pain – Peace, Love & Grief

Peace, Love, and Grief… Loss and Bitterness

(Before I get started today, I want to let you know that all is fine here. I took last week off to spend time with family who was visiting from out of state… And as we all know, time with those we love is precious time, indeed.)

“Loss is a crucible. It presses into the deepest places from which we loved, causing such pain we often don’t know how to make sense of the despair. Memories as crystal clear as if they were happening right now dance in from of us, letting us see the beauty of what used to be our life on replay. But those replays make us cry. Seeing what once was is as cruel as it is beautiful.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

I can’t explain what it is about finding a phrase that takes your emotions and putting them into such succinct words, but I can say that the validation I feel brings me great relief. Just knowing that someone else “gets it” … Someone else understands… So much of the time, I feel so alone, and I wonder if anyone else ever feels what I feel. Then, I read something like this paragraph above, and I know I’m not alone… My experience is my own… True. However, there are familiarities that let us know that what we are going through on this path is “normal” (as if anything in grief were “normal”).

With that being said, I learned something new over the last few weeks that did exactly that… It took emotions I have felt and gave them words… And because I can now adequately name that emotion, I can deal with it… And that word is “bitterness”.

I have written before that when Bruce first died, I denied feeling angry, but then later, I decided I was angry in those early months and years. I definitely acted out with anger… I beat the crap out of my mattress on many occasions… I screamed and cursed (sometimes even at God) … I fell down sobbing in the middle of our home in utter anguish and frustration… And yes, all of that was anger.

However, after the anger, when I found myself trying to reconnect with the world, trying to assimilate, if you will, back into my life, that was when something new took hold. I couldn’t put words to it. There was a part of it that felt like anger, but it didn’t come out as anger. For years, I have tried to figure out what it was and how to get past it. The problem was I needed to figure out the first question before I could even think about the second.

Then this week, I read this, “Bitterness is in part unprocessed grief.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

She went on to talk about the pain of grief and how we all know about pain. However, when grief is not acknowledged completely… when it is left to the person grieving to process it in isolation, the result can be bitterness.

You see, when we can lean on someone (each other) in our grief, there is a validation that occurs. We learn it is okay and “normal” to feel all the multitude of emotions we go through. Then, we can take our time, and work through each one. We can compare each emotion to others’ experiences and separate it from the other emotions we are feeling.

That is a process, but it works… And it works because we have others to give us perspective. However, when we are left to process our grief alone, we lose those alternative perspectives. Instead, we only have ourselves and our own experiences to draw from, and that, my friends, is a shallow well.

In early grief, most of us have so much support. People tend to circle around us and gather us in their arms. However, that can’t go on forever… They have lives… We can not be the center of their world for an indefinite time. The thing is, in early grief, most of us are shell-shocked. We haven’t even begun to feel yet… much less to process any feelings.

Am I saying that time is a waste? No… We need that support in the beginning. We need people to remind us to eat and sleep and even breathe. However, I am saying that we still need people and support for a long time after, but they may not be available to give it to us. So what do we do? Well, I think that is where we go looking for that support. Sometimes that might be in a group setting or maybe with a friend or family member… Or maybe we look to a therapist or a coach… There are also speakers and books with lots of helpful information. Honestly, I have done all of these, and I have learned something from all of these.

However, until this week… (9+ years into this journey), I had never heard anyone even mention bitterness… But that is the emotion I have felt most of all. That constant underlying current of unprocessed (un-dealt-with) hurt. All of those feelings of abandonment, frustration, guilt, loneliness, jealousy, resentment, and (still) anger… All of those negative feelings I have tried to push aside in order to fit back into my own life still need to be acknowledged and processed. Pushing them aside… pretending they aren’t real or don’t exist has not been helpful.

This year, I keep writing that I want to “look at this life before me and recognize the joy, love, and hope it still holds… Then, learn to hold onto that with everything I have.” That is still true… That is still my goal. However, to get there… to recognize the joy, love, and hope, I also (not first, but also) need to process the pain that I still feel.

Still having those feelings doesn’t make me bad or awful or unkind or faithless. It is simply a part of me that has, or is becoming hard because I haven’t dealt with it. So, instead, I need to remember that grief is real. My own self-compassion tells me that it is worth processing so that this hardness can become something soft again… Then, in that soft space, I can find the joy, love, and hope I am seeking.

