Today I said goodbye to our RV. Tom and I had so many wonderful trips in it--the memories of being in it always make me smile (except today they are making my eyes full of tears). Tom's favorite thing to say each time we took off in it was, "I can't believe we have an RV!" He loved it. Now it's on its way to Texas with my brother behind the wheel. It makes me happy to know who has it and to think how much they will enjoy it--a new chapter.
Today I remembered that 4 years ago our grandson Harper, just 5 days old, left us for heaven. I still picture his great-grandmother greeting him, snuggling him down and rocking him with her "so-so" song. His twin brother, Maximus, talks of him often.
Toay I feel that it is "count-down" until the 10th.
I heard a new song yesterday. Don't know all the lyrics--must find out how to find them--but some of the lines said, "it's now what I would choose, but it's what You use." I also heard the end of an interview with a woman who had experienced much pain in her life but was using that pain as an inspiration for reaching out to women who were caught in sex trafficking. I truly believe she is on the right track. It would be easy to focus on the pain BUT turning the grief into serving others feels so much better. Whether it's spending time with grandchildren, creating new vegetable gardens, getting ready to go on a mission to Russian speaking people in the Czech Republic or quilting--it's all helping. The hugs from my family and friends continue to keep me grounded and connected.
Wish the words would come easier. It's harder than ever to put my thoughts down but it seems important that I try. Is it? Does it matter?
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Eleven months
It's been a very long time since I added to this blog. It's 11 months as of yesterday, the 10th, since Tom left this world for his home in heaven. Oh, how I miss him. As I look back on this year I realize that I've stopped thinking about Tom as being sick (for the most part) and remember him well and active, smiling and full of hugs. The "problem" is that it makes me miss him that much more. Thinking about him being released from the illness that kept robbing him of his body it was easier to be thankful for his release. Now I find myself falling in love with him all over again as I remember his special qualities. He could never tell me he loved me enough--I miss that. I even miss his crazy antics that sometimes drove me crazy. He didn't care a whole lot about what people thought--he just was who he was, loved being with people and they loved being with him. How blessed I've been to be the love of his life.
Yesterday and today I just keep leaking tears. It's hard to define what I'm feeling. I just know that it's coming from deep inside and I'm powerless to stop it. I don't know how to do this one year anniversary. Do I want to be by myself? Do I want to surround myself with family or friends? I'm leaning toward being on my own and am coming up with ideas of where I might go to mark the day. It just feels very private. Maybe it's the uncertainty of what my emotions will be that day. It feels a little scary for some reason. More than anything everything I have read and from what has been shared in grief groups is the idea that everyone greives differently and there is no right way or one way to do it. The admonition has been just to go with it.
I am so thankful for my children and grandchildren who are the joys of my life. I hear Tom's care for me through their care. I love it when Tom is a part of our conversation and the laughter that continues to originate with him. He really does continue to live through our memories. I suppose the depth of sadness is just an extension of the depth of love we had for each other. Amazing that it can continue to grow even after death.
Thank you, Lord, for giving us minds that remember.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
How different this Tuesday from last Tuesday. Last Monday evening I began a support group called Grief Share. My plan was to go and listen to the video, listen politely to what others had to share and then go home--in other words, not to really involve myself. Even while filling out paper work at the beginning I did not speak to the woman sitting next to me. I really had a wall around me and pretended to be invisible. Well, God had other plans. The table facilitator was too good at drawing us out. Tears flowed. Lives were opened and shared pain understood. When I left I cried all the way home. The next day I felt so down and sad. It felt like I had taken 3 steps back yet intellectually I knew I had to go back in order to go forward. All week I had this sense that I was outside myself looking at me, analyzing what I was feeling. Feeling and thinking about the feeling all at the same time. Feelings magnified--highs higher and lows lower.
