowledge the world, they would notice. They were always quick to see if I needed a hug, or a visit, or a meal.

If a holiday was coming up, they always made sure I had a plan… or assured me that I was welcome to join them. At Halloween, that meant a Chili dinner at their house before the Trick-or-Treaters started coming. This past Easter, they even gave me my very own Easter basket, complete with a chocolate bunny.

These wonderful friends have fed me, listened to me, hugged me, loved me and included me in family celebrations. You name it, they have done it… and everytime they have done it with simple love.

For three years, they have been my solid anchor here at home… my up-close-and-personal support network. When I have felt all alone, I have known without a doubt, I wasn’t – they were only a few steps away. Every Sunday afternoon, I was there… just to chat or spend time with them doing absolutely nothing.

I know this hasn’t been a one-sided friendship. I have “been there” for them, as well. Yet, I can’t help feeling as if the little bit I have done for them is so minimal when compared to all they have added to my life.

A few months ago, while there for my “Sunday visit,” they told me they were moving back “home” to Missouri where they still have siblings, cousins and other extended family. At this point in their life, they know they want to be closer to their family. I get it… I totally understand. This is a good thing for them, and I am happy for them… But for me, I cried.

Last weekend as we said our final goodbyes, I cried again… Actually, I cried a lot. It was the moment I have been dreading since they told they were leaving. I felt like I was five years old again… I told her that if I didn’t hug her, she couldn’t go… Then, I hugged her anyway. In fact, I hugged her so long and so hard, I’m sure she thought I would never let go… and we both cried. Her poor husband had to take her by the hand and physically separate us in order to get out the door.

Saying goodbye to friends is hard. I am sure you understand because it is a loss that most people have experienced at one time or another. For me, this is the first really big (definition: personal) loss since Bruce passed away. While I know we will keep in touch, I also know I will no longer be able to trot across the street on Sunday afternoons to just hang out with people who love me… just as I am.

I know this is a really good move for them… and to that end, I am happy for them. But, for me, this adjustment is going to be hard. Now when I turn the corner onto my street and look in their driveway, it is empty, and my heart breaks.

I love these two people… I will miss their friendship, companionship and all the love they have added to my life.

While I pray that God will bless both our paths as we move forward in this world, I still hate goodbyes.

If you have experienced loss, you have probably been through this, 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 did 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… What do you do with “the stuff?”

From the very beginning, grief seems to be a constant battle concerning “what do I do about ____?” One could spend hours, maybe days filling in that blank. There are so many things that pop up, and immediately, you find yourself asking, “What do I do about that?” (Grief finds you so unprepared!)

I tend to be a research fanatic so even from the start I always went straight to my books or the internet looking for the “proper” answer… society’s answers. What would society tell me is the “right” response?… The “acceptable” behavior?

It’s funny, but nine times out of ten, my research would produce a “do-what’s-right-for-you” answer. That was reassuring, but the problem was this…

So many people in my life had not experienced loss like this yet and had not read the same research. They had their own ideas of what I should do. Up until a few months ago, that was devastating to me, because I wanted to be a “good widow” and do “what’s right.” But at the same time, I needed to be true to me… true to my heart.

Nowadays, I must admit, I don’t really care what society says is right or what someone else thinks I should do… I don’t really pay any attention or let it get to me. I appreciate that everyone has an opinion, but only because that means I do too… and mine is as valid as anyone else’s. In fact, I’ve come to realize that for me and my situation, mine is the only valid opinion.

For example, when Bruce passed away, he (obviously) left his “stuff” behind. He was a minimalist, so there wasn’t a lot, which only made those few items seem more precious to me.

In the first few weeks, I was too numb to even accept that he was gone. How could I even consider divvying up his belongings? I knew I wasn’t the only one grieving, and I knew others wanted something of his to remember him by, but I wasn’t ready… I couldn’t do it. People asked, and I said, “No.”

I wasn’t trying to be cruel or unfeeling. But, I had not come to terms with his death yet… There was a huge part of me that still expected him to walk through the door at any minute. How could I give away his stuff?

As I said, I did a lot of reading about what was the “right” thing to do. I found that some families actually went and cleared out the house without asking the widow(er) while they were out. Some people were okay with that; others were devastated. (I know myself… I would have been furious!) Thankfully, my family did not do this! (In fact, they never moved a single item without asking.)

