Someone just e-mailed me that Oprah is doing a class on something similar. Maybe that's because it's a question some of us ask ourselves all the time. What gives our life meaning? Or - why doesn't my life mean anything? I have a bit of envy for folks who just pop out of bed in the morning, do their day, and then sleep soundly at night. I've never been one of those. After Artie died it became worse. He was my buffer for all these feelings that life is too hard. His holding me made me feel safe. And...of course my life had purpose. How would either of us live without the other? Oops. It was me. I am still learning how to live without him.
I could talk about my daughter and granddaughter. I won't right here because I am sensitive to how people without children and grandchildren - and especially those whose only child or whose grandchild has died feel that their future has been taken from them. That's why I never compare grieving people. We each have our own sadness and anger; our own struggle. We also have our way of dealing with things the best way we can.
I considered suicide when Artie first died. Even today I've never gone back and read my blogs from that time. Sometimes it feels harder now than then but I know that I no longer have that initial sense of constant desperation and confusion. I could never understand how he could leave me and not take me with him. I decided not to kill myself because of how that feels to other people. I felt a responsibility to my family and friends - even to whoever would find my body not to hurt them in that way. That left me with the emptiness.
One of the things that I did was start to show up where life was and hope it would enter me. It did...slowly. It's still about showing up. With a lot of opportunities my initial reaction is to cuddle in and not go, especially when I am stressed. I go anyway, most of the time. Most of the time I have a good time and have some more happy moments to add to my life. I have to pay attention to those happy moments as well as the sad, lonely ones. It wasn't easy. I used to love theater. The first plays I went to I slept through. Then I saw Carrie Fisher's one woman show and not only did I stay awake, I laughed from my heart. She's one of my models for depression - someone who struggles and yet accomplishes a lot and has a great sense of humor.
Then I asked myself - what would give me life meaning? Artie was a recovering alcoholic. He failed in a lot of things but he was sober for 47 years and during those years helped a lot of other drunks and addicts by sharing what he knew and being available to them. I decided to make myself available to other grieving people. That's how this blog started. Sending my honest self out into cyberspace, not knowing what would happen. I hoped to reach at least one person. It has turned into so much more.
I am so grateful for the community of people who read this, and so sorry that they need to! People kept reading even when I wasn't writing. To come back and know so many people were thinking about me. As I started to be more present other opportunities of finding meaning opened up. With family and friends. Even, as I often say, the small things. I'm not going to change the world. However if I do something as simple as compliment a store clerk on their hair or their earrings I might change their day. I often get a big smile. Not always. Also being honest about my grief and pain as well as my happiness throws odd things my way. Like a woman in a supermarket line in a small chat where she told me her husband died 8 months ago. I told her I used to be a psychotherapist and not to worry - whatever she was feeling was normal. She said that made her feel better - especially as I used to be a therapist. I was given - or came up with the right words - but I was also willing to make a space to say them.
I still ask myself - why am I still here? all the time. With all the meaning and joy and gratitude it doesn't make any sense to me to be alive when Artie is dead. I guess it doesn't have to. Every morning I open my eyes and ask the same question. I sometimes continue to ask it throughout the day. It's okay that I know all the answers. It's okay that I still have that longing to rejoin my husband. That's one reason why I keep writing. To remind folks it's okay to feel both. The sense and the senselessness, the connection and the separation, the sadness and the joy. You don't have to move on from one to have the other.
For some people it's easy. The meaning of their life is obvious to them. For those that don't have it - the task is to create it. What is the one thing I can do today that I will be proud of? It could be an amazing charitable act. It could be taking a shower. In this doing doing doing culture we miss the truth that who we are is enough. Just sitting there breathing is life. Wish things. Make some of them come true. Rest. Strive. Keep asking who else. Who else am I? What else? What else can I do? What else gives my life meaning. When you get stuck with the questions who else am I? and what else am I? what else can give my life meaning? is the time to keep going.
Who am I? I am a woman who is so lonely without her living husband. I am so lonely. Who else am I? I am someone who makes people laugh. I make people laugh. Who else am I? I am someone who laughs at a lot of things. And who else... What else can I do today? Nothing. I can do nothing. What else can I do today? I can get up. Yes. I can get up. What else? I can write someone who is lonely and maybe make them feel better. And what else...
I know that your life has meaning. I hope you do too. If you don't, I hope you discover what that meaning is. Why am I still here? If nothing else because that's the way it is. What can I make of today? If it is a lot - hooray for me. If it is a little - there will be a lot of tomorrows. If it is nothing - I am being perfectly human and that in itself has meaning. I am a survivor. One day tomorrow will see me on the other side with my husband and all those I love who have died. What will I have to tell them that they already know about the days in between? I hope I have the strength and the wisdom...at least some days....to make them - especially Artie - proud. xo
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Grief: What Is Resilience?
I'm back. Kinda. I bought a new apartment which I now live in. It is beautiful and cosy and I was going to write I think my husband lives here too - but I know he does. He just doesn't live here in a way I can touch. I miss touch.
The past three months were spent getting ripped off by various people; jobs done badly that were expensive, things that will be funny some day like a grey toilet with a white seat, literally a problem every day. I was supposed to move in November and didn't make it until January. Lived on a futon in my old apartment which wasn't that bad. What was bad was handling all this without my husband. I withdrew from almost everything. I handled things and then hid. I was going to have my stuff moved on Artie's birthday (Dec. 11th) to make a new memory for that day. I came to the new apartment on Dec. 10th and it looked like a construction site. No one told me. I rescheduled the move for December 27th. Luckily I had great movers and they were very understanding. I was going to unpack on New Year's Eve. Make it a postive night. I got to the apartment and a worker had unsealed a bathroom door and then left it open so the apartment was full of fumes and I had to leave and go back to my futon. That's the short list. Nothing seemed to be working except playing with my granddaughter and e-mailing supportive friends. Then, of course, it was the holidays and my birthday/anniversary and Valentine's day. I was all sludge and very little movement.
So what is resilience? I always think of it as being people who go through suffering and then achieve amazing things. I learned that sometimes it is getting up in the morning. It is staying alive when staying alive seems way too hard without the support of someone we love who is dead. Sometimes it is waiting and doing things to try to regain the energy of life.
I let some opportunities slip away. However, I didn't quit. I created a beautiful home for myself. I was going to just have Artie's pictures in one room, but they are all over the place. I am more and more conscious how I am choosing loneliness. My life is beginning to be full again with friends and activities. However, by staying in love with a dead guy, being happily and unhappily married to a dead guy, I insure that I come home to an empty house. I want to share it with my husband but there is no use wishing for impossible things. There is still that struggle.
I wish I was someone who writes more when under stress. When my emotions shut down, my ability to write disappears with it. I have a writing room in my apartment. I hope some day to be a person that can take time to stretch like a cat in the morning but then go into that room and write: my blog, my book, my poetry.
Or not. I have a dear friend who tells me not to be hard on myself. Resilience is sometimes just flailing around knowing that there is another side and if you can't get to it today, it will wait for you to get there tomorrow - or the next day.
