Oh my blog. I don't write you often enough any more. I think of you, but I don't write enough. I'm sorry to those of you who don't do Facebook where most of my writing is now. www.Facebook.com/GriefSpeaksOut.
I have almost survived my time where the climb from the valley to the mountain top is difficult - and where I slide down into the valley much too quickly. My husband's birthday is Dec. 11th. That is when it starts. Then all the holidays. Then my birthday/wedding anniversary (for those of you who don't know - my birthday present was getting married) and then Valentine's Day. Can you believe Friday the 13th is the day before Valentine's Day? If I were superstitious....
I read a quote somewhere that you shouldn't compare yourself to another person because you know your whole life and you only know their highlight reel. That's kind of how I've been. I just seem to be back at why bother? I've been spending a lot of time in bed watching crap TV. This week I have a bad cold or the flu or something which I rather like because it gives me permission to do this without guilt. I had given myself permission anyway. To not really accomplish anything until after Valentine's Day. People who don't experience this don't understand how sometimes emotional paralysis sets in and the smallest thing seems impossible or not worth trying. So that is my valley.
My mountain tops are there too. So many times we (I) look at what I am not doing instead of what I am doing. I did still follow the rule that I can only stay indoors one day in a row. My parents became reclusive when they got older and it made them nasty and sad. I don't want to be them. I did go out with friends when I was in NYC and I did have a good time. I did plan less than I usually do. I did do things like take showers and keep breathing. Then - the main thing - the important thing - is that i truly did celebrate with my daughter and granddaughter. It didn't matter how much I wanted to snuggle into the valley - I left and chose to spend many days including these dates with my daughter and granddaughter. On those days I managed some times to actually be celebrating. I love playing with my granddaughter.
Gwendy is 3 so 64 is very old to her. So old she ask me if I was going to die. We talk about death in our family. I said - yes, some day - but hopefully not for a while. I told her that when I was dead I wouldn't be able to come back any more on the train - because I wouldn't have a body - but that I would come back with love - and would always be in her heart like she would be in mine. She is trying to figure out what her Mom calls the Great Unknown. She has had some fish go there and knows that her Mom and I have pets and people there. She asked me if my husband was imaginary! Which was interesting - people we love and talk about and can't see - are they imaginary like the pink dragon? No - because once they were alive and now they are still real - at least to me.
Gwendy said the most extraordinary thing. She asked me, "Do you miss sleeping with your Mommy?" I said, "No - I haven't slept with my Mommy for a long time - but I miss sleeping with my husband - with Grandpa Artie - a lot. I really liked sleeping with him." She said, lovingly, "You can use your imagination and pretend he is with you." I told her that is exactly what I do.
So it has been a strange time since I have last written you. Full of dead moments that I wish I no longer have - but I still do. It comforts me to know from so many people that even after 20 or 30 or more years these moments - these deep valleys - these dark places come. I miss my husband so much every day that sometimes all the energy is sapped right out of me. Especially this time of year. But I also made new memories. Went stomping through snow up over my knees with Gwendy at night with our flashlights to put out food for squirrels and birds. I want to have adventures with her. Gwendy managed to stay up until midnight on New Years Eve and the three of us made lots of noise and wore funny hats and had a group hug. We did a new thing this year - we lit candles and put out pictures of the people and pets we have loved on a table in the middle of the room on New Year's Eve so they could be with us.
I had my unhappy birthday cake. I ate the part that said unhappy. I still don't deal with my anniversary very well - but I posted about it on FB. I appreciated the people who acknowledged it.
In NYC I saw some great plays; ate some delicious dinners; had wonderful moments with friends.
People now often ask me if something they are doing or feeling is normal. It is. I remember going to a bereavement group in my first year of grieving. I hadn't changed the sheets on our bed for three months and thought that was very strange. I met someone who hadn't changed them for a year. I met someone else who never changed them - just sleeps in another room. We all do whatever we have to do to survive something that is so difficult, so challenging. Some people seem to move through grief with more ease than others - but when you see someone who does that - you do not know what is in their hearts. A lot of people go silent because it is easier. Someone called me a radical griever. I liked that. I know many people who pretend to be fine and then they tell me about their grief and their sadness.
Although it is comforting to know I am not the only one doing something - I don't ask myself if what I am doing is normal. I ask myself if it is serving me. I have a life to live. Each day. A life that I want to live fully to honor and respect my husband. Sometimes - like now - I give myself permission to collapse and wallow. I love wallowing. I'm not ashamed of it. But I also don't want the rest of my life to look like this. I haven't missed a day of posting on the Facebook page Grief Speaks Out. That's good. But if I can get my motivation back into place I have a lot I want to do. I found myself saying that I want to live for a while. Usually all I feel deep down is that I want to be with my husband. That's a big change. I don't always feel that way - but that's the challenge every day - to say - oops - I guess I'm still alive - how will I be alive?
Maybe I should build a lodge halfway down the mountain so I don't go so deep and don't have such a steep climb back up. Maybe my husband will be in the lodge and when I start to fall he will catch me and give me a boost back up. Or maybe even the middle isn't such a bad place to be.
I always tell you to take tender care of yourself. I need to learn to do the same.
Sending you much love and wishing you the courage you need every minute of ever day. xo
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Grief: Another New Year Without You?
I threw out a couple more of your things today. Not much. But a little. I still have your phone book. What for?
I have many things I am grateful for. Good holidays with my daughter and my granddaughter Gwendy blue eyes who turned three on December 20th. I'm going back on the 30th because after five and a half years I feel brave enough not to hide myself away. I'm preparing for this fun sharing of the new year coming in by isolating - watching crap TV - and eating too much. All those healthy options. Why don't I do the healthy options? I could be meditating, taking bubble baths, developing a taste for kale. Okay - developing a taste for kale is never going to happen. I am cleaning up and throwing away a lot of my own unnecessary stuff as well.
For some odd reason my wedding ring and my husband's wedding ring were irritating the skin on my finger so instead I have been wearing a band with three rows of tiny black diamonds and two rows of tiny white diamonds. Like my life...sparkly...but all the lovely moments are still surrounded by darkness. There is so much I have done since you died that I love, that I am proud of. I especially love my relationship with my granddaughter.
I just can't stand the though of starting another new year without you. We had many fun and loving New Year's Eves together. The last one you asked me to come upstairs with you but I was angry and I said no. I didn't know it was the last chance I had to celebrate New Year's Eve with you. I want another chance. I want another chance for so many things. I can't stand it but I will. That's what we do. Stand what we can't stand; bear what we can't bear.
I keep my husband alive in so many ways. My granddaughter talks about Grandpa Artie - even though she never met him. People all around the world know about us - about him.
I have made plans for the new year; in the new year. I am going forward - I don't have a choice. Time goes forward and drags me with it. I was thinking of e-mailing all the people I still have e-mails for who knew Artie and ask them for stories about him. Why? They might make me smile but they won't be him. He's dead. There are no new memories. Is this the year I'll try to date since I miss so much being held? I don't know. I want my husband to hold me - not some random man. Yet maybe some random man will do a good job of holding me.
I need time to feel sorry for myself. When I'm with my granddaughter I don't get much time for that. I don't even want much time then. I like playing. I like cuddling her. I love it when she says something clever or when she just looks up and smiles at me.
I'm blessed in my family and friends. I alway plan adventures for myself.
Who knows - I might even start that book I'm so good at not writing. I don't do New Year's Resolutions. I make a gratitude list - all the things that happened last year that I am grateful for. Then I make a forgiveness list - things I would have liked to have done but didn't. Some things on the forgiveness list (forgiving myself for not accomplishing them) go on the list of things to do this next year. Or not.
A young friend asked me if I feel guilty about what I haven't done or don't do. I said no. Finally after 63 years I feel that what I do is enough. Who I am is enough. I could do more - but if I don't - nothing wrong with what I am doing. I'm capable of so much more than I was in those desperate devastated first days after my husband's death.
But I'm not finished grieving. I don't see how I ever could be. I can do more and more and more. I can have many exciting and content moments. I can even triumph. Nothing I do will ever stop me from looking up and wishing I could see a very loved face that no longer exists.
