Category Archives: Grief

Focus Group/advisors

24 Thursday Mar 2016

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File_001 (6) I am excited to host my first focus group this afternoon.  I have invited several of my neighbors, all of whom are now retired, in to give me some advice, identify local resources, and help hold me accountable for going “official” and starting a business.  I want to combine my grief experience and my work history, along with the personal sabbatical, to help others who are facing challenges in their lives.  Significant, difficult or emotional life events have implications at home and at work, and in how we deal with the rest of the world.  I want people to be able to do more than just survive their contact with whatever enemy they are facing; wouldn’t it be great to know – really know in your heart – that will be okay, that you may even thrive as you get stronger again.

The world of work often talks about Succession Planning. In fact, I have researched it and been published and spoken at conferences about this subject.  What isn’t talked about is how we prepare for succeeding with both our personal and professional lives when we are dealt a significant life event, how as supervisors or employers we manage an employee who is going through a significant life event, what kind of contingency plans are helpful, and how we keep on keeping on in the midst of it all.  And for the record, death isn’t the only significant life event we encounter: a baby can be born prematurely, a car accident disables someone, a cancer diagnosis, a fall down the steps, a child’s experimentation with drugs, a financial setback…and many other things not as “big” but still significant grievable events that can (and do)  alter the landscape.

Many people like to refer to Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ work on the 5 Stages of Grief when we are dealing with grief.  Those are Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. What isn’t as well known is that her work was intended to address the stages of dying, not death.  Subsequent research has offered a better explanation of the many stages of grieving any major event.I found this from the East Kootenay Lutheran Parish in Canada.  It was my experience, and much more helpful to me when I was freaking out about what would come next.

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Now I want to share this with other people, and also to figure out what this means on the employment front. How we can use this to really help organizations understand the absurdity of a 3-day bereavement leave, how to deal with work that needs to be done by employees on this grief journey.  Because, believe me, grief changes a person.  The employee you saw yesterday is not the same one you’ll see tomorrow.  Nor will the husband or best friend or neighbor or aunt be unchanged by this experience.  As a society, we seem to stop talking about this out loud after the funeral…and even then, it’s in hushed tones.  I’d like to help people get okay with death, to not see it as a failure, to get comfortable with grief, and open up discussions about our spiritual paradigms. Let’s find a way to acknowledge the grief journey.

 

My trip on the path of grief

17 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation, Uncategorized

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Yesterday I skimmed through my personal journal since Kevin died. I didn’t have time to look back through Facebook posts or Pinterest captures, but that will be coming, as I explore how I have changed, and how my focus on life has changed in the past year+.  So far; I know there is more to come.  One quick observation was that I wrote a LOT more often in the beginning of my grieving season than lately.  And I’m so glad I did.  As I’ve been thinking about “emptying my cup” (see blog last week), I realized that writing in my journal was a way of letting go of all the thoughts I had running around in that zone called the Neutral Zone when one is in the midst of a significant change like this.

He left this earth on November 23 just before midnight.  I cried all of December, and lost 17# (which I have gained back, and then some). I went back to work two weeks later, on December 9, which in retrospect, I see was way too soon.  I should have taken a month or two, just to sleep and let out the tears and handle the paperwork.  I ran away once but came back the same day.  In January, I attacked the house. I started repainted everything, took down Kevin’s dead animals and Redlin hunting prints and related items. It was January 23, two months to the day, that I noted it was the first day I hadn’t cried.  It took me another few months to nearly finish the “reclaiming” of the house, with new appliances and changing out some furniture.  It was July before I had help from my sister Peggy to repair the hole I put in the wall of the guest bedroom…I didn’t punch the wall, I ripped off a shelf back in December.

In February I had one three-day crying streak.  That’s when I sought counseling and group support and an online life coach. (That’s me – all or nothing.)  In March I held a vision board workshop in my dining room, trying to force myself to gather some clarity about the future. Called in sick to work a few times because I wasn’t sleeping and was crying A LOT. I noted that I felt like I was in free-fall.  Looking back, it seems that the shock had worn off and I was beginning to feel my feelings then.  It’s important to know I wasn’t alone during this time. I had company in December for the holidays, January, March, April, and May.  And I went to Minnesota in April for a wedding and to Ohio in May for a siblings/birthday get-together.  My mid-April I was thinking of quitting work, since a request for an adjusted work schedule was not to be.  I cleaned out Kevin’s clothes and put his bike and boat for sale.