Showing up. I had the opportunity to speak at a small seminar at Columbia University. It was about a short documentary called Poetry of Resilience based on a conference I co-produced several years ago. Poets who survived genocide and other political terror got together to tell their stories. One of them was so sad at the conference. Now she is married to a man who makes her very happy and has a small child. The conference was called Resilience of the Human Spirit. People I look at and call resilient may not think they are. People call me resilient and I don't think I am. But I am.
When I use the word resilient I don't mean an effortless bouncing back. I mean the ability to grow and change because of and also in spite of what makes us suffer. I always mistrust instant happiness. I want to be happy at happy things and I want my happiness to be real. I also know it can co-exist with sadness.
I wish I hadn't let so much slide away. However, I kept going. I am almost all unpacked. We judge ourselves so often too harshly. We compare ourselves to others without knowing what is truly in their hearts.
I am alive. Still trying to figure out what that means when my husband is dead. Maybe it means nothing more than what it says. I am alive. That means that every day I have a new chance to create meaning, be lazy, accomplish something, just play around, do a little of everything or a lot of nothing.
I have thought about people who take the time to read this blog. I have missed writing to you. It is a little strange, sharing things in cyber space. Anyone can use my words in any way they want. I know the blog posts are sometimes used by grief counselors. I got an e-mail from a teacher asking if she could use it. I hadn't thought of teachers - but so many students experience grief. When I first started writing I didn't know if anyone would read what I had to say. Then I thought that only people whose partner had died would read it. I have learned that grief is a struggle for everyone. Everyone doesn't act the same way - but so many of us have this continual ache combined with all the gratitude and new actions. We are alive with grief - trying to have it inspire us so we can be not just alive but fully alive.
Resilience. If you are reading this you are resilient because you are reaching out. You are searching. I think that searchers are the best kind of people. What can I do today....and then OOPS if today was a day in which I slept too much, hid too much...tomorrow will come.
Remember, I always call us grief warriors. Sometimes we fight by moving forward, sometimes by looking backward, sometimes by standing still. However, we have to look not at what we fail to do, but what we do. Show up where life is. Give yourself permission to be the best thing you can be...simply... your wonderful unique self.
I'm sorry I disappeared from these pages for two months...but I'm glad to be writing again. xo
The past three months were spent getting ripped off by various people; jobs done badly that were expensive, things that will be funny some day like a grey toilet with a white seat, literally a problem every day. I was supposed to move in November and didn't make it until January. Lived on a futon in my old apartment which wasn't that bad. What was bad was handling all this without my husband. I withdrew from almost everything. I handled things and then hid. I was going to have my stuff moved on Artie's birthday (Dec. 11th) to make a new memory for that day. I came to the new apartment on Dec. 10th and it looked like a construction site. No one told me. I rescheduled the move for December 27th. Luckily I had great movers and they were very understanding. I was going to unpack on New Year's Eve. Make it a postive night. I got to the apartment and a worker had unsealed a bathroom door and then left it open so the apartment was full of fumes and I had to leave and go back to my futon. That's the short list. Nothing seemed to be working except playing with my granddaughter and e-mailing supportive friends. Then, of course, it was the holidays and my birthday/anniversary and Valentine's day. I was all sludge and very little movement.
So what is resilience? I always think of it as being people who go through suffering and then achieve amazing things. I learned that sometimes it is getting up in the morning. It is staying alive when staying alive seems way too hard without the support of someone we love who is dead. Sometimes it is waiting and doing things to try to regain the energy of life.
I let some opportunities slip away. However, I didn't quit. I created a beautiful home for myself. I was going to just have Artie's pictures in one room, but they are all over the place. I am more and more conscious how I am choosing loneliness. My life is beginning to be full again with friends and activities. However, by staying in love with a dead guy, being happily and unhappily married to a dead guy, I insure that I come home to an empty house. I want to share it with my husband but there is no use wishing for impossible things. There is still that struggle.
I wish I was someone who writes more when under stress. When my emotions shut down, my ability to write disappears with it. I have a writing room in my apartment. I hope some day to be a person that can take time to stretch like a cat in the morning but then go into that room and write: my blog, my book, my poetry.
Or not. I have a dear friend who tells me not to be hard on myself. Resilience is sometimes just flailing around knowing that there is another side and if you can't get to it today, it will wait for you to get there tomorrow - or the next day.
Showing up. I had the opportunity to speak at a small seminar at Columbia University. It was about a short documentary called Poetry of Resilience based on a conference I co-produced several years ago. Poets who survived genocide and other political terror got together to tell their stories. One of them was so sad at the conference. Now she is married to a man who makes her very happy and has a small child. The conference was called Resilience of the Human Spirit. People I look at and call resilient may not think they are. People call me resilient and I don't think I am. But I am.
When I use the word resilient I don't mean an effortless bouncing back. I mean the ability to grow and change because of and also in spite of what makes us suffer. I always mistrust instant happiness. I want to be happy at happy things and I want my happiness to be real. I also know it can co-exist with sadness.
I wish I hadn't let so much slide away. However, I kept going. I am almost all unpacked. We judge ourselves so often too harshly. We compare ourselves to others without knowing what is truly in their hearts.
I am alive. Still trying to figure out what that means when my husband is dead. Maybe it means nothing more than what it says. I am alive. That means that every day I have a new chance to create meaning, be lazy, accomplish something, just play around, do a little of everything or a lot of nothing.
I have thought about people who take the time to read this blog. I have missed writing to you. It is a little strange, sharing things in cyber space. Anyone can use my words in any way they want. I know the blog posts are sometimes used by grief counselors. I got an e-mail from a teacher asking if she could use it. I hadn't thought of teachers - but so many students experience grief. When I first started writing I didn't know if anyone would read what I had to say. Then I thought that only people whose partner had died would read it. I have learned that grief is a struggle for everyone. Everyone doesn't act the same way - but so many of us have this continual ache combined with all the gratitude and new actions. We are alive with grief - trying to have it inspire us so we can be not just alive but fully alive.
Resilience. If you are reading this you are resilient because you are reaching out. You are searching. I think that searchers are the best kind of people. What can I do today....and then OOPS if today was a day in which I slept too much, hid too much...tomorrow will come.
Remember, I always call us grief warriors. Sometimes we fight by moving forward, sometimes by looking backward, sometimes by standing still. However, we have to look not at what we fail to do, but what we do. Show up where life is. Give yourself permission to be the best thing you can be...simply... your wonderful unique self.
I'm sorry I disappeared from these pages for two months...but I'm glad to be writing again. xo
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Grief: Good Mourning
Sometimes missing Artie seems to fold in to my consciousness and my day. Sometimes it feels like pushing a thousand ton rock up a steep mountain. Everything hurts and I don't want to try. The truth is that we tend to say all the time or never too much. Even in the course of a day my feelings can change. Artie used to say..."All we have is moments." How many moments can I have today?
