It’s been so long. I should be better.
I realize now, that he was my comfort in life. I still love him, and I feel his love for me, but he can’t comfort me in this loss.
My time with him was the only time in my life when I felt comfortable being myself. He knew me and loved me, and let me be. I lost my husband, my lover, my best friend, and somehow I’m going on, but I don’t know how to go back to life without comfort. It is terrifying.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Faith
Rosh Hashanah begins tonight. This is the start of the Jewish Holy Days; a time when Jews gather as a community for self-reflection and penitence. I used to love these holy days. I appreciated the time to reflect on my achievements and failures. I took moral inventory to realistically see my strengths and weaknesses, to be grateful for all of the gifts in my life, and to resolve to work on bettering myself without judgement. I used to feel a wonderful peace in this opportunity to tune out the physical and focus on the spiritual.
Five years ago all that changed. After my husband Brian’s death I was consumed with grief. I become more active in attending religious services. I was desperate for some sort of comfort and understanding through Judaism.
I didn’t find it.
During those first holy days after Brian’s death, I read about God deciding “who shall live and who shall die. Who by fire and who by water.” I read these words and felt an excruciating pain, because I do believe in God, but I can’t believe that God decided that Brian would develop cancer and die. I can’t believe that Brian’s death was some sort of punishment. I have never believed in a God that micromanages our lives. I believe in a God that gave us free will. Brian died because a cancer cell went rougue in his body and we did not have the ability to find it fast enough to stop it.
I am not angry at God because I don’t believe that God wanted to punish Brian or me. I think God is more involved in the big picture than with our daily lives, but I do get angry when I read those prayers. It has caused a real crisis of faith that I have been struggling with for five years.
Ultimately, I deal with this conflict by telling myself that the words of Torah, and the words in our sidurs are written by humans- no better, smarter, or chosen than me. That these are explanations and metaphors - not the actual word of God. This allows me to attend services. This allows me to say my own heartfelt prayers, to feel all the nuances of my gratitude and my grief, and to reject those parts of the service that offend me without being a bad Jew or a bad person.
So, as we prepare to observe these holy days, I am finally able to tell myself that these feelings do not make me a bad Jew; that I can reject these parts of our prayers without rejection my belief in God or my connection to my religion; that I can own my grief and anger without being ungrateful.
I still feel ambivalent about participating in services, and I still feel offended by these words; but I do finally believe that this is ok. I can immerse myself in self reflection and I can pray as a member of the community. I can own my discomfort.
As we begin this holy season, I wish all of you who celebrate a year of peace, health, happiness and understanding.
Five years ago all that changed. After my husband Brian’s death I was consumed with grief. I become more active in attending religious services. I was desperate for some sort of comfort and understanding through Judaism.
I didn’t find it.
During those first holy days after Brian’s death, I read about God deciding “who shall live and who shall die. Who by fire and who by water.” I read these words and felt an excruciating pain, because I do believe in God, but I can’t believe that God decided that Brian would develop cancer and die. I can’t believe that Brian’s death was some sort of punishment. I have never believed in a God that micromanages our lives. I believe in a God that gave us free will. Brian died because a cancer cell went rougue in his body and we did not have the ability to find it fast enough to stop it.
I am not angry at God because I don’t believe that God wanted to punish Brian or me. I think God is more involved in the big picture than with our daily lives, but I do get angry when I read those prayers. It has caused a real crisis of faith that I have been struggling with for five years.
Ultimately, I deal with this conflict by telling myself that the words of Torah, and the words in our sidurs are written by humans- no better, smarter, or chosen than me. That these are explanations and metaphors - not the actual word of God. This allows me to attend services. This allows me to say my own heartfelt prayers, to feel all the nuances of my gratitude and my grief, and to reject those parts of the service that offend me without being a bad Jew or a bad person.
So, as we prepare to observe these holy days, I am finally able to tell myself that these feelings do not make me a bad Jew; that I can reject these parts of our prayers without rejection my belief in God or my connection to my religion; that I can own my grief and anger without being ungrateful.
I still feel ambivalent about participating in services, and I still feel offended by these words; but I do finally believe that this is ok. I can immerse myself in self reflection and I can pray as a member of the community. I can own my discomfort.
As we begin this holy season, I wish all of you who celebrate a year of peace, health, happiness and understanding.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Complicated Grief
For several years I have been struggling with complicated grief. Grief changes with time, and it isn’t as raw and painful a it once was. It has changed things so profoundly in ways I wouldn’t have imagined. I knew that daily life would change; I expected to feel unbearable sadness and loneliness; I knew that I would always miss the future I had dreamed of; but I didn’t expect to lose myself. The loss of purpose and joy had been profound. I have felt like the best of me died with Brian and what was left we’re the qualities of which I am not proud. I feel more selfish, less companionate and quick to pass judgement.