Other widow(er)s came straight home from the funeral and packed up everything themselves. (But this was their choice, not someone else’s.) Still others left everything exactly as is for years, (even after remarrying). I knew none of those felt right for me. Then one day, I found a writer who said she had gone through things a little at a time, as she was ready.

Now, that was for me!

It took me months before I could actually start giving his things away with a loving heart and no regrets. The first few items went to his daughter, his parents and his sisters. Then, a few items to my kids and our grandson. After the one year mark, I knew I was ready to go through the rest of it and make some decisions.

I have a wonderful neighbor/friend who came and sat with me as I went through each item, one by one. She didn’t pick up things and take over, or tell me what to do… She was just there for support. If I asked about something, she would look at it objectively (with her expertise in antiques and collectibles) and give me an appraiser’s opinion. But she never told me what to do with it. She was just there to listen (as I shared memories), give me hugs and hand me tissues.

I spent a weekend going through everything of his. This may sound strange but there were a lot of boxes that I had never looked inside. Bruce was a very private man, and we had married later in life. So, I had always considered certain things private and respected that. I always felt that if and when he wanted to share the items in those boxes with me, he would.

But then he was gone… now, I had to do this myself. I must say that when I opened these boxes, I felt like I was invading his privacy on the one hand, and yet on the other hand, I was learning so much more about the man I love and what he thought was precious. In some ways, I was meeting a part of him for the first time… To say it was felt a bit strange would be an understatement.

“They” say, “Dead men don’t keep secrets.” (“They” aren’t kidding.) There were so many things about Bruce that made sense to me after going through these boxes… These boxes of things he found precious and important enought to keep. I had always loved him, but I came to understand him so much better.

By the end of the weekend, I had three piles… one to donate, one of specific items to give to specific people and one of items to keep. I placed several items on his dresser in our room as a memorial. It is still there today, and I look at these things each day… They remind me of everything that is Bruce. In the middle, there is a candle that I lit everyday for 2.5 years. (Currently, I only light it on special occasions… or when I just want to.)

T-shirts and jeans were his mode of dress. (He only owned one collared shirt… and no tie.) If we went somewhere that required more than a t-shirt, that was a formal occasion! So, I kept all of his t-shirts. Initially, I thought I would make a blanket from these. However, after three years, I find myself still sleeping in them… It is my way of feeling as if he is still holding me at night.

In addition, I kept his jacket and a couple of his favorite sweatshirts. (When I am having a “hard” day, I wear these to feel him close to me… It helps.) I also kept a few other items in a very small plastic bin. These are things such as his favorite hat, a uniform shirt, some personal items and the shoes he wore when we got married.

For the most part these items are just here… part of the backdrop of my life. But when I am having a rough day (or night), they bring me comfort. I can remember my grandmother doing the same at age 90+. I know some people may find these things strange, but I also know it’s all okay.

I know that I am doing the best I can each day… and that is good enough.

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

Maybe you did 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… 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… 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

Peace, Love and Grief… Lessons learned at Thanksgiving (part 1)

Thursday was Thanksgiving. Not that I really need to remind you of that… Anyone who has known loss knows that when you are grieving the holidays can be glaring reminders of the fact that your loved on is no longer by your side. In my last blog, I went into that in more detail… This week, however, I want to tell you about another baby step in my journey. Although, maybe it is a lesson for anyone…

I spent the last nine days visiting my oldest daughter in another country across the Atlantic. Four years ago, she married a young, foreigner and moved to his home. Up until now, I had not been to visit. While Bruce and I loved to travel, we didn’t get there that first year. Then when he died, the idea of traveling that far by myself, seemed too daunting. For so long, just living my life felt like such a battle that I just didn’t have it in me to push myself past my own fears and go.

This year, though, I made the decision to go… I’ve reached a point where I don’t want to live my life only halfway. I was still scared to travel that far alone but I was determined… It was time.

The travel was fine… I asked for help all along the way and people were very kind. My daughter met me at the airport with flowers, a sign, champagne and lots of hugs. (I don’t think we let go of each other the whole time I was there.) Then, three of us spent most of our time together exploring the country by train and on foot. I loved it! It was a great way to learn about this country she calls home and to get to know my son-in-law. (I had only met him the day before they were married, and at that time, we were able to only spend a few very busy days together.)