I've been living a little too much in the numb place where everything hurts. Now, that's a contradiction! It's partly the cycle again of Artie's birthday on the 11th, then the holidays and New Year's Eve. It's partly the moving process which has involved so many people not doing what they said they would that I don't know when I can move and I miss having a safe burrow (even if a lonely one) to comfort me and give me strength. I was even thinking of my birthday/anniversary (Artie married me for my birthday present in 1996) coming up Feb. 3rd. I was reminded by a friend that I say to remain in the present. It's interesting when people start quoting your own words back at you.
When I was writing about techniques that work I totally left out faith. I'm sorry for that. I'm one of those not sure people. However for many their faith, and their faith communities are a great support. I do believe that there is consciousness after death and that Artie and I will be reunited in some way. I don't care it that is real or a delusion. It helps keep me sane. I can't imagine a time and space without him.
I've been trying not to read too much about the school shootings. I know that grief will go on forever and at some point the media and the public will go away leaving family and friends to wonder how people can go off to school and not come home. I don't know if there is any solution. It's part of the sadness of a world that can be cruel as well as kind. Someone also reminded me to be grateful that I have a daughter and a granddaughter to spend Christmas with. I am.
That's part of the trick: not to get stuck in the sad place but to roam around in life touching all the variety of things and emotions it has to give us. I went to that big concert at Madison Square Garden that Robin Hood put on for Hurricane Sandy Relief. From the $25,000 seats that some of the one percent that people love to hate bought, to the cheap seats in the rafters the place was packed. All the money went to Robin Hood which from the very beginning has been supporting folks on the ground whose lives are still devastated. I went to a one man show that was funny - but involved grief and hopelessness leading to hope. I went to a fundraiser to free Leonard Peltier. I didn't even know who he is really - I wanted to see Pete Seeger who is still leading us in song at the age of 93. I also wanted to see Harry Belafonte who I didn't know had a stroke. He says he is grateful not to be crippled but thinks God must have an odd sense of humor because he can't sing anymore.
Leonard Peltier was imprisoned 37 years ago for allegedly shooting two FBI agents at Wounded Knee. He is a member of a native American tribe. A lot of evidence points to his innocence. The concert was supposed to be a fundraiser to bring him home since he is not well and and at 67 hopes to live out what time he has left with is family. He called the concert organizers and told them he didn't want money from New York. He told them to give it to Hurricane Sandy Relief. That impressed me. He wanted them just to let us know who he was. What impressed me was that the audience was filled with every time of people you can imagine. What also impressed me was that people from various native tribes spoke not of hatred but of how underneath our skin our hearts beat as one and we should live heartbeat to heartbeat. I did e-mail the White House and ask them to free Leonard Peltier. It was what I was asked to do.
This old lady (I was told to say wise instead of old) was out past midnight three nights in a row. I was showing up and taking action. Someone who thinks I am amazing asked why I am critical of myself. It's simply that I know what my true potential is and I still haven't reached it. I still let my grief overwhelm me and paralyze me. I sleep too much, watch too many DVDs. It's not bad. It doesn't make me a bad person. I would like to have more good mourning - mourning that is full of life and love.
Sir Paul McCartney performed at the Madison Square Garden concert. He made me think. I always use as models for grief someone spending the rest of their lives alone and dedicated to their one true love. Paul McCartney is very alive in his music and his life. He sang one Beatles song and one Wings song - but mostly he is not living in the past but using his talent in the present. There was a beautiful song he wrote for his wife Nancy. Here is someone who had the love of his life die - Linda - followed by a failed marriage - and it didn't stop him from falling in love again and having what appears to be a truly loving happy relationship. Another model. Which one do I follow?
What is good mourning? We have to define it for ourselves. No one can tell us what our path is or what it should be. We know it when we're in it. I'm not on it right now a lot of the time. But maybe I am, because I know that if I keep keeping on this will pass. Even if I am lost in the woods somwhere Artie and all of you will help me find my way back. I will have the inspiration that Artie's love gives me replace the sense of hopelessness of life without him.
Find things and people in your life that give you joy. Think about yourself surrounded by love (past and present) and life. Maybe it's easier than I think. I wish you all good mourning and the strength and sense of humor it takes to be fully alive. xo
I've been living a little too much in the numb place where everything hurts. Now, that's a contradiction! It's partly the cycle again of Artie's birthday on the 11th, then the holidays and New Year's Eve. It's partly the moving process which has involved so many people not doing what they said they would that I don't know when I can move and I miss having a safe burrow (even if a lonely one) to comfort me and give me strength. I was even thinking of my birthday/anniversary (Artie married me for my birthday present in 1996) coming up Feb. 3rd. I was reminded by a friend that I say to remain in the present. It's interesting when people start quoting your own words back at you.
When I was writing about techniques that work I totally left out faith. I'm sorry for that. I'm one of those not sure people. However for many their faith, and their faith communities are a great support. I do believe that there is consciousness after death and that Artie and I will be reunited in some way. I don't care it that is real or a delusion. It helps keep me sane. I can't imagine a time and space without him.
I've been trying not to read too much about the school shootings. I know that grief will go on forever and at some point the media and the public will go away leaving family and friends to wonder how people can go off to school and not come home. I don't know if there is any solution. It's part of the sadness of a world that can be cruel as well as kind. Someone also reminded me to be grateful that I have a daughter and a granddaughter to spend Christmas with. I am.
That's part of the trick: not to get stuck in the sad place but to roam around in life touching all the variety of things and emotions it has to give us. I went to that big concert at Madison Square Garden that Robin Hood put on for Hurricane Sandy Relief. From the $25,000 seats that some of the one percent that people love to hate bought, to the cheap seats in the rafters the place was packed. All the money went to Robin Hood which from the very beginning has been supporting folks on the ground whose lives are still devastated. I went to a one man show that was funny - but involved grief and hopelessness leading to hope. I went to a fundraiser to free Leonard Peltier. I didn't even know who he is really - I wanted to see Pete Seeger who is still leading us in song at the age of 93. I also wanted to see Harry Belafonte who I didn't know had a stroke. He says he is grateful not to be crippled but thinks God must have an odd sense of humor because he can't sing anymore.
Leonard Peltier was imprisoned 37 years ago for allegedly shooting two FBI agents at Wounded Knee. He is a member of a native American tribe. A lot of evidence points to his innocence. The concert was supposed to be a fundraiser to bring him home since he is not well and and at 67 hopes to live out what time he has left with is family. He called the concert organizers and told them he didn't want money from New York. He told them to give it to Hurricane Sandy Relief. That impressed me. He wanted them just to let us know who he was. What impressed me was that the audience was filled with every time of people you can imagine. What also impressed me was that people from various native tribes spoke not of hatred but of how underneath our skin our hearts beat as one and we should live heartbeat to heartbeat. I did e-mail the White House and ask them to free Leonard Peltier. It was what I was asked to do.