Yesterday was Monday and all day I felt lousy--headache, stomache ache, tired--plenty of excuse to not go back last night. But I knew I had to go, not just for me but for the others I had met last week. It was painful to drive to Northshore. I decided maybe my stomach would feel better if I ate something so I stopped and got a bowl of soup which I ate in the car in the parking lot. I just knew I was going to spill some on the front of me AND I DID. Now I had another excuse not to go. But somehow I did go. Met the wonderful facilitator from last week walking in and shared how hard it was to come. She was very encouraging and her hug helped. The video was again very informative and assuring--talked about grief being like being on a roller coaster with many of the same physical affects--disorientation, fear, nausea, up and down, etc. New people were at our table this week--would I risk sharing? Interesting thing happened--when I listened to others sharing it broke down all the walls and I found myself sharing without reserve, mindless of the tears, knowing we were all in this thing called grief together.
I brought Tom's quilt to share and boy, did it open doors. I am already making 2 quilts for a friend who lost his wife. Last night two women asked if I would teach them how to make one out of their husband's clothing and a man asked if I would make one for him. I think I have a new mission and I am thrilled. I know how much Tom's quilt means to me and to be able to give that gift to others makes me so happy. I'm also finding it very healing. And to think this all started because I ordered a how-to video for my granddaughter for her to learn how to quilt not knowing it was really for me!
This morning I woke with the words of a praise song running through my mind--and my mind is so like a sieve that the words have come and gone in such a short time! I just know that it was with joy that I woke this morning--seeing God's hand in the midst of this roller coaster ride. (Never did like real roller coasters and avoided them.) Can't avoid this one. This morning I will enjoy the fact that I am up and trust that He will hold me close when I go down.
Yesterday was Monday and all day I felt lousy--headache, stomache ache, tired--plenty of excuse to not go back last night. But I knew I had to go, not just for me but for the others I had met last week. It was painful to drive to Northshore. I decided maybe my stomach would feel better if I ate something so I stopped and got a bowl of soup which I ate in the car in the parking lot. I just knew I was going to spill some on the front of me AND I DID. Now I had another excuse not to go. But somehow I did go. Met the wonderful facilitator from last week walking in and shared how hard it was to come. She was very encouraging and her hug helped. The video was again very informative and assuring--talked about grief being like being on a roller coaster with many of the same physical affects--disorientation, fear, nausea, up and down, etc. New people were at our table this week--would I risk sharing? Interesting thing happened--when I listened to others sharing it broke down all the walls and I found myself sharing without reserve, mindless of the tears, knowing we were all in this thing called grief together.
I brought Tom's quilt to share and boy, did it open doors. I am already making 2 quilts for a friend who lost his wife. Last night two women asked if I would teach them how to make one out of their husband's clothing and a man asked if I would make one for him. I think I have a new mission and I am thrilled. I know how much Tom's quilt means to me and to be able to give that gift to others makes me so happy. I'm also finding it very healing. And to think this all started because I ordered a how-to video for my granddaughter for her to learn how to quilt not knowing it was really for me!
This morning I woke with the words of a praise song running through my mind--and my mind is so like a sieve that the words have come and gone in such a short time! I just know that it was with joy that I woke this morning--seeing God's hand in the midst of this roller coaster ride. (Never did like real roller coasters and avoided them.) Can't avoid this one. This morning I will enjoy the fact that I am up and trust that He will hold me close when I go down.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Now is not forever
I went camping with dear, close friends last weekend. Tom and I had camped with them multiple times in the past. This trip had been planned since early in the year, purposely staying close to home/doctors for the sake of Tom. It turned out our friend Dale is the one who needed to stay close. I had planned to take the RV but weeks prior to going my friends had talked it over and thought it would be too hard for me and invited me to stay in their RV with them. I had been having the same thoughts and was grateful for their invitation. It was so hard to be there without Tom BUT I don't want to give up being with this special group of people. It's hard and it's wonderful all at the same time. It's feels so special to be with people who knew and loved Tom, to talk about him as only people who shared his life can, to remember as only people who were there can. I just got an email from someone who said she thought I should find new friends who were not part of my time with Tom so it wouldn't hurt so much. She is sooooo wrong. How could I talk about Tom with people who didn't know him? Maybe it hurts more but I think it's going to hurt no matter what so why not be with people who shared Tom's and my life and continue to care. I don't want to stop talking about him or thinking about him and I think that's where good friends come in. I treasure them more than ever.