In June, people at work complained about me. I had become intolerant of the smallest indiscretions or errors, and first-class bitchy over the big issues. I tried motorcycle therapy but it was no fun and I thought about selling the bike.  I started anti-depressants. The sleep deprivation had caught up to me, and I couldn’t go on crying forever.  I didn’t even like my own company.  Immediate relief! I slept all night long for the first time in months.  I noticed I started writing “about” Kevin instead of “to” him in the journaling. I was now thinking of a leave of absence at work instead of quitting.

In July I spent some time back up in my Diva Den, painting and crafting. I created a Get-a-Life Tree of leisure activities I used to enjoy and made plans to try some of them again.  File_000 (7)I watched complete movies and read entire books instead of just pages.  I continued the updates in the house, and Peggy fixed the hole in the wall.  She came here, and I went to her house also.  In August I was ready for a vacation, and rode my motorcycle again.  I noted I was feeling more like me again.  It was now I started thinking about writing a book on the grieving experience. But for some reason I also started worrying about money, and I thought about moving.  September I met with a realtor about selling the house, but had out of state work trips to Minnesota and Seattle, and made a side trip to Los Angeles, so no time to decide.

Feeling like I was capable of making good decisions again, I gave notice at my job in October, started my blog,  and at the one-year anniversary of Kevin’s passing, I began my personal sabbatical. In December I was finally able to catch up on my sleep and get comfortable being in my house, just me (and the dogs).  I visited the kids for the holidays, and when I returned to Virginia, I knew I was home. I didn’t want to leave any more.  I started reading a book a day,  cooking for myself, and making plans for the coming year. On January 4, I wrote that I was “feeling good, optimistic, interested, and open.”

It was a long way in to the depths of my grieving, but I am clearly well on my way out now. I have the occasional sad moments still, but I can think of other things besides him and us and poor me.  I still tell him about my day, and include him in my prayers, and ask him for advice.  It appears I have survived the worst of it, and yes, I know I’m not totally through the weeds or out of the woods yet. I am still wandering but definitely am not lost.

Re-entry into my life

25 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Traditions

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From last camper

I grew up camping, with 3 sisters, 1 brother, our parents, and a very small camper.  When I got older, I would go tent camping with girlfriends in high school, and eventually with husband #1 (and 3 children). The n there were years when the only thing close to camping was a hotel room, until I met husband #2. We tent camped, went to a small travel trailer, then to a nice 5th wheel.  We explored South Dakota, where we lived; Saskatoon, Canada; Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri; Black  Hills; Badlands of both North and South Dakota; county parks in Minnesota; and many state parks in South Dakota as well.  We sold our 5th wheel when we moved to Virginia, thinking we’d get another one once we were settled here.  We hadn’t gotten around to that yet when Kevin died. I wasn’t sure I was up for camping solo after that.  But that was then, and this is now.

One of the things you do when you are grieving, when you are starting to remember, is to choose happy times. We had so much fun making memories camping, from when the water heater started on fire, to the rhubarb pie we forgot on the table when it rained, to going to the theatre because it was raining, to Gabe slicing his foot with an axe chopping firewood, to Donald’s motorized margarita maker, to the turtle that didn’t’ make it across the road in time, to stunning sunsets, and great fish fries.  Oh, and the time I tried to make tangerine yogurt.  Or when Kevin cracked the camper on the immovable yellow post at the gas station, to losing the tv antenna because we forgot to put it down, and on and on and on.

There were also such peaceful times when he would go out fishing early and I would get to sleep I late, meander along trails with the dogs, being mesmerized by the campfire, and reading a good book.  No worries.  True R&R.

Camping was one of our very favorite things to do.  The first summer we had our first camper we went out 11 weekends. I don’t think we slowed down much until we got to Pierre and everything was 2-3 hours away instead of 1/2 hour to an hour. On a weekend, that was a big difference.

So I started thinking about it again recently. I wondered if I would enjoy it by myself (well, me and the dogs).  I went to RV shows, I researched campers online, visited a few stores. And then I found the one.  I brought her home today.  I admit I was freaked out when I pulled out of the dealer’s place this afternoon, but it didn’t take long for me to get comfortable behind the wheel.  Backing it in the storage lot between a utility trailer and a pop up camper was challenging, but also exhilarating when I did it.  That’s progress!  I even got it unhitched without too much trouble.  Thanks to my friend Diane for her help. I’d still be there if it wasn’t for her.