This old lady (I was told to say wise instead of old) was out past midnight three nights in a row. I was showing up and taking action. Someone who thinks I am amazing asked why I am critical of myself. It's simply that I know what my true potential is and I still haven't reached it. I still let my grief overwhelm me and paralyze me. I sleep too much, watch too many DVDs. It's not bad. It doesn't make me a bad person. I would like to have more good mourning - mourning that is full of life and love.
Sir Paul McCartney performed at the Madison Square Garden concert. He made me think. I always use as models for grief someone spending the rest of their lives alone and dedicated to their one true love. Paul McCartney is very alive in his music and his life. He sang one Beatles song and one Wings song - but mostly he is not living in the past but using his talent in the present. There was a beautiful song he wrote for his wife Nancy. Here is someone who had the love of his life die - Linda - followed by a failed marriage - and it didn't stop him from falling in love again and having what appears to be a truly loving happy relationship. Another model. Which one do I follow?
What is good mourning? We have to define it for ourselves. No one can tell us what our path is or what it should be. We know it when we're in it. I'm not on it right now a lot of the time. But maybe I am, because I know that if I keep keeping on this will pass. Even if I am lost in the woods somwhere Artie and all of you will help me find my way back. I will have the inspiration that Artie's love gives me replace the sense of hopelessness of life without him.
Find things and people in your life that give you joy. Think about yourself surrounded by love (past and present) and life. Maybe it's easier than I think. I wish you all good mourning and the strength and sense of humor it takes to be fully alive. xo
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Grief: Strategies That Allow You To Be Fully Alive Even While Grieving
These are things you can do to help you feel better. You may feel better already, but haven't noticed it yet. Maybe you're noticing it NOW. The amazing Nick Kemp says, "You are just one thought away from a good feeling." These are ways to feel genuinely better which is different from faking it. I'm not sure I can do it in one thought....but maybe you can.
1. Find the strategies that work best for you and use them. There is this pull when I am in a difficult space to crawl away and hide and forget everything I know. I was about to turn off the computer and instead I am writing. I did that. I made a better choice. Sometimes it is tiring to use different strategies. It seems so much easier to crumble or to give in. Nothing wrong with that but I don't want to make it a habit.
2. Show up. Especially at the beginning this was the hardest. I wasn't interested in anything. I made myself show up where life was happening. Even if I didn't have a good time. After a while life started happening inside me as well as outside. The biggest mistake I can make is not to show up. I have all kinds of excuses. I'm too tired, I'm too stressed, I don't feel well. If I show up I have the opportunity to get lifted out of self pity and into a good time.
3. Shift your focus. Emotions are like small children; if you ignore them they will get more demanding. It's not about denying how I feel. It's about time management. Thirty minutes or an hour for all the frustration, anger and sadness. The rest of the time for things that make me smile or give me satisfaction. Wow - did I forget that one. The things that are knocking me over are real things. I am reacting to real life events that are difficult. But they weren't making me crazy - thinking about them all the time was making me crazy. About a week ago I started spending most of my time thinking about people who care about me and their kindess to me. I've been thinking about adventures I've had in my life and about specific laughing times. All of my pictures of Artie are packed to move except for one lovely, young smiling one. I have that Artie with me as well as the dead one. I've been looking for funny cartoons on Facebook. I've been looking at beautiful pictures. I like elephants and tigers - purple roses - a well written TV show or play and many other things. The world isn't good and bright and shiny all the time. It's not dark and bleak and ugly all the time either. It's a huge canvas and if my eyes get stuck in one spot I need to work on shifting my focus or I miss my own happy times.
4. Roll your memories backwards. They use this with soldiers who have PTSD. Roll your memories backwards to a happy time before the traumatic event. (I was taught to do it with circus music - but I prefer silence. The soundtrack is up to you!) You have to be totally present in that happy time. For a long time after Artie died I only thought of him as dead Artie. Thinking of him made me sad. Now, most of the time, I think of him as live Artie. I can curl up in bed and feel him holding me. I feel safe. I can be walking along the street holding his hand. Some people say memories are too painful. With this technique you are truly rolling your memories backwards so that you are present in the past. They aren't painful memories because when you are back in time you don't know what is going to come. You don't want to stay there - you want to live in the present - but it's nice to visit. It can bring comfort and strength. I also use it to connect something stressful to a good feeling. A simple example: I walk by a store where I bought Artie t-shirts. I used to think: I can never buy my husband clothes any more. I conscioulsy changed that to "Artie was very particular about his clothes. It was so much fun to find something he liked. He would ask me to buy six more and I would say, "Excuse me, can you say thank you first?" I've changed my thought pattern when walking past this store so many times that now the smile comes automatically.
5. Look down or close your eyes to feel your grief and then open them to the present. I love this technique because you can do it anywhere. People won't notice. If something happens that makes you feel pain or anxiety close your eyes or look down for 5 or 10 seconds and feel that emotion in all its intensity. Then open your eyes and really look and listen and feel and smell and hear. What color clothes are people wearing? What tone of voice is there in conversations? Count the green cars or people with blonde hair. If the feeling you don't want continues...repeat. Once in a theater I saw a man gently put a sweater around the shoulder of a woman sitting next to him. I felt so sad. Artie would never do that for me again. I was so alone. I closed my eyes and felt my heart breaking into bits. I opened my eyes and looked intensely at all the details of the decorations in the theater and what people were wearing. I had to do it several times but then I was back in the present and I was able to enjoy the play.
6. Help someone else. There is, unfortunately, a lot of pain and suffering in the world. If you are helping other people it brings you out of yourself. It gives you a sense of meaning. It might be a simple thing like giving someone a compliment or helping them carry a package. It might be getting involved with volunteer work. It might be helping out a friend. My husband was a recovering alcoholic. He said that he had failed at many things but at least he had always made himself available to other alcoholics and addicts. When my life seemed meaningless without him I decided to honor his memory by making myself available to other grieving people. l've always been a bit of a loner but being there for others has helped me a lot.
7. Ask yourself "And what else?" and "And who else am I?" We put such limits on ourselves. We have to stretch our self definition. I'm sad without my husband. And what else? I'm grateful that we had the time we had together. And who else am I? Someone who eats ice cream to much. And what else? Someone who walks a lot. And who else am I? Someone who loves to make people laugh, especially with bad puns. The time to keep going on with this is when you get stuck. You can make a written list or do it with someone else. I have heard of people doing it for 12 hours. We are so much that we don't notice.
8. Be aware. Look outside instead of inside. I get trapped in my head. There is a lot to pay attention to in the world. I can pay attention to it. I can notice specific details. A simple task like washing my hands can be full of sensations if I am paying attention to it instead of thinking of other things.
9. Books, hypnosis tapes, meditation, support groups, writing a journal, painting, poetry, and so much more.
10. Sharing with others who understand. I didn't mean to go on this journey. Unlike others, I'm not even particularly grateful for it. I'd rather have Artie here with me than have all the benefits his death has given me. However, the friends I've made are most precious. So many things I think and do seem crazy or foolish or weird. Then I find out they aren't. I didn't change the sheets for 3 months after Artie died. I met someone who didn't change them for a year. I find the 4th year harder than the second. Someone else said the fifth. What I've learned helps me - but it helps me help others as well and then comes back and helps me.