It has been 3 months since Tom died--it's August 10. The day felt magnified somehow. Tears were close to the surface from the time I woke up. I took Moose and went to Kylisa's thinking that being with all the little grandboys would help. But nothing could stop the tears. I knew I needed to get away to be by myself and let go. The tears come whether people are around or not but there's a deep feeling of just needing to let go and not be contained that's harder when others are around. It feels like it needs to be private. Didn't know where to go so spent some time driving and ended up in a park where I could just sit in my car and cry as much as my body had need of crying. My greatest fear was that it wouldn't stop and crying would now be the way I was going to live--forever.
After talking it over with my children I decided I wanted to go away for a few days. Found a cottage that was available, packed a few things and left the next morning. Stopped to get the mail on the way out of town and found two special gifts waiting for me. One was a card from a friend with this on the front: "The Lord knows the pain you feel, the grief you carry, the tears you cry, the memories you'll cherish, the comfort you need, the strength you'll require." That would have been wonderful encouragement to read any day but it was extra special to get it when I did.
The other gift was Book 2 (of 4) of a series called "Experiencing Grief." The first book had been such a help that I couldn't wait to see what this one had to say. I had identified with so much the first book had said--"it" understood. This book was the same. At the park I kept seeing people who were playing and walking and talking--LIKE EVERYTHING WAS NORMAL! But nothing feels normal. Tom is gone and nothing is the same. On the first page of the book, the author said the same thing! He even said he got into his car and cried. I'm like others--it sometimes takes a few months for the reality to sink in. It feels heavy like walking through mud and a deep fog all at the same time. The book says this isn't all bad--"because it means that you are feeling." But feeling HURTS! How long will it hurt so much? The book says experiencing feelings is one step toward healing--how many steps are there?
The first 3 months have been a piece of cake compared with this. I even wondered if I was through grieving! Wishful (dumb) thinking? "Half the battle is just accepting the grief and letting yourself grieve." "Simply move with it and let it take you where it wants to go." Boy, does that sound like out of control living--and scary. Don't know when it's going to mug me, how I will react. The verse comes to mind that took Tom and me through out last year together--"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths." I've learning to trust Him with my circumstances. Trusting Him with my emotions is something new--it's a new letting go. The book says, "When you let your feelings out--feel them to the full--they lose their power over you." Isn't that just like God to create in us feelings and then mean for them to be felt! AHHH! This is going to be a hard lesson to learn. I pray I learn it quickly.
One thing that was comforting in this new book was this quote: "It's very normal to experience lapses of memory, difficulty concentrating, a slow response time, or absent-mindedness"--maybe I'm not developing dementia!
One chapter heading is called, "A Good Cry." "Weeping is perhaps the most humand most universal of all relief measures." Too bad your eyes burn and head throbs when you are through. "Each good cry lets a little more of the pain out of your system." OK, if it helps with the pain then bring it on. I don't want to hurt but at the same time the hurt feels good in a way because it tells me, no, it shows me how much I loved Tom, how dear and precious he was/is to me, how much I miss him. Memories are more precious than ever and everything I see brings a memory of life with Tom.
I always wanted to be an old couple with Tom. I love seeing old people walking hand in hand or sitting close and think it is a beautiful thing to see. Now it hurts but at the same time makes me so thankful again and again for 41 years with him. 41 years of memories. 41 years of love--in love and loved. Now is not forever--I will keep reminding myself. If the tears come I will try not to fight them. If I need to cry deep and hard my car is a safe place.
It has been 3 months since Tom died--it's August 10. The day felt magnified somehow. Tears were close to the surface from the time I woke up. I took Moose and went to Kylisa's thinking that being with all the little grandboys would help. But nothing could stop the tears. I knew I needed to get away to be by myself and let go. The tears come whether people are around or not but there's a deep feeling of just needing to let go and not be contained that's harder when others are around. It feels like it needs to be private. Didn't know where to go so spent some time driving and ended up in a park where I could just sit in my car and cry as much as my body had need of crying. My greatest fear was that it wouldn't stop and crying would now be the way I was going to live--forever.