My new year will, hopefully, be full of many new things. It will also be full of something old. Death took my husband away. The one person in the world who totally understood me and who tried so hard to take care of me is dead. Dead doesn't change. People often don't get that. I don't believe in being happy about something I am sad about. How can I be happy my husband is dead? That would make me a liar. I am happy about so much of the time we spent together. I am happy about our love. I am happy about many things in my present. But I cannot "follow my bliss". My bliss is dead. I must create a new meaning for bliss.
I take my grief with me into 2015. Hopefully it will come with me in many new and exciting directions. Hopefully my husband will be proud of me.
i don't know how to end this. A new year is supposed to be a beginning not an ending. Maybe what I wish for us all is that our beloved dead become more alive to us not less. I wish for us all that their lives mean more to us than their death - that their love inspires us. That they make us laugh remembering so many things. I wish that we continue to transform grief from something dark and deadly to something that shimmers and skips about leading us into wondrous places.
A Happy New Year? A new year with happiness in it. I love you my husband. You love me. That still makes me happy. xo
I have many things I am grateful for. Good holidays with my daughter and my granddaughter Gwendy blue eyes who turned three on December 20th. I'm going back on the 30th because after five and a half years I feel brave enough not to hide myself away. I'm preparing for this fun sharing of the new year coming in by isolating - watching crap TV - and eating too much. All those healthy options. Why don't I do the healthy options? I could be meditating, taking bubble baths, developing a taste for kale. Okay - developing a taste for kale is never going to happen. I am cleaning up and throwing away a lot of my own unnecessary stuff as well.
For some odd reason my wedding ring and my husband's wedding ring were irritating the skin on my finger so instead I have been wearing a band with three rows of tiny black diamonds and two rows of tiny white diamonds. Like my life...sparkly...but all the lovely moments are still surrounded by darkness. There is so much I have done since you died that I love, that I am proud of. I especially love my relationship with my granddaughter.
I just can't stand the though of starting another new year without you. We had many fun and loving New Year's Eves together. The last one you asked me to come upstairs with you but I was angry and I said no. I didn't know it was the last chance I had to celebrate New Year's Eve with you. I want another chance. I want another chance for so many things. I can't stand it but I will. That's what we do. Stand what we can't stand; bear what we can't bear.
I keep my husband alive in so many ways. My granddaughter talks about Grandpa Artie - even though she never met him. People all around the world know about us - about him.
I have made plans for the new year; in the new year. I am going forward - I don't have a choice. Time goes forward and drags me with it. I was thinking of e-mailing all the people I still have e-mails for who knew Artie and ask them for stories about him. Why? They might make me smile but they won't be him. He's dead. There are no new memories. Is this the year I'll try to date since I miss so much being held? I don't know. I want my husband to hold me - not some random man. Yet maybe some random man will do a good job of holding me.
I need time to feel sorry for myself. When I'm with my granddaughter I don't get much time for that. I don't even want much time then. I like playing. I like cuddling her. I love it when she says something clever or when she just looks up and smiles at me.
I'm blessed in my family and friends. I alway plan adventures for myself.
Who knows - I might even start that book I'm so good at not writing. I don't do New Year's Resolutions. I make a gratitude list - all the things that happened last year that I am grateful for. Then I make a forgiveness list - things I would have liked to have done but didn't. Some things on the forgiveness list (forgiving myself for not accomplishing them) go on the list of things to do this next year. Or not.
A young friend asked me if I feel guilty about what I haven't done or don't do. I said no. Finally after 63 years I feel that what I do is enough. Who I am is enough. I could do more - but if I don't - nothing wrong with what I am doing. I'm capable of so much more than I was in those desperate devastated first days after my husband's death.
But I'm not finished grieving. I don't see how I ever could be. I can do more and more and more. I can have many exciting and content moments. I can even triumph. Nothing I do will ever stop me from looking up and wishing I could see a very loved face that no longer exists.
My new year will, hopefully, be full of many new things. It will also be full of something old. Death took my husband away. The one person in the world who totally understood me and who tried so hard to take care of me is dead. Dead doesn't change. People often don't get that. I don't believe in being happy about something I am sad about. How can I be happy my husband is dead? That would make me a liar. I am happy about so much of the time we spent together. I am happy about our love. I am happy about many things in my present. But I cannot "follow my bliss". My bliss is dead. I must create a new meaning for bliss.
I take my grief with me into 2015. Hopefully it will come with me in many new and exciting directions. Hopefully my husband will be proud of me.
i don't know how to end this. A new year is supposed to be a beginning not an ending. Maybe what I wish for us all is that our beloved dead become more alive to us not less. I wish for us all that their lives mean more to us than their death - that their love inspires us. That they make us laugh remembering so many things. I wish that we continue to transform grief from something dark and deadly to something that shimmers and skips about leading us into wondrous places.
A Happy New Year? A new year with happiness in it. I love you my husband. You love me. That still makes me happy. xo
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Grief: 'Tis the Season to Be Sad, Confused, Exhausted and Angry - Oops - I Mean Jolly
Welcome once again to the holiday season. I apologize for not writing before Thanksgiving. In the midst of all this cheer, I thought of myself hanging on the meat hook of the holidays. Here's my run - Thanksgiving. My husband's birthday is December 11th, Chanukah, Gwendy's Birthday is Dec. 20th, Christmas, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. My birthday and my wedding anniversary are Feb. 3rd (my husband married me for my birthday present) and finally - Valentine's Day.
Thanksgiving. Am I thankful? Definitely. I am thankful for little things like a cosy blanket and big things like having a smart, healthy and beautiful granddaughter. Gwendy's birthday is a good day When my daughter was pregnant I didn't know if I could love this new person. I can. I do. I love being a grandmother. I love that she looks at my husband's picture and says, "There's grandpa!" She may have never met him when he was alive but she knows all about him - and I have this strange feeling she's seen him more that once.
The holidays. I'm working on it. I have so many presents in my hallway it looks like a toy store. I'm going to have to choose which ones to bring to Marblehead near Boston which is where my daughter and granddaughter live. I couldn't possibly carry everything.
I'm going out on my husband's birthday. Never did that before. I'm spending New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with my daughter and granddaughter. It's the first year I've been willing to do that. I did go out with a friend once - wasn't very happy. My birthday. We worked that one out. We sing "Unhappy Birthday to You" and I laugh but no one is allowed to mention it's my wedding anniversary. I love that I have a wedding anniversary but I can't handle spending that wonderful day without my husband. My daughter tried singing, "Unhappy anniversary to you." but I stopped her. I can laugh about having an unhappy birthday - and actually have a happy one. I can't laugh about having an unhappy wedding anniversary. I miss my husband too much.
This is what is going on now after almost five and half years. Things are different. I am doing more. I am enjoying more. I am also having to accept that around these dates everything falls apart. I'm going out - I'm cleaning up - I'm taking care of projects - but I'm also laying in bed watching lousy TV and eating ice cream to numb out.
In between the good times I'm a mess. I couldn't find my purse this morning - it was on the door knob where I had put it. I thought Dec. 26th was a Monday - I think it's a Saturday. Oh - I just looked at the calendar - I think I'm leaving on Tuesday the 16th - the 16th is Wednesday. As if to prove my point, I just talked to my daughter. This is an edit. The 16th is Tuesday not Wednesday. And then she was quick to say - not TODAY. I actually knew that one.
I've been meaning to write a blog post for days. I got a stupid taxi driver who was taking me to the wrong address - I told him he needed taxi driver lessons - he laughed. I cursed him out. Unnecessary - maybe. There are lots of times now when I feel like a person. Times like that mixed in with times as I am going to meet someone I say, "Please let me look and sound like a person." There are things I would like to do that I'm not - but I finally at the age of 63 feel that what I do is enough - who I am is enough. If I do more - okay. If I don't - okay. If I'm better behaved - okay. If I'm not - okay.
