You’ll find that grief comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
“Grief” by the late Honourable Murray Sinclair
Today
Long time ago and applies more than ever this morning. One year today.
Let there be peace and love on earth and let it begin with me. With you. With all of us.
Choose Life
I’ve been sharing this passage by Molly Dee Rundle for two decades and finding it among my papers today was a gentle reminder. I’m grateful.
“Sometimes we are prisoners in prisons of our own design. We’ve carefully built our walls; we’ve made our prison safe and comfortable, and then we have chosen to lock ourselves inside. And we do not call it a prison at all, we call it our home or work or responsibility. We are very careful to post guards so that nothing threatens the security of our prison. Some of us live and die there and suppose that we have been happy and that living was good.
But sometimes, something or someone happens to us and the walls are shattered, and we lie helpless and exposed … in view are new horizons, new ideas, new experiences. When this happens many of us quickly gather the stones and rebuild our prison and retreat inside, but some few look around and crawl out of the rubble and gaze into the distance and wonder what “stuff” the world is made of. They venture out to taste and smell and feel. These people never build prisons again. They are willing to risk the hurt and possible failure of living and loving and dying with no guarantee of safety. They live with only the promise that there is fullness in living. They take the risk and choose life.”
Molly Dee Rundle
One Thing Always Leads to Another
While visiting a friend for a few days I came up with a plan to reorganize my office so I could have my yoga mat on the floor full time with space for meditation and reflection. Since I’m not ‘officing’ much anymore it was a good idea only slightly (it seemed in my thoughts) complicated by the large table that held craft supplies and paperwork I hadn’t filed. No big deal. Until it was.
In order to make the changes I would need to put the craft stuff somewhere else. A cupboard upstairs would be perfect and near the kitchen table where crafting on the rare occasions I did it could comfortably be done. Except that the cupboard was full of photographs, frames and memorabilia. The sorting began and morphed into several other spaces until they finally landed me in my office closet where I spent good chunks of yesterday. Piling up miscellaneous and outdated photos and paperwork for commercial shredding I sat with the stack of file folders from the Women’s Wisdom Retreats I led for 17 years. Each folder held registration forms, menus, schedules, notes and feedback pages. Everything began to move into the bag for shredding to protect the privacy of my clients and eliminate outdated information. I took my time thinking about each group, each woman and what we had learned together. As I glanced at the feedback pages I decided I would keep these because it was comforting to know how many women left here with hope, inspiration, self-awareness and self-confidence. I knew I would enjoy reading them again. In between the pages were occasionally cards that had been sent at a later date and this is when I paused and gulped.
In a variety of handwriting so many women wrote about Doug. In the early retreats he was very present sharing dinner with us all, helping them build little boats and getting cars ready for the trip back home. Eventually he was only a shadow on the outskirts ready to help if needed (he did most of the kitchen clean up) and staying out of sight to give our guests the time and freedom they needed to pursue their inner awareness. The little notes I was now reading showed that he had a positive impact with his kindness and humour. I had forgotten how much I depended on him to pull off these events. He would often joke to me that I made about $5.00 an hour considering how much time and energy I invested before, during and after the retreats. His income from his shared responsibility was even less! It was definitely a labour of love for me and he fully supported what I offered because I felt so privileged to be trusted by women from literally around the world.
Ironically it was Doug who was the reason I stopped in the fall of 2017 when his medical needs were too sporadic to be certain there would be no interruption. As I read the cards and reflected on the retreat experience I told Doug how proud I was of us for doing good work together. We made it happen and the success (and sometimes failures) were a product of our dedication as a team.
I wouldn’t have guessed that finding a way to have my yoga mat set up would lead to this experience. I’m so glad it did. As hard as it was to let go of that past it was touching to know he made a difference. Not surprising but for sure it gave my heart a warm glow.
How Did I Get Here?