After talking it over with my children I decided I wanted to go away for a few days. Found a cottage that was available, packed a few things and left the next morning. Stopped to get the mail on the way out of town and found two special gifts waiting for me. One was a card from a friend with this on the front: "The Lord knows the pain you feel, the grief you carry, the tears you cry, the memories you'll cherish, the comfort you need, the strength you'll require." That would have been wonderful encouragement to read any day but it was extra special to get it when I did.
The other gift was Book 2 (of 4) of a series called "Experiencing Grief." The first book had been such a help that I couldn't wait to see what this one had to say. I had identified with so much the first book had said--"it" understood. This book was the same. At the park I kept seeing people who were playing and walking and talking--LIKE EVERYTHING WAS NORMAL! But nothing feels normal. Tom is gone and nothing is the same. On the first page of the book, the author said the same thing! He even said he got into his car and cried. I'm like others--it sometimes takes a few months for the reality to sink in. It feels heavy like walking through mud and a deep fog all at the same time. The book says this isn't all bad--"because it means that you are feeling." But feeling HURTS! How long will it hurt so much? The book says experiencing feelings is one step toward healing--how many steps are there?
The first 3 months have been a piece of cake compared with this. I even wondered if I was through grieving! Wishful (dumb) thinking? "Half the battle is just accepting the grief and letting yourself grieve." "Simply move with it and let it take you where it wants to go." Boy, does that sound like out of control living--and scary. Don't know when it's going to mug me, how I will react. The verse comes to mind that took Tom and me through out last year together--"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths." I've learning to trust Him with my circumstances. Trusting Him with my emotions is something new--it's a new letting go. The book says, "When you let your feelings out--feel them to the full--they lose their power over you." Isn't that just like God to create in us feelings and then mean for them to be felt! AHHH! This is going to be a hard lesson to learn. I pray I learn it quickly.
One thing that was comforting in this new book was this quote: "It's very normal to experience lapses of memory, difficulty concentrating, a slow response time, or absent-mindedness"--maybe I'm not developing dementia!
One chapter heading is called, "A Good Cry." "Weeping is perhaps the most humand most universal of all relief measures." Too bad your eyes burn and head throbs when you are through. "Each good cry lets a little more of the pain out of your system." OK, if it helps with the pain then bring it on. I don't want to hurt but at the same time the hurt feels good in a way because it tells me, no, it shows me how much I loved Tom, how dear and precious he was/is to me, how much I miss him. Memories are more precious than ever and everything I see brings a memory of life with Tom.
I always wanted to be an old couple with Tom. I love seeing old people walking hand in hand or sitting close and think it is a beautiful thing to see. Now it hurts but at the same time makes me so thankful again and again for 41 years with him. 41 years of memories. 41 years of love--in love and loved. Now is not forever--I will keep reminding myself. If the tears come I will try not to fight them. If I need to cry deep and hard my car is a safe place.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Things kids say
Art Linkletter used to have a show called, "Kids say the darndest things!" Here are 3 of those "things" spoken today by my grandson Moose:
We were heading into downtown Seattle for a meeting this morning when Moose (Maximus) suggested we take the city bus. I said, "Well, let me figure out how to do that." (Meaning that I needed to look up a schedule on the computer.) Moose's response was, "I know how. We walk to the bus stop. The bus comes and we get on."
When my meeting ended Moose said he was hungry and asked if we could go to "an eating store."
When we got to the bus stop for our return trip I stopped to wait a little ways away from the post with the bus schedule on it. Moose asked where the bus stop was and I said, "Right here." He said, "This isn't the bus stop. This is a tree!" (Yes, I had stopped next to a tree and he knew the difference.)
I love laughter. I love being able to take the time to enjoy the funny things in life. I love it that Tom made both of those things priorities in his life. I can hear him laughing, too.
We were heading into downtown Seattle for a meeting this morning when Moose (Maximus) suggested we take the city bus. I said, "Well, let me figure out how to do that." (Meaning that I needed to look up a schedule on the computer.) Moose's response was, "I know how. We walk to the bus stop. The bus comes and we get on."