So far 2018 has not been a good year. I’m fine - nothing particularly bad has happened to me, but a lot is happening with people around me. I have been feeling intense stress and anxiety. Things that Brian and I would experience and process together have been heavy on my shoulders, and the weight of my “aloneness” has been crushing. The last month for me has been pretty awful, and I coped by trying to sleep through as much of it as possible.
It has dawned on me, that this stress and anxiety might not be a result of complicated grief. I think it is the result of complicated life.
Brian, I believe, is the only person who has ever truly known me and love me unconditionally. There was nothing that we couldn’t talk about openly, there was complete trust, there was always a safe place for us to just be. All of our personal issues were discussed, understood, and forgiven. We both came with baggage, but together we were able to leave the baggage behind and move forward with so much less “weight”.
Now that he is gone the weight of my past is back. My self-confidence and worth are diminished, and my codependent tendencies now make me angry. I have been so angry since Brian died. Not at Brian or at God, but at myself and at all the people in my life who cant love me the way he could.
I love my family, but we are complicated. My mom is incredibly smart and determined, but she suffers from depression. It’s not her fault, she loves us, but she is self absorbed and fearful. As a result she never taught me to follow my dreams. She never let me take risks. She always looked at all the horrible things that could happen, so I never learned to take risks or push my limits. None of this is her fault, but her depression has framed the way that I think. With Brian I could allow myself out of that box, now I find myself back there.
My dad is great, but he wasn’t always. When my sister and I were little he was an absent parent. Not a deadbeat - the opposite- my dad was driven to take care of his family. He worked hard, he worked, earned his PhD, and provided for us. It was a different time - my mom raised the kids, my dad provided for us.
I have had a privileged life, I know that. I have always had food, clothes, a lovely home and access to education, but everything I did was a responsibility and not a joy.
My parents are now old. My dad goes to dialysis three days a week. He doesn’t complain. He has mellowed. He is accepting. My mom has been really suffering from her depression. She has been angry, selfish and irrational, but she is trying. And through it all, I have been so ambivalent. I am broken hearted to see my mom suffer. I am sad to know that their time is limited. I am also furious. Furious that I feel responsible for my mom’s mental health. Angry that my dad can’t say, “I love you.” Angry that they will ask me if i am saving money and keeping the house clean but they will never ask if I’m happy - did I do anything fun. All this anger makes me feel guilty and selfish and worthless.
This isn’t grief - this is my insecurity and weakness. This is all the stuff that I had never dealt with before Brian coming back, but he isn’t here to help me.
I feel so alone and overwhelmed, but I realize that nobody can help me with this. I have to reframe my thinking so that I can be the person that Brian lived - that compassionate and ion person. This is on me. I have to fix this.
So far 2018 has not been a good year. I’m fine - nothing particularly bad has happened to me, but a lot is happening with people around me. I have been feeling intense stress and anxiety. Things that Brian and I would experience and process together have been heavy on my shoulders, and the weight of my “aloneness” has been crushing. The last month for me has been pretty awful, and I coped by trying to sleep through as much of it as possible.
It has dawned on me, that this stress and anxiety might not be a result of complicated grief. I think it is the result of complicated life.
Brian, I believe, is the only person who has ever truly known me and love me unconditionally. There was nothing that we couldn’t talk about openly, there was complete trust, there was always a safe place for us to just be. All of our personal issues were discussed, understood, and forgiven. We both came with baggage, but together we were able to leave the baggage behind and move forward with so much less “weight”.
Now that he is gone the weight of my past is back. My self-confidence and worth are diminished, and my codependent tendencies now make me angry. I have been so angry since Brian died. Not at Brian or at God, but at myself and at all the people in my life who cant love me the way he could.
I love my family, but we are complicated. My mom is incredibly smart and determined, but she suffers from depression. It’s not her fault, she loves us, but she is self absorbed and fearful. As a result she never taught me to follow my dreams. She never let me take risks. She always looked at all the horrible things that could happen, so I never learned to take risks or push my limits. None of this is her fault, but her depression has framed the way that I think. With Brian I could allow myself out of that box, now I find myself back there.
My dad is great, but he wasn’t always. When my sister and I were little he was an absent parent. Not a deadbeat - the opposite- my dad was driven to take care of his family. He worked hard, he worked, earned his PhD, and provided for us. It was a different time - my mom raised the kids, my dad provided for us.