I showed up the other night and had dinner with someone who talked about my blog. That was when the light went on in my somewhat dim these days brain that I wasn't shifting my focus enough and I could. Moving on Artie's birthday was a choice; one that scares me a little. It's not uplifting or brilliant or anything right now. In fact I've warned people it might be a good day NOT to interact with me. I won't know how it will be (Dec. 11th) until it is over. I'm actually not moving. My stuff is moving. I will be camped out where I am until many tangles get untangled. I'll be spending time at my daughter's house for my granddaughter's first birthday and Christmas. Chanukah came too early this year and there wasn't much I could do about that. New Year's Eve I rather like spending by myself. I don't know if I'll be moved in or not yet.
11. Be imperfect. This may not be the best blog post I ever wrote. It doesn't matter. I wrote it. I could share a lot more strategies but the most important one is
12. Be gentle with yourself. Your grief is real. You are alone and not alone. You can hold more than one thing at the same time. You can have a happy holiday season that is sad or a sad holiday season that is happy. All there is are moments. The trick is to stop having so many bad ones!! They kind of tumble over each other. If you can work on those good thoughts which lead to good feelings which lead to being a live live person instead of a dead live person - you can have a lot of happy moments. You will still be missing that person or those people that you miss. You will still have days when it all goes flat...or maybe you won't. What I keep striving for is being ALIVE with my grief. I criticize myself when I don't make it - how lucky am I to have friends and readers who tell me I'm doing a brilliant job.
So...I'll say it to you. Wherever you are, however you are - you, yes YOU are doing a brilliant job. xo
1. Find the strategies that work best for you and use them. There is this pull when I am in a difficult space to crawl away and hide and forget everything I know. I was about to turn off the computer and instead I am writing. I did that. I made a better choice. Sometimes it is tiring to use different strategies. It seems so much easier to crumble or to give in. Nothing wrong with that but I don't want to make it a habit.
2. Show up. Especially at the beginning this was the hardest. I wasn't interested in anything. I made myself show up where life was happening. Even if I didn't have a good time. After a while life started happening inside me as well as outside. The biggest mistake I can make is not to show up. I have all kinds of excuses. I'm too tired, I'm too stressed, I don't feel well. If I show up I have the opportunity to get lifted out of self pity and into a good time.
3. Shift your focus. Emotions are like small children; if you ignore them they will get more demanding. It's not about denying how I feel. It's about time management. Thirty minutes or an hour for all the frustration, anger and sadness. The rest of the time for things that make me smile or give me satisfaction. Wow - did I forget that one. The things that are knocking me over are real things. I am reacting to real life events that are difficult. But they weren't making me crazy - thinking about them all the time was making me crazy. About a week ago I started spending most of my time thinking about people who care about me and their kindess to me. I've been thinking about adventures I've had in my life and about specific laughing times. All of my pictures of Artie are packed to move except for one lovely, young smiling one. I have that Artie with me as well as the dead one. I've been looking for funny cartoons on Facebook. I've been looking at beautiful pictures. I like elephants and tigers - purple roses - a well written TV show or play and many other things. The world isn't good and bright and shiny all the time. It's not dark and bleak and ugly all the time either. It's a huge canvas and if my eyes get stuck in one spot I need to work on shifting my focus or I miss my own happy times.
4. Roll your memories backwards. They use this with soldiers who have PTSD. Roll your memories backwards to a happy time before the traumatic event. (I was taught to do it with circus music - but I prefer silence. The soundtrack is up to you!) You have to be totally present in that happy time. For a long time after Artie died I only thought of him as dead Artie. Thinking of him made me sad. Now, most of the time, I think of him as live Artie. I can curl up in bed and feel him holding me. I feel safe. I can be walking along the street holding his hand. Some people say memories are too painful. With this technique you are truly rolling your memories backwards so that you are present in the past. They aren't painful memories because when you are back in time you don't know what is going to come. You don't want to stay there - you want to live in the present - but it's nice to visit. It can bring comfort and strength. I also use it to connect something stressful to a good feeling. A simple example: I walk by a store where I bought Artie t-shirts. I used to think: I can never buy my husband clothes any more. I conscioulsy changed that to "Artie was very particular about his clothes. It was so much fun to find something he liked. He would ask me to buy six more and I would say, "Excuse me, can you say thank you first?" I've changed my thought pattern when walking past this store so many times that now the smile comes automatically.
5. Look down or close your eyes to feel your grief and then open them to the present. I love this technique because you can do it anywhere. People won't notice. If something happens that makes you feel pain or anxiety close your eyes or look down for 5 or 10 seconds and feel that emotion in all its intensity. Then open your eyes and really look and listen and feel and smell and hear. What color clothes are people wearing? What tone of voice is there in conversations? Count the green cars or people with blonde hair. If the feeling you don't want continues...repeat. Once in a theater I saw a man gently put a sweater around the shoulder of a woman sitting next to him. I felt so sad. Artie would never do that for me again. I was so alone. I closed my eyes and felt my heart breaking into bits. I opened my eyes and looked intensely at all the details of the decorations in the theater and what people were wearing. I had to do it several times but then I was back in the present and I was able to enjoy the play.
6. Help someone else. There is, unfortunately, a lot of pain and suffering in the world. If you are helping other people it brings you out of yourself. It gives you a sense of meaning. It might be a simple thing like giving someone a compliment or helping them carry a package. It might be getting involved with volunteer work. It might be helping out a friend. My husband was a recovering alcoholic. He said that he had failed at many things but at least he had always made himself available to other alcoholics and addicts. When my life seemed meaningless without him I decided to honor his memory by making myself available to other grieving people. l've always been a bit of a loner but being there for others has helped me a lot.
7. Ask yourself "And what else?" and "And who else am I?" We put such limits on ourselves. We have to stretch our self definition. I'm sad without my husband. And what else? I'm grateful that we had the time we had together. And who else am I? Someone who eats ice cream to much. And what else? Someone who walks a lot. And who else am I? Someone who loves to make people laugh, especially with bad puns. The time to keep going on with this is when you get stuck. You can make a written list or do it with someone else. I have heard of people doing it for 12 hours. We are so much that we don't notice.
8. Be aware. Look outside instead of inside. I get trapped in my head. There is a lot to pay attention to in the world. I can pay attention to it. I can notice specific details. A simple task like washing my hands can be full of sensations if I am paying attention to it instead of thinking of other things.
9. Books, hypnosis tapes, meditation, support groups, writing a journal, painting, poetry, and so much more.
10. Sharing with others who understand. I didn't mean to go on this journey. Unlike others, I'm not even particularly grateful for it. I'd rather have Artie here with me than have all the benefits his death has given me. However, the friends I've made are most precious. So many things I think and do seem crazy or foolish or weird. Then I find out they aren't. I didn't change the sheets for 3 months after Artie died. I met someone who didn't change them for a year. I find the 4th year harder than the second. Someone else said the fifth. What I've learned helps me - but it helps me help others as well and then comes back and helps me.