When my meeting ended Moose said he was hungry and asked if we could go to "an eating store."
When we got to the bus stop for our return trip I stopped to wait a little ways away from the post with the bus schedule on it. Moose asked where the bus stop was and I said, "Right here." He said, "This isn't the bus stop. This is a tree!" (Yes, I had stopped next to a tree and he knew the difference.)
I love laughter. I love being able to take the time to enjoy the funny things in life. I love it that Tom made both of those things priorities in his life. I can hear him laughing, too.
A week away
(Wrote this while still in Cannon Beach the week of July 12-19 but didn't have internet access so am finally putting it in the blog now)
I am alone sitting in a beautiful home of friends overlooking the beaches of Cannon Beach, Oregon. It is a week to remember--a time to be away, a time to be quiet, a time to think about Tom and all he means to me. And it was a time to quilt.
When we were going through Tom's clothes I had a hard time thinking about parting with them until my daughter April suggested that i make a quilt using some of his shirts. The more I thought about it the more excited I got about the project. Then my friend who is a master quilter agreed to come with me. Now there would be time to quilt AND have a wonderful mentor to teach me. Susan and I have known each other for over 30 years. Yesterday she went home and I am alone and this, too, is good.
Last night I finished putting all the blocks together in Tom's quilt. It is made of his shirts, ties, a pair of shorts, dress slacks and jeans he always wore. The back of the quilt will be the blanket he liked to wrap up in. The whole time sewing it I kept having the thought, "I can't wait to show this to Tom!" He felt so close and I felt so expectant--that I would see him any moment walk through the door. I read in a book on grief that doing creative projects is a good way to process grief.
Little did I know the joy of putting these pieces of fabric together--each piece a familiar sight--shirts that I have ironed for years and enjoyed seeing on Tom. The familiarity of each pattern makes me smile with remembrance. Among the pockets I included is one from a bright Hawaiian shirt. My Dad bought it for Tom years ago. It reminds me of our travels to Hawaii, Mexico and Australia, the special memories of beaches, warmth and water. It's also the last piece on the quilt making me think of Tom in a place of paradise and the assurance that we will be there together some day.
There is also a block that is made from a flannel plaid shirt that Tom wore during the last year. It is dark on dark telling how hard that year was and yet it is a soft fabric with a cross in the center reminding me of the gentle care we received by our Lord through our family, friends, doctors and hospice.
There is a block that is a mistake that I didn't try to fix because it reminds me of the mistakes we make in life and sometimes we can't fix them. Sometimes they are lessons we need to learn and 3 blocks later is the same block but this time it is correct. I am so thankful that God never gives up on us; He never throws us away but always invites us to keep on learning and trusting and growing. His amazing unconditional love wraps us up just like Tom's quilt will.
When it is finished I know i will feel the remembrance of Tom's hugs, of his embrace, of his love. Whan an amazing emotion from a few pieces of fabric sewn together. How thankful I am for the gift of this home and for this week away. This afternoon I will walk the beach. I will be alone but i will not be alone. I will think of Tom and remember 42 years worth of memories--I think i will take a notebook with me to remember what I remember.
Tom is a wonderful example of living life full of joy. I want to be just like Tom--I don't want to miss any of it.
Well, I took that long walk on the beach. I was so aware of walking without Tom at my side and yet there's something about having spent all those years with him--his influence is very much present. It's like I see things through our memories together. Everything I see seems to remind me of some part of our life together. Watching families interact, people playing with their dogs, flying kites, walking hand in hand, people just sitting and enjoying being there. There was much conversation going on but I could hear none of it--the roar of the ocean made everything else be silent. Colers were bright against the gray of the san, sky and water. i enjoyed watching and taking it all in. i ate lunch alone at a restaurant in town and it was ok. I thought of all the times Tom ate alone while he traveled for his job. I never asked him what that felt like--never thought of it until now. I have a feeling he made the best of it--maybe pretending I was with him like i did today thinking about him.
I put the inner binding on the quilt tonight. Now I just have to add the outer border from his jeans and I will be able to finish it. I can't wait to wrap up in my Tom quilt and remember. What a great thing memories are--one of my most treasured possessions.