This whole adventure signals to me that I am well on the mend from my grieving days.  I am truly “solowingnow,” getting on with my life, refusing to sit home alone in silence or deny myself the pleasure of activities I used to enjoy.  I know it won’t be the same as when Kevin was with me, but I also know I am capable, ready, and willing to take a few more risks, meet some new people, and make new memories.

It’s a Summerland 2020, and it sleeps 3.  Hint: that means I still have room for at least one more camping buddy, or two if they are very friendly, or if one takes the floor. And we might have to share the dogs. I am excited to get started!  I have almost all the camping “stuff” from before, so it’s a matter of time to get it all down from the attic and see what I need this time around. I suppose it’s possible the next RV movie will be about me, but let’s hope it’s not quite that eventful.  Just a way to re-enter the world on my own terms.

Spring Cleaning

22 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Traditions, Uncategorized

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I am excited to have a stream of company visiting in the next several weeks.  My cousin Debbie arrives this week Friday, my sister Diane and her family will be here the following weekend, and at the end of March, my friend Diane’s aunt and uncle will be staying here while they attend a family get-together so large Diane can’t house them all at her place.  I love having company and am looking forward to the flurries of activity.

For me, having guests means I have to do an extra cleaning routine, like dusting where I usually let the dust bunnies sleep in peace. But it’s spring time so I took advantage of the nice weather over the weekend to open the windows for a while and get some fresh air in the house. As it happens, last week at Toastmasters, my new friend Roxanne gave a speech on decluttering.  She emphasized how that process not only clears the physical space around us, but it has the added benefit of clearing out mental space as well.  She recommended a book called The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo, which I haven’t ordered yet. However, I was motivated to get rid of the last two boxes of stuff I brought home my work office when I started this sabbatical last November.

The only way I could make room for the papers in these two boxes was to get rid of other stuff.  So I off-loaded an old computer printer and an equally ancient (2008?) laptop computer that Kevin does use anymore (ha ha).  And then I was fortunate to have a neighbor and kindred spirit of my hunter-fisherman husband come and relieve me of a large box of what a woman might call “excess accessories” and a hunter would call “necessary equipment.”  He’s also going to check out the options for a new home for some goose decoys and several fishing rods and tackle.

My thought is that I can help other hunters and fisher-people by providing equipment they might make use of and I no longer have need for.  Among the stages of grief, helping others is often recommended as an adjustment  step toward final acceptance of the loss and moving on in one’s life.  As I  let go of Kevin’s possessions, I have remembered how surprised I was when my stepmother still had not gone through my dad’s things nearly a year after his passing. At the time, I wasn’t sure what to think. Was she still in shock? Certainly she seemed disorganized and stuck, at a minimum.  Ah, if only I knew then what I know now! I had little enough compassion then, didn’t understand what she was going through.  I have since talked to her and apologized for my lack of understanding and what was no doubt some judging of her on my part. I’m happy to report she has forgiven me.

Many days fly by, and some drag on endlessly.  I take two steps forward and then one step back, and while it can be a struggle, that’s still forward progress.  I think most of my slide down the slippery slope of grief is over.  I haven’t had any emotional outbursts in quite a while; and even the occasional teariness is abating.  I am actively working on getting reorganized, engaging in more activities, and strengthening my relationships here.  A few new patterns related to a working style are emerging, and I am mostly optimistic about my future again.  Sounds like a healthy recovery, don’t you agree?

My mom was from that generation where Spring Cleaning (yes, with Capital Letters) and Fall Cleaning were traditions.  She, too, has joined the Angels Above, and I know she was telling her friends she taught me everything I know about bathroom floors yesterday.  I know this because I found a penny on the floor behind the commode in the guest bathroom (which I don’t use).  She always sends me pennies from heaven. Thanks, Mom.  And yes, it’s nice to have a shiny clean house.  At least until I let the dogs loose again. And if I don’t have any company later this year, I might forego the Fall event. I gotta tell you, I’m tired!

Ollin on My Life Purpose

19 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Sabbatical

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According to Kevin Hall, author of Aspire, a book I referred to recently, “ollin” is a word that describes me.  Here’s what Hall says: “Pronounced All-in, it is an expression of immense depth that conveys intense and immediate movement.”  He goes on to discuss its derivation, which is to move and act now with all your heart, or to follow your path in life wholeheartedly.

