Grief can be a gift

I know - I hear you. You are screaming at me that I am crazy. Grief is NOT a gift. It's a hard cruel trick life has played on us. The life we expected is gone forever and nothing will be all right ever again.

But bear with me for a moment.

I said grief can be a gift. And it can. And I acknowledge that that is only one small part of grief. Most of grief is messy and stomach churning and exhausting and so very very hard. But there is a small aspect of grief that can be a gift and that happens slowly and only when we are in the healing stage, that stage when we are able to see outside of the well of grief that we are in.

It happens very subtly. 

One day you notice that you still love your loved one so very much - maybe even more than ever - and it makes you feel happy - happy that you had a life with them, grateful for their love, grateful for the wonderful memories. They still live in your heart and your memories. That is a gift.

You may find yourself opening up more to the world around you, letting people in, treasuring friends who have stood by you. I have never been one to show my emotions but now I am more open to my feelings and I share those feelings with close friends - and you. That is a gift.

John was an inspiration to me and still is. He was a loving, generous man, able to forgive those who hurt him - and there were some who hurt him a lot. I am trying to emulate those qualities because I am just beginning to be able to do that. That is a gift.

I have learned that life is precious and nothing is promised. I am learning to enjoy what is in front of me instead of pining for what could be or something I wish for in the future. I stop and appreciate a sunrise, a hummingbird floating in front of me, coffee with a friend, a silly antic from my dog or one of my cats. That is a gift.

I have always tended to catastrophize. Having experienced the big thing of grief, I now don't sweat the small things so much. I am more willing to let things go - a perceived slight, feeling frustrated about how a certain situation "should" be, life not going my way. I don't have to have all the answers. I don't have to fix every circumstance. The Beatles' song "Let It Be" is my new mantra. That is a gift.

I bet you can find gifts too if you think about it. They don't have to be huge. That's the beauty of a gift.  In fact just the act of thinking gifts from grief are possible is a gift.

Namaste.

New Year, new strategy

As a nurse, I have often encountered death.  It was always tough, even when the death was expected. As a medical person, we often strive to fight death. We tend to see it as the enemy to be conquered.
I don't do well with unexpected outcomes and for that reason steered clear of working in the Emergency Room where, by definition, you never knew what could come rolling through the door.
The ICU was also on my Never list because those patients were gravely ill and their condition could turn sour in a heartbeat.
But my husband thrived in that environment and he loved his time working night shift in the ICU.
But then there would be nights when chaos reigned. Sometimes, it seemed to be contagious and before the night was over, several people may have gone on to Heavenly Home.
John referred to those nights as the times when Jesus was making rounds.
Maybe it's just me but it seems Jesus has been making rounds in the celebrity world lately.
Was it just my perception because the majority seemed to be my peers in age?
So, I checked some statistics.
Did you know that, on average, across the world 6,316 people die each hour?
Each. Hour.
We never hear about 99.99% of them but they are important to those who loved them.
They leave behind a hole where once their presence was felt.
Spouse or sibling, parent or friend. Even our pets are missed and mourned.
So, then my mind went further down this rabbit hole.
What if each of those people had a chance to not die? What would they have done?
Or not done?
To put it more personally, what if right now, this very minute you or I were faced with this choice?
Stay or go?
What would you do?
And if you stayed, would you do anything differently?

I devoted a whole chapter in my book to the "gifts of grief" and while that may seem like an odd thing, it really isn't. Grief allows us to see things in a new way. For me, it has meant evaluating how I deal with my immediate world. 

I am trying to no longer get wrapped up worrying about small stuff and holding on to things that no longer serve me. I’m not saying this is easy. Believe me, if there was a prize for worry, I win.

All the time. 

Don't even bother to apply.
And I ruminate which is a perfect way to waste energy.
So, my goal is to let go of things that don't matter in the long run and speak out and up and fix what I can - and then move forward.

Changing my ways will take work. But the result will be so freeing. I imagine this is how our loved ones feel on the Other Side. They can see things from a perspective that we don’t have - yet. 

But that doesn’t mean that we can’t try.

So that is part of my resolution for this new year.

Letting go of stuff - emotional and real. Because my garage and closets really need to be cleaned out too. Holding on to physical things that we no longer need is another form of useless baggage that saps our soul.

Maybe you also have some baggage you can get rid of.

Hey, it's worth a try.

Namaste. 

 

More pictures

I am still digitizing pictures of John from all the rolls I have, wishing I had taken more pictures of John and less of scenery and pets. But I am happy I have what I have. I dread the day when I reach the end of the pictures that I have.
These are pictures of John selling stuff at a local fair. He called his wares "Johnny Mart".

Happy Veteran's Day, Sweetheart

Through the power of Facebook, John had found an old girlfriend about a year before he passed.  They had been High School sweethearts and had dated for a while after she went away to college and John had gone on to join the Air Force. They had been happy to reconnect and catch up. And I thought it was great.
Anyway, after John passed, Annette friended me and we have kept in touch ever since. It has been comforting to have someone who cared for John still remember him fondly. She also sent me some pictures she had of John from back then which made me so happy.
In honor of Veteran's Day, I post them here. Thank you for your service, Baby, and thank you Annette for being such a good friend.

