A celebration alone

Today is a happy day but it would have been happier if John were physically here.

John was always my biggest cheerleader. 

He was proud of me when I sometimes had trouble being proud of myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I published my first book, I don't know who was more excited to open the box of books - me or him. 

Well, today, my book #4 is published. It's dedicated to John. All of my books are. 

But I sure wish he was here to give me a hug and a kiss. 

That would have made today perfect.

But I know he is with me. 

So, I will go forth. I will have that glass of bubbly to celebrate and know that he is smiling.

 

And in my heart I know that he is saying the words he always said - "I'm so proud of you." ♥

 

Say their name

It has been said that people love to hear the sound of their name.

I think for those of us who have lost someone we love, the sound of our beloved's name is even more precious to our ears.

After John died, I had the need to keep his memory alive. I needed to keep him real and present in my life. The first thing I did was print out pictures from our life together and hang those memories on the walls of our home. I made our hallway into a family memory gallery filled with happy photos of our life - our pets, our relatives, but mostly, pictures of John  - vacation shots, baby pictures his mother had saved, candid photos I loved. 

I remember a friend who I had not seen in quite a while visited me a few months after John's death. Her comment to me was "Don't you think you have too many photos of John hanging around the house?"

My first response was to ask her where her husband was at the time. As it was, he was in the next room. Alive and happy. Secondly, it was my house. Thirdly, we are no longer friends. That comment is not the only reason our friendship ended. It was on life support anyway but her inability to empathize and her completely heartless comment showed me we really had nothing in common anymore.

The other thing that became important to me after John died was finding ways to keep his memory current in my life. To continue to keep him in my present, not just in my past. And the way I did that was to say his name. To talk about him - telling stories of our life together, talking about how he continued to show up in my life by signs he gave me, saying his name with love, not sadness. It took time. There were tears in the beginning. And I am sure that it made some people uncomfortable. But I was lucky to have those around me who understood. Sometimes, our friends fear to mention the deceased person's name because they think it will make us sad. What are they afraid of? That it will remind us our loved one has died? We know. We will never forget that. What we fear is that their memory will die, too.

It is up to us to teach others that we can celebrate the life of someone who we love who has died. We can say their name. Tell their stories. Share what matters and smile. And being sad is okay too. It's life. All of it. The good, the sad, the hurt, the joyful.

Say their name. Love their life. Rejoice in what we have been blessed to have.

Namaste.

Loss is loss is loss

I read an article last week that spoke about the grief associated with the slow loss of a loved one to long illness. While I have never experienced that personally, I could definitely grasp the import of what she was saying until she said this (paraphrased) - she envied her widowed friend. Her husband’s death was final. The author, on the other hand, lived in uncertainty. That's when she lost me and my feelings of sympathy for her evaporated. That one sentiment got my hackles up. 

Somehow, she felt her situation was worse. Yes, her situation is hard and terrible and heart-breaking. I totally agree. But don't make blanket statements about other people's feelings like that. That brought up other things that have been said to me and other widowed friends.

I don't think there is any one of us who has lost a loved one and not heard either "I understand how you feel because I..." or "At least you..."
Every loss is different. No matter the similarities no one can say they truly understand what another is going through. 
The loss of my husband is not the same as the loss of your husband. 
The death of your child is not the same as the death of your friend's child.
Watching a loved one suffer years or months of illness and then dying is not worse than or better than losing a loved one suddenly and unexpectedly.
Watching a loved one deteriorate  and seeing the relationship change because of chronic illness or dementia is not better or worse than losing that loved one to death.

Grief is not a contest. 

There is no easier or harder grief. 
Our own personal grief is the worst grief there is.
That’s why platitudes and some of the pat phrases and ideas some people expound irritate me so much. We can offer support, explain what has helped us, what might work. But we can never say we fully understand what that person is going through. Grief is based on relationship and no two relationships are alike.
Ever.
Everyone grieves and mourns in their own way. If you loved, you grieve when you lose that person no matter how that loss manifests. 
And this warning applies to those who purport to make our journey easier by latching on to the spiritual and metaphysical as if that is the answer too.
Don't get me wrong. I am a firm believer in the afterlife and all that entails. Everyone who knows me at all knows that. I even wrote a book about it.
No, my beef is with those who try to sell the spiritual connection we can have with our loved ones as being the antidote to grief. Or better yet, try to sell that new - now spiritual - relationship as being "better than" the earthly one. That is like comparing the proverbial apples and oranges. I think to push that thinking is harmful. Negating someone's grief like that is very hurtful to the one who is sad and mourning.
I don't care how many "visits" you have or messages that you get, it's not "better than it ever was". I would give anything to have John walk through the door again and hug the heck out of him. 
But I am comforted by the messages I get from him and the communication that I feel I do receive. 
It helps me in this life until I am reunited with him in the next.
But I would never say that what we have now is better. It just is.
So, the next time you are tempted to help someone who is in the throes of grief by saying you understand or you know how to make this journey better, just stop for a moment. Swallow those words.
Instead, offer a hand. Offer your time. Let that person know you are there to just be, if that is all that is needed.
Mention the loved one's name. 
Cry. 
Hug. 
Your presence and love will help more than you can know.
Namaste.

All the many many losses

This blog post by John Pavlovitz - The grief we postponed -  is so true. 

There is so much that we have all experienced that just got swept up in the umbrella of "pandemic". But each instance deserves its own funeral.

I lost my mother but could not go to her funeral.

John's 10 year anniversary of his passing was last year and I had planned a once-in-a-lifetime trip to commemorate it but that was canceled and can never be regained. His 10 year anniversary will never come again. I had to mark it alone.

Sadly, I learned some things about friends and family that I didn't know they harbored in their minds and hearts and I may never look at them the same way gain.

The isolation was something that I feared would break me but with the comfort and care of friends and therapists I got through it. But I never want to go through that again.

I know each of us have our own stories.

We deserve to give ourselves permission to mourn each of those events.

 

11 years today

 

                                                           Always in my heart. ♥ Love never dies.                                                             

 

 

 

 

 

May 23, 2010