I know several people who would say that I do act with a certain amount of zest or passion when I decide to take something on. Or at least I did until last year, when I detoured into some deep grief. I’m working my way out again, though it’s not easy some days.  The funk I experienced about two weeks ago prompted me to get motivated about something, anything. So I read a book on self talk. Then I recorded myself repeating affirmations, which I listen to each night before I go to bed. I made a new vision board and posted some pictures on doors and mirrors. I bought another book and started reading it: Jack Canfield’s The Success Principles.  I made lists of things I like(d) to do and that I want to do again. .I pulled out some coaching materials from a course I took, and then  I made a deal with a friend to trade some personal coaching time. I made a coffee date to discuss some other partnership.  I engaged in a conversation with a new friend about getting organized.  I did some research on a Call for Proposals I am considering responding to. I cleaned some clutter in my office in order to clean some clutter in mind.  And yes, I do feel better (and a wee bit tired again!).  I don’t know if it’s because the funk passed, because I took (positive) action, or what … because I’m doing so much I can’t pinpoint what is working best.

I am doing all this, and I still can’t say with certainty that I have finally “discovered my purpose” as Hall’s book says I should be able to do, except whatever it is, I do it wholeheartedly.  I did Simon Sinek’s “Why” exercise, and I came up with “to inspire purposeful change so that people will help themselves to help others.” I have done the Canfield Life Purpose Exercise as well. What I’ve come up with there is: To share my knowledge and ideas in an energetic way that challenges yet supports people to help others in a positive way.  That’s kind of wordy, but maybe it says what I am trying to say .. and be.. and do.

I think all of this is what I have been doing in my career, regardless of the title I held or the geography I camped out in.  I’ve always had good enough reasons why I didn’t just go ollin on this path. But I think now is the time for me to break out of the confines of my past  work environments and go for it.  Solowingnow seems appropriate still. Speaking of camping, Kevin and I used to talk about my becoming a speaker or author or consultant, and he being my manager. We dreamed that we’d buy a motorhome, he’d sign up my gigs and chauffeur me around the country so I could do my work, and we’d camp along the way and see some sites while we were at it.  But we always ended up working for someone else, on their priorities.  We always thought we’d have more time, and of course, we found out we didn’t; but I do.  So among my other “intense and immediate” actions, I bought a camper today.

I’ve decided I’m going to keep on this path, and I’m ollin!  This sabbatical has already proven useful, as I’ve resourced myself up with all kinds of books and webinars and meetings.  Now I have the time also to pull together a solid business plan. And make some contacts.

One thing grief does – after it forces you to shut down and rest – is that it helps you sift out the “I don’t wants” so you can not only feel lighter but see things more clearly.  It gives you the time to find your reserve energy and get comfortable with expressing the “I wants” more often.  It’s so easy to give in and settle, to take cover and stay there, to defer to what everyone else (including society at large) thinks is better for you. Grief makes you say out loud that you didn’t do the things you planned – and it reminds you there is still time for YOU if you so choose.  I no longer ask “what’s the worst that can happen?” I already know the answer to that one.

Solowingnow

15 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Sabbatical, Uncategorized

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Just about five years ago (4/20/11), I engaged in an exercise recommended in a book titled Aspire by Kevin Hall.  I asked my friends and family to send me one word they would use to describe me.  The intent is to “discover your purpose through the power of words.” No “purpose” was revealed to me, or at least I didn’t find it.

This is that list. I keep it on my desk and look at it regularly.  Usually I’d guess that people would stop seeing this kind of thing after so long, but it struck a chord with me. I use it as a reminder of who I am, or was, or at least who people think I am.  File_000 (1)Perception has a way of becoming reality, and I’m grateful the words are positive.  Even though I’m on a personal sabbatical now to examine my life and prepare for The Next Big Thing, I sometimes feel as if I’m trying too hard to force the issue and have some answers.  You’ll note the word “patient” is not on this list!

 

I know different people now and my life has changed significantly since then.  I wonder what people would say today.  But I’m not going to ask….yet. I have to make sure I’m strong enough to hear whatever they have to say.

 

Here are a few words I would use to describe myself today: insecure, unclear, observant, inquisitive, responsible, careful, deliberate, impatient.