I'm meeting with someone who thinks she is my friend to tell her if she can't be sensitive to who I am - and respectful of who I am - I can't be friends with her anymore. I'll call her D. Why did I feel punched in the throat? R told us botha long time friend had been killed in a car accident. R was willing to be vulnerable and take the risk of saying how sad she was. D responded, "Something good has come out of his death because you are reconnecting with people." I couldn't believe it. In front of me - the radical griever. I rounded on D and probably shouted, "Never tell a grieving person that something good has come out of the death of someone they love." D said she was providing "comfort". First of all - there is not comfort. Second of all, comfort is never given by someone thinking the most painful thing that has ever happened to you is good - especially when in R's case it had only happened a couple of days ago. I asked D how she would feel if her phone rang and she found out her son was dead. What would be the good in that? Her eyes teared up and she said, "That's hurtful." I said, "It's meant to be. I have thousands of people who tell me how hurtful it is when people say things like you just said. They won't tell you that - but I will." I was so angry I couldn't sit next to her. D. waited a while and then said - "I can't help loving you." Blech. R said I shouldn't feel bad about my reaction. I don't. I thought perhaps D said she couldn't help loving me because she thinks I'm always angry. I sent her an e-mail saying that I have been out with a lot of people this week and had good times with all. Not angry once. (Of course all my other friends are my friends because they understand about the not jolly part.) I even sent her the Henri Nouwen quote:
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."
I'm not sure why I'm ranting about this. Maybe because I know similar things have happened to you. Maybe because I am still so hurt by it. The truth is D doesn't get it. She probably won't get it when I explain it again for the last time. I'm too hurt to be hurt by people who are not only careless and insensitive but also not willing to be educated. It's a new thing for me - consciously setting boundaries for myself.
I need people to understand that grief goes on forever. I am sad, confused, exhausted and angry. I'm also happy, content, grateful and silly. If you don't get the sad part - you don't know who I am. If you don't get the happy part you don't know who I am.
I admit to watching true crime stories on television. The ones that respect the victim's families. The grief on their faces. The homicide detectives who carry the picture of a victim with them even after 20 or more years. The grief on the detectives' faces. It doesn't stop. It doesn't go away.
I am aware of the ways my grief has shifted over the years. More and more I am daily inspired by my husband. More and more my gratitude for our time together fills my heart and soul. I have done things in the past five and half years I am proud of - and I know he is proud of me too. Now his life is more important to me than his death. There are things I would have missed if I had indeed died when he did. I say to him, "It's time. Come and get me." He always says, "But you want to..." and mentions something I want to do. I say, "Okay...but after that." But then there are new things.
It doesn't stop the shrieking. I want to be in the same form as he is more than anything. I also want to be alive to play with my granddaughter more than anything.
It all tumbles together.
Maybe this is a holiday season to be simultaneously miserable and jolly. Wouldn't it be something if I could pull that off? Isn't it something that I am even considering the possibility of jolly?
I wish for you that in the midst of the genuine - real - normal - tumultuous pain that is grief - you also - when you are ready - find time for love - for sharing - for laughter. Why? For me it is now partly for myself - but largely it is because I want my husband to see what I learn from him every day. I want him to know that I open my heart because of his love.
I also take too many naps. I also numb out.
That's me. Be on your guard. You don't know when I show up who is going to appear. There's one thing you can know for certain - don't ever tell me that there is anything good about my husband's death. Everything I have done, everything I have achieved, every laugh I have laughed is hard fought for and the fight occurs every day when I wake up and have to accept all over again that he cannot come back. The person I most want to share things with, the person who understands me, the person who is my reason for being has died. No matter how much fun I am having when I am with you - if you love me - you must never forget that about me.
Have a moment each day - when you are ready - for the possibility of beauty and joy.
I leave you with a Mary Oliver quote. It is a question worth asking yourself - and when you can - with the guidance of those who have died before you - answering - as only you can answer for your self. If you don't know the answer - it will come to you - slowly over time or maybe in a split second. Maybe you already know the answer and you just haven't become of aware of it yet.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
xo
Thanksgiving. Am I thankful? Definitely. I am thankful for little things like a cosy blanket and big things like having a smart, healthy and beautiful granddaughter. Gwendy's birthday is a good day When my daughter was pregnant I didn't know if I could love this new person. I can. I do. I love being a grandmother. I love that she looks at my husband's picture and says, "There's grandpa!" She may have never met him when he was alive but she knows all about him - and I have this strange feeling she's seen him more that once.
The holidays. I'm working on it. I have so many presents in my hallway it looks like a toy store. I'm going to have to choose which ones to bring to Marblehead near Boston which is where my daughter and granddaughter live. I couldn't possibly carry everything.
I'm going out on my husband's birthday. Never did that before. I'm spending New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with my daughter and granddaughter. It's the first year I've been willing to do that. I did go out with a friend once - wasn't very happy. My birthday. We worked that one out. We sing "Unhappy Birthday to You" and I laugh but no one is allowed to mention it's my wedding anniversary. I love that I have a wedding anniversary but I can't handle spending that wonderful day without my husband. My daughter tried singing, "Unhappy anniversary to you." but I stopped her. I can laugh about having an unhappy birthday - and actually have a happy one. I can't laugh about having an unhappy wedding anniversary. I miss my husband too much.
This is what is going on now after almost five and half years. Things are different. I am doing more. I am enjoying more. I am also having to accept that around these dates everything falls apart. I'm going out - I'm cleaning up - I'm taking care of projects - but I'm also laying in bed watching lousy TV and eating ice cream to numb out.
In between the good times I'm a mess. I couldn't find my purse this morning - it was on the door knob where I had put it. I thought Dec. 26th was a Monday - I think it's a Saturday. Oh - I just looked at the calendar - I think I'm leaving on Tuesday the 16th - the 16th is Wednesday. As if to prove my point, I just talked to my daughter. This is an edit. The 16th is Tuesday not Wednesday. And then she was quick to say - not TODAY. I actually knew that one.
I've been meaning to write a blog post for days. I got a stupid taxi driver who was taking me to the wrong address - I told him he needed taxi driver lessons - he laughed. I cursed him out. Unnecessary - maybe. There are lots of times now when I feel like a person. Times like that mixed in with times as I am going to meet someone I say, "Please let me look and sound like a person." There are things I would like to do that I'm not - but I finally at the age of 63 feel that what I do is enough - who I am is enough. If I do more - okay. If I don't - okay. If I'm better behaved - okay. If I'm not - okay.
I'm meeting with someone who thinks she is my friend to tell her if she can't be sensitive to who I am - and respectful of who I am - I can't be friends with her anymore. I'll call her D. Why did I feel punched in the throat? R told us botha long time friend had been killed in a car accident. R was willing to be vulnerable and take the risk of saying how sad she was. D responded, "Something good has come out of his death because you are reconnecting with people." I couldn't believe it. In front of me - the radical griever. I rounded on D and probably shouted, "Never tell a grieving person that something good has come out of the death of someone they love." D said she was providing "comfort". First of all - there is not comfort. Second of all, comfort is never given by someone thinking the most painful thing that has ever happened to you is good - especially when in R's case it had only happened a couple of days ago. I asked D how she would feel if her phone rang and she found out her son was dead. What would be the good in that? Her eyes teared up and she said, "That's hurtful." I said, "It's meant to be. I have thousands of people who tell me how hurtful it is when people say things like you just said. They won't tell you that - but I will." I was so angry I couldn't sit next to her. D. waited a while and then said - "I can't help loving you." Blech. R said I shouldn't feel bad about my reaction. I don't. I thought perhaps D said she couldn't help loving me because she thinks I'm always angry. I sent her an e-mail saying that I have been out with a lot of people this week and had good times with all. Not angry once. (Of course all my other friends are my friends because they understand about the not jolly part.) I even sent her the Henri Nouwen quote:
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."
I'm not sure why I'm ranting about this. Maybe because I know similar things have happened to you. Maybe because I am still so hurt by it. The truth is D doesn't get it. She probably won't get it when I explain it again for the last time. I'm too hurt to be hurt by people who are not only careless and insensitive but also not willing to be educated. It's a new thing for me - consciously setting boundaries for myself.
I need people to understand that grief goes on forever. I am sad, confused, exhausted and angry. I'm also happy, content, grateful and silly. If you don't get the sad part - you don't know who I am. If you don't get the happy part you don't know who I am.
I admit to watching true crime stories on television. The ones that respect the victim's families. The grief on their faces. The homicide detectives who carry the picture of a victim with them even after 20 or more years. The grief on the detectives' faces. It doesn't stop. It doesn't go away.
