“That’s what people never tell you, about the real fundamental, life-giving stuff you lose when someone you love leaves. You lose the part of you that only they knew. You lose some of your story. It simply dies.” ~ John Pavolitz
Bruce… God I miss him. While I have a few close friends (some related to me, some not), there is a part of me that only he knew. For whatever reason, he was the one I trusted with certain parts of my soul. He was the one who knew the secrets I was too shy or too scared to share with anyone else… And he loved me anyway. In many ways, he knew me better than I know myself… (Although, his legacy and this journey since he died have continually opened a lot of those doors for me.)
I think that is why it has been such a struggle since he died… Because that loss of self is so real and so true. I didn’t just lose Bruce that night. When I look at all the spaces he filled in my world, I come to realize that I also lost a thousand other things when he died. And one of the hardest is the fact that I lost a part of my own story that night.
It felt as if, suddenly, the book was finished. It was done. There was no ending – only a beautiful beginning and a wonderful storyline that for some reason just stopped. It was over, and I never found the resolution that should have come with the fairy tale I was living. We had lived “happily,” but I had lost my “happily ever after.” Instead, the story was over, which included a big part of my story, as well.
I guess that’s a part of the grieving process… Trying to find my own story again. It’s hard. I spent years feeling hopeless and lost. Then, I would tentatively take a step or two forward, but honestly, there is a guilt that comes with that. I can’t explain it, but for so long, I felt guilty for living my life while knowing that Bruce’s life was over.
As the years have passed, I have learned to move forward. I have learned my triggers that will spiral me deep down into grief, and I have learned how to push myself forward even when I don’t feel like it… But it’s still not easy. It’s a process.
“Widowhood is the long learning to do without the presence of the loved one. It is a task demanding the utmost patience, and a willingness to look, again and again, at those paths and places where the loved one walked, sat, lived, and slept, and does so no more.” ~ Martha Hickman, Healing After Loss
I imagine it might seem a bit frustrating to those around me. It’s probably hard to understand…
After all, I’m not who I was… I can’t be. For their sakes, I wish I could… That would probably be easier. But that story ended over seven years ago, and no matter how hard I try or how much I wish, I can’t go back. I know I’m different now. But aren’t we all? Don’t we all change and grow throughout our lives? Isn’t that what we are supposed to do? Granted, for some of us it might be a more sudden or extreme change, but none of us are the same person we were seven years ago.
Even now, there are times when I still feel so alone on this journey… so out of sync with everyone else around me… But that’s okay… I’m okay. Ultimately, life is a process… an on-going story. Yes, a chapter of my story ended and with it a big part of my story is gone… but not the whole story. No… My story is still being written… I just need to be patient.
I am so thankful for all the people who have supported me through the years… All those who have loved me and accepted that this is now a part of who I am. They have been a big part of my healing and their love has allowed me to keep putting one foot in front of the other. What about you? Have you ever struggled to find support in the midst of your grief? Let us know… We would love to hear from you. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or even a virtual hug, let us know that, as well. 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.
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Tag: patience
Peace, Love and Grief… Looking for Springtime
Your Gift
In each breeze, let me feel your touch.
In each sunrise, let me experience your joy.
In each storm, let me feel your strength.
In the quiet, let me hear your voice telling me –
All is well…
Each moment was planned;
Each smile was for me;
And your acceptance of life was your gift to help me through this storm.
I loved you
and even now… you love me.
~ Linda, September 2013
Another year… And still I find myself waiting for springtime and asking, “Is there a springtime in grief?” Is there a time when life feels new again? When hope and joy fill us with the excitement of all things new and fresh? I know there is… And there are many moments when I feel it too. However, Bruce’s birthday is also in the spring (and rapidly approaching) … And while it is a time when I celebrate his life, it is also a reminder that he is not here…
Yet, if he were here, I know exactly what Bruce would tell me. He was a man who seemed to never lose hope. He was vigilant in spotting the signs of spring and in finding those things that could put hope into any situation…
We met totally by chance on a small sailing schooner in the Virgin Islands. One week was all it took and he said he knew he loved me. He would always tell me that through all the years after his divorce, he always knew there was someone out there just for him… Someone he would love and would love him back.
As for me, I can’t say that… I wasn’t sure how I felt after that first week. I found my own feelings overwhelming and scary. I could think of a thousand reasons why it would never work… For starters, we lived 1000 miles apart. (I was from South Carolina, and he was Michigan.) However, within 24 hours of leaving that ship, I knew without a doubt that my future was with him. Ten short months later, I moved to Michigan and we were married.
This man had not only captured my heart, he was the other half of my soul.
My move to Michigan happened in November. Michigan winter was just setting in and came as quite a shock to this little southern girl. I did not realize that a place could be so cold… and for so long! I didn’t realize the reality of the term “so cold it will take your breath away.” I had no idea that snow could fall continuously for days and then stay for months.
Before Michigan, I could probably count the number of times I had seen snow on one hand. So, that first year found me completely unprepared… This place was a whole new experience for me, and I had a lot to learn about living in such a climate.
When I moved to Michigan, Bruce had promised he would keep me warm, and he did everything in his power to do so. However, try as he might, he couldn’t shorten a Michigan winter or make it feel warm enough for this southern belle. In South Carolina, by the end of March, things are usually starting to warm up. (Plus, they are never as cold as Michigan). But in Michigan, there is still snow (either falling on still on the ground) at the end of March. That was unfathomable to me.
I remember one particular Sunday afternoon that first March. I was standing at the slider watching yet another snowstorm roll in, and the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I was so conditioned to expect spring in March – cool nights, warm days, flowers, birds, green grass, sunshine… This felt so wrong. I didn’t think I could handle another snowstorm… I needed sunshine… And I found myself wondering if I had moved to some winter version of hell, and this interminable gray and cold would last forever.