“I choose to sit with it all. The pain of the loss. The sweetness of possibility. The guilt of how I’ve weaponized my grief and hurt others. The forgiveness of a compassionate Savior. The absolute acknowledgement of the unfairness of how I was wronged. The honesty that resentment hasn’t made anything better or more peaceful. The consideration of how to let tenderness in again.” ~ Lysa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

This grief thing really is harder than anything I have experienced in all my years on this earth. Yes, grief has taught me a lot… But I still hate it. There are definitely more good days than bad, but I still constantly find myself wishing for a world where Bruce is by my side. Allowing myself the space to process all of that isn’t easy, because life on this path is sometimes filled with challenges I never imagined. At this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone. (That is why I reach out here each week.)

Thanks to you, none of us are 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.*

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… The Initial Shock

This week as we prepare to celebrate the Fourth, I keep finding myself reading the news about the collapsed high-rise in South Florida. My mind bounces from the horror of those last few moments for the people inside to the need for the families to understand how and why this happened at all to the pain of the families who have lost or don’t have a final word about their loved ones. The whole thing makes no sense… It’s awful, and I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.

Yesterday, it was announced that the remaining part of the building is too unstable to withstand the coming storm, and the order for demolition has been given. While the Search and Rescue teams will continue, it has been days with no survivors. For the families who have held out hope against hope, all of this has to be devastating… And my heart breaks for each and every one.

I remember that moment when the reality of Bruce’s death was placed in my lap… And yet, I had no idea what that meant… I had no idea of the magnitude of what that would truly involve. I mean, I knew Bruce was dead when we were driving to the hospital. I can remember calling my parents from the backseat of the police car and flatly saying, “Bruce is dead.” I remember the Emergency Room doctor confirming it a short time later, as well as the hospital chaplain who came to “offer comfort.”

However, there is a shock that happens to many of us at that time. I think it is meant to protect us from what we cannot handle… to keep us from going completely mad… People tell us the logical facts of the death before us. Our rational brains understand the words… But the actual comprehension of that loss doesn’t occur for a while… For me, it was months.

I have vague memories of that time, but they feel more like dreams than real life. I can remember wandering from room to room looking for… what? Bruce? Yes? Maybe? I couldn’t tell you, since logically I knew he wasn’t there. At other times I would sit for hours staring at… nothing…Waiting on… nothing… Just unable to move.

“I know what it’s like to look around a room, eyes glassy with pain, and feel so very alone.”
~ Lisa Terkeurst, Forgiving What You Can’t Forget

That went on for months… It wasn’t until that shock started to lift that my mind was finally able to start dealing with the grief and pain. Before that, it was too much to manage. The strange part was throughout all that time, I continued to move through my everyday life doing all the normal, everyday things… Most people thought I was okay… Maybe even “fine.” After all, it had been months. They had no idea that I had simply been in too much shock to actually feel anything yet.

Then, when I finally did start to feel again, it had been a while, and people – those people – were shocked. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t “over it.”

Sigh…

There was such an avalanche of feelings at that point – anger, heartbreak, fear, loneliness, abandonment, cynicism… You name it, I felt it.

Does that mean everyone’s grief is that way? No… Of course not! Our grief and how we work through it is as personal as our fingerprints. This means we can empathize with someone else’s loss, but we can’t experience it, nor tell them how to experience it… We can only come along beside them and help hold them up as they grieve. To those people who did that for me, I am eternally grateful. For by allowing me the space for my grief, I have been able to heal in my own time, and in my own way.

“It’s hard to move forward when you feel like you never properly said good-bye or resolved your memories.”
~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

Thank you for the opportunity to share my story with you. Sometimes, this journey can feel like nothing more than a very lonely path, especially since it is so different for each of us. Yet, our love for those we have lost is something we all share. I believe the sharing of our stories is also important… I believe it is healing. 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.*

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… Never Love Again

I know… Never say never. None of us knows what the future will hold or how we will respond to what lies there…

A few weeks ago, we finally got around to watching the newest “A Star is Born” movie. I never saw the first one, so I’m not making any comparisons. Instead, I will simply say, I loved this movie. However, it wasn’t until near the end that I found myself relating to the actions of the main character.

I’m not trying to ruin the movie for anyone, so if you haven’t seen it, stop here, go watch it, and then come back…

Okay… Now we should be good to continue. (LOL!)