I have had a privileged life, I know that. I have always had food, clothes, a lovely home and access to education, but everything I did was a responsibility and not a joy.
My parents are now old. My dad goes to dialysis three days a week. He doesn’t complain. He has mellowed. He is accepting. My mom has been really suffering from her depression. She has been angry, selfish and irrational, but she is trying. And through it all, I have been so ambivalent. I am broken hearted to see my mom suffer. I am sad to know that their time is limited. I am also furious. Furious that I feel responsible for my mom’s mental health. Angry that my dad can’t say, “I love you.” Angry that they will ask me if i am saving money and keeping the house clean but they will never ask if I’m happy - did I do anything fun. All this anger makes me feel guilty and selfish and worthless.
This isn’t grief - this is my insecurity and weakness. This is all the stuff that I had never dealt with before Brian coming back, but he isn’t here to help me.
I feel so alone and overwhelmed, but I realize that nobody can help me with this. I have to reframe my thinking so that I can be the person that Brian lived - that compassionate and ion person. This is on me. I have to fix this.
Sunday, May 6, 2018
complete
I didn't post here on the five year anniversary. April 20th.
I took the day off work and checked out. I got through the day - the weekend - by not being present. I don't know if that was wise, but it worked.
I don't want to blog, I don't want to journal, I don't want to talk.
I'm alone in this. Nobody cares. I have nothing left but anger. Anger that he had to die young. Anger that I'm alone in this and in life. Anger at the people who take their loved ones for granted. Anger at my parents for not teaching me how to cope. I think that I might be the strongest person I know. I am also unhappy, emotionally immature, and full of rage. I get up in the morning and I get through each day. I do what I have to do, then I go home alone. Strong doesn't mean shit. i don't want to be strong; I want to feel complete.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
12 Years - the good death anniversary
I remember
Twelve years ago tonight we had a house full of people.
Twelve years ago tomorrow we married; it was perfect.
In front of our friends, family and God, we declared our commitment to something that started earlier. Everyone who knew us then, knew that we had something special. History, circumstance and background would have never had us together, but fate knew we belonged with each other. We were unconventional. We first fell in love, then met. How wonderful to fall in love with a person first, to love their heart and mind and soul before setting eyes on them. At a time when both of us might have been guarded, we let ourselves trust and love. I knew we would marry before I ever met you. I knew you were my heart. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. That didn’t happen.
But you did spend the rest of your life with me- loving, trusting, supporting. You knew and understood me more than I know or understand myself. You allowed me to be me, and in the process let me know true happiness.
I regret that I came with baggage; that I never was able to leave it all behind, but carried it and let it weigh on my soul. I don’t know how you understood, and saw the love under the scars. All my self doubt, all my insecurities, all my faults, and still I was luck enough to be your wife.
I think what made us so great is that we put us first. It wasn’t about what was best for you or what was best for me - it was about what was best for us as a unit. We both grew as people within the framework of “us”.
Twelve years ago I was so happy, so lucky, so blessed. Twelve years ago I became your wife and you became my husband. It breaks my heart that we cannot celebrate this anniversary. It tears me apart that we cannot grow old together. I don’t know who I am outside of half of us. But I do know, without a doubt, that I am the luckiest .
To have had such an extraordinary love. It is rare. I don’t think many couples get to share the complete trust that we had. I don’t think many couples laugh as much as we laughed. I don’t think many people get to love as deeply as we loved.
Living without you is not easy. I feel like you would be disappointed. As hard as it is, I don’t give up. I give in to the pain, but I keep trying. For this anniversary I want to give myself the gift of peace. I want to accept what has happened. To do that, I think I need to stop trying so hard to live well, and focus on making sure that I die well. I don’t want to suffer a dibilitating disease, or whither away alone in a nursing home. I don’t want a diminished mind in a healthy body, or a diminished body with a strong mind. I don’t know if I will die tomorrow or in 40 years, but I want to focus on having a good death. In doing that, I will have to have more peace in the life I have left. I think that maybe you would be ok with that.
I love you so, and I miss you so much more than I could imagine. You absence is felt every single day. As sad as I am, I know that I am
I am
I am
The Luckiest.
Happy anniversary, Babe. I love you more than an elephant,
In a tutu
In a pink VW bug.
❤️
Twelve years ago tonight we had a house full of people.
Twelve years ago tomorrow we married; it was perfect.
In front of our friends, family and God, we declared our commitment to something that started earlier. Everyone who knew us then, knew that we had something special. History, circumstance and background would have never had us together, but fate knew we belonged with each other. We were unconventional. We first fell in love, then met. How wonderful to fall in love with a person first, to love their heart and mind and soul before setting eyes on them. At a time when both of us might have been guarded, we let ourselves trust and love. I knew we would marry before I ever met you. I knew you were my heart. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. That didn’t happen.