I am aware of the ways my grief has shifted over the years. More and more I am daily inspired by my husband. More and more my gratitude for our time together fills my heart and soul. I have done things in the past five and half years I am proud of - and I know he is proud of me too. Now his life is more important to me than his death. There are things I would have missed if I had indeed died when he did. I say to him, "It's time. Come and get me." He always says, "But you want to..." and mentions something I want to do. I say, "Okay...but after that." But then there are new things.
It doesn't stop the shrieking. I want to be in the same form as he is more than anything. I also want to be alive to play with my granddaughter more than anything.
It all tumbles together.
Maybe this is a holiday season to be simultaneously miserable and jolly. Wouldn't it be something if I could pull that off? Isn't it something that I am even considering the possibility of jolly?
I wish for you that in the midst of the genuine - real - normal - tumultuous pain that is grief - you also - when you are ready - find time for love - for sharing - for laughter. Why? For me it is now partly for myself - but largely it is because I want my husband to see what I learn from him every day. I want him to know that I open my heart because of his love.
I also take too many naps. I also numb out.
That's me. Be on your guard. You don't know when I show up who is going to appear. There's one thing you can know for certain - don't ever tell me that there is anything good about my husband's death. Everything I have done, everything I have achieved, every laugh I have laughed is hard fought for and the fight occurs every day when I wake up and have to accept all over again that he cannot come back. The person I most want to share things with, the person who understands me, the person who is my reason for being has died. No matter how much fun I am having when I am with you - if you love me - you must never forget that about me.
Have a moment each day - when you are ready - for the possibility of beauty and joy.
I leave you with a Mary Oliver quote. It is a question worth asking yourself - and when you can - with the guidance of those who have died before you - answering - as only you can answer for your self. If you don't know the answer - it will come to you - slowly over time or maybe in a split second. Maybe you already know the answer and you just haven't become of aware of it yet.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
xo
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Grief: Can't Catch Up With Myself
Some people say they can't let go of grief. Me, mine comes with me everywhere. I don't expect to ever leave it behind. I woke up the other morning and said my husband's name out loud. Over five years and I miss him and long for him and will never get used to living without him. However, it doesn't stop me as much as it once used to from doing things.
That's what I mean by I can't catch up with myself. My life has gotten very busy lately. I am traveling again. I am spending time with my family. I am putting myself in places where I don't have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I don't have much time to crash any more. I need that time. Sometimes when I get home by myself that's what I do. The first day I just stay in bed and don't move.
I'm not grieving less - just moving more. That first year I did almost nothing. I just wasn't capable. Now I am. But sometimes I still just don't care and it is difficult to motivate myself. That's why I make plans. I have to keep showing up so I don't become a hermit. Nothing wrong with being a hermit - but I think my husband would want me to be part of the world.
I'm finding grief overwhelming though. I have been meaning to write a blog post for a while and keep putting it off. I still post every day on my Facebook page Grief Speaks Out - but I don't respond very much to individual people. Grief is exhausting. I don't want to write a book about it and do workshops. I have read where people stop writing grief blogs saying they want to return to the land of the living. I'm not going to stop writing - my grief comes with me into the land of the living - but I have realized that I will write less often. I am sorry for that. I know people are helped by what I write. I just can't face it any more. It's like I want my grief to be a solitary thing for a while.
Maybe it's the holidays and my husband's birthday coming up. Grief, after more than five years, still makes me sad and irritable and confused. I don't want to go through this season again. Yet - I want to go through this season because of my granddaughter - who - can you believe it - will be three in December. I told her I was 63 - much older than her. She asked me, "Do you have to die?" I said yes - but hopefully not today. I told her that I will always come back and I will always love her but when I die I won't be able to come back on the train in my earth body any more.
So here I am - caught between two worlds. When my husband first died all I wanted was death. In spite of that - and because of him - I have made a life for myself. I want to die to be with him - but not today. Today I am supposed to be packing to go out of the country again.
I didn't want a life after he died - but I got help and showed up and did things for other people. I wound up with a life.
I'm still married. Someone wrote me to "help" me about someone she knew who was happily remarried. As if I didn't know. As if I live in a cave. She wanted me to have love in my life. I have a lot of love in my life. My husband isn't replaceable. She missed the most important thing about grief - the person we love is not replaceable. Even if I did change my mind and started dating - I would miss my husband. If your child dies and you have other children it doesn't matter. If your sibling dies and you have other siblings - it doesn't matter.
Most of the time I make friends with my grief these days. But...as you know from the last post - sometimes it all collapses again into the dark place. The place where everything seems impossible. Yet everything is still possible. Maybe I don't have to catch up with myself. My living self will go on if I let it - my grieving self will feel overwhelmed and sad and everything it feels. It will lag behind, resist going, and yet will come anyway.
I have to go and pack for a trip I don't want to go on - yet I know I will have a good time when I get there. It's who I am these days. I wish my husband was here to kiss me goodbye. I wish I could call him twice a day. I wish I could rush into his arms when I come home. I can't. He is on a trip where you do not need to pack - and I have to wait to join him. Maybe he is kissing me. Hugging me.
Sometimes I feel foolish lying in bed hugging the stuffed animal he gave me, wearing his jacket. But it's what I have left.
That's how it is these days...self pity - loneliness - then - gotta go. There's life to be lived. I want him to watch me and be proud.
That's what I'm thankful for this holiday season - all the wonderful moments of love and laughter. I don't have it now - but how lucky I was to have it at all. I am still grateful for the depth of grief that measure's the height of love. I asked people with all the pain they were in if they thought it was worth it - if they knew about the grief that was to come -would they do it all again. Everyone said yes.
So...here is my attempt - to make my husband's life more important than his death - to make loving him something motivates me instead of crushing me.
I wish for us all those moments of joy and even peace to balance all the pain and anguish. There are pinpricks of light even in the darkest abyss. May they shine brightly - because they are coming from those who have died who are trying to show us the way.
Take tender care of yourself. You deserve it. xo
That's what I mean by I can't catch up with myself. My life has gotten very busy lately. I am traveling again. I am spending time with my family. I am putting myself in places where I don't have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I don't have much time to crash any more. I need that time. Sometimes when I get home by myself that's what I do. The first day I just stay in bed and don't move.
I'm not grieving less - just moving more. That first year I did almost nothing. I just wasn't capable. Now I am. But sometimes I still just don't care and it is difficult to motivate myself. That's why I make plans. I have to keep showing up so I don't become a hermit. Nothing wrong with being a hermit - but I think my husband would want me to be part of the world.
I'm finding grief overwhelming though. I have been meaning to write a blog post for a while and keep putting it off. I still post every day on my Facebook page Grief Speaks Out - but I don't respond very much to individual people. Grief is exhausting. I don't want to write a book about it and do workshops. I have read where people stop writing grief blogs saying they want to return to the land of the living. I'm not going to stop writing - my grief comes with me into the land of the living - but I have realized that I will write less often. I am sorry for that. I know people are helped by what I write. I just can't face it any more. It's like I want my grief to be a solitary thing for a while.
Maybe it's the holidays and my husband's birthday coming up. Grief, after more than five years, still makes me sad and irritable and confused. I don't want to go through this season again. Yet - I want to go through this season because of my granddaughter - who - can you believe it - will be three in December. I told her I was 63 - much older than her. She asked me, "Do you have to die?" I said yes - but hopefully not today. I told her that I will always come back and I will always love her but when I die I won't be able to come back on the train in my earth body any more.
So here I am - caught between two worlds. When my husband first died all I wanted was death. In spite of that - and because of him - I have made a life for myself. I want to die to be with him - but not today. Today I am supposed to be packing to go out of the country again.
I didn't want a life after he died - but I got help and showed up and did things for other people. I wound up with a life.
I'm still married. Someone wrote me to "help" me about someone she knew who was happily remarried. As if I didn't know. As if I live in a cave. She wanted me to have love in my life. I have a lot of love in my life. My husband isn't replaceable. She missed the most important thing about grief - the person we love is not replaceable. Even if I did change my mind and started dating - I would miss my husband. If your child dies and you have other children it doesn't matter. If your sibling dies and you have other siblings - it doesn't matter.