This is why I called this site Solowingnow – being on my own. powered by own wings, not yet adopting the term widow but not feeling single, trying to focus on the present moment, when things run together sometimes and get jumbled up.

 

In a funk

08 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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(Spoiler alert: this post is a downer, even to me.)

Today has not been a great day (except that I had a great phone call with my friend Karn this afternoon, and I did take a walk with the dogs this morning before it got cool, windy, and cloudy).  And yesterday wasn’t that great, nor the day before that.  I’ve been in a funk and am struggling to get out of it. I am on the verge of crying all the time and feeling stressed. Proof: another fever blister has started.  And I don’t have anything to be stressed about.  And no reason to cry either.

This is what grief does to me. I think it’s only fair to let you know that there isn’t some turn in the road where the potholes are all fixed and it’s only smooth riding ahead.  I’m not the only one to have days like this, I’ve had them before, and I’ll probably have them again some day.  It must be an important part of the transition from who I was to who I am becoming, that I’m even aware there doesn’t have to be a known reason for these growing pains. But it sucks to be me right now.

I start to think to myself that FINALLY I’m moving on, making plans, things are getting pretty steady, and … then I wake up one day and can’t beat the blues.  Something inside me is blocking something else.  Suddenly, the little things set me off, one right after another.  The computer loses it’s connection every 30 seconds, the DMV wants me to appear in person to retitle my vehicles, I got a $20 charge for “self installation” of a “free” mini box on my cable tv.  The weight of the world has caught up with the me who has been strong for quite a while, and I guess I’m tired of being strong and don’t want to be that anymore.  At least not today.

Karn told me I should–I must– go ahead and cry, that I need to release something even if I don’t know what it is.  Crying is cleansing, it’s healing, it’s good for the soul.  It feels like if I start, though, I might not be able to stop.  I know she’s right, but it’s scary in it’s own way.  It’s a crazy conundrum: I’m losing control, but control is an illusion.  Right?!? So I’m chasing my tail.  What is behind this funk?  On some level I must have a fear of not being able to keep it together and get on with my life.  Or fear of some other kind of failure.  Or maybe I just think too damn much, which is what Kevin would say if he were here. Come here and have your cry and it will sort itself out, he would tell me, and hold me so I was safe.  He was never afraid of my tears.

So I have been leaking tears most of the day.  Which is exhausting.  But not as draining as carrying out this funk for three days straight.

This is not an invitation to a pity party.  It’s an expression of where I am in the grieving process.  There are definitely way more good days than bad ones, and for that I’m grateful.  I thank God I have friends I can talk to, dogs I can cuddle with, and a warm bed to cry myself to sleep in since the shoulder is not available.

I hope tomorrow is brighter.

Gratitude for the Walking Wounded

02 Tuesday Feb 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief

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The first thing that made my gratitude prayers yesterday was that I had been given the opportunity to be of service to someone else. About grief and moving on. Twice recently, and again last night.

The first time, a woman I do not know was referred to me by a mutual friend. She lost her husband a few months back and was struggling to make sense of her life now. The woman didn’t ask me for anything except to be her Facebook friend. She needed someone who has been where she is.  When she is ready for more, I’ll be here for that, too.  This blog has been helpful to her, and for that I am thankful.

The second was a former coworker I had the chance to catch up with.  A 1-1/2 hour phone call was hardly enough time, but we covered a lot of ground.  Among other things we talked about was that she felt I had been a mentor to her and she encouraged me to consider writing about that.  She helped me see value in my past experiences.

Then last night a friend contacted me and asked for advice. Her daughter suffered the loss of her baby boy a while back. She is pregnant again now, and has another child as well.  My friend is at her wit’s end trying to help with the granddaughter, providing a home for the daughter, being with her own mother who lives nearby, and paying attention to her own marriage. She needs support to put her own needs on this list of people she is nurturing.

It occurred to me again how we are all walking wounded, carrying our own crosses, so to speak. Some of us are able to put them in a pocket or a purse. Some of us have to use both hands, and some of us have chains to drag them along with us. We can’t always tell what that cross looks like because we can’t see it; we don’t know how heavy it is; we don’t know if someone needs or wants help if they don’t ask.  And even when help is offered, it is hard to share or hand over our cross because we think the other person has their own cross, too.  The interesting thing is that I can set my own cross down while I am helping someone else.  There are times I don’t even realize I have forgotten to pick my cross back up, or when I do, it’s not as heavy as I remembered.