How did I get here? How have I done this? As I journal these days and count down to the upcoming anniversary of my beloved Doug’s passing I shake my head at how I got here. 11 1/2 months in it seems surreal that I am still here. Still here when Doug is not. Still here, in the home he helped build on the beautiful waterfront he loved. Still here moving his things around in the garage, sorting clothes to finally donate and today, with sun warming me through the windows, making decisions about what photographs to keep and what can be let go.
I kept asking myself these past few days how I got here because there were so many days when I wanted out. I had plans to leave this suffering behind and reunite with the love of my life, my person, the person who adored me. How did I not give in and give up? It seems like such a long unimaginable length of time since I held his hand for the last time that it must really have only been days.
In the middle of the wondering came the awareness that was undeniably true. I am still here because I have been loved and supported beyond anything I could have ever imagined. From the first day I was surrounded by family and friends who kept watch and cared for me. Day after day people showed up to do things for me and to listen. And when the initial shock morphed into weeks of learning to live alone without the responsibility of Doug’s care and with no direction for myself, they still stood by me.
I’ve heard so many people talk about being paralyzed with grief that they didn’t accomplish anything for months and years. Others wept as they shared the depth of loneliness when they had no one to comfort them. Even though there were painful days when I was alone and felt an emptiness that was truly unbearable I still found someone I could call or text or email. It didn’t always come as quickly or as strongly as I would have liked but there was no denying that I was only an ‘ask’ away from help. And that’s why I got things done and that’s how I got here.
People tell me I’m doing so well and they are inspired by my courage and determination. They say this even though they know at any moment I could collapse under the sadness of missing my Doug. They have seen me cry through an entire grocery shopping outing, at the post office, at family dinners, riding my bike or walking along the road Doug and I loved. They say this whether or not they know that I am ‘doing so well’ because I have unlimited resources in the people who are ready to give me what I need.
11 1/2 months later these kind and generous souls celebrate with me when I am happy and funny and asking about their lives. They hold me when a memory brings tears to my eyes. They are chatty and carefree with me when we greet each other and they are quiet and solemn on what has become rare occasions when I have hit a bump.
That is unmistakably how I have made it this far. Doug would be so proud of us all for what we have done together to navigate this unwanted path. My gratitude is sincere and reaches the corners of my thoughtful community to people and places in far away lands. Oh, to be so loved that even the most suffocating of grief could be managed is a gift I will cherish the rest of my life. Thank you.
Posted in Conscious Thought, Grief, Inspiration, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, kindness, Personal Growth, support, supporting grievers
Stop Complaining
The waves are roaring loudly. I’m steeped in gratitude. Feeling the feelings. Cleaning up computer files. And then I stumbled on this. Filed away to be revisited when needed. Today it works.
The Body Remembers
I’ve read many books over the years about how our bodies and cell tissues store our experiences. What I didn’t expect was to witness it play out these past few days.
This is the time last year when Doug began treatment for the new diagnosis of MDS Leukemia. It brought on a whole new intensity of appointments, consultations, treatments, scheduling, anxiety and fear. We both worked hard at keeping a positive outlook and doing everything we could to find a glimmer of normal in our now completely upended lives. These weeks leading up to his passing November 12th were all consuming and physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. Every aspect of our lives were impacted in challenging ways.
Over the past few weeks I’ve reflected on how I wanted to approach this time. At first, I reached out for comfort and encouragement from others. Then, after a wonderful vacation with friends and family I decided to focus on healing and not talk about the pain and suffering we endured. It seemed like a good plan and I was managing. Until I wasn’t. Suddenly, without any particular trigger or reason huge tears would roll down my cheeks. After two days of gulping down my grief I realized that even if I was moving along and making life livable again, my body remembered.
My body remembered the long hours on the road and sleepless nights caring for his needs. My body remembered lifting wheelchairs and walkers into the car and carrying boxes of liquid nutrition and supplies. My body remembered being on alert for choking, fainting and emergency trips to the hospital. My body remembered the disordered eating while travelling and racing from one urgent situation to the next. And my body remembered holding Doug’s hand through painful injections and moments of awareness that we couldn’t even talk about.