Near the end of the movie, the main character’s partner dies. It is awful! I could relate to her emotions so completely that I found myself falling… Falling back into those early feelings of complete grief. There is a scene where she so incredibly filled with grief. And she is angry… Absolutely, completely, and utterly angry that he has died… That he has left her… And she is alone… I remember that feeling…

In this particular scene, she finally lets it out… It is raw and savage and animal-like… And I remember… She is so angry she rips his pictures and posters from the wall and smashes them all… and I remember… Then, she falls in a heap on the floor and cries until there is nothing left inside her… And I remember.

I remember all those feelings… I remember being filled with anger and trying to deny what I was feeling. I remember thinking I couldn’t give in to the anger, because that would be bad… I needed to be “good.” I needed to “grieve correctly” … “politely” … in a way that wouldn’t make anyone else feel bad. (Can I just say that is a load of crap!)

Now, at this stage of the journey, I can tell you that I needed to express that anger. I needed to center my attention on my own feelings for just a little while, and everyone else’s comfort needed to wait or move aside for just a small bit of time. For just a little while, I needed to focus on me… and my grief… and the anger I was trying to shove down further and further with each passing day.

I remember the day I reached the point of boiling over… Like the character in the movie, I completely lost it. I can remember screaming and wailing from somewhere deep inside… some place so far down, it didn’t even feel human. I remember smashing things, hitting things, cursing at God, and even yelling at Bruce. It was a level of emotion I have never felt before or since.

Finally, after there was no more strength left to express my rage, I remember falling on the floor in the middle of our home, and crying… I must have cried for hours, because by the time I had stopped, the house was dark… and still… and (finally) quiet.

I would like to say, that was all it took. I was fine after that. I picked myself up and moved on. But that isn’t what really happened. Instead, I can tell you that I did feel relief… Relief at letting go of all that emotion that had been building up for months. Relief at saying out loud all the angry, terrible things I had been too afraid to acknowledge. Relief at knowing that I could express all of that, and still know that neither God nor Bruce would hold it against me.

Instead, I honestly felt like they were there with me… consoling me. I felt like if the tables were turned, Bruce would have felt the same… And God, according to my faith, already knew what it is like to grieve… I felt like they both understood my pain, and only loved me even more for trying to find my way through it.

I will be honest… There were other nights when I cried and other moments when my anger spilled over, but all of those were minor when compared to that first one. Even now, while the anger is diminished, there are still times when I have to look for some space alone, so I can express the grief that is still there… The grief that can sometimes take me by surprise when it overwhelms my world.

This pain that is still a part of my world is why I am writing this today… It is why this movie hit so close to home, and why the lyrics of the last song resonate so deeply within me. I still love Bruce… And I don’t quite know what to do with that… even now… years later. So, instead of focusing on that, I just keep on keeping on, and trusting that his spirit is never far away… Trusting that our love is bigger than my grief… and bigger than the boundaries of this world…

“… And I want to pretend that it’s not true
Oh baby, that you’re gone
‘Cause my world keeps turning, and turning, and turning
And I’m not moving on…”

~ “Love Never Dies” written by Aaron Ratiere, Hillary Lee Lindsey, Natalie Hemby, Stefani Germanotta, A Star is Born

This grief journey can be a hard one, and it is different for everyone… I experienced a lot of anger in the beginning, but maybe you didn’t. The many ways we experience grief are as diverse as we are, and we all move through it at our own pace and in our own way… We are all different, and just doing the best we can in a world that can feel overwhelming at times. What about you? Was there an emotion that felt overwhelming in your grief? How did you handle it? Would you like to share your story or ask a question? Do 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.

Peace, Love and Grief… Who Am I?

Who am I?

That’s a good question, and honestly, my answer used to depend on the day and how I was feeling. Nowadays, though, it depends on who is listening…

There was a time in my life, when I would describe who I was by saying, “—‘s wife” or “—‘s mom.” It was a time when I was lost somewhere in someone else’s identity. In truth, I was a stay-at-home wife and mother. I also homeschooled four children and directed multiple choirs – both choir and community. Years later, even though I still described myself as “—‘s wife” or “—‘s mom,” I was a teacher at a small, Catholic school. Yet, somehow, I was still identifying myself by the people around me.

After my divorce, I began to see myself differently. I began to recognize me… who I was as a human being… Not just my family or what I did for a living, but all the parts of me – my faith, my passions, my feelings, my thoughts… The whole package. I spent time getting alone and asking myself hard questions – not allowing myself to answer with “I don’t know.”