Most of the time I make friends with my grief these days. But...as you know from the last post - sometimes it all collapses again into the dark place. The place where everything seems impossible. Yet everything is still possible. Maybe I don't have to catch up with myself. My living self will go on if I let it - my grieving self will feel overwhelmed and sad and everything it feels. It will lag behind, resist going, and yet will come anyway.
I have to go and pack for a trip I don't want to go on - yet I know I will have a good time when I get there. It's who I am these days. I wish my husband was here to kiss me goodbye. I wish I could call him twice a day. I wish I could rush into his arms when I come home. I can't. He is on a trip where you do not need to pack - and I have to wait to join him. Maybe he is kissing me. Hugging me.
Sometimes I feel foolish lying in bed hugging the stuffed animal he gave me, wearing his jacket. But it's what I have left.
That's how it is these days...self pity - loneliness - then - gotta go. There's life to be lived. I want him to watch me and be proud.
That's what I'm thankful for this holiday season - all the wonderful moments of love and laughter. I don't have it now - but how lucky I was to have it at all. I am still grateful for the depth of grief that measure's the height of love. I asked people with all the pain they were in if they thought it was worth it - if they knew about the grief that was to come -would they do it all again. Everyone said yes.
So...here is my attempt - to make my husband's life more important than his death - to make loving him something motivates me instead of crushing me.
I wish for us all those moments of joy and even peace to balance all the pain and anguish. There are pinpricks of light even in the darkest abyss. May they shine brightly - because they are coming from those who have died who are trying to show us the way.
Take tender care of yourself. You deserve it. xo
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Grief: Rambling Mind Still Broken Heart
I looked to see when I had last posted. Too long a time ago. For a many years after my husband died I stopped traveling. (I'm a little strange in that I don't consider going to London where I once lived or to my daughter's house outside of Boston as traveling.) I just came back from North Korea, am going to Scotland and then in November - Israel. Such an exciting life. I don't feel like I'm the one who is living it. Every morning I get up and try to make myself care about things. I feel overwhelmed. I feel sad. I have some good times but I am weighed down still. I am tired of feeling weighed down. I am not usually depressed. I hate the way if you are unhappy about something or you want to withdraw that you are labelled depressed. I just find my life exceedingly difficult without my husband (and sometimes I found it difficult with him!). I know I have a magical life and yes I am grateful for it but I still have a hard time caring about it.
I am depressed today because my daughter is doing what many daughters with daughters do - she is staking her claim to my granddaughter. By that I mean she thinks I should butt out and never have an opinion. She yells at me and says unkind things that aren't true. It doesn't matter what I do for her, what actions I take - she just doesn't feel like I love her. The thing is I can't handle it. I'm not going to never say anything as some people choose although I do keep my mouth closed often. I have a brilliant relationship with Gwendy blue eyes and I'm not going to let go of that - for her and for me. But I have no bounce back from personal attack. I have no husband to turn to. My friends support me but my heart just hurts.
I went into a store and I unfolded a sweater and apologized for not being to refold it properly. The woman said - but I bet you are good at other things. I said -Yes, I am. She said - That's why we all need each other. I smiled and thought - that's why I go out - that's why I show up - for moments like this.
I used to say to my husband, "This is too hard. I can't do it any more." Then he would hold me and I would feel better. He didn't care if I did a lot or a little. He just loved me. When I am wounded it is wrong to say I have no place to go. I have a lot of places to go - but I want him.
I read so many stories about people who survive so many deaths. I just have one to survive and here I am in my sixth year of grieving whining on a bad day. So many people have family members and friends be unkind to them when they most need support. Why is that? Is it smelling the blood of weakness that lets people go on attack?
I know this depression of today won't last. I have many good things in my life and I will connect with it again. My daughter and I are going to therapy. I am thinking about writing her a letter - maybe if I list actions I have taken I will be able to reach her and let her know I love her. The thing is - it didn't work when she was a child. She was an angry child. But she's 40 now and she's too old to be having temper tantrums at my expense. I know this is common. I don't care. Since my husband died I don't feel safe. I never feel safe.
I like to write blog posts with shape and reason and poetry. Maybe sometimes it is good to just ramble - to say I too have that black abyss I fall back into and have to scramble out again. My Facebook page Grief Speaks Out has almost 500,000 likes and I help a lot of people all around the world. They say I bring them comfort. I don't know how to find that comfort myself in healthy ways. I don't know how to care for me.
I care about my granddaughter - and I must care deeply about my daughter or her words wouldn't hurt me so much. I care about my friends. I care about people who are hurting. Maybe the person I can't seem to care much about is me. I'm feeling disconnected again. I said that I don't heal from grief - I'll heal when I die. That's a downer.
I'm going to get dressed and go out. I'm taking care of business. I have folks to hang out with before I leave on Monday. Maybe I'll cheer up. There's that part of me though that doesn't cheer up. I was watching a commercial. A grandmother that reminded me of myself was being driven around. They stopped and she and her granddaughter got out of the car near a tree. She said, "I met your grandpa for the first time under this tree." Her granddaughter hugged the tree. I started crying hysterically. It turned out it was a car commercial. I was crying at a stupid car commercial. It made me laugh. I don't feel like it is stepping backwards - it's just a grief day. I don't like feeling this way.
Someone said you can't dance with grief - you can't make it your friend - you can only drown in it. Even on a day like today I know that isn't true. Part of my climbing the ladder up is getting out of the house. Is taking to people. Is trying to look and sound like a person. The temptation is to say I am never happy. That's not true. Sometimes I am happy. When I am happy is when I best honor my husband.
Oh gee whiz - I looked up at the TV that was on mute. There is program about an old woman who is being scammed by some guy who is using her for her money. Someone she met on Christian Mingle of all places. Well, we know I won't be that woman. How can people be so cruel as to take advantage of lonely widows?
My tour guide in North Korea is a handsome young screenwriter named Gabriel. He gave me one of the best compliments I have ever had - he said, "When I grow up I want to be you." There's the split. There's the me that is funny and creative that many people enjoy and many find generous and comforting. Then there's the me that just is getting through each day with gritted teeth.
So today I give you no answers. Only feelings. What I know is that we share these feelings. For every falling down there is a getting up - for every being lost there is being found.
I hope today some of you are having a better day than I am. I hope later I am having a better day. Let's hold hands and hang on. There are so many - seen and unseen - who walk with us. xo
I am depressed today because my daughter is doing what many daughters with daughters do - she is staking her claim to my granddaughter. By that I mean she thinks I should butt out and never have an opinion. She yells at me and says unkind things that aren't true. It doesn't matter what I do for her, what actions I take - she just doesn't feel like I love her. The thing is I can't handle it. I'm not going to never say anything as some people choose although I do keep my mouth closed often. I have a brilliant relationship with Gwendy blue eyes and I'm not going to let go of that - for her and for me. But I have no bounce back from personal attack. I have no husband to turn to. My friends support me but my heart just hurts.
I went into a store and I unfolded a sweater and apologized for not being to refold it properly. The woman said - but I bet you are good at other things. I said -Yes, I am. She said - That's why we all need each other. I smiled and thought - that's why I go out - that's why I show up - for moments like this.
I used to say to my husband, "This is too hard. I can't do it any more." Then he would hold me and I would feel better. He didn't care if I did a lot or a little. He just loved me. When I am wounded it is wrong to say I have no place to go. I have a lot of places to go - but I want him.
I read so many stories about people who survive so many deaths. I just have one to survive and here I am in my sixth year of grieving whining on a bad day. So many people have family members and friends be unkind to them when they most need support. Why is that? Is it smelling the blood of weakness that lets people go on attack?
I know this depression of today won't last. I have many good things in my life and I will connect with it again. My daughter and I are going to therapy. I am thinking about writing her a letter - maybe if I list actions I have taken I will be able to reach her and let her know I love her. The thing is - it didn't work when she was a child. She was an angry child. But she's 40 now and she's too old to be having temper tantrums at my expense. I know this is common. I don't care. Since my husband died I don't feel safe. I never feel safe.
I like to write blog posts with shape and reason and poetry. Maybe sometimes it is good to just ramble - to say I too have that black abyss I fall back into and have to scramble out again. My Facebook page Grief Speaks Out has almost 500,000 likes and I help a lot of people all around the world. They say I bring them comfort. I don't know how to find that comfort myself in healthy ways. I don't know how to care for me.
