teriw
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My uncle..
in GRIEF
(((Christy)))
I'm so sorry -- what a horrible thing. I can't even begin to imagine what that was like for your dad. Can't imagine the pain your uncle felt to take that action. I'm sorry your family has to go through this.
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Anyone else have this? It seems like I always feel worse after I've had a good day. Today for example -- I spent the day doing things I wanted to do (nothing terribly exciting, but made me feel good), then went over to a friend's house for a ladies shopping party. Had fun, bought a couple things, talked a lot, laughed, joked, felt part of the world. Then I came home and it's like I'm a different person. Melancholy, quiet and introspective and missing Bill so, so much. It's strange. Sometimes I wonder who the heck I am.
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Letting Go
in GRIEF
((((Carrie))))
I'm so sorry you and your sisters have lost a wonderful mother, your dad a beautiful wife, and your children a precious grandmother.
Thinking of your family today...
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Sophie,
I'm so sorry for the loss of your mother. I'm glad for you both that you had that special moment of communication before she passed.
Thoughts of you and your family,
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Barb,
I too give you credit for taking the trip outside of your comfort zone. And I'm happy for you that you were able to share memories with your family and just enjoy them while you were away.
I understand about "coming home." I think everytime we step outside of our comfort zone -- in small ways and large -- we experience the "coming home" feeling significantly and all that it brings. A "home" that will never be the same. That's so hard to accept.
You took a step, Barb. A big one. I'm sure that nap was just what you needed.
Hugs,
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Laurie,
I've been thinking about you lately. I'm so, so sorry. I know you were such an amazing support for Bill, and that he treasured your beautiful, generous spirit -- I know it. I'm so glad to hear he had a peaceful passing with you right there with him. The picture is lovely. I know from our conversations what an amazing man he was, and how he held to doing things his way -- good for him.
Thinking of you -- many, many hugs,
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I probably typically say "lost" or "passed," or "since Bill has been gone." I found myself saying "since he left us" for a while, then realized that implied that he did so intentionally, and I didn't like that. Sometimes I consciously say "died," simply to convey the reality (to myself more than anyone else).
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(((Leslie)))
One step at a time. You will get through it. And if you need to seek professional help (with the IRS), I would strongly suggest you do it. (I can't balance a checkbook either
)Hugs,
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Diana,
I'm so sorry to hear what you're going through right now. There is just no such thing as "being prepared," because none of us actually knows what we need to be prepared for. It's an awful shock when things just start to roll away out of your control. What the hospital pulled is just inexcusable.
All I can say is to take it all one moment at a time. Allow people to help however you feel they can. Focus on your hubby and yourself in the moment. And know that there are some things that are out of your control, as difficult as that is.
Hugs,
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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.
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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
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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...
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(((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,
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(((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,
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(((Randy)))
Thanks for sharing a little piece of your sunny world...
Glad you got another "honey bunny" visit!
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Happy Birthday, Ernie. Enjoy your flight!
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missing Mom
in GRIEF
((((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,
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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,
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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,
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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.
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"kamataca"]I feel codependent with my grief. I know it isn't healthy, but I am having trouble breaking free.
(((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.
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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,
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Kelly,
What a beautiful thought -- wishing you a blessed Easter too.
)
It's strange
in GRIEF
Posted
I couldn't have said it better, Ry. I found myself at work the other day talking about Bill as if it was the present tense. I did it at lunch today. I say the words "used to," yet inside I'm not truly acknowledging that "used to" means "won't ever again," if that makes sense. Wow.
Thanks to everyone for responding and letting me know I'm not alone. (Great to see you post, Julia.)