But what was this “lesson” I mentioned? Well, I need to back up and explain.

Before Bruce died, I was a pretty open and trusting person… willing to trust, love and see the best in people. However, when he died, I lost that. I felt so angry and abandoned… trust was not something that came naturally anymore. (I have recognized that and written about it here quite a bit in an attempt to be honest about my experience.)

However, the last few months have brought about huge changes… positive shifts, if you will, in my attitude and outlook on life. My prayers and focus have been for less grief and an open heart.

On my second day there, the three of us went for an all day hike to one of the country’s castles. It was a beautiful walk through some amazing countryside. We laughed when we finally arrived at the castle gates only to discover it was closed. No worries… It was a beautiful day, and we were having so much fun together. In the spirit of the day, we enjoyed a picnic lunch washed down with some spiced mead in the shadow of the castle.

We decided to try a different route home only to find that while it was gorgeous, it was much more muddy than the first path… In fact, there were quite a few flooded spots. This was no problem for my daughter and her husband – they were wearing water-proof hiking boots. I, however, was only wearing high-top tennis shoes… not water-proof.

The first couple of spots were not a big deal. While we are close in size, my daughter willingly gave me a piggy-back ride across and we kept moving forward. Then, we came to a really big spot. She wasn’t sure she could carry me that far so her husband offered.

I know it’s weird and probably makes NO sense, but I started to get anxious. First of all, I’m not real keen on being picked up… It means giving up control and trusting the other person. That was fine when it was my daughter… I trust her. In fact at this point, I came to realize that other than my children, there aren’t many people I would trust enough to carry me at all… (There was that trust issue – the exact thing I have been trying to move past.)

I argued at first that maybe he was not strong enough. Silly, I know, but the idea of trusting this young man I barely knew was freaking me out. However, my daughter had complete confidence in him, and I had to admit he has always shown himself to be kind and gentle. I was almost in tears, but I had few other options.

This was the point where I had to give up control and trust someone else. I had been praying for an open heart, I just hadn’t realized that making that come true meant I would have to be the one to open it… but I did.

I climbed up on his back and held on for dear life. When we got to the other side and he gently set me back on my feet, I finally explained myself to both of them (through my tears). I can’t explain what happened in that moment between the three of us, but it was precious. He became family… not just my daughter’s husband.

And for me…

I know that my heart is a little more open to others now than it was before that day. I know that I can’t always be in control… there are times when other people are placed in my path so that I can learn to let go, stop trying to do it all alone, and trust them.

That is how we all learn to love again… that is how we all grow… that is how we move forward – not as individuals or even separate groups, but as one humanity – connected and bonded in our love and need for each other.

Have you ever experienced one those pivotal moments? A time when you knew you had a choice to move forward or stay where you were? I would love to hear from you… Please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences, too. To do so, go to the comments and leave a note.*

Who knows… your story may the one someone else needs to hear.

NOTE: Due to family time, I have been off schedule for the past two weeks. Thank you for understanding my need to enjoy my precious time with those I love.

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’s supposed to be and what is…

It still hurts
It’s so quiet here,
And I’m so alone.
I relive so many memories in my mind.
And for a moment, I can smile again.
Then, I breathe and open my eyes…
And once again, I am alone.
This sadness is never ending.
The pain can be unbearable.
Do you hear me when I call out to you?
I feel so horribly alone.
How long will this pain live inside me?
How long will I have to smile, when all I want to do is cry?
I find my self pulling ever further inward…
There is no one to understand.
They are not cruel…
They try… they care.
But they do not know how to comfort me…
They love me…
I love them…
But there is a chasm between them and me…
And another between me and you…
And it all hurts so bad.
~ Linda, November 4, 2015

Fall 2005 – Bruce and I had spent the entire summer together in Michigan. We already knew that we loved each other, but the summer showed us exactly how compatible and connected we were. As the summer ended, I went back to SC to teach. It didn’t take long, though, for us to realize that being apart was not going to work. However, we both had daughters in high school, and wanted to let them graduate before we did anything permanent.