I showed up the other night and had dinner with someone who talked about my blog. That was when the light went on in my somewhat dim these days brain that I wasn't shifting my focus enough and I could. Moving on Artie's birthday was a choice; one that scares me a little. It's not uplifting or brilliant or anything right now. In fact I've warned people it might be a good day NOT to interact with me. I won't know how it will be (Dec. 11th) until it is over. I'm actually not moving. My stuff is moving. I will be camped out where I am until many tangles get untangled. I'll be spending time at my daughter's house for my granddaughter's first birthday and Christmas. Chanukah came too early this year and there wasn't much I could do about that. New Year's Eve I rather like spending by myself. I don't know if I'll be moved in or not yet.
11. Be imperfect. This may not be the best blog post I ever wrote. It doesn't matter. I wrote it. I could share a lot more strategies but the most important one is
12. Be gentle with yourself. Your grief is real. You are alone and not alone. You can hold more than one thing at the same time. You can have a happy holiday season that is sad or a sad holiday season that is happy. All there is are moments. The trick is to stop having so many bad ones!! They kind of tumble over each other. If you can work on those good thoughts which lead to good feelings which lead to being a live live person instead of a dead live person - you can have a lot of happy moments. You will still be missing that person or those people that you miss. You will still have days when it all goes flat...or maybe you won't. What I keep striving for is being ALIVE with my grief. I criticize myself when I don't make it - how lucky am I to have friends and readers who tell me I'm doing a brilliant job.
So...I'll say it to you. Wherever you are, however you are - you, yes YOU are doing a brilliant job. xo
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Grief: Kindness
For some reason, maybe Artie's birthday on Dec. 11th, maybe the holidays, I have not been ready to write. I'm still not. Once again I have allowed myself to be carried away on the dark black tide. I have forgotten to spend a small time focused on what is difficult and a large time focused on wonder and joy. I am working my way back and who knows? Maybe tomorrow I will write all the blog posts that haven't made it from my brain on to the page. The screen? Is a screen a page?
Until then I am giving you Naomi Shihab Nye's poem Kindness which sums things up in a lot of ways. It is kindness we reach for - but we must see it when it happens and we must open our hands and our hearts to give it return. I hope, dear Naomi, you will forgive what might be a copyright breach as you would know I am posting this to bring comfort. I met Naomi when - as a Jewish woman - I was having trouble understanding the Palestinians. Whenever I give in to prejudice I have Naomi's loving, laughing face in front of me and the prejudice disappears. She taught me about kindness, and I am grateful.
Kindness
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
Naomi Shihab Nye
I wish you all kindness - to yourself - first - then from others to you - and from yourself to others. I have not been kind to my mind and body and soul lately. I have let myself live in the desert when the oasis is only step away. Here's to taking that step to the oasis. Thank you to all of you who love me in all my many incarnations. xo
Until then I am giving you Naomi Shihab Nye's poem Kindness which sums things up in a lot of ways. It is kindness we reach for - but we must see it when it happens and we must open our hands and our hearts to give it return. I hope, dear Naomi, you will forgive what might be a copyright breach as you would know I am posting this to bring comfort. I met Naomi when - as a Jewish woman - I was having trouble understanding the Palestinians. Whenever I give in to prejudice I have Naomi's loving, laughing face in front of me and the prejudice disappears. She taught me about kindness, and I am grateful.
Kindness
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
Naomi Shihab Nye
I wish you all kindness - to yourself - first - then from others to you - and from yourself to others. I have not been kind to my mind and body and soul lately. I have let myself live in the desert when the oasis is only step away. Here's to taking that step to the oasis. Thank you to all of you who love me in all my many incarnations. xo
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Grief: Thanksgiving and the Empty Chair (s)
The empty chair is the place that the people and or pets we love would be sitting if they were still alive.
When Artie first died the empty chair was obvious. Couple friends would ask me out to dinner and the three of us would be seated at a table for four. There, next to me, was an empty chair. It was the chair my husband sat in. It always seemed very large to me, as if it took over the whole room. I could, even then, enjoy some of my food (some days I couldn't eat) and enjoy the conversation. I could laugh at a joke. But....where was my husband? Why was he in a box at home instead of sitting next to me?
I am trying to learn to embrace the empty chair. I want my family and friends to embrace it with me. I have heard too often that people are afraid or discouraged from talking about someone that has died. If you know me, you know Artie. My electrician knows Artie. The saleperson at the department store knows Artie. When I sit down for Thanksgiving dinner with my family I will say I am thankful for Artie. I tell my granddaughter about her Grandpa Artie. He is dead on earth but alive in my heart.
Some times I want to kick over that empty chair. You promised you'd never leave me. I know you couldn't help it but why am I here without you? Yes, I have your spirit with me always but I need you! Some times I want to curl up in the empty chair and cry or be like stone so that the loneliness, the missing will stop.
The reason I know the chair is empty is because of love. We continue to love and be loved whether 2 months or 25 years has gone by. That is something to be thankful for. My life is about finding ways every day to let Artie inspire me. Lately, with the holidays and his birthday coming up I haven't been doing such a good job. That's why I'm writing this today instead of earlier. Of course, that's in my eyes. I have friends who say I am doing amazing things.The truth is probably somewhere in between. Grief is a terribly human thing. The important thing isn't the falling down - it's the getting up.
Today I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for being with my daughter who is sober over 6 years and has turned into a good mother and a delightful person. I am thankful for Gwendy blue eyes who is having her first Thanksgiving and loves going up and down the stairs. She has four teeth now. As I write this I am also conscious of all of you who have children and grandchildren in your empty chairs. That is why I don't want to enjoy every moment of my life. When I am thankful and happy I never want to forget those who suffer and those who are alone.
I am thankful that after three years I have found many new friends, and managed to keep some of the old ones. I am thankful that the level of despair I felt when Artie first died has gentled down. I am thankful that I started writing this blog and that it is a source of comfort to some people. It's what we do...find comfort in living a life in which comfort aometimes seems impossible.
If you are reading this and you know someone with an empty chair ask them if they want to talk about their loved one. If they say yes - do it. It's so easy and yet people are so scared. Why can't they say, "I wish Artie was here with us today." or "Tell me one of those Artie stories." While we are laughing and eating and participating in life that doesn't stop us remembering our dead family and friends. It doesn't stop us missing them.
I'm not living in the past. I have been a widow (I hate that word) for over three years. However, in my present the truth is I'm in love with a dead man. I've accepted what that means in my life. I'm okay with not always being okay.
I have a lot to be thankful for today and I think everyone has if they stop, breathe, and take time to notice it. It might be something big - a new love - a new baby in the family. It might be something less personal like a beautiful sky or the adventures of a baby elephant. It might be a puppy tumbling in the grass. It might be the simple miracle of a breath. Artie used to say that loving me was as part of him as breathing. Living was easy, just keep breathing. Then his breath stopped. But that spirit, that mighty love and twinkling eye, that dazzling smile and and his ability to help others....that lives on in my heart and in the hearts of others who love and miss him. Today I am thankful for each second I had with him and I will try to get there - to be thankful that I have an empty chair instead of no chair at all.