So as much as I thought I could reframe these hard days and weeks, my body remembers what we lived through not that long ago. And so it is that as my family visits I let myself sob and recount the worst days of my life so that my body is acknowledged for all it went through. It is a gift to my healing that I don’t cover up the reality or shrug off the memories that sometimes ignite a flood of tears. I will do what I can to treat my body, mind and spirit kindly as I give grief the space it needs to be honoured.
What If?
What if the meaning and purpose and reason for living is waiting for the right moment to be revealed? What if all the wondering why I am still here is unnecessary? Can I embrace what I’ve said many times to others that the magic, the miracle is coming? Be patient. Stay awake.
And Caroline Myss would say ‘give up your need to know’. But I am hungry for knowing. I want to know with all my heart why I am still waking up and going through my days and doing things I need to do and procrastinating on things I can shrug off because there is no one holding me accountable. I serve a purpose to others by hosting family and acknowledging struggles and having visits and keeping the free library tidy, etc. etc.
But what about serving a purpose for my soul, my longing to feel a deep sense of ‘this is why I am on this planet at this time in my life.’ I hate that I don’t know and can’t feel a reason to keep going. But I also know, and I hate this too, that I may be doing more to serve myself and others than I know because I’m so distracted by grieving Doug and struggling to keep the raw, painful emotions from taking over every conversation or visit with kind and caring friends. And I’m not looking for a grandiose way to make a difference. Doug would tell me, and still does in a spiritual way, to slow down. Slow Down! I am a teacher of ‘take a pause, breathe, listen, be still’. And I have never in my life had to work so hard at slowing down and pausing.
It is exhausting to try and keep ahead of the sadness and because I rarely censor myself, I let the emotions run wild so that the tears don’t build up and rust out my insides. Maybe my greatest fear is that this way of expressing myself will never end and the beautiful souls who offer me comfort in my most desperate moments will someday say ‘enough already’.
Every now and then someone kindly points me towards gratitude as if I had never thought of it. It is always on my mind and in fact the enormous gratitude I feel for where I live, the ease of life, and the stunning amount of love and support that I get can evoke even more despair as I try desperately to let these blessings be enough.
Awake long before sunrise today I wandered the empty rooms of my home listening for Doug’s breathing or shuffling slippers or even the sound of the sports channel on his tv. I cleaned out a closet and wiped a few baseboards and finally got back into bed to watch the blazing sun climb up over the tree tops. I’ll get showered and dressed and head to the city to meet my son and daughter-in-law for lunch. I’ll do a little shopping before I return to more tidying and meditating and whatever else shows up.
And all the while I will keep my heart open as best I can to listen for the whispers from the universe. If spirit has something to say to me today I ask that you speak loud and clear so I cannot miss it. My dear friend Jennifer H. shared a prayer with me long ago: “God, lead me where you need me and speak to me in ways I can’t possibly misunderstand.” That feels like a good place to start this morning.
Being My Own Champion
On a regular Thursday night last month I was sitting on our porch swing with my laptop in front of an incredibly calm lake. And calm is how I was feeling inside along with a healthy dose of pride. It was a day that signaled another big step in my healing and what I noticed more than the decisions I made and actions I took is how I was reflecting.
I laid off my handyman who had been faithfully coming every Tuesday to help me get little and big jobs done. I decided I wanted to open my summer days to being more spontaneous and relaxed as I welcomed family and friends who have booked up my calendar. It was a hard decision and he was gracious in assuring me that he would come back anytime. I wanted to make sure we were still on good terms. Then I had a resourceful store owner repair a little power washer so I could do small clean up jobs myself. He is an excellent problem solver and I was thrilled that he would take the time to help me just as he had done for Doug in the past. I brought it home, figured out how to use the adjustable wrench to get the hose attached and then did a little spraying. It worked perfectly and I felt so good to be able to make this happen.