Within a month of being home, I learned that I had lost everything. All the money I had invested with a family “friend” had been embezzled. I had 4 kids to take care of, an ex-husband who refused to pay child support, and a job that I loved but did not pay a livable wage… so without my investments there was not enough income. Bruce never hesitated. He wanted to move ahead with the marriage. I hesitated… I wanted us to get married because it was what WE wanted and WHEN we wanted it. He was quite convincing that it WAS what he wanted. I remember my mother telling me that it was a good thing… my kids would get the experience of witnessing a healthy marriage and having a loving male figure in their lives. For me, there was a knowing that the right thing was to stay on the path of love and happiness we were on… So, 2 weeks later, I agreed… I wanted it too…

There was Bruce… my hero… And he remained my hero from that day forward…

October came. I gave notice at my school, and we started planning for the move to Michigan. It all happened quite quickly. My oldest daughter had already graduated college and my second was away at college. My son was a senior in High School and already eighteen, so he moved in with his best friend’s family for the remainder of the school year. It was just my youngest daughter and I (and our cat) leaving. After two days, we arrived in Michigan late on Halloween night.

On November 9, 2005, (a Wednesday) at 3:30 PM at the county courthouse, Bruce and I were married. Because it all happened so quickly, the only people there were his parents, his daughter and my youngest daughter. I remember that it was a beautiful fall day. Afterward, we went back to the house for champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Then, dinner at a local restaurant. He had taken care of everything… I just had to show up. It was all so simple and so beautiful, and we were ecstatic…

(us immediately after the ceremony)

But…

It was not what we had originally planned. During the summer we had planned a beach wedding with both of our families beside us. Circumstances had changed that. But Bruce, always the hero, told me not to worry. For our ten year anniversary, we would have our beach wedding with everyone from both our families. It would be beautiful, and it would be special…

But that wasn’t meant to be.

This year would have been that tenth anniversary. Sadly, my hero didn’t make it that long.

This is my third anniversary without him, and (I think because it is the current one) it feels like the hardest. All week I have been thinking that I should be laughing… and happy… and planning a ten-year anniversary ceremony. Instead, I have been working hard not to twist reality into something it isn’t… It isn’t a punishment from God… It is just the cycle of life. I have wanted to reach out for help but I feel like I’m asking for more than anyone can handle. After all, it’s been almost 3 years now… How long does this go on?

The reality is losing a spouse is harder than one might think. This is the person you committed to love and share every intimate detail of your life with. So many people equate it with divorce, but it’s not even close. I’ve been divorced. It was hard too, but this is different. There are no choices with death. Also, with death, the relationship isn’t what died – it is only the physical connection that is cut off… the love is still there.

This week I have felt like I am back at square one… back in limbo – going through the motions of life as if I am in a dream – no purpose, no point… Like wondering through a dark house with no one to answer when you call out.

Last year I did a pretty good job celebrating the love we knew and not focusing on the sadness of loss. This year I plan to do the same. I will take a beer and some roses to the beach where Bruce’s ashes were scattered and spend some time with him. Then, I have reservations at the restaurant where we celebrated our last anniversary together.

Bruce was so excited to have found this tiny eclectic restaurant. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just that he knew I would love it… and I did. I remember on the way home I asked him if we could celebrate the rest of our anniversaries there. “Of course,” he smiled back… “Every one… from now on.” Two months later he was gone, but I do… I have returned every year to celebrate the love we shared. And every year, the restaurant staff is more than gracious to accommodate me… And I will celebrate “us” every year… from now on.

I am a little sad tonight (a few tears), and I think I will be sad tomorrow but that’s okay. It’s okay to feel what I feel… it is normal to be sad, and I will be okay… Mainly because of a conversation I had a couple of days ago. Someone I know was sharing a loss they had just experienced and stated that the worse part was the confusion and frustration that comes from having no choices in what happened. I would agree… (When Bruce died, I felt so angry and frustrated. I remember I told my friends “don’t let me become a bitter, angry, old woman… that’s not who I am or who I want to be.”)

Long after our conversation had ended, it dawned on me that one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned since Bruce died was born out of the love that we shared. It was Bruce’s legacy, and it is this:

None of us gets to choose what life tosses our way.
Our choice is:
“Can I love more today than yesterday, not despite what has happened,
but because what has happened.”
~ Linda, November 2015

How do you manage your big days? I would love to hear from you… Please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences, too. To do so, go to the comments and leave a note.*

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