But you did spend the rest of your life with me- loving, trusting, supporting. You knew and understood me more than I know or understand myself. You allowed me to be me, and in the process let me know true happiness.
I regret that I came with baggage; that I never was able to leave it all behind, but carried it and let it weigh on my soul. I don’t know how you understood, and saw the love under the scars. All my self doubt, all my insecurities, all my faults, and still I was luck enough to be your wife.
I think what made us so great is that we put us first. It wasn’t about what was best for you or what was best for me - it was about what was best for us as a unit. We both grew as people within the framework of “us”.
Twelve years ago I was so happy, so lucky, so blessed. Twelve years ago I became your wife and you became my husband. It breaks my heart that we cannot celebrate this anniversary. It tears me apart that we cannot grow old together. I don’t know who I am outside of half of us. But I do know, without a doubt, that I am the luckiest .
To have had such an extraordinary love. It is rare. I don’t think many couples get to share the complete trust that we had. I don’t think many couples laugh as much as we laughed. I don’t think many people get to love as deeply as we loved.
Living without you is not easy. I feel like you would be disappointed. As hard as it is, I don’t give up. I give in to the pain, but I keep trying. For this anniversary I want to give myself the gift of peace. I want to accept what has happened. To do that, I think I need to stop trying so hard to live well, and focus on making sure that I die well. I don’t want to suffer a dibilitating disease, or whither away alone in a nursing home. I don’t want a diminished mind in a healthy body, or a diminished body with a strong mind. I don’t know if I will die tomorrow or in 40 years, but I want to focus on having a good death. In doing that, I will have to have more peace in the life I have left. I think that maybe you would be ok with that.
I love you so, and I miss you so much more than I could imagine. You absence is felt every single day. As sad as I am, I know that I am
I am
I am
The Luckiest.
Happy anniversary, Babe. I love you more than an elephant,
In a tutu
In a pink VW bug.
❤️
Monday, February 12, 2018
On The Day That I Died
It was cold.
The sun shone brightly
The sky was blue with deceit
-an illusion of calm.
We hung our hopes on a low hanging limb,
filled with the promise that Spring would soon bud.
But the limb snapped.
The canopy that shaded us from our fears was destroyed.
The warmth we sought betrayed us.
It beat down searing, scorching,
consuming that which had been beautiful
-giving life to something dark and destructive.
Hope was cruel,
allowing us to believe that fate could be altered.
It was cold.
The sky was blue,
on the day that I died.
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Heart
It swells with love until it risks bursting..
A rush to the brain;
A glow on the cheek;
A warmth between the legs.
It fills the chest
Squeezes out the emptiness
Makes things like "forever" seen real
Until...
The body goes cold.
How much loss can one heart bear?
How can it be put back together?
What happens when the glue chips away
And the cracks spread wide?
There is no limit to love
But the heart is human -
Frail.
How many times can it be broken and repaired
before it can no longer hold onto love
and can only, barely, continue to beat?
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Want
I don’t even know what I want in life. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to settle. I would like to meet someone, but I don’t want to date. I don’t know if I will ever want to re-marry, but I would love to have a partner again.
Do I want a husband, a lover, a friend with benefits?
I want trust and intimacy of mind and body. I want someone to fuss over, and someone to fuss over me. I want occasions for celebration, a shoulder to cry on, a person to grow with. I want to feel like I matter. I want to feel like I am living again rather than just going through the motions.
Actually, that sounds like I do know what I want. I just don’t know how to have it anymore. I’m scared to try; I’m scared not to try.
I lost my first husband to drugs. I lost my second husband - the love of my life - to cancer. I don’t want to lose more. I don’t want to put my fragile, glued-together heart someplace where someone can crush it by not wanting me. I don’t want my heart to be destroyed by loving another man who I can lose.
I want love, sex, real companionship, support, responsibility, accountability and more. I want a life that is full, shared, and honest. I’m scared to have that and I’m scared that I may never have it again.
Do I want a husband, a lover, a friend with benefits?
I want trust and intimacy of mind and body. I want someone to fuss over, and someone to fuss over me. I want occasions for celebration, a shoulder to cry on, a person to grow with. I want to feel like I matter. I want to feel like I am living again rather than just going through the motions.
Actually, that sounds like I do know what I want. I just don’t know how to have it anymore. I’m scared to try; I’m scared not to try.
I lost my first husband to drugs. I lost my second husband - the love of my life - to cancer. I don’t want to lose more. I don’t want to put my fragile, glued-together heart someplace where someone can crush it by not wanting me. I don’t want my heart to be destroyed by loving another man who I can lose.
