memorial – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… A Garden of Grief… or Joy?

One of my favorite things about my home office is looking out the window at my flower garden… It makes me smile, especially when everything is blooming. My garden is filled with all kinds of flowering plants from crepe myrtles and angel trumpets to rain lilies and milkweed, and everything in between…. But my yard didn’t always look like this.

When Bruce and I were first married, we were living up north in a condo. He always had a couple of potted plants on the porch during the summer – tomatoes or okra or some such. He always talked about how he used to have a garden and would love to have a regular garden again one day.

I, on the other hand, had never been much of a “plant person”. I grew up around lots of people with green thumbs, but I just never seemed to have a knack for it. It was hot and dirty… No, thank you.

When we started looking for a house down here in Florida, Bruce was so excited about the idea of having a garden again. I was excited for him, but made it quite clear that the yard was his… He could do with it what he wanted. It just wasn’t my passion at all.

When we finally moved into our home, the garden was put on hold until the following year while Bruce fixed up a few other things that were more pressing. He never gave the idea of a garden though… From the day we moved in, he was planning his garden… He knew what he wanted to plant and where it was going.

He never got the chance, though. Bruce passed away in January, before he ever got the chance to place the first plant in the ground.

That first spring after he died, as the weather started warming up, I started looking at the yard and thinking about all the plans Bruce had made. It didn’t take me long, though, to decide what I was going to do. After all, I needed to do something…

I found a checklist in a book of things to do to help me work through my grief… Things to honor Bruce’s memory… And one of those things was to plant a memorial garden. Shoot, I had a whole yard as an empty canvas… A whole yard that I could dig up and plant… A whole yard to help me burn off this ache in my heart… And so, I started…

All I had was a shovel, a rake, and a hand spade, but that didn’t matter. I started digging… Slowly, I built the beds by digging up the grass and hand-turning the dirt. I sifted out the stones and rocks and carefully placed the earthworms back into the freshly turned soil. It took hours on hours, weeks on weeks, and months on months.

Even the neighborhood kids came and lent a hand on occasion. With the normal curiosity of children, they would ask about Bruce. I didn’t mind, though. It gave me a reason to talk about him… and smile.

It took well over a year to get things to a “basic level of done”, but as any gardener will tell you, no garden is ever really “done”. Over the years, I have added, moved, or gotten rid of plants here or there but that same basic garden is still there… smiling back at me.

Most of the plants have some type of connection to Bruce or our family. For example, I have a couple of shrimp plants since he loved shrimp. I also have five angel trumpets – one for each of my children. Oh, and the muscadine grapes because it smells like my grandmother’s back yard used to smell. I don’t want to bore you by explaining each and every plant’s meaning to me, but you get the idea. Each plant is personal to me… each one means something to me so that when I look at them or touch them, I smile.

It’s odd, but as much as I thought I hated yard work, this labor of love changed all that. I found myself spending hours in the yard every single weekend… Until I couldn’t. The year I spent fighting cancer, I had to hire someone to take care of the yard. As I have moved into the recovery stage, I’ve been able to work in the yard a little bit here and there, but I still can’t do it for hours. I wish I could, though… I actually miss it.

Today was sad, though. I came home to find most of my rain lilies pulled out. Someone, who meant well, thought it would “look better” and removed them. “It’s just lilies,” they said when they saw my tears. I know that. (I really do.) They kept saying it isn’t a big deal… But that’s just it. It is a big deal… to me. The rain lilies, I think, are some of my favorites. You see, they bloom after the rain… kind of like me learning to smile again after all the grief… Like I said, each plant is personal to me. **

I know the day will come when I no longer live here. I am sure someone else will come along and remove and replant and redo each and every garden bed. (And they should.) But for right now, this garden reminds me that I can do this. I can keep moving forward. This idea from a book that started as a “grief garden”… as a memorial to Bruce… has become a source of joy for me. I love sitting on the porch or looking out the windows and simply feeling joy. I love this space that can make me smile simply by existing… and that’s pretty special.

** For the record, this is all being made right… an honest mistake made with the best of intentions.
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls – Moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.

As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more of these good moments than bad. Each day, I continue to learn more and more about those things that seem to help me heal and move forward – like sharing precious memories. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without my love… without Bruce. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!

In fact, none of us need to be alone, because we have each other. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together into this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing and helps us to process that avalanche of emotions that grief brings us. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.

Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*

Peace, Love and Grief… A Little Compassion Goes a Long Way

If you read my blog a few weeks ago, you may remember me mentioning that one of our cats had died. This weekend, we went to pick up her ashes, and I have to say, they did a beautiful job memorializing her life for us.

First, the package was wrapped up in a beautiful purple tulle bag. Inside was a lovely box which opened like a book. Inside the box, was information about grieving a pet and grief support, an imprint of her paw, cards with her paw and nose prints, and her ashes. We were all so touched by the amount of compassion and empathy that went into this whole process.