Just finished watching the DVD from Tom's memorial service--laughed and cried all over again. What a wonderful tribute to a wonderful man who was and is so loved.
Tomorrow I drive home. I miss my children and grandchildren and HUGS! This has been a good time of coming away to think, to pray, to remember and to quilt.
I am alone sitting in a beautiful home of friends overlooking the beaches of Cannon Beach, Oregon. It is a week to remember--a time to be away, a time to be quiet, a time to think about Tom and all he means to me. And it was a time to quilt.
When we were going through Tom's clothes I had a hard time thinking about parting with them until my daughter April suggested that i make a quilt using some of his shirts. The more I thought about it the more excited I got about the project. Then my friend who is a master quilter agreed to come with me. Now there would be time to quilt AND have a wonderful mentor to teach me. Susan and I have known each other for over 30 years. Yesterday she went home and I am alone and this, too, is good.
Last night I finished putting all the blocks together in Tom's quilt. It is made of his shirts, ties, a pair of shorts, dress slacks and jeans he always wore. The back of the quilt will be the blanket he liked to wrap up in. The whole time sewing it I kept having the thought, "I can't wait to show this to Tom!" He felt so close and I felt so expectant--that I would see him any moment walk through the door. I read in a book on grief that doing creative projects is a good way to process grief.
Little did I know the joy of putting these pieces of fabric together--each piece a familiar sight--shirts that I have ironed for years and enjoyed seeing on Tom. The familiarity of each pattern makes me smile with remembrance. Among the pockets I included is one from a bright Hawaiian shirt. My Dad bought it for Tom years ago. It reminds me of our travels to Hawaii, Mexico and Australia, the special memories of beaches, warmth and water. It's also the last piece on the quilt making me think of Tom in a place of paradise and the assurance that we will be there together some day.
There is also a block that is made from a flannel plaid shirt that Tom wore during the last year. It is dark on dark telling how hard that year was and yet it is a soft fabric with a cross in the center reminding me of the gentle care we received by our Lord through our family, friends, doctors and hospice.
There is a block that is a mistake that I didn't try to fix because it reminds me of the mistakes we make in life and sometimes we can't fix them. Sometimes they are lessons we need to learn and 3 blocks later is the same block but this time it is correct. I am so thankful that God never gives up on us; He never throws us away but always invites us to keep on learning and trusting and growing. His amazing unconditional love wraps us up just like Tom's quilt will.
When it is finished I know i will feel the remembrance of Tom's hugs, of his embrace, of his love. Whan an amazing emotion from a few pieces of fabric sewn together. How thankful I am for the gift of this home and for this week away. This afternoon I will walk the beach. I will be alone but i will not be alone. I will think of Tom and remember 42 years worth of memories--I think i will take a notebook with me to remember what I remember.
Tom is a wonderful example of living life full of joy. I want to be just like Tom--I don't want to miss any of it.
Well, I took that long walk on the beach. I was so aware of walking without Tom at my side and yet there's something about having spent all those years with him--his influence is very much present. It's like I see things through our memories together. Everything I see seems to remind me of some part of our life together. Watching families interact, people playing with their dogs, flying kites, walking hand in hand, people just sitting and enjoying being there. There was much conversation going on but I could hear none of it--the roar of the ocean made everything else be silent. Colers were bright against the gray of the san, sky and water. i enjoyed watching and taking it all in. i ate lunch alone at a restaurant in town and it was ok. I thought of all the times Tom ate alone while he traveled for his job. I never asked him what that felt like--never thought of it until now. I have a feeling he made the best of it--maybe pretending I was with him like i did today thinking about him.
I put the inner binding on the quilt tonight. Now I just have to add the outer border from his jeans and I will be able to finish it. I can't wait to wrap up in my Tom quilt and remember. What a great thing memories are--one of my most treasured possessions.
Just finished watching the DVD from Tom's memorial service--laughed and cried all over again. What a wonderful tribute to a wonderful man who was and is so loved.