These were good changes and helped to build up my self-value. So, by the time I met Bruce, I was ready. I knew who I was and what I thought. Not that I was stuck there… There was a need for healing and certainly room for growth, but those are probably ongoing items for most us, right? Throughout my marriage to Bruce, he encouraged that growth. He liked that I was strong and independent. He was never intimidated by me keeping my own name or my own bank account. No matter what, he was always there cheering me on to be stronger. He was never trying to make me “better” … just a stronger “me.”

I didn’t describe myself as “Bruce’s wife” anymore than he described himself as my husband. Yes, we were married, but we were both strong, independent people who simply wanted to share our lives with each other. However, neither of us had the need to overwhelm the other in our relationship… Neither of us needed to drown out the other.

Then, he was gone… And in that moment, my world imploded. All that “strength” I thought I possessed went right out the window. I was like a child wondering around in the dark – lost, alone, and scared to death. The first few weeks were spent in shock – just feeling numb. I managed to go through the motions of everyday life, but inside it felt like I was dead, too. I didn’t know how to keep going and there were many days when I didn’t want to… It took every bit of strength just to keep breathing.

I remember a particular day, about a week after Bruce died. I was at the pharmacy up the road picking up a couple of things, when I noticed two elderly women. They shuffled past me in the aisle talking about how lonely they were at home and how hard it was to live alone. Then, it dawned on me… They were widows… And worse, I, too, was a widow. I fought the idea… I couldn’t be a widow! Widows are elderly. They have gray hair. They need help. How could I be a widow?? No, this was not possible.

I know I’m a weird cookie, but I actually went home and started doing a little bit of research on widows. I learned that the average age of widows in the US is 56… 56!!! I was a little bit younger than that at the time, but still… That was not anywhere near my own ideas of what a widow was. Despite my own reality, I struggled to wrap my brain around it.

It seemed so weird to think that I was a widow… That was now a part of who I was. Then, I did this really weird (awkward) thing. Whenever I introduced myself and gave that brief “speech” of who I was, I always included the fact that I was a widow. Somehow that had now become who I was. Yes, it was a part of me, but I let it completely take over… And let me tell you, those four little words, “I am a widow,” can silence a room and stop a conversation before the words are completely out. I feel terrible about it now, but it was part of what I was going through. Maybe it was my way of trying to accept it myself. Maybe it came out because it was all I could think about 24/7. Who knows??

I do know that with time, I stopped making that a part of my “who am I” talk. Eventually, I became aware of just how awkward those few words made people… And I get it… What can you say to that?? There is nothing really that can make it right. And if you are just meeting someone, is that really what they need to know? So, I learned to keep that to myself. I learned to keep most of my thoughts and emotions limited to my journal and this space. I learned that even with people who knew about my loss, it was an awkward conversation. So, unless they specifically asked and I could look in their eyes and know their questions were genuine, I just learned not to talk about it. Don’t misunderstand… I still talked about Bruce a lot, just not the pain of losing him. Bruce’s death, my greatest loss, was something that I needed to keep to myself for the most part.

Now… These were my choices. This was how I chose to deal with it, and I don’t in any way put those decisions on anyone else. I am only sharing it because of something that happened recently… Actually, something that has happened quite a bit recently.

Life has moved forward. Many of the people that knew me then have either moved away or taken new jobs, so our time together is less than it was. You know what I mean – it’s just life. Most of the people who are close to me now, didn’t know me then. They never saw the joy I had when Bruce was alive or the pain of losing him. They never saw me wear black for months on end or heard me say I couldn’t keep going. They never saw me crying day after day or know that I practically stopped eating for years. Those are all things they don’t know… will never know.

But all those things… losing Bruce… shaped me in a way that nothing else ever has. It has left me with a hole somewhere in my soul, while at the same time given me an appreciation for just how precious this life is.

So, what happened, you ask?

Well, it’s not any one thing. Instead it is just casual conversations… Conversations about heartbreak when boyfriends and girlfriends break up and how “there is nothing worse” … Trust me – there is! Conversations about funerals – what they feel is acceptable and what isn’t. Please, trust me when I say, you don’t know what you will do until you have to do it. Conversations about other new widows and judgement about what they are or are not doing. Please, please, please, trust me – don’t judge what you don’t know. And the list goes on…

Each time one of these conversations has happened, I have been torn. I don’t know if I should feel guilty or good that they are so oblivious to my situation in regards to the things they say.