I care about my granddaughter - and I must care deeply about my daughter or her words wouldn't hurt me so much. I care about my friends. I care about people who are hurting. Maybe the person I can't seem to care much about is me. I'm feeling disconnected again. I said that I don't heal from grief - I'll heal when I die. That's a downer.
I'm going to get dressed and go out. I'm taking care of business. I have folks to hang out with before I leave on Monday. Maybe I'll cheer up. There's that part of me though that doesn't cheer up. I was watching a commercial. A grandmother that reminded me of myself was being driven around. They stopped and she and her granddaughter got out of the car near a tree. She said, "I met your grandpa for the first time under this tree." Her granddaughter hugged the tree. I started crying hysterically. It turned out it was a car commercial. I was crying at a stupid car commercial. It made me laugh. I don't feel like it is stepping backwards - it's just a grief day. I don't like feeling this way.
Someone said you can't dance with grief - you can't make it your friend - you can only drown in it. Even on a day like today I know that isn't true. Part of my climbing the ladder up is getting out of the house. Is taking to people. Is trying to look and sound like a person. The temptation is to say I am never happy. That's not true. Sometimes I am happy. When I am happy is when I best honor my husband.
Oh gee whiz - I looked up at the TV that was on mute. There is program about an old woman who is being scammed by some guy who is using her for her money. Someone she met on Christian Mingle of all places. Well, we know I won't be that woman. How can people be so cruel as to take advantage of lonely widows?
My tour guide in North Korea is a handsome young screenwriter named Gabriel. He gave me one of the best compliments I have ever had - he said, "When I grow up I want to be you." There's the split. There's the me that is funny and creative that many people enjoy and many find generous and comforting. Then there's the me that just is getting through each day with gritted teeth.
So today I give you no answers. Only feelings. What I know is that we share these feelings. For every falling down there is a getting up - for every being lost there is being found.
I hope today some of you are having a better day than I am. I hope later I am having a better day. Let's hold hands and hang on. There are so many - seen and unseen - who walk with us. xo
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Grief: Am I Having Fun Yet?
I knew I was feeling overwhelmed and confused but I didn't realize it had been so long since I had written. I can't get in sync with my life. At the beginning I cried all the time and I spent hours in bed watching DVDs or just staring at the wall. Then I started doing a little more. I made myself go out with no expectation of feeling anything or being present. Then life crept back in and I started accomplishing more, having more happy moments. But I still took a lot of down time. Grief was a full time job for me. I needed to shut off from everything and numb myself out to go back into the world again and do things. My husband is dead. It hurts all the time. It just does.
Now I have created this very magical life. I have friends who are good and loving people. I have my blog and my Facebook page - Grief Speaks Out. I have several book ideas - one on grief of course - some children's stories - and maybe other writing. No - I haven't written a word. I have movies I am consulting on. I have started traveling again. I have the time I spend with my daughter and granddaughter. I am exhausted. I don't know how to function as a full time person. I never did, really. But my husband was there to hold me up when I fell down. He was there to tell me he loved me just the way I was. I could curl in his arms and feel safe and loved. I always write about him being with me in spirit - in every way he can - and I believe that. It doesn't stop me from feeling that I am doing this all alone.
It is my daughter's 40th birthday and she is having a grand party in California. My room is on the beach. There are 26 adults and 13 children. Everyone is having a great time. On one side of me is a couple I really like who have been married many years - on the other side is a couple I really like who met late in life and feel so grateful to have each other. Hello self pity!!
I thought about it last night. I have never been an overly social person. I remember one summer Artie and I rented a place on the beach. He met a couple who invited us over to their place. I asked him why he wanted to go. He was my person. He understood me. I went out in the world, I had friends, I travelled but Artie was my person. He was who I wanted to be with. He is who I want to be with. When I isolated myself I isolated myself with him. He knew me. He understood me. He got my bad jokes. Our love was forever - we used to say all the time - nobody leaves. He called it buying the whole package. Nothing either one of us could do would ever separate us. Then came cancer. He died. He left. He didn't want to but he was too sick to stay.
I so often stand outside of myself watching myself knowing I am having a really fun moment - a really beautiful moment - but I can't feel it. I'm there but not there. I'm smiling. I'm laughing. Sometimes when I go out, while I'm on my way I say to myself - Please let me look and sound like a person - as if a person is something I have forgotten how to be. There is a gap between how others see me and how I feel myself.
It's not true that I never have fun. My husband used to say that all we have are moments. I have a lot of fun moments. I have enjoyed some things very much on these special days. I am so proud of my daughter and the woman she has become. To see her surrounded by friends of all ages from all around the country makes my heart glad.
So why, this morning, am I sitting in my room - not even outside my room - by myself. Why do I want to cry? Why does the loneliness come up and strangle me? Why did I come in last night so early when everyone would have loved me to stay?
It's funny really. I was all settled in for the day - thinking I would hide out and read and catch up on things on the computer. My daughter just came by and said she wants me on the beach with them - she doesn't want me to wait until the barbecue at six. I said - give me an hour to get more social.
That's the thing isn't it. Life keeps calling. We are alive. When life calls what are we going to do...go back into our rooms and slam the door shut or go out to meet it?
My answer is still a bit of both. A lot more going out to meet it than at the beginning - but still too much slamming the door shut.
But the door won't stay shut.
The door keeps opening.
I think my husband is opening it. I think he is saying, "I am holding you. Go get 'em Panache." Or as my granddaughter says, "You can do it, Gammy."
That is my work, my challenge, every day. To take this enormous dark cloud of grief and put it to the side for enough time to be alive - to have fun - to be present for my life until it is time for me also not to be alive.
I still have my solitary hour. Then I will go out into the sunshine and try to feel my husband's smile shining all around me warming the coldness of my heart into one that can authentically laugh, love and have fun.
Wish me luck! xo
Now I have created this very magical life. I have friends who are good and loving people. I have my blog and my Facebook page - Grief Speaks Out. I have several book ideas - one on grief of course - some children's stories - and maybe other writing. No - I haven't written a word. I have movies I am consulting on. I have started traveling again. I have the time I spend with my daughter and granddaughter. I am exhausted. I don't know how to function as a full time person. I never did, really. But my husband was there to hold me up when I fell down. He was there to tell me he loved me just the way I was. I could curl in his arms and feel safe and loved. I always write about him being with me in spirit - in every way he can - and I believe that. It doesn't stop me from feeling that I am doing this all alone.
It is my daughter's 40th birthday and she is having a grand party in California. My room is on the beach. There are 26 adults and 13 children. Everyone is having a great time. On one side of me is a couple I really like who have been married many years - on the other side is a couple I really like who met late in life and feel so grateful to have each other. Hello self pity!!
I thought about it last night. I have never been an overly social person. I remember one summer Artie and I rented a place on the beach. He met a couple who invited us over to their place. I asked him why he wanted to go. He was my person. He understood me. I went out in the world, I had friends, I travelled but Artie was my person. He was who I wanted to be with. He is who I want to be with. When I isolated myself I isolated myself with him. He knew me. He understood me. He got my bad jokes. Our love was forever - we used to say all the time - nobody leaves. He called it buying the whole package. Nothing either one of us could do would ever separate us. Then came cancer. He died. He left. He didn't want to but he was too sick to stay.
I so often stand outside of myself watching myself knowing I am having a really fun moment - a really beautiful moment - but I can't feel it. I'm there but not there. I'm smiling. I'm laughing. Sometimes when I go out, while I'm on my way I say to myself - Please let me look and sound like a person - as if a person is something I have forgotten how to be. There is a gap between how others see me and how I feel myself.
It's not true that I never have fun. My husband used to say that all we have are moments. I have a lot of fun moments. I have enjoyed some things very much on these special days. I am so proud of my daughter and the woman she has become. To see her surrounded by friends of all ages from all around the country makes my heart glad.
So why, this morning, am I sitting in my room - not even outside my room - by myself. Why do I want to cry? Why does the loneliness come up and strangle me? Why did I come in last night so early when everyone would have loved me to stay?
It's funny really. I was all settled in for the day - thinking I would hide out and read and catch up on things on the computer. My daughter just came by and said she wants me on the beach with them - she doesn't want me to wait until the barbecue at six. I said - give me an hour to get more social.