It’s one thing to ask for help, and then it’s another to receive it. I’m at that place where I am doing both again – I’m not stuck in one place any longer.  Asking for help is a sign of strength; it means we are strong enough to know we need help and that we are trusting the world is ultimately a good place and the helper is a good person.  Being allowed to help is also a gift. It lets us show how much we care.  It lets us feel strong because we are needed.  And it helps us understand how our own past needs or experiences have led us to being able to help now.

You know who you are – thank you for sharing your stories with me and asking me to listen or letting me help.  You  have helped me take another step forward in my own recovery.  Today I ask for the opportunity to be of service again, to help make the world a better place, to help the wounded get better.

 

 

 

 

 

Reclaiming the house…and myself

15 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Grief, Sabbatical

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By this time last year , 52 days after Kevin’s passing,  I was well into the “reclaiming” frenzy that would occupy my hands and my mind for most of the year, as I plunged into my grieving.  IFile_000 (6).jpeg hadn’t just lost Kevin; I lost my dreams and my sense of self, my focus, my identity, my give-a-damn.  The holidays were over.  I had tried to run away between Christmas and New Year’s, but thanks to rain, ice, traffic, and a job, I only got 93 miles down the road before I turned back.  Since that didn’t work, I attacked my house.

According to my journal and the photos time-stamped on my phone, on January 3 I ruthlessly cleaned out my closet.  I gave away six trash bags full of clothes to the Goodwill store.  (It was May before I could approach Kevin’s closet.)  By January 6 I had had my front entry painted (hired out), and I painted the laundry room in anticipation of a new washer and dryer being delivered. On January 13 I took down the dead animals and hunting prints  from the family room (man cave) wall, and the next day started painting in there. By the end of January I had a storage loft built in the garage so I could reorganize and manage all the power tools and other detritus he collected – coolers, bbq accessories, shovels and rakes, fishing rods and tackle, motorcycle gear, decoys, and mystery boxes.  His truck was gone by now, too.  Next up was the kitchen: paint, appliances, curtains.  And I was just getting started. It was how I dealt with being solo for the first time in my life.

A year later, I realize I had worn myself out, between the house and the job.  At least it was productive and not destructive, although exhaustion is not on the good side of the spectrum. The house slowly transitioned from ours to mine, much as I transitioned from Mrs. to Ms.  Having to decide  what I wanted and what I could afford, without having to ask for consent or to seek compromise, was a first step in the new self-discipline I had to find. Discovering what I liked required considering various options and trusting myself to make good decisions on my own.  Choosing between painting one more wall or going to bed was part of learning to take care of myself.  And being unable to physically do some things, like move furniture up and down stairs, meant I had to get comfortable with needing other people and asking for their help

I worked diligently at trying to focus on only one day at a time, and time kept marching on.  I couldn’t see much beyond that anyway, much as I tried to force a vision of a new future.  It has taken me a year to settle down mentally finally, and to spend time thinking while doing nothing else.  I know how fortunate I am to be able to do this sabbatical.  I am grateful for the support I have gotten in doing so.  I wonder how long it will take me to become  the woman I want to be now.  Paint colors have names like Cream Puff or Dark Secret or Confetti Fanfare.  I h0pe my colors turns out something like Brave Woman, Dreamer, and Serenity.

 

A few truths I’ve accepted

08 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation, Uncategorized

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I read a posting on Facebook the other day.  It said:

When I look back on my life, I see pain, mistakes and heartache.

                When I look in the mirror, I see strength, learned lessons, and pride in myself.

The author is anonymous, and it was posted by trustyourjourney.com.  I could have written that, except that I see a whole lot more than just pain when I look back on my life…and yes, I’ve had my share (and then some) of hard times along the way.  I remember good, easy, soft times as well.  It takes more than mistakes or heartache to shape a strong, bold, brave woman!  Regardless of the path you’ve taken, here are a few truths I’ve learned and held on to, through a divorce, a child’s long hospitalization, a second marriage, having both of my parents pass away, and now “solowing” for the past year.