At just that moment, Bruce came up behind me, put his arms around my waist, and pulled me back to lean into him. As he held me close, he spoke softly into my ear, “You okay?”
I replied, “No… It’s never going to stop snowing.”
“Do you see that those branches on that bush?” he asked as he nodded toward a bush just outside the window. (I nodded.) “Well, keep watching them, because in about 6 more weeks you will see a miracle. You will see green buds appear, and you’ll know that springtime really does happen… even in Michigan.”
I would like to say that I smiled and answered, “Oh thank you, Babe. I will believe you and wait patiently.” But I didn’t… Instead I cried out loud and said, “SIX MORE WEEKS?? Are you kidding me? I’ll never make it!” That poor man… he just held me closer and let me cry.
In the years that followed, we laughed many times thinking back on that story. Every spring he would remind me not to give up hope… spring really would come… even in Michigan.
At this point in my life, I have spent many springs without Bruce. Each year I find myself remembering that story, and comparing it to my life now… my life without the man who really was my springtime… Like Michigan, this journey often feels gray and cold, and I find myself wondering if I will ever feel the hope and joy that life can offer as deeply as did when Bruce was by my side. Will I ever have that carefree, walk-barefoot-in-the-grass, life-is-wonderful feeling again?
I know… Bruce would say, “Yes.” I can almost hear him tell me to be patient. Spring will come back to my life… and when I look real close, I really can start to see those buds on the branches of my life turning green… And I know he would tell me to never give up; there is always the promise of spring.
I guess, I have learned through the years that the only answer to get from here to there is patience… something I have always struggled with. Therefore, I don’t pretend it is an “easy” answer. However, I know he is standing behind me, pulling me close to lean in to him, saying, “Keep watching… Springtime really does happen.”
Everyone deals with life, loss, and grief in their own way and in their own time. We will each search and find the “springtime” in our lives at our own pace. After all, we all find answers and comfort in various sources, which is what makes us all unique and different. I am only sharing my thoughts. What about you? If you are struggling with grief, loss, loneliness, please know you are not alone – We are here. 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… Grieving Differently
(To my own family – This is not a rant or accusation. It was driven by observing my own behaviors. Please know I am so sorry for any pain or hurt I have caused… I am so thankful for each of you and love you more than I can possibly express here!)
Everyone grieves differently… We have all heard that. Yet, knowing it and living it can be two different things… As with most experiences in life, we all approach grief from a different angle, because we are different. Even people in the same family will approach grief differently, and sometimes that is the hardest – to allow those we love to experience grief in a different manner from our own.
When you lose someone you love, everything you read and hear tells you to find support. For many of us, there is the assumption that our family will be the best space to find that support. And in some ways, that is true… But in other ways, the fact that we are family can actually make supporting each other harder.
Keep in mind, if it is a situation where everyone is grieving the same loss… the same person, then everyone is hurting… Everyone is looking for support and trying to make sense of something that quite frankly, may not ever make sense. Maybe we are so caught up in our own pain, that we forget to leave space for understanding and compromise towards those we love most. Instead, there can be an underlying feeling that we should all be grieving in the same way and healing at the same pace…
But we don’t. Even in the same family, we have different personalities and life experiences… And despite being in the same family, we are each grieving the loss of a different relationship.
This is not a rant… I am referring to all of us… myself especially. For if I am honest, I must admit I have felt this way, too. As with everything else in grief, this part of the journey is a roller coaster, too… Not always one way, yet not always the other way either. There are days when I can easily be the one offering support and able to listen. While I may not completely understand what someone else is thinking and feeling, I can empathize and recognize their grief as being just as legitimate as my own.
Yet, there are just as many days when I want to scream and yell that I am hurting, too – and in that moment, my pain feels worse than anyone else’s possibly could. Sometimes, I want to roll my eyes and stomp my feet and walk away. I don’t want to listen… I want to be heard. I don’t want to be understanding… I want to be understood.
I am embarrassed… All of this is hard to admit, but I promised when I started this to be honest here… To share my experiences as they happen.
From what I have read, heard and experienced, while we will usually allow other people the space they need to grieve, families tend to expect each other to grieve in a similar fashion… For whatever reason, we tend to be less patient with each other, and that can create a truly volatile atmosphere which has the potential to be damaging to everyone.
“Lastly, family members will need to understand that while their closeness may be supportive in their grief, it also can make them likely to displace blame, anger, and other hostile feelings onto one another, to avoid communication for fear of upsetting the other, or to place irrational demands on each other.”
~ connect.legacy.com
Another part of the problem may be something called the “multiplier effect.” This occurs when the grief of one family member triggers the grief of another (or all). In the beginning, this is normal as everyone’s grief is so acute. However, as time passes and each individual moves through grief in their own way and time, this effect can create impatience with one another. While the paths of our grief journey split off in different directions, there seems to be a part of us that wants to “stick together as a family”… to grieve in a similar fashion – following identical paths.
However, that isn’t possible… Logically we know, we are all individuals with varying needs, but it can be hard to remember we are each grieving the loss of a different relationship. We know we don’t like others to tell us how to feel in our grief, but we also need to remember not to do the same to those we love either. Instead, we need to allow each other the space to feel what we feel and to express it in the way that will work best for each of us…
Put simply – we need to remember to offer what we would like to receive… love, patience and someone willing to simply be there in our hardest moments…
Learning to navigate through this journey is different for everyone… For many of us, the changes in us created by our grief can be confusing and overwhelming to ourselves and others. Learning to be open to new possibilities can feel impossible at times and at other times, this is what gives us hope. We all move through it at our own pace and in our own way… and we each have our own experiences that help us make it through. If this feels familiar, we are here… you are not alone. If you are someone who needs 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!