Should I remind them that I, too, have had my heart ripped out, had to plan a funeral that should never have happened so soon, and have made millions of mistakes on this “new normal” path called widowhood. Or… do I stay quiet and let them say whatever they feel they need to say. Have I done a disservice to Bruce or to them by not saying anything? Have I dishonored Bruce somehow by the simple fact that they don’t remember I am a widow, too? I know that they are aware, but does it ever factor into their thoughts when they are talking? Or does that the fact that I go on with my life lead them to believe it doesn’t hurt anymore? And finally, would it make a difference if I did say anything, or would it just make things awkward?

For me, at this point in time, I choose to stay silent. Things might change tomorrow, but for today, this is where I am. I have this blog, and I have a few people that I know I can turn too when the pain gets to be too much. While I have to be honest with myself and acknowledge that being a widow really IS a part of who I am, I know it doesn’t end there. I, also, believe there is some good to be found in everything and everything happens for a reason, even those things that bring us the most pain, and even if I don’t understand it at the time. There is also one other thing I know without a doubt… While this is something I would never, ever wish on anyone, if the time should ever come when anyone around me finds themselves on this path, struggling to figure out how they got here and how to move forward, I will be here for them… And I will understand and have compassion for their pain because of this “widow” part of who I am.

This week has been a hard one for this nation. It has been a week of hard questions and a lot of asking myself “who am I” and what do I stand for… Love and compassion – that is what I stand for. Understanding that we all have known pain and we all need to be heard and understood. Understanding that I can’t understand, but I want to listen. What about your? What about your story? What do you need us to hear today? What do you need us to understand? We would love to hear your story and share a virtual hug. 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. * 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 – Grief is Grief… And That’s Okay

“Grief is the pain you feel when you lose something you care about.” – Dr. John Delony, Dave Ramsey Show

Listening to Dave Ramsey is something I do when I am in the car. Bruce introduced me to his financial plan when we were first married, and I was hooked immediately. Because of his plan, I paid off our home in eight years and should be set to retire on time despite the financial set-backs in my 40’s.

So why am I talking about Dave Ramsey here? Because the other day when I tuned in, he was talking to Dr. John Delony about “Dealing with the Disappointment of Canceled Plans and Missed Milestones,” a recent blog on his website.* Now, I will just warn you, while he has great financial advice, in my opinion, Dave doesn’t come across as the nicest guy on the block… To put it bluntly, I would never call into his show, because he scares me. However, when he is talking calmly, I truly like what he has to say.

So, when I tuned in, the first thing I heard was the quote above. Grief? Why in the world was “grief” being discussed on a financial program? I missed the beginning so I honestly couldn’t tell you, but what they were saying definitely struck a cord with me. They were discussing all the things we are missing out on due to the current pandemic situation. (Don’t worry… I’m not getting political here.) Dave was saying how disappointed he was about the milestones and vacations his family had missed out on. Then, he went to say how guilty he felt about that, especially when so many people are dealing with things that are much, much worse, such as losing jobs, no income, illness and death.

Honestly, I could relate to that too. I was very disappointed when I had to cancel my April trip I had planned for Bruce’s birthday. I made staying home work, but I was still disappointed. The thing was, I felt silly being so disappoint for the very reasons he named.

Then, Dr. Delony reiterated and said, “Don’t feel guilty… You feel what you feel… Grief is the pain you feel when you lose something you care about. That thing might be a trip or missing a milestone or it might even be a death.” He talked about how it wasn’t a competition… Grief is Grief… You feel what you feel and that’s okay.

Boy was he right! I immediately began to think back to those days shortly after Bruce died…

Back then, while some people may have said things that really weren’t helpful, for the most part, I know they meant well. I know their hearts were in the right place, and mostly, I have forgotten about them. However, there were some things said that to this day still get under my skin. Those were the comments where comparisons about grief were made… Where I was made to feel that I wasn’t valid to be grieving because “obviously” someone else had it worse.

