This week, one of my journal prompts was: “Have you walked through a season of grief? How did you maintain hope?”
Pardon me while I shake my head (just a little). You see… I’m not sure I did. If I am honest, I would have to say that when Bruce died, I lost all hope for a very, long time. Finding my way back to having even a little bit of hope has been quite the uphill journey.
Before we get there, though, let’s back up… Let’s back way up…
From the moment I was born, I was raised in the church, so my faith was always important to me. It was a big part of who I thought I was. I have always sang in the choir, and attended retreats, Sunday School, and Bible studies. As I grew older, I also cantored at mass. I taught children’s choir, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday School. I even taught at the school. I helped with the flowers for Holy Days, and worked at all of the fairs and carnivals. And, (of course), I raised my children the same way within the church.
In other words, I did all the things. If the doors were open, the kids and I were there. Even through the worst, chaotic, violent days of my first marriage, we were there. I remember back then – I kept believing that if I could just “be better” … If I could just muster a little more faith… then maybe, just maybe, God would help me.
Eventually, though, I reached the point where I knew I just couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t “enough”, and I never would be… Would I really go to hell if I left? Did it matter? After all, I was living in hell… And worst of all, because I was there, my kids were too.
One afternoon, I found myself pouring out the details of my life to our parish priest. However, before I could even finish, he told me that he already knew the trouble our family was in, and he advised me to leave. He told me that I would have the support of the church… So, I did… I left.
It took years to finalize everything. Those were scary, turbulent times with some of the hardest situations I have ever endured… Still… I did it! I made it out with my kids by my side! The future finally looked bright. It held so much hope.
Wouldn’t you know it, though? Before I hardly had time to take a breath, my world took another tumble. I can’t really remember which happened first, because in my memory it all happened simultaneously…
In a timespan that felt like overnight, I lost everything I owned. I had invested my money from the divorce with a “family friend.” (That person is currently serving time in a federal prison for securities fraud and running a Ponzi scheme.) Yep! That’s where my money went… Every dime.
At about the same time, I lost my job…
I had met Bruce and started the drudgery of getting an annulment. The problem? It required a ton of paperwork. AND… each time I turned in said paperwork, I had to pay thousands of dollars to “move to the next step”. But suddenly, I didn’t have any more money, and I had to drop it… That was the reality.
Before too long, I was told that “some people” were concerned about having a divorced (and dating) person on the staff. I was supposed to be a role model, after all. Before long, I was given a choice to leave Bruce or my job… (Well, we all know how that choice went, and I don’t regret it for a moment!)
How about that support I had been promised? It was a nice idea in theory, but it didn’t really exist. Instead, I was left confused and devastated. I think this was one of the first times I had my eyes opened to the “them vs us” clique mentality so rampant within the church. (A space that I was taught was supposed to be inclusive was actually extremely exclusive.)
What I came to realize was that to really belong, one must do as they are told – no space for questions or different opinions, thoughts, and ideas. Please understand this was not everyone. I had wonderful, dear friends to lean on, and I don’t want to sound bitter… My point, though, is how traumatic and gut-wrenching the whole set of circumstances were.
But God can make good out bad, and a few months later, my world blossomed!
Bruce and I were married… I found a new job in a new state… And… I found a new church. This time, though, it was different. For the first time ever, I simply sat in the back row and kept to myself. I desperately wanted to be there… I needed to be there… At the same time, I couldn’t risk being shunned again.
The years passed, and life went on. My faith was struggling. Bruce, however, was beyond supportive. He knew I needed to fill this part of my life. So, together, we went from church to church trying to find a place where we might fit in… but I was scared. I wanted “more”, but I didn’t feel welcome to experience “more”. Bruce was encouraging… but not pushy. I, on the other hand, held back… My trust in the church – any church – was gone.
Then, just two months prior to Bruce’s death, my faith finally came crashing down around me. Little did I know what was ahead of me and how impossibly hard it would be to grieve when I had no faith… and no hope.
(To be continued next week)
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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.
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