 1. Love doesn’t die.

I still love my husband and my parents, all of whom have died.  I even hold a special place in my heart for my ex-husband, because of the good times we did share. We had 3 lovely babies  who have all become wonderful young adults,, so it wasn’t ALL bad.  Which is in itself proof that we can love more than one person at a time.  The dreams will change, the reality will change, but the treasured feelings of having been loved, accepted, cared for, trusted, and supported do not change. I can’t see Kevin or my parents the way I used to, but I can talk to them and feel their presence. I also am not unloved, as proven by the family and friends who continue to be in my life, actively.

 2. Grief doesn’t have to last forever.

I know people who continue to grieve 10 and 20 and more years after a significant loss in their lives.  I hurt for them, because it doesn’t have to be that way.  I’m not saying grieve and forget.  I’m saying that the work of grief can be productive and run its course, so to speak.  Here is what I have discovered in the past year.

Grief is a solo journey, an individual process.  It starts when you experience some kind of ending, and then you wander along an emotional path through hills and valleys, until you have a new beginning of another kind.  The ending can take some time, as in a deteriorating marriage or through an illness, or it can be abrupt as in that phone call in the middle of the night that changes everything.  The wandering time takes quite a bit longer.  Maybe you remember, or maybe you try to forget; you cry, you get angry, you are confused, you feel out of sorts; auto-pilot takes over for a bit and it’s hard to regain control.  You might experience guilt, insecurity, or any number of other emotions…including occasional happiness, relaxation, calmness, forgiveness, focus, anticipation.  Even when you start to feel some energy, some confidence, some optimism about the future, there’s not a straight path, but it does get easier…if you let it.  And then you’ll start thinking about what’s next, and making plans, and getting on with the business of life.  It’s when you can let go of the person you used to be and the way your life used to be, that you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It’s the new beginning. It may not be clear, but it’s there.  Will there still be times when a song remembers when, and you’ll feel sad? Or a new wedding reminds you of the daddy that won’t walk down the aisle?  Or the new baby that reminds you you’re still going to have to face this other grandparent on and on and on at birthdays and baseball games? Sure.  But that shouldn’t  sustain  continued, ongoing, grieving. Unless maybe you tried to take a shortcut on the wandering path (by ignoring your feelings, for example) or  never completed your letting go of who you used to be (the anger took up too much room maybe?).

3. The grief experience is a gift.

A gift of time, of freedom to feel your feelings when everyone else will understand – at least for a while, an opportunity to reflect and repriortize and reorganize your Self and your life.  I would bet that the majority of people spend at least a few days planning a vacation, depending on where they are going.  And I would bet that most people spend at least a few days researching good deals when buying a car or a washing machine.  But how much time do you spend considering whether or not your life is On Purpose, what makes you happy, why you do what you do every day?

This past year of grieving has taught me more about myself. I have been confronted with who I am without him, with what is really important, with how valuable time is.  I am more deliberate right now, I think more critically, and I live more deeply.  I appreciate more, I am more selective.  I know I used to spend a lot of time complaining about trivial things and did nothing about them.  I know I also spent time whining about bigger things – and also did nothing about that.  I used to think I had time to figure it all out someday, so I was a pro at fulfilling obligations at work, conforming to society’s expectations, seeking approval, doing my duty.  And it wasn’t as if that was bad, but it didn’t have enough meaning for me or leave any room for what I wanted to do.  I was given a clear message when my husband died that my clock is ticking too.  I don’t know when my time will be up here, and so if there are things I’d rather do, people I’d rather be with, places I’d rather go, then that time is now. This awareness, this clarity, this no-doubt-about-it confidence is a gift unlike any other.

 4.  Finally, there is life after life.

For him, and for me.  My belief is that my husband is in a better place, a place his spirit  needed to be more than here.  His life was about him; he was the lead actor, and I had a supporting role.  My life is about me, and I get to play the lead.  I am still here.  It’s up to me what the rest of my life will be like.  I want to be happy, do meaningful work, be a blessing to someone every day.  No one wants me to forget him, or for me to get on with things so it’s easier for them. We all want to know that we all will be okay, and the way to prove this is for me to get on with my life.

I’ve learned more than these 4 truths, but these are the main ones: Love Doesn’t Die; Grief Doesn’t Have to Last Forever; Grief is a Gift; and There Is Life After Life.  If you are grieving or know someone who is, be encouraged that every ending is followed by a new beginning. The wandering time in between may be longer or shorter because of all the many variables that affect individual grief, but the outcome will be similar.  Remember, all who wander are not lost!