One of the first ones I encountered was when someone asked me how I was doing. I responded that “this” was hard. I was okay, but still missing Bruce terribly. Then, they asked how Bruce’s Mom was doing. I responded that I thought she was struggling… Burying your own child is a horrific thing that no one should ever have to do. To all of this, the person responded, “You two need to remember that y’all are not the only ones to ever lose someone you love.” (Of course, as they said this, their spouse stood by their side and all their children were alive and well.)
Seriously? Were they really saying that we shouldn’t grieve because we weren’t the only ones to ever lose someone we love?? What kind of response is that? Because our loss isn’t something new or different, it wasn’t valid?? That was ridiculous!

There was another incident about 3 months after Bruce passed. The son of a sweet friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. It was horrible! He was young and full of life. Then, on a beautiful afternoon, as he was stopped at a stop sign, a truck took a turn too wide and hit him. He hung on for several days as we all prayed and his mother stayed by his side… But sadly, he didn’t make it. My friend’s grief and pain were too much… To say it was awful would be a huge understatement.

Yet, a few days later, someone came up to me and said, “Well, your grief can’t be nearly as much as hers. You only lost your husband. You can get remarried. She can never replace her son.” I was stunned! First of all, who ever said grief was a competition? No one else has any idea how deep another person’s pain is… And just for the record… No one can be replaced… ever!

My friend has another son… does he “replace” the son she lost? Of course not! My first child was still-born. Did my other children “replace” that tiny baby boy? No! At this point, I haven’t dated, but even if I did, would that person really replace Bruce? Never! That is a ludicrous idea! Each person in our lives holds a special place in our heart that only they can fill – you can’t replace them!

A few years ago, I noticed a friend at work wiping tears from her eyes. So, I asked if she was okay. She wasn’t… Her dog, who had been her only companion for many years had died the day before. Then she told me that she felt silly asking for time off to grieve her dog. Plus, she “felt terrible crying to me because I had lost my husband, while she had ‘only’ lost her dog.” I remember holding her and reassuring her that her loss was just as important and painful for her as mine had been for me… There was no judgement – only a friend caring for a friend who was hurting.

Which brings me back to the idea of comparing grief… Don’t! That’s really all I can say… Don’t!

It’s a horrible thing to do. All of us lose things that are important to us… Sometimes it is a thing, such as a canceled trip, a missed event, or a special reminder of a day gone by… Sometimes it is a job or our home or the security of our family… Maybe it is a pet or a friend or a loved one who either walks out of our life voluntarily, or maybe they pass away. Yes… for each of us, some of these things may hurt more or longer than other things. However, we don’t know what is in someone else’s heart… Even if we knew the person they lost, our relationship with that person would have been different, so we still have no way of knowing their pain.

So… I guess my point is don’t deny anyone – you or someone else – the chance to grieve. It is an important part of healing and/or coming to a peaceful place about the loss… Whatever that loss may be. Own your grief and allow others to own theirs… If you must do something try supporting each other… loving each other… And just allow the grief to run its course naturally. I believe that is the best way to help someone heal and move forward.

* https://www.daveramsey.com/blog/how-to-deal-with-disappointment

Peace, Love and Grief… Feeling Lonely

I spent this week traveling to Denver, CO for work. It’s funny, I lived there for a (very) short while about 38 years ago, but I don’t remember that much about it. At that time, I was just pregnant with my oldest daughter. It was also my first time moving and living away from my family. All I can tell you about my time there (back then) is how lonely I felt…

My (then) husband was gone all day at school and studied at night. We only had one car, so I was left in our little one-bedroom apartment all day… alone. I don’t believe our apartment faced the mountains, because all I remember looking at was flat nothingness day after day. I do remember taking a few day trips on the weekends, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you where we went. In other words, some of my loneliness was due to circumstances, but I am just as sure that some of it was my own doing, as well.

Well, this week found me back in Denver again… And by the third night, I had that overwhelming feeling of loneliness once again…

The week started as I left the airport and drive my rental car to the hotel. The drive was beautiful, and I was absolutely entranced by the incredible majesty of the mountains to my right! I can’t remember ever seeing anything so amazing!! I couldn’t wait to get where I was going, so I could take a picture and share it with those I love back home.

As the week passed, I saw old friends and made new friends in our Colorado office. There was even a night when we all went out to dinner together and had a blast. However, most nights I ate alone.

Honestly, the first night or two that was fine – kind of nice actually. I tend to treasure my time alone, so one or two nights on my own felt it was “just what the doctor ordered.” However, as the week continued on, I began to get a little homesick, I guess… I missed those I love back home, and I missed their love for me… And I really missed Bruce.