Tomorrow I drive home. I miss my children and grandchildren and HUGS! This has been a good time of coming away to think, to pray, to remember and to quilt.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Grief has moved in
It's been 6 weeks. It feels like it was yesterday and long ago all at the same time. At 3 weeks I did the expected and came down with a bug that sent me to bed for most of the week. My voice (what there was of it) sounded like I had morphed into a man with a very deep voice. During that week I slept and read and looked at all the Tom pictures in my bedroom. My cousin just sent me a new one that I don't remember ever seeing before--they've all become priceless treasures bringing back Tom's look of love and fun. I can transport myself back to those places and feel his presence and especially his arms around me--those arms that always felt so loving and protective.
Week 4 was mostly recovery--just getting my strength back. Still thinking about this grieving thing and trying to figure it out. I like lists. I like following directions knowing that they are taking me someplace like in sewing/quilting/gardening/cooking (sometimes). I can't find the grief directions. I've started reading a little bit but all it says is that there's no right way to grieve. Everyone does it their own way but just that it's important TO grieve. The books tell you to be gentle with yourself.
Then one morning I woke up thinking that grief was like a new person moving into my life--someone I don't know but is living with me going with me wherever I go and is a part of everything I do whether invited or not--he sticks like glue, can't shake him loose.
Thought about that for a while and then added to it. I needed to figure out how I was supposed to live/act/respond to his presence--what did he expect of me? Still looking for directions. What did he think of me when I felt joy or laughed wholeheartedly--was that ok? I knew he would understood when I cried or hurt so deep inside I thought I would sink into myself. Did he understand when I was happy? Still wrestling.
Then I woke up one morning (gotta love those early morning thoughts that come from the brain debriefing over night) and had this thought: Yes, Grief has moved in and is here to stay but who says he wants me to live according to his expectations? Who says he has any expectations at all? Who says he isn't here just to help me through this time/life? Who says he doesn't want me to be anyone but myself? Who says he doesn't want me to experience joy and happiness and deep belly laughter? All emotions seem to be magnified. Joy and happiness and laughter are all greater. It becomes a counter balance to the feelings of emptiness/lonliness/loss/pain.
I've never been one to question "why?" God's in charge and He knows the answer to that question. I am just so thankful that He is my Lord and I can trust Him in ALL things. I don't have to know the answers because I know that One who does. I know where Tom is and after watching him suffer this last year plus I can't grieve his passing. I do grieve the loss of his presence and the source of so much love and fun
Week 4 was mostly recovery--just getting my strength back. Still thinking about this grieving thing and trying to figure it out. I like lists. I like following directions knowing that they are taking me someplace like in sewing/quilting/gardening/cooking (sometimes). I can't find the grief directions. I've started reading a little bit but all it says is that there's no right way to grieve. Everyone does it their own way but just that it's important TO grieve. The books tell you to be gentle with yourself.
Then one morning I woke up thinking that grief was like a new person moving into my life--someone I don't know but is living with me going with me wherever I go and is a part of everything I do whether invited or not--he sticks like glue, can't shake him loose.
Thought about that for a while and then added to it. I needed to figure out how I was supposed to live/act/respond to his presence--what did he expect of me? Still looking for directions. What did he think of me when I felt joy or laughed wholeheartedly--was that ok? I knew he would understood when I cried or hurt so deep inside I thought I would sink into myself. Did he understand when I was happy? Still wrestling.
Then I woke up one morning (gotta love those early morning thoughts that come from the brain debriefing over night) and had this thought: Yes, Grief has moved in and is here to stay but who says he wants me to live according to his expectations? Who says he has any expectations at all? Who says he isn't here just to help me through this time/life? Who says he doesn't want me to be anyone but myself? Who says he doesn't want me to experience joy and happiness and deep belly laughter? All emotions seem to be magnified. Joy and happiness and laughter are all greater. It becomes a counter balance to the feelings of emptiness/lonliness/loss/pain.
I've never been one to question "why?" God's in charge and He knows the answer to that question. I am just so thankful that He is my Lord and I can trust Him in ALL things. I don't have to know the answers because I know that One who does. I know where Tom is and after watching him suffer this last year plus I can't grieve his passing. I do grieve the loss of his presence and the source of so much love and fun
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