Right away I got on the phone and told the friend who has been guiding me through the power washing process. He was duly impressed and gave me more pointers. I then called one of my closest friends who picks me up when I stumble and she listened curiously. I texted another friend who knew I was trying to resolve this and I texted our daughter to give her some ‘good news’ for a change. And then in an effort to keep the momentum going I rode my bike to friends’ place and shared with them. Everyone acknowledged my success and confirmed that Doug would have been equally proud of me.
Riding back home I cried big tears. The truth was that I was desperate to hear Doug’s voice and words of praise and no matter how many people I told, it would never be enough. Only he would have known how much this meant to me to be able to handle something he would have taken for granted. Only he would have known what it took for me to ask for help (again) with something I felt so uncertain about.
The hard reality is that he isn’t here to give me a hug and celebrate my success with me. Somehow I would have to do it for myself. All the messages I shared in retreats about being our own champion, our own best friend, our own cheerleader, came rushing back to me. Did I mean it then? Of course. And I still do. I’m just fumbling my way from the abstract beliefs to concrete real life.
Maybe that’s what we all do. Maybe our core values and beliefs pop up at unexpected turns and we are confronted with a choice to think and act accordingly or slip into some pattern that challenges what we say is meaningful to us. Maybe this is what living consciously is all about – showing up with integrity.
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, New perspectives, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, living with grief, Personal Growth, self-esteem, wisdom
Holding Hands Through Life and Grief
And life goes on. Not the way I want it to and still, in some odd rhythm it feels as normal as normal can be in between the shock of Doug’s loss. I am swimming with kids in the lake and laughing at their giggles and silliness on blow up toys. I am kayaking to greet the sunrise with my brother and sister-in-law giving them a glimpse of the beauty that hangs in the sky when the full moon is still jostling for space as the sun bursts forth. I am riding my new ebike distances I never imagined I would go on two wheels and loving the feel of the ride. I am hiking through the woods and going to the Sweet Shop … again! I am taking a video of tiny ducks diving in a frenzy along the shoreline under the watchful eye of a mother with too many offspring to reasonably keep track of. I am refilling the free library with books for all ages. I am cuddling babies, eating more s’mores than I want to, doing laundry, paddling with youngsters, hiking the trails, and enjoying summer on the lake.
And missing Doug. Missing our two boats in the lake and the channel markers he put out every year. I’m missing our slow trips down the bay in the evening and boating in the ‘big’ water on calm days. I am missing sitting on the dock with him playing in the Cornhole tournament. And I am really missing having him help me make decisions and figure things out. Things like getting a coffee stain out of a new beige rug or which branches to trim away from the deck. I am missing having someone to worry with, to debate with, to negotiate with and to listen to for wise counsel.
I had a long heartfelt visit with a returning cottager yesterday who lost his wife 3.5 years ago. The parallels in our grieving (not the way we grieve but what we grieve for) were a validation that this is what grief looks like. We shared how much we missed sitting around at the end of the day talking about stuff, and sometimes nothing in particular and sometimes not even talking. Just having our person with us.
And he also told me that the last time he saw Doug and I was after we visited him before he went home last fall. He said he saw us holding hands as we walked away and thought how sweet and amazing we were as a couple and he wished he had taken a photograph because it was such a perfect representation of who we were together. I wish he had too. Because I miss Doug’s hands SO much. The way he held mine, the way he rubbed my feet and the way he draped his arm and hand around my shoulder.
It’s always a shock when I suddenly fall into the grief chasm. I rarely see it coming because I am walking with grief all the time. It’s the dark pit that nearly suffocates me that is so distressing. Just when I think I am finding a balance it bullies me into a corner. And that’s what grief looks like.
So the next time you face someone grieving (which is probably way more often than you know) please remember that this could be the moment when their calm, focused, presence has been hijacked and what they say or do creeps out from under a heavy weight.
Posted in Conscious Thought, Grief, Inspiration, Personal Growth | Tags: consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, living with grief, loss, meaningful life
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