It probably sounds silly, but one night, the loneliness was so overwhelming, I even cried myself to sleep… It has been years since I can remember feeling that lonely.

After Bruce died, my emotions were raw and all over the place. One of the emotions I remember experiencing the most was loneliness. It was hard coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer by my side… No longer was there someone who loved me the way he had – no one for me to love and no one to love me back… No one to fill my “love-tank,” which came as natural to him as breathing… No one to hold me when I cried, and no one to hug me when we had a big moment to celebrate. No longer was I the center of anyone’s world.

Yes, there were people who loved me – I never doubted that… But there is something about the love between two people who commit to always loving and prioritizing each other. For me, that was gone, and it felt too hard to accept.

Over time, I learned to move forward… To live life as it comes without getting too caught up in what was (still is) missing. True, I still have my moments of tears, but I try to save them for when I am alone. This is because I don’t want those around me to feel like I don’t appreciate them and all they add to my world.

This week, though, without those people nearby… and without Bruce, I somehow let myself spiral down into a sadness and loneliness that I couldn’t shake. Once again, it felt just as painful as it did years ago when Bruce left this world… left me.

It really took me by surprise. I didn’t expect to feel that pain so deeply again… and especially not in such a beautiful place! I don’t really know what triggered those emotions or why… I can only tell you what I felt.

Now I am home… I have hugged my family close and relished all weekend in the love we share. I still miss Bruce today, but that feeling of absolute loneliness is gone. (Thankfully!) And as I reflect on this past week, I am reminded…

Grief is not just a moment in time. It is a process. There are feelings and emotions that will always ebb and flow like the tide… And while most of the time, I can manage my grief and the loneliness it creates, I am still not immune to it, even all these years later…

This is my story, but this is our community… a place to share our experiences. Do you ever feel overwhelmed by the loneliness? How do you handle it? Or maybe you would like to share your story or your thoughts… There is no one right answer. Who knows… your words may hold the answer for someone else. To share your story or thoughts, please go to the comments and leave a note, comment or question.

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… 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

Peace, Love and Grief… Smiling on the Outside

Too Much
Some days the pain is so great.
Some days it is too much.
But still I must put a smile on my face
And walk out to face the world.
I must pretend all is well.
But inside…
The pain is so great…
It is too much…
Too much…
~Linda, Sept 2013

When Bruce first died, the pain and grief were intense. If someone had asked me to put it on a scale from 1 – 10, I would have said 10+++. The pain was horrific. There were days when it even hurt to breathe. No… A “10” would not even begin to describe how much it hurt. Over time, however, one would think that would change… It seems logical that over time that number would go down. The pain would lessen. At this point, (after all these years) perhaps it should only be a 1 or 2. But I’m here to tell you, that’s not the way it works… Not on the inside, anyway.

I should have known that was not going to happen. So many times, from the very beginning, I heard or read that the pain of grief never heals… Everything I read said it would be like a scar – healed over yet never the same.

I have to say, I disagree…

It has been over 4 years, since Bruce died… And if I had to give this journey a number now, it would easily still be an 8… And some days maybe even still a 10. Also, I would not describe this as a mere scar. It is more like a wound that is still angry and tender. Yet, somehow, the skin has managed to grow over it, and it is far from healed.

All it takes is something simple – a song on the radio, a memory out of nowhere, even a gesture from a stranger – and the tears start to form. But, what do I do? In the beginning, I cried… I felt what I felt. However, at this point in time, I usually suck it back in. I have things to do, places to go and people to see, and the last thing I want is for anyone to see me crying about something no one can fix. Besides, (and probably even more to the point) I don’t want to explain that, yes, after all these years, I am still hurting… I still miss Bruce and I still want our life back.

Back when all of this was new and the pain was fresh, people were understanding of my grief and my feelings. They were patient, and they were kind. After all this time, though, even I wouldn’t have imagined it would still hurt like this. So, of course, people don’t get it… After all this time, they are pretty sure there must be something wrong with me. After all, …

Why can’t I just get over it already?
Why don’t I just think about something else?
Why don’t I go out and meet someone else and move on?
What the hell is wrong with me, anyway?

Honestly, I ask myself these same questions. Actually though, there is nothing wrong with me… The reality is – this is all quite normal. In fact, from what I have read and heard from other widows(-ers), we all tend to put on a smile for the rest of the world, while on the inside we are crying and kicking and screaming – rebelling against this whole fiasco which is now our life.