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. May you find - if not the whole day - at least moments of thankfulness sprinkled with joy. Turkey or tofurkey: may you have food to eat and someone to share it with. If not this year, next year. May you have the courage to laugh and love even while you grieve. Happy Thanksgiving Artie...you are far and near and one thing is certain - I love you. xo
When Artie first died the empty chair was obvious. Couple friends would ask me out to dinner and the three of us would be seated at a table for four. There, next to me, was an empty chair. It was the chair my husband sat in. It always seemed very large to me, as if it took over the whole room. I could, even then, enjoy some of my food (some days I couldn't eat) and enjoy the conversation. I could laugh at a joke. But....where was my husband? Why was he in a box at home instead of sitting next to me?
I am trying to learn to embrace the empty chair. I want my family and friends to embrace it with me. I have heard too often that people are afraid or discouraged from talking about someone that has died. If you know me, you know Artie. My electrician knows Artie. The saleperson at the department store knows Artie. When I sit down for Thanksgiving dinner with my family I will say I am thankful for Artie. I tell my granddaughter about her Grandpa Artie. He is dead on earth but alive in my heart.
Some times I want to kick over that empty chair. You promised you'd never leave me. I know you couldn't help it but why am I here without you? Yes, I have your spirit with me always but I need you! Some times I want to curl up in the empty chair and cry or be like stone so that the loneliness, the missing will stop.
The reason I know the chair is empty is because of love. We continue to love and be loved whether 2 months or 25 years has gone by. That is something to be thankful for. My life is about finding ways every day to let Artie inspire me. Lately, with the holidays and his birthday coming up I haven't been doing such a good job. That's why I'm writing this today instead of earlier. Of course, that's in my eyes. I have friends who say I am doing amazing things.The truth is probably somewhere in between. Grief is a terribly human thing. The important thing isn't the falling down - it's the getting up.
Today I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for being with my daughter who is sober over 6 years and has turned into a good mother and a delightful person. I am thankful for Gwendy blue eyes who is having her first Thanksgiving and loves going up and down the stairs. She has four teeth now. As I write this I am also conscious of all of you who have children and grandchildren in your empty chairs. That is why I don't want to enjoy every moment of my life. When I am thankful and happy I never want to forget those who suffer and those who are alone.
I am thankful that after three years I have found many new friends, and managed to keep some of the old ones. I am thankful that the level of despair I felt when Artie first died has gentled down. I am thankful that I started writing this blog and that it is a source of comfort to some people. It's what we do...find comfort in living a life in which comfort aometimes seems impossible.
If you are reading this and you know someone with an empty chair ask them if they want to talk about their loved one. If they say yes - do it. It's so easy and yet people are so scared. Why can't they say, "I wish Artie was here with us today." or "Tell me one of those Artie stories." While we are laughing and eating and participating in life that doesn't stop us remembering our dead family and friends. It doesn't stop us missing them.
I'm not living in the past. I have been a widow (I hate that word) for over three years. However, in my present the truth is I'm in love with a dead man. I've accepted what that means in my life. I'm okay with not always being okay.
I have a lot to be thankful for today and I think everyone has if they stop, breathe, and take time to notice it. It might be something big - a new love - a new baby in the family. It might be something less personal like a beautiful sky or the adventures of a baby elephant. It might be a puppy tumbling in the grass. It might be the simple miracle of a breath. Artie used to say that loving me was as part of him as breathing. Living was easy, just keep breathing. Then his breath stopped. But that spirit, that mighty love and twinkling eye, that dazzling smile and and his ability to help others....that lives on in my heart and in the hearts of others who love and miss him. Today I am thankful for each second I had with him and I will try to get there - to be thankful that I have an empty chair instead of no chair at all.
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. May you find - if not the whole day - at least moments of thankfulness sprinkled with joy. Turkey or tofurkey: may you have food to eat and someone to share it with. If not this year, next year. May you have the courage to laugh and love even while you grieve. Happy Thanksgiving Artie...you are far and near and one thing is certain - I love you. xo
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Grief: Am I In Love With Grief?
That was a question someone asked me because of the way I continue to talk about my husband, and because of what I post on Facebook and write in my blog. It was an interesting way to phrase the question and it made me stop to think. Most people understand how I feel and what my choices are. Usually the comments that make me feel misunderstood are, "You don't accept your husband's death." and "You should be more positive and enjoy yourself." The idea that moving on means letting go and anything else is somehow unhealthy. This was a different question.
Do I accept my husband's death? I know he's dead. When sometimes I say, "Come back." I always say, "I know you can't, but I want you to anyway." It's my little protest against a very big reality. I was with Artie when he died, at home, in a hospital bed in our living room. The last thing he said to me was, "I love you." I paused for a minute because I wanted to take the tears out of my voice and then I said, "I love you, too." After that he fell into a twilight sleep which had been helped by a hospice nurse. His death rattle went on for quite a long time. Eventually he rolled over on his back and exhaled - a big sigh - what some people say is the soul leaving the body. A friend of his who had been sitting with me - he on one side, me on the other - called Artie's name out loudly and felt for a pulse. He even tried to listen for a breath. I didn't need to do that. I knew that he was no longer in his body. I cleaned him up with the help of an aide, like they did in the old days. Because I have a strange sense of humor I dressed him in a t-shirt that said, "I do all my own stunts." While I waited for the Neptune Society, the cremation folks, to pick him up - I held him and talked to him. I nestled my head in all the places that we called my nooks and crannies. He was dead. His body was starting to decay and I wanted to say "I love you" to his body too. Soon I wouldn't be able to hold his hand or put my head on his shoulder. He's definitely dead. I have the ashes to prove it.
However, what is the definition of death? Artie's life is over as Artie. Is our relationship over? Is our journey together over? It doesn't feel like it. Is believing that there is some kind of consciousness after death, one you can communicate with a delusion? I don't know and it doesn't matter to me. No living person knows the secret of what happens after death. Whether you belief in a continuation in some form or that there is nothing - both are only opinions. I am a skeptic but I have more evidence on the side of something lingering. When I was moving from our house not long after Artie died I went to the UPS store to pick up some boxes. A man who worked in the store, who knew us only as customers, insisted on walking with me to my car. He said, "Artie appeared to me and told me that I must give you the message that he loves you very much." I laughed and said, "That must have been a heck of a dream." The man said, "It wasn't a dream, it was an apparition. You must understand how much he loves you." Why would a stranger have that experience? Other people have reported seeing or hearing Artie. I have had people who I have just met in a class or other situation say they see him or feel him around me. I don't ask - they just tell me. A friend who communicates with people who have died (I'm skeptical about that too) for me and for anyone else who has called her (karenhager.com) gives very specific information that she has no way of knowing. I accept that Artie is dead but I don't accept that our journey together is over.