38 years ago

38 years ago today I met John for the first time - November 9, 1976. I had just started a new job. I was to be one of the two nurses who worked at a day treatment center for emotionally disturbed children. John was one of the therapists. This particular day I was shadowing the woman I was replacing. It was a Tuesday and we were attending the general staff meeting in the Administration Building. I even remember the dress I wore. I was nervous meeting everyone. I remember some of the people there. I remember where I sat.
And I remember John. Years later he told me he remembered that day too.
I was 28 years old. I had long wavy thick brown hair back then, past my shoulder blades. I wore a red and gray herringbone striped dress that buttoned down the front. John sat behind me against the wall with a window behind him. He was next to a friend of his and he told me that he turned to his friend when I walked in and asked "Who's the girl with the hair?"
We became friends soon after and I knew there was a mutual attraction from the very beginning. Our souls knew we had finally found each other again.
38 years - what an adventure we have had, John. And we still continue to have.
I had fun on the astral plane last night and spent time with my Love. I remember the last scene especially. I was turning the corner, walking home and I came to our house, the house we have now. At first I thought there was snow on the trees and then I looked closer and everything was coming into bloom. There were pink flowers everywhere. There was a dogwood tree out front and rhododendron bushes - all turning pink with flowers. There were even flower petals all over the ground. I felt so happy. It was beautiful. The front door was open and I could see into the kitchen but I couldn't see John and I wondered where he was.
Then I looked toward the yard and I could see the top of his head just over the block wall. He looked up when he heard me approach and he smiled that smile that I know so well. I waved. I was so happy to see him. He laughed as if he had something good to tell me and motioned for me to come into the house and then he started to go in. I moved toward the front door and that's when I woke up and realized John is still not here with me. And I felt so sad.
It is never easy but I know there are gifts that John's passing has given me. I am a different person now and but for John's passing I wouldn't be who I am now and I know in my heart I am a better person because he was here and because he is no longer here.
And I am grateful for that.
But oh how I wish things were different. To see that smile again on this earth - that would be heaven right here.

A simple love

John and I had a wonderful, simple love. I will be able to look back and never regret. I have wonderful memories of sitting on the front porch swing with John, talking and laughing. Walking, holding hands. Planning. Remembering.
Thank you, my Sweetheart.

"Simple Love"

Little yellow house sittin' on a hill
That is where he lived
That is where he died
Every Sunday morning
Hear the weeping willows cry

Two children born
A beautiful wife
Four walls and livin's all he needed in life
Always giving, never asking back
I wish I had a simple love like that

I want a simple love like that
Always giving, never askin' back
For when I'm in my final hour lookin' back
I hope I had a simple love like that

My momma was his only little girl
If he'd had the money he'd have given her the world
Sittin' on the front porch together they would sing
Oh how I long to hear that harmony

I want a simple love like that
Always giving never asking back
When I'm in my final hour looking back
I hope I had a simple love like that

I want a simple love like that
Always giving never asking back
When I'm in my final hour looking back
I hope I had a simple love like that 

Grief surge

I was searching in the glove compartment of my car this morning and came across John's hairbrush. It was the one he used to keep in the console between the front seats in his car and after I donated his car I kept that momento in my car so that I would always have something of him with me. I had forgotten it was there and seeing it just grabbed me.
I took it out and held it. I looked it over very carefully. I could see hairs still imbedded in the bristles. Red hair. His hair. Reminders that he existed. That he held this brush that I now held. That it was close to him. That it touched him as I now touched it.
Words can't describe how I felt, what it meant to hold such an intimate possession of his.
And yes, I cried. It made me sad. Missing and mourning John is going to be a lifelong process. I know that. I accept that. It is never going to be okay.
I am able to go about my business. I accomplish things. I function.
But it will never be the same as it was. There will never be a person who holds me in his heart all day long the way John did. I will never mean to anyone else what I meant to him.
And I don't mean I want someone else. I don't.
John was Home to me, my constant in life. I carried his love and care in my heart with me no matter where I went and what I did. There was the constant comfort knowing he was alive in my world even when we were apart.
And now that is no more.
I know John is still with me. He has sent me signs just this week, just yesterday and I cherish those.
But it is not the same and I miss what we had.
My only comfort is knowing I will be with him again and then all this sadness will be over.

A new type of support group

A friend of mine whom I only know through the Internet and our sharing of our grief just posted a blog entry that touched me to my core. Apparently, someone she knows [I hesitate to call her a friend for a true friend would not have said what she said] told her that she had been grieving long enough, that it was time to "drop the grief banner" and get on with her life.
I am almost speechless to know that there are people in the world who are that callous and cold.
How can anyone think that they have the key to grieving and its appropriate time frame? Especially for another.
How dare this person assume they know what is the limit of anyone's grieving.
On some level, the worst part of grief comes not at the time of loss but at the time that the realization hits the heart - the person we love is gone from us, at least in this world, and we will not see them again in body ever again.
I am just beginning to be at that point now. How does one come to terms with that? I don't know. On some level, I know my heart felt that this was a temporary thing - that I would go through the motions of whatever it was I was supposed to go through and then miraculously John would come home, walk through the door as he always did with that wonderful smile I love and all would go back to being as it should be.
But that's not going to happen and the thought of that sends me to my knees.
But it's time to "drop the grief banner"? How dare she! Is my friend's grief too inconvenient for her? This person has obviously never lost someone dear to her. Or maybe she is incapable of even feeling those kinds of feelings. People like her make me very angry.
I [and my friend] are exactly where we need to be in our grief right now. There is no right or wrong. Grief just is. Who is anyone to say what is the correct time frame. If it takes us the rest of our lives to carry the grief banner, so be it.
Maybe there should be a support group for people who know people who are grieving. So they can learn how to not be so insensitive.