For me, though, the minute I saw the package, I was immediately taken back to the day when I picked up Bruce’s ashes… I’m not trying to be rude, but that experience was quite the opposite of this experience…

The funeral home had originally told us it would take about a week to do the cremation and get the ashes back. However, it ended up being more like 2.5 weeks. By this point, all my family had left. Each person had tried to stay for as long as they could, but they had jobs, families and lives to return to… We couldn’t sit around staring at each other and crying forever. While I hated to see them leave, I understood.

My sister was the last one to go… I remember when she left, we both cried. She told me she would come back in a few weeks, (which she did). She was also quite adamant that I should get someone to go with me when Bruce’s ashes were ready for me to pick up… I was not to go alone.

However, when the funeral home finally called, a day or two later, there was no one to go with me, and I just wanted – no, I needed – to get them. I couldn’t wait any longer. I can’t explain it, but I was too anxious to wait another day. Bruce needed to come home. So, I went… alone.

Because I was still very numb and raw, (still in shock, I believe), I had not driven up to this point. However, the funeral home was only a few blocks away, so I didn’t give it a second thought… I just went.

Now, I can’t tell you the business role of the woman who met me when I arrived. However, I can say her people skills were quite lacking. Here I was in her office – a brand new widow, eyes swollen from weeks of tears – picking up my late husband’s ashes. Yet, she was completely oblivious… All she could do was complain about her health.

Don’t get me wrong, normally I would be empathetic about another person’s health issues, but in this situation and at this time, it was not my job to nurture her… No, I’m sorry, but in this moment, it was her job to nurture me. I don’t mean for that to sound self, but shouldn’t that be basic customer service in a funeral home? Was I expecting too much?

Frustrated as I was, I didn’t say anything… I just stared at her as she ranted on and on. Finally, she asked me for Bruce’s name. Then, she reached into a cabinet and held out three small containers to me.

“Here you go,” she said.
“Those aren’t Bruce’s,” I replied.
“Yes, they are,” she argued.

For the next few minutes, we went back and forth – me trying to explain that his remains should be in one container with a sunset on it, not three small Asian style containers. On the other hand, she kept trying to convince me that “in my grief,” I probably couldn’t remember what I had ordered. It was absolutely infuriating.

Finally, she went to the desk to look up the records. When she turned back to me, it was obvious she wasn’t happy about what she found. There was no apology, though, as she returned to the cabinet and found Bruce’s ashes. All she said as she handed the container to me was, “They both came in today.”

But that wasn’t the worse part…

As I watched in disbelief, she pulled out a plastic bag, like the kind you get at the grocery store. The bag was white and emblazoned in red on one side was the name, address and phone number of the funeral home… It was nothing more than a huge ad for the business! And while I watched in horror, she dropped the container unceremoniously into this bag. Then, she handed the bag to me, and returned to her desk without another word…

I was so incredibly floored! How do you even respond to that? I mean, it’s not like I had ever done this before… maybe this was normal? Maybe my expectations were too high?

So, I just walked out the door and to my car. Once inside my car, I fell apart…

Here I was – holding what remained of my husband… The same man, who just a few weeks before had held me in his arms. How could this small container hold what remained of Bruce? It weighed no more than a bag of flour! How could this be him? He had been six feet tall… He had been a muscular man… a weightlifter. He had been a vibrant man – full of life… and love. Surely, there was something wrong… This could not be him!

But, it was… This was my Bruce. I held him in my lap, tears streaming down my face, as I drove home.

Once I got home, I placed his ashes on the dresser and lit candles all around it… Still in shock… Still in unbelief… And for the next 24 hours, I sat vigil with his ashes… I talked to him, I cried for him, and I prayed for both of us… How was I going to do this? How was I going to keep going without him? So many questions… so much anxiety… so much grief… and no answers.

However, life doesn’t stop. So, a few months later, on his birthday, our families gathered one more time to say our goodbyes and scatter his ashes in the ocean. While it was sad and my heart was torn apart, it was a beautiful memorial… Everything about it “felt like Bruce.”

Time has passed, and through the years, I haven’t put too much thought into that day at the funeral home… until today, when we picked up Duffy’s ashes. The contrast of how they treated Duffy’s remains and us, as her family, when compared to that day in the funeral home is like night is to day. I truly expected something like what I had experienced before – a lack of compassion and understanding for what we were feeling – just a business transaction – nothing more.

However, that was not our experience this time. This weekend’s experience was beautiful… It felt kind… It felt compassionate, and it offered a step toward healing and closure.

As we left, we were so thankful for the fact that stranger was able to understand the grief of losing a pet. I just wish, that lady years ago could have understood the same… I wish she could have known how far a little bit of kindness can go, to help someone who is hurting so deeply…

I don’t know if any of this rings a bell for anyone. I truly hope no one else has had a similar experience. If you have, I am so very sorry. Either way, even the experience of finding a funeral home and handling the remains and the funeral or memorial can be hard. At least, I know it felt overwhelming for me… Did you do it on your own, or did you have someone to guide you through it? Would you be willing to share your story with us, please? This path can be a hard and lonely one, but none of us needs to do it alone. We are all here for each other. We all have stories to share. Because this is our community, 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.

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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