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Oh Robbie, I am so sorry to hear about your losses. I truly can't imagine. I don't even know what to say -- except we're here.

A good friend of mine sent me this yesterday -- she is planning a memorial service for a friend of hers, and this is a poem they are reading. I liked it and thought I'd share it here. Gone? I am standing on the seashore, A ship sails in the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her Till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says: "She is gone." Gone! Where? Gone from my sight - that is all. She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her And just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination. The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, "She is gone", There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout: "There she comes" - and that is dying. A horizon and just the limit of our sight. Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further. Bishop Brent 1862 - 1926

Thanks everyone for your supportive words of encouragement. I have spoken with her again -- she was happy to receive the call. She's planning to come to our church next Sunday. I'm hoping to meet her or at least talk to her again prior to that. I will be carrying your words of wisdom with me...

(((Amanda))) I'm sorry for what you're going through. I hope that you can see your dad in the faces of your beautiful children and know that in some way he lives on through them. Hugs,

(((Faith))) I'm so, so sorry for your loss. And for your sister's husband and three little children. And your parents. Wow, what a huge loss. I hope that over time you'll be able to get the image out of your head. It may take a little time. I had an image too -- I can still recall it, but it no longer haunts me. I pray this will be the case for you. What a blessing you all were to be there with your sister as you were. I'm sure she knew she was greatly loved. Thinking of your family,

(((Randy))) Thanks for sharing a little piece of your sunny world... Glad you got another "honey bunny" visit!

Happy Birthday, Ernie. Enjoy your flight!

((((Melinda)))) No great words, just hugs. I'm so sorry you miss your mom so much -- I hope you still find a way to tell her those things. A letter, out loud. Of course it's not the same. I feel confident she is ever so proud of her daugther! More hugs,

I hope this doesn't turn into one of my "way too long" posts. You be the judge! I started back at work this week. Although I originally hoped to start back earlier, there was just nothing out there. The thing is, I needed all that time -- I wasn't ready to face this new phase yet, even though I thought I was. Then at the perfect time my manager from my previous position called to see if I'd come do a short-term contract. They were in a panic and I would be "doing them a favor." That's always a good way to enter a work situation! The timing and the situation was ideal for me, including the "short-term" part. So I'm back as of this week. It's really good to have a reason to get out each day and be among people, and perhaps buy some cheerful spring clothes. I see people regularly and I've been productive on other projects, but it's different in a work situation. There is a sense of feeling "normal," because for me not working is definitely not normal. That feels really good. And I get to do some of my work at home so I don't have to leave my canine angel, Mrs. Dickens, for extended hours on end. Everyone was happy for me to return and I felt welcomed. (This is the 2nd time I've returned - I left "for good" back in October.) My first day back was Tuesday, and although the day was hectic with other appointments to keep, I felt very "up." Wednesday, all those memories came back. Being here when things were "good" and "normal," before cancer. What it was like when we were first getting the diagnosis. Then what it was like when things weren't looking good, and I ached to be at home with Bill. Then what it was like when I went on leave once things really took a downturn. And then of when I returned last August after Bill was gone, and saw paperwork that referred to Bill as "deceased." I remember I was nearly sick right then and there. This all was yet another reminder of how things keep moving forward and also stay the same. Yet just in this month, my manager lost her father, and my co-worker almost lost hers -- so it's a misconception that things are actually staying the same. If we all wore our pains on our sleeves, we bereaved would probably feel more "at home" in the world. With each step closer to "normal," the pain reaches a deeper place and another little chip of my protective denial shell falls to the floor. Driving home I found myself wondering when, if ever, I might wake up with a completely "light" feeling. I talk about future plans that I can get excited about, I want to continue with my photography and writing dreams that Bill helped me to form, and I have a hope for the future...thing is, I always project WAY into the future, so I don't know how to walk through this particular mire in any other way than I'm currently doing. I speculated months ago that I believed the way through this was finding little pieces of joy, and one day realizing that there is more joy than sorrow. I haven't reached that day and am probably miles and miles from it, but I still sense this is the way it works. I feel closest to Bill and most at peace when I am closest to God -- yet I struggle lately to be close to God, even though I literally see His hand at work all around me. Go figure. My good friend, Nancy, asked me if after talking to the woman at our church fair (see my other recent post), was I able to see my own progression? I had to think about that. I answered that I'm not sure what "progression" means in this circumstance, but I hope I will one day. After having a little time to think on it, I suppose I see some things that can be called "progression," but I don't like the word -- it implies I'm progressing away from Bill (even if that's not really the meaning), and that's just too sad right now. But there are moments of joy -- and I do look forward to the day when their light is cast so bright, that the sorrow is forced to recede -- and I suspect I will then again feel closest to Bill and closest to God. I'll answer my own question -- it was way too long! If you made it this far, thank you for reading... I wish you all peace,

Thanks everyone. I felt kind of stupid even posting this. I just had this sense of doubt -- and I talk too much when I'm nervous! I'm going to try to call her tomorrow. I'll keep you all posted on how it goes. Hugs back to you all,