That's the thing isn't it. Life keeps calling. We are alive. When life calls what are we going to do...go back into our rooms and slam the door shut or go out to meet it?
My answer is still a bit of both. A lot more going out to meet it than at the beginning - but still too much slamming the door shut.
But the door won't stay shut.
The door keeps opening.
I think my husband is opening it. I think he is saying, "I am holding you. Go get 'em Panache." Or as my granddaughter says, "You can do it, Gammy."
That is my work, my challenge, every day. To take this enormous dark cloud of grief and put it to the side for enough time to be alive - to have fun - to be present for my life until it is time for me also not to be alive.
I still have my solitary hour. Then I will go out into the sunshine and try to feel my husband's smile shining all around me warming the coldness of my heart into one that can authentically laugh, love and have fun.
Wish me luck! xo
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Grief: Still Trying To Figure It Out After Almost Five Years
Five years? How can my husband be dead for five years on July 17th? How is that possible? How is it possible I survived, some may argue even thrived? Every day I still cry "Come back. Please come back. I know you can't, but please come back." Some days I do say it out loud. Some days I do cry or get angry. Even when I don't think it at all it feels like I still cry it out somewhere in my psyche.
I remember those first days and nights. I would cry and reach my arm to the ceiling as if by doing so my husband would grab on to it and pull me up. I got my images mixed up and pictured him with angel wings gathering me into a swan boat kind of flying thing. Then I had to laugh because I realized I was on the 2nd floor of an apartment building. I pictured him with his feathers in his feathered air boat saying as he came down through all the ceilings and floors, "Excuse me. Don't pay any attention to me...I'm just going to get my wife."
I even went and sat on the bench in Central Park with the plaque I bought that says "Artie and Jan Warner, Mr. Dazzle and Mrs. Panache, I love you. You're my heart. Always". I thought. You can get me from here. No ceilings, no floors, just take me straight up. I knew by then he wouldn't.
I thought of going to him. I was his wife - right? So suicide was my obligation. When he was alive we used to joke about my throwing myself on his funeral pyre. I researched suicide for three months. Really researched it. I could't give my family and friends the grief and pain I was feeling. In my fantasy they would let me go - but I knew in real life they would be beyond hurt and lost. Especially my daughter.
So - what was I going to to do with this tattered thing I never really wanted? My life. It took me 10 years to become Mrs. Artie Warner, Mrs. Boss. The people he sponsored in AA in Phoenix called him Boss - so I was Mrs. Boss. Alcoholics Anonymous. It was the center of his life. I would make myself available to other grieving people the way he was always available to other alcoholics and addicts. I would make sure to tell his story; our story. Always. I wouldn't be a waste of space (i never was - but that was how I felt) if I was helping others. I sent my first blog post into cyberspace not knowing if anyone would every read it. I had no idea we would become an international love story.
My Facebook page was a year old on July 10th. My husband's life by touching mine, my life by wanting to do something to honor him means that I, a very ordinary - definitely flawed human being - have been able to reach many people who have in turn reached out to many other people. At the time I write this: the blog Stop Thief Don't Steal My Grief gets over 4,000 hits a month - the Facebook page Grief Speaks Out reaches sometimes two million people from all over the world a week. I am astonished. I exchange messages with a12 year old girl in Pakistan - woman in Bosnia, a man in Namibia. At a Buddhist retreat posting with a Buddhist man in Nepal. All I am doing is saying My husband died and this is what I feel. It turns out that people who have any kind of grief at all need to hear and say that. If it has been a month or 40 years we all need to say - I love my beloved dead. I miss then every day. It never stops hurting. We can support each other simply by listening. I thought when I finally got the courage to share my biggest craziest secret that my husband's ashes are in their original sealed plastic bag in a big decorative pillow on my bed so I still sleep with what I have left of him - that everyone would laugh and run away. Instead I found out that a lot of people sleep with the ashes of the person they love either on their bed or near them
Nothing you do - nothing I do - is crazy. If we are not hurting ourselves or others - it is all a normal part of grieving. The question is - do the actions we take - does what we feel serve us? Does it serve me? Is what I think and feel and how I act something that makes my husband proud? I'm good at falling down - have I also gotten good at standing up?
I am at a retreat. The space that not talking made in my brain when the teacher asked us to look backward - not into our past - but into ourselves - to look into the looker - see into the see-er let a totally new thought come in. This is me, "Hello. I'm Jan. My husband's dead." That's how I identify myself. Usually within the first 10 minutes of meeting someone. With friends - by always talking about him and us. That's a good thing.
Is it a good thing? Why do I not say, "Hi. I'm Jan. I am a writer and and producer and creative consultant on documentaries."? Why do I not say, "Hi. I'm Jan. I'm Erin's mom and this amazing two year old Gwendy blue eyes' grandmother."? That question. Who am I? I am a person who grieves her husband. Yes. I am a person who grieves her husband but who else am I? There are a lot of answers to who else am I?
My husband and I had/have a deep love. We also fought a lot and I felt lonely when I was married. Towards the end I was sad and frustrated. Then I knew he was very ill and his doctor said I was wrong. In Carl Bergstrom's office I was literally screaming at Carl that Artie needed to be in the hospital. Carl looked at Artie; not at me and said, "Don't l listen to her. She's hysterical." I went to NYC and said I wasn't coming home until he went to the emergency room. I had learned during our 23 years how to out negotiate my negotiator. I believed Carl enough that I thought when Artie got to the hospital they would fix him up and he would be fine. He had stage 4 cancer that was in almost every organ. His blood pressure was low (Carl told him to drink Gatorade) not because he needed more fluids but because he was bleeding internally. He was hallucinating not because he was taking too much valium (he was taking it to try to cope with the pain) but because he had tumors in his brain. He died only six weeks after he was correctly diagnosed. Yet - it was a loving dying time. People visiting. Jazz always playing. He told me he was sorry for all the ways in which he had failed me. I said I was too and in that moment all the anger and sadness fell away so that deep and pure love could re-emerge. We held hands and listened to music and talked of many things. We were like teenagers in the midst of first love. I watchedl husband finally understand that he was loved and that he had done good in this world. Those were lovely moments.
Then he was dead and I was saying goodbye to his body before they took it away.
Hello. I'm Jan. My husband's dead. He's dying right now. He died almost five years ago but it feels like it's happening right now and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
But I didn't die. I used to say - and still do sometimes by mistake - We died instead of He died. But I didn't die. People say all the time - I can't breathe. But I am breathing. Is it time to acknowledge what he has known and I haven't seen - there is a Jan without Artie? He is always with me - but I am alone without him. I have down dark days. I collapse sometimes - but I have created a rather magical life for myself.
When I described what I do with the blog and the FB page - Grief Speaks Out - the teacher at the retreat said I do heavy lifting. I have never thought of it that way. I am here with two dear women friends. A lot of my friends I have made since he died. I live a life of service in his honor. I have a lot of fun with different people. I have a granddaughter who says we hold each other up. When my daughter yelled at me - my granddaughter ran after her saying - "Don't yell at my Gammy. It's not nice to yell at my Gammy." She says sometimes, "I love you my Gammy Gammy." What could be sweeter than that?
Having my husband back would be sweeter. Five years and I still can't believe that face I'm looking at on the pictures on my bed in this smallish dormitory room doesn't exist - hasn't existed for five years. That voice on the recordings - it's gone. They are gone forever. When I die my physical self will be gone too. Will we get to be together? I hope so. I believe in it because it keeps me able to function - believing that even though he died almost five years ago - our journey has continued - will continue for eternity.
The universe has pushed the pause button. I keep hitting play and it won't play. I am in love with a dead guy. i wear his wedding ring with mine because he has no finger to put his on. Do I continue to choose loneliness for myself or do I look for a live guy? I have the love of family and friends. Is that enough? Am I supposed to be faithful until I die or do I get new arms to cuddle up with? Is looking for new arms to hold me a betrayal? I don't know. I know many widows who have found new arms even though they love and miss their husbands who died.