At the same time, I can’t really blame anyone else for what they are thinking. I wouldn’t have expected this, so how could they? They’ve never been here. They have no idea what this is really like… And as long as I keep smiling on the outside, no one can know the ugly truth of what it really feels like to lose your best friend and soulmate… What it is to be absolutely lonely – always the outsider looking in – never quite sure where or if you fit in anywhere at all.

Yet, at the same time, I don’t really want to talk to anyone about it anymore. I don’t know what I would say that I haven’t already said before… Besides, they are probably as tired of hearing it, as I am of feeling it… The problem is I do feel it…

And I think those feelings may be around for a bit longer.

Everyone deals with grief’s emotions in their own way and for as long as they need to… These are only my thoughts and observations this week as I found myself smiling on the outside while I cried on the inside. Maybe grief has been that way for you, as well. Learning to navigate this journey tends to show us we are stronger than we thought, and yet, always vulnerable. 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

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… And time moves on

It Still Hurts

Sometimes I can’t breathe for the pain of it.
Other times I smile and laugh at the thought of our memories.
You were always that way…
making me smile or laugh when I wanted to cry…
when the pain was so bad.
Now my heart hurts…
truly, physically hurts with the missing of you.
I feel your soul;
I know you are here.
But I need to see your eyes and your smile;
Feel the comfort of your arms.
I want to breathe in your presence
and feel your love in all these things.
But that isn’t to be…
All I have are the memories;
The memories of our love…
And…
Sometimes I can’t breathe for the the pain of it.
~ Linda, Oct. 19, 2013

I remember when I wrote that poem. It had been 10 months since Bruce died. For the rest of the world, their lives were back in order. (At least that is the way I saw it.) But, not for me. My life was still upside down. I was still experiencing all the “dreaded firsts,” and I still had 2 more months to go before I would finish that “first year.”

I don’t know why, but there is a notion or a feeling that if you can get through (aka survive) that first year, it will all be okay… You will feel better… Life will start to feel normal again.

That, my friends, is a lie.

I remember starting that second year with so much hope that I would feel better, cry less and hurt less. But what I found was I still grieved; I still cried, and I still hurt. Life was still marching forward, but I still seemed to be out of step with the rest of the world.

On January 23, 2014, (after the one year anniversary of Bruce’s death) I wrote:

Good morning , Babe… Sad today… miss you so much. I know I’m doing better ’cause I have more and more good days, but today I am sad… went to bed sad, cried most of the night and woke up sad… Something about walking into the bedroom and knowing that I was crawling in to this bed without you… again, was too much. I just miss you! I try not to let myself dwell on it too much because it gets me too down, but other times, I need to let it out… It’s been forever since I felt the touch of your love, Babe.

A few days later on February 4, I wrote:

Hi Babe! Loving you this morning… I cried myself to sleep (again) last night. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever not cry myself to sleep… or miss you so bad my heart feels like it will rip in half. Still kinda teary this morning. The thing is – now (because it has been more than a year) I feel like I have to hide it… It is so frustrating!

Even this week, I found myself struggling and wrote:

Hi, Babe! I am really missing you tonight! How can this be real? Here I am – 3 years later – and still half expecting you to walk though the door – OR – to wake up and find this has been one horrible nightmare. I sit here at my desk looking at pictures of us and I remember all the smiles and all the love. I’ll never understand why it had to end or how to make the hurting stop. I think… No, I know, what we had was so special and I’ll never stop loving you! It took us so long to find each other that we never took “us” for granted. I have no regrets for how we spent our time together. But I never thought our time together would be so short. It went by so fast.

Why am I sharing this? What is the point?

Over the last 3 years, I have learned to crawl, then walk… and even run. I have learned to laugh again. I have learned to dance again. I have learned to live life again. I have learned to trust that God or the universe or whatever you want to call it has not abandoned me, is not against me nor is he punishing me… In fact, he loves me and has my back.

I know I was blessed… I know I still am. Bruce’s purpose on this earth was completed before mine, and that is a sad reality that I have to accept. ( But I hate it!) However, the fact that we had a life together at all is a miracle.

I have come to understand that my life now is determined by my perspective… Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder than others… and that is actually normal. But ultimately… it is my choice.

What do I know… even when days are hard?

I know there are still lessons for me to learn and a purpose for me to explore.

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