Saturday my church had an "Easter Extravaganza," where we had all sorts of stuff set up for families. I was in charge of a family photo booth. We're a relatively small church (less than 100 members), so it was a rather large undertaking. It went great. On Easter Sunday the man who had led our little short-term grief group last year came to speak with me. He had met a woman who came to our fair -- she had just lost her 39 year old husband the Sunday before. A sudden heart related death while playing basketball with his friends. She has an 18 year old daughter and a 4 year old son. He gave me her number and asked if I would call her. "Of course," I said. I was nervous about it, but I called her on Monday. We talked easily and she was interested in getting together with me next week after things calm down. I so recognized the "manic" tone in her voice and the need to make things "ok." The reason I'm posting this might sound odd, all things considered. I need advice. I feel I'm in a rather acute stage of my own grief and I literally can't remember what I most needed in those early days of shock and disbelief. It's a little different online -- writing is my "comfort zone." One on one support with someone I don't know is not (yet). I'm afraid of coming on too strong and trying to "help" too much. Is it best just to listen and offer to "be there?" Should I share my experience, or is it too early to hear that? How many times should I call if I don't get a response right away? I don't want to be intrusive, but we all know how grief can make us hide. How different is it really to experience a very sudden death than it is an illness? How it is that she (in her words) came to a fair a week later at a church she'd never visited, and then felt compelled to share her story with the one man who was best equipped to offer her support at a small church where there are three recent widows -- in my opinion -- can only be God at work. She felt the same. I hope she's still receptive next week, because I so want to help. Thanks for any words of wisdom.

(((Kelly))) Be easy on yourself -- it's not been long at all. I think sometimes it's the little things that hurt the most. People always build up the big holidays and dates, but "life" is in those moments you talked about.

Leslie, I'm sorry for what you're going through. I think it's pretty normal. I definitely find I go through phases that are so different from one another. A couple months or so ago I was going through a phase of not feeling much and not being able to cry. Just as soon as I complained about it, I went through a very "wet" season with tears constantly. It was hard, but healing -- something built up was being released. Now I'm back in "hyper hampster on the wheel" phase, but I know it will soon turn into something else -- it's the nature of grief -- nothing is predictable. I think sometimes it's ok not too try to hard to do any one thing with our grief, and to just accept that where we are is where we need to be right now. If you're anything like me, that's not easy to do. Hugs,

Kelly, What a beautiful thought -- wishing you a blessed Easter too.

I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm sure you will treasure your letter and the gift that she left. And the gift that she was in your life. Please come here for support -- people here will understand.

Very wise words, Michele. Thank you for sharing that. It's so difficult to find the balance between honoring your past and living in your present. I think it takes some time...

Yes, of course you can. And that's what you give up to God -- your truth. He doesn't promise to get us out of these rough parts in our life, He promises to hold us and walk with us through them. I'm sorry for what you're going through. I fully understand your fear and anxiety. Your feelings are just that -- your feelings. There are no right or wrong feelings. Just allow yourself to have them. Hugs,

Wow -- that is amazing. I don't know that song, but the lyrics are beautiful.

Beth, I don't think you're rambling. I understand what you're saying completely. You're right, no one HAS to go through any specific steps. Grief is a completely individual process. But I am interested to hear what others have done that have walked this path ahead of me -- particularly those who seem to be thriving (the definition of "thriving" being relative, of course). For me, to not try to reach that point again is a betrayal of all Bill fought for and of all we did together. At least that's how I feel today. Ask me again tomorrow... How to get there? I don't know. Maybe I think too much... Thanks for posting your thoughts.

In a video I watched in my Grief Share group, one of the men identified 5 steps that one must take to overcome grief and begin to live again. This man had lost his wife some years ago to cancer, and some years later had married a woman who had also lost her husband -- both are part of the show. I was personally struck that I was still on Step 1. Although I am trying to do Step 4, while doing Step 2. I'm curious how others feel about these. Unless I missed something, they didn't suggest that these happen independently from one another. I would be especially interested to hear from those who are two years or more in their grief. Step 1: Accept that your loved one has died and won't return. Step 2: Give real relief/release to all of the emotions you have about your loss. Step 3: Store memories of your loved one, but make room for yourself to move forward. Step 4: Separate your identity from what it was with that person. Step 5: Reinvest in life fully with what God has called you to do beyond the relationship you lost.

(((Tina))) I know it's so difficult when certain days are so close together and bring back so many different types of memories. Sometimes I feel like I'm being flung around all of the years we had together -- back and forth -- between good memories and difficult ones. You're not complaining -- keep posting as you think of things that strike you. It sounds like this is one of those times when you just need to "feel it" and allow yourself to grieve however you need to. Many hugs,

Take it!!!

I'm so sorry for the loss of your father in law. You must all be in shock. Thinking of your family...

I hope you find a good group and that you connect with people. It does help. The link that Randy gave -- they also have a lot of books and materials. That might be worth checking out too, just for something extra. I have a long list of things said to me that either make me roll my eyes, or give me that "I canNOT believe they just said that" feeling, etc. But a social worker???

(((Ann))) Cherish those beautiful memories and the love you shared, as I know you do. Hugs,