Am I in love with grief? No, thank you very much. I'm in love with my husband. That love doesn't end with his death. I would rather have him back - even on our worst fighting day - than have him be dead. I don't feel that I choose grief, merely that I acknowledge that it is there and I refuse to be quiet about it. If I wrote all the things I miss about him, this blog would go on forever. Right now I am having difficulties moving into a new apartment. He would have handled things better that I am. When I am stressed he would be holding me. I think I would be rather foolish not to miss all the comfort, love, support, secret jokes, laughter, understanding, and so much more he gave to me. Since his death I understand the depth of the bond we had even better than I did when he was alive. It's too easy when someone's alive to get caught up in your own stuff and not notice or take time with them the way you would if you could go back and recapture the wasted moments.
I'm not in love with grief but my grief, to me, is an ever moving river of my love. That's okay with me. I had very difficult parents. I didn't grieve for them. In my heart Artie's spirit is very alive and always be. That's why I don't stop writing the blog. Each year brings new challenges. My goal, my work is to let grief inspire me instead of paralyze me. Sometimes that doesn't work very well. Sometimes I just collapse with the weight of it all. More and more, though, the grief expresses itself in happy memories, in being inspired to achieve more, in being inspired to love life the way my husband did. I don't think I need to let go to heal, to move on. When Artie was alive he was my biggest champion. Why shouldn't his spirit and my grief continue to teach me, guide me, support me?
And if some days I am sad, why not? And if some days I am angry, why not? It's all part of being human. I watch my granddaughter who is already going to be a year old on December 20th learn and try new things. Sometimes she falls down and hurts herself. She cries. She gets up and tries again. That's what life is after Artie's death. Me learning how to do it all again. Without the falling down there isn't any getting up. Without the crying the laughing isn't real.
If you have a different way to do it - I think that's wonderful. Not everyone grieves in the same way. However, I find because I am open about it people share that as much as 25 years after someone has died they still grieve for them, still miss them. These are successful, happy, accompished, well adjusted people. Some are people who are happily remarried and still feel sad about their husband who has died. Some are people that have many children or siblings or new pets and nothing fills the space of the one that is dead. Are we all in love with grief? I don't think so. Just being real. Having the courage to feel our loss instead of pretending it isn't there..
Find those ways to have grief be your friend instead of your enemy. It takes courage but it can be done. I know that because I am writing this. xo
Do I accept my husband's death? I know he's dead. When sometimes I say, "Come back." I always say, "I know you can't, but I want you to anyway." It's my little protest against a very big reality. I was with Artie when he died, at home, in a hospital bed in our living room. The last thing he said to me was, "I love you." I paused for a minute because I wanted to take the tears out of my voice and then I said, "I love you, too." After that he fell into a twilight sleep which had been helped by a hospice nurse. His death rattle went on for quite a long time. Eventually he rolled over on his back and exhaled - a big sigh - what some people say is the soul leaving the body. A friend of his who had been sitting with me - he on one side, me on the other - called Artie's name out loudly and felt for a pulse. He even tried to listen for a breath. I didn't need to do that. I knew that he was no longer in his body. I cleaned him up with the help of an aide, like they did in the old days. Because I have a strange sense of humor I dressed him in a t-shirt that said, "I do all my own stunts." While I waited for the Neptune Society, the cremation folks, to pick him up - I held him and talked to him. I nestled my head in all the places that we called my nooks and crannies. He was dead. His body was starting to decay and I wanted to say "I love you" to his body too. Soon I wouldn't be able to hold his hand or put my head on his shoulder. He's definitely dead. I have the ashes to prove it.
However, what is the definition of death? Artie's life is over as Artie. Is our relationship over? Is our journey together over? It doesn't feel like it. Is believing that there is some kind of consciousness after death, one you can communicate with a delusion? I don't know and it doesn't matter to me. No living person knows the secret of what happens after death. Whether you belief in a continuation in some form or that there is nothing - both are only opinions. I am a skeptic but I have more evidence on the side of something lingering. When I was moving from our house not long after Artie died I went to the UPS store to pick up some boxes. A man who worked in the store, who knew us only as customers, insisted on walking with me to my car. He said, "Artie appeared to me and told me that I must give you the message that he loves you very much." I laughed and said, "That must have been a heck of a dream." The man said, "It wasn't a dream, it was an apparition. You must understand how much he loves you." Why would a stranger have that experience? Other people have reported seeing or hearing Artie. I have had people who I have just met in a class or other situation say they see him or feel him around me. I don't ask - they just tell me. A friend who communicates with people who have died (I'm skeptical about that too) for me and for anyone else who has called her (karenhager.com) gives very specific information that she has no way of knowing. I accept that Artie is dead but I don't accept that our journey together is over.
Am I in love with grief? No, thank you very much. I'm in love with my husband. That love doesn't end with his death. I would rather have him back - even on our worst fighting day - than have him be dead. I don't feel that I choose grief, merely that I acknowledge that it is there and I refuse to be quiet about it. If I wrote all the things I miss about him, this blog would go on forever. Right now I am having difficulties moving into a new apartment. He would have handled things better that I am. When I am stressed he would be holding me. I think I would be rather foolish not to miss all the comfort, love, support, secret jokes, laughter, understanding, and so much more he gave to me. Since his death I understand the depth of the bond we had even better than I did when he was alive. It's too easy when someone's alive to get caught up in your own stuff and not notice or take time with them the way you would if you could go back and recapture the wasted moments.
I'm not in love with grief but my grief, to me, is an ever moving river of my love. That's okay with me. I had very difficult parents. I didn't grieve for them. In my heart Artie's spirit is very alive and always be. That's why I don't stop writing the blog. Each year brings new challenges. My goal, my work is to let grief inspire me instead of paralyze me. Sometimes that doesn't work very well. Sometimes I just collapse with the weight of it all. More and more, though, the grief expresses itself in happy memories, in being inspired to achieve more, in being inspired to love life the way my husband did. I don't think I need to let go to heal, to move on. When Artie was alive he was my biggest champion. Why shouldn't his spirit and my grief continue to teach me, guide me, support me?
And if some days I am sad, why not? And if some days I am angry, why not? It's all part of being human. I watch my granddaughter who is already going to be a year old on December 20th learn and try new things. Sometimes she falls down and hurts herself. She cries. She gets up and tries again. That's what life is after Artie's death. Me learning how to do it all again. Without the falling down there isn't any getting up. Without the crying the laughing isn't real.
If you have a different way to do it - I think that's wonderful. Not everyone grieves in the same way. However, I find because I am open about it people share that as much as 25 years after someone has died they still grieve for them, still miss them. These are successful, happy, accompished, well adjusted people. Some are people who are happily remarried and still feel sad about their husband who has died. Some are people that have many children or siblings or new pets and nothing fills the space of the one that is dead. Are we all in love with grief? I don't think so. Just being real. Having the courage to feel our loss instead of pretending it isn't there..
Find those ways to have grief be your friend instead of your enemy. It takes courage but it can be done. I know that because I am writing this. xo
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