I just have this seed of a new idea. I can be Jan. Not Jan and Artie. Not Mrs. Artie, Mrs. Boss. I am uncomfortable even writing it. My chest hurts. Yet...it is possible that this is my next step. Letting the interdependence (not co-dependence) not even go - I can't picture that without falling down on the floor and staying there for a long while -but letting the interdependence fall away to another level. Hi. I'm Jan. A whole conversation without mentioning my husband. It seems harder than climbing Mt. Everest.
I have no desire to climb Mt. Everest but maybe the me that is inside me want to come out as her own person. Hi. I'm Jan. Who are you - each of you - if you identify yourself without talking or thinking about your beloved dead - even for only five minutes? Yes you are grieving. But...who else are you? What happens if you let your name stand alone?
I wonder. I'm Jan. Who are you? With love. xo
I remember those first days and nights. I would cry and reach my arm to the ceiling as if by doing so my husband would grab on to it and pull me up. I got my images mixed up and pictured him with angel wings gathering me into a swan boat kind of flying thing. Then I had to laugh because I realized I was on the 2nd floor of an apartment building. I pictured him with his feathers in his feathered air boat saying as he came down through all the ceilings and floors, "Excuse me. Don't pay any attention to me...I'm just going to get my wife."
I even went and sat on the bench in Central Park with the plaque I bought that says "Artie and Jan Warner, Mr. Dazzle and Mrs. Panache, I love you. You're my heart. Always". I thought. You can get me from here. No ceilings, no floors, just take me straight up. I knew by then he wouldn't.
I thought of going to him. I was his wife - right? So suicide was my obligation. When he was alive we used to joke about my throwing myself on his funeral pyre. I researched suicide for three months. Really researched it. I could't give my family and friends the grief and pain I was feeling. In my fantasy they would let me go - but I knew in real life they would be beyond hurt and lost. Especially my daughter.
So - what was I going to to do with this tattered thing I never really wanted? My life. It took me 10 years to become Mrs. Artie Warner, Mrs. Boss. The people he sponsored in AA in Phoenix called him Boss - so I was Mrs. Boss. Alcoholics Anonymous. It was the center of his life. I would make myself available to other grieving people the way he was always available to other alcoholics and addicts. I would make sure to tell his story; our story. Always. I wouldn't be a waste of space (i never was - but that was how I felt) if I was helping others. I sent my first blog post into cyberspace not knowing if anyone would every read it. I had no idea we would become an international love story.
My Facebook page was a year old on July 10th. My husband's life by touching mine, my life by wanting to do something to honor him means that I, a very ordinary - definitely flawed human being - have been able to reach many people who have in turn reached out to many other people. At the time I write this: the blog Stop Thief Don't Steal My Grief gets over 4,000 hits a month - the Facebook page Grief Speaks Out reaches sometimes two million people from all over the world a week. I am astonished. I exchange messages with a12 year old girl in Pakistan - woman in Bosnia, a man in Namibia. At a Buddhist retreat posting with a Buddhist man in Nepal. All I am doing is saying My husband died and this is what I feel. It turns out that people who have any kind of grief at all need to hear and say that. If it has been a month or 40 years we all need to say - I love my beloved dead. I miss then every day. It never stops hurting. We can support each other simply by listening. I thought when I finally got the courage to share my biggest craziest secret that my husband's ashes are in their original sealed plastic bag in a big decorative pillow on my bed so I still sleep with what I have left of him - that everyone would laugh and run away. Instead I found out that a lot of people sleep with the ashes of the person they love either on their bed or near them
Nothing you do - nothing I do - is crazy. If we are not hurting ourselves or others - it is all a normal part of grieving. The question is - do the actions we take - does what we feel serve us? Does it serve me? Is what I think and feel and how I act something that makes my husband proud? I'm good at falling down - have I also gotten good at standing up?
I am at a retreat. The space that not talking made in my brain when the teacher asked us to look backward - not into our past - but into ourselves - to look into the looker - see into the see-er let a totally new thought come in. This is me, "Hello. I'm Jan. My husband's dead." That's how I identify myself. Usually within the first 10 minutes of meeting someone. With friends - by always talking about him and us. That's a good thing.
Is it a good thing? Why do I not say, "Hi. I'm Jan. I am a writer and and producer and creative consultant on documentaries."? Why do I not say, "Hi. I'm Jan. I'm Erin's mom and this amazing two year old Gwendy blue eyes' grandmother."? That question. Who am I? I am a person who grieves her husband. Yes. I am a person who grieves her husband but who else am I? There are a lot of answers to who else am I?
My husband and I had/have a deep love. We also fought a lot and I felt lonely when I was married. Towards the end I was sad and frustrated. Then I knew he was very ill and his doctor said I was wrong. In Carl Bergstrom's office I was literally screaming at Carl that Artie needed to be in the hospital. Carl looked at Artie; not at me and said, "Don't l listen to her. She's hysterical." I went to NYC and said I wasn't coming home until he went to the emergency room. I had learned during our 23 years how to out negotiate my negotiator. I believed Carl enough that I thought when Artie got to the hospital they would fix him up and he would be fine. He had stage 4 cancer that was in almost every organ. His blood pressure was low (Carl told him to drink Gatorade) not because he needed more fluids but because he was bleeding internally. He was hallucinating not because he was taking too much valium (he was taking it to try to cope with the pain) but because he had tumors in his brain. He died only six weeks after he was correctly diagnosed. Yet - it was a loving dying time. People visiting. Jazz always playing. He told me he was sorry for all the ways in which he had failed me. I said I was too and in that moment all the anger and sadness fell away so that deep and pure love could re-emerge. We held hands and listened to music and talked of many things. We were like teenagers in the midst of first love. I watchedl husband finally understand that he was loved and that he had done good in this world. Those were lovely moments.
Then he was dead and I was saying goodbye to his body before they took it away.
Hello. I'm Jan. My husband's dead. He's dying right now. He died almost five years ago but it feels like it's happening right now and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
But I didn't die. I used to say - and still do sometimes by mistake - We died instead of He died. But I didn't die. People say all the time - I can't breathe. But I am breathing. Is it time to acknowledge what he has known and I haven't seen - there is a Jan without Artie? He is always with me - but I am alone without him. I have down dark days. I collapse sometimes - but I have created a rather magical life for myself.
When I described what I do with the blog and the FB page - Grief Speaks Out - the teacher at the retreat said I do heavy lifting. I have never thought of it that way. I am here with two dear women friends. A lot of my friends I have made since he died. I live a life of service in his honor. I have a lot of fun with different people. I have a granddaughter who says we hold each other up. When my daughter yelled at me - my granddaughter ran after her saying - "Don't yell at my Gammy. It's not nice to yell at my Gammy." She says sometimes, "I love you my Gammy Gammy." What could be sweeter than that?
Having my husband back would be sweeter. Five years and I still can't believe that face I'm looking at on the pictures on my bed in this smallish dormitory room doesn't exist - hasn't existed for five years. That voice on the recordings - it's gone. They are gone forever. When I die my physical self will be gone too. Will we get to be together? I hope so. I believe in it because it keeps me able to function - believing that even though he died almost five years ago - our journey has continued - will continue for eternity.
The universe has pushed the pause button. I keep hitting play and it won't play. I am in love with a dead guy. i wear his wedding ring with mine because he has no finger to put his on. Do I continue to choose loneliness for myself or do I look for a live guy? I have the love of family and friends. Is that enough? Am I supposed to be faithful until I die or do I get new arms to cuddle up with? Is looking for new arms to hold me a betrayal? I don't know. I know many widows who have found new arms even though they love and miss their husbands who died.
I just have this seed of a new idea. I can be Jan. Not Jan and Artie. Not Mrs. Artie, Mrs. Boss. I am uncomfortable even writing it. My chest hurts. Yet...it is possible that this is my next step. Letting the interdependence (not co-dependence) not even go - I can't picture that without falling down on the floor and staying there for a long while -but letting the interdependence fall away to another level. Hi. I'm Jan. A whole conversation without mentioning my husband. It seems harder than climbing Mt. Everest.
I have no desire to climb Mt. Everest but maybe the me that is inside me want to come out as her own person. Hi. I'm Jan. Who are you - each of you - if you identify yourself without talking or thinking about your beloved dead - even for only five minutes? Yes you are grieving. But...who else are you? What happens if you let your name stand alone?
I wonder. I'm Jan. Who are you? With love. xo
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