I want love, sex, real companionship, support, responsibility, accountability and more. I want a life that is full, shared, and honest. I’m scared to have that and I’m scared that I may never have it again.
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Need Him
Five years ago my Brian had surgery. We thought they were looking for a bowel obstruction. We were prepared for a cancer diagnosis, but not for a stage four - no options - terminal diagnosis.
Five years is a long time. I thought I could get through my day without focusing on five years ago. I didn’t focus on five years ago, but it had me. I fought years from the time I got out of bed. It was a lousy day.
I went to work and was bombarded with requests. That’s my job, and I like to help, but not when I’m given just a hint of the story to figure out what needs to be done. People want things done now, but won’t take the time to clearly state what they need, so they waste my time doing detective work. I miss Brian. Brian knew how to communicate clearly. Brian knew how to say please and thank you. Brian made the people around him feel appreciated and never took them for granted. Is it so wrong to want to feel appreciated at work? Is it so wrong to feel sad on the fifth anniversary of my husband’s death sentence?
My eye has been very painful for three weeks. It makes it really hard to stay cool. It makes me anxious and on edge. Chronic pain exhausts me and I just crave sleep. I had a 1:00 doc appt today. My pain has been bad and unrelenting, so I thought my retinal edema would be bad. It far surpasses my expectations, though it did confirm that my pain and vision problems are real. Sat at the doc four four hours waiting for authorizations. Gave me lots of time to remember the last time my eye scan was so bad. It was Jan 2012 - first time I needed an interoccular injection. I was terrified, but Brian was right there giving me support. Today I was alone, and it was so lonely. The shots aren’t so terrible, but the anxiety before the shot is always bad. I always feel panicky, and I wanted Brian there with me. I was sad, then mad, then depressed to be sitting there alone. I got the inplant, but have never had the itching and burning in my eye after. The one eye was tearing nonstop, and the stinging burning pain lasted two hours.
Five pm - sun is going down, both eyes are dilated, one eye is in post injection pain and waterworks, I’m alone, sad, depressed, frustrated, grieving, I’m pissed off that I’m there alone. Spent four hours trying to get authorization paperwork, but ended up having to pay out $2200 anyway. Then I have to drive home at dusk with seriously compromised vision. I had no business being behind the wheel. He used to take care of me. I needed help, but couldn’t have it. I’m so sad, I’m so lonely. I need help. This condition is very painful. We don’t know what causes it. We can treat the symptoms but it is thousands of dollars every two months and treatment is invasive. It is painful, but others with similar symptoms don’t have the dibilitating pain I do. We inject implants in my eye and we flood my body with biological medication. It costs over $3000 each treatment and it is invasive, and I don’t know if it is right or worth it. I need my partner to help me figure it out. I need my partner to lean on in my pain. Today I didn’t have him, but I did have haunting memories of being told that he would soon die. I remember having to tell him that he was dying. I remember how we both tried to be strong for the other.
I’m alone. I miss him. I’m in pain. I need his strength and support. It is so hard - this life alone.
Five years is a long time. I thought I could get through my day without focusing on five years ago. I didn’t focus on five years ago, but it had me. I fought years from the time I got out of bed. It was a lousy day.
I went to work and was bombarded with requests. That’s my job, and I like to help, but not when I’m given just a hint of the story to figure out what needs to be done. People want things done now, but won’t take the time to clearly state what they need, so they waste my time doing detective work. I miss Brian. Brian knew how to communicate clearly. Brian knew how to say please and thank you. Brian made the people around him feel appreciated and never took them for granted. Is it so wrong to want to feel appreciated at work? Is it so wrong to feel sad on the fifth anniversary of my husband’s death sentence?
My eye has been very painful for three weeks. It makes it really hard to stay cool. It makes me anxious and on edge. Chronic pain exhausts me and I just crave sleep. I had a 1:00 doc appt today. My pain has been bad and unrelenting, so I thought my retinal edema would be bad. It far surpasses my expectations, though it did confirm that my pain and vision problems are real. Sat at the doc four four hours waiting for authorizations. Gave me lots of time to remember the last time my eye scan was so bad. It was Jan 2012 - first time I needed an interoccular injection. I was terrified, but Brian was right there giving me support. Today I was alone, and it was so lonely. The shots aren’t so terrible, but the anxiety before the shot is always bad. I always feel panicky, and I wanted Brian there with me. I was sad, then mad, then depressed to be sitting there alone. I got the inplant, but have never had the itching and burning in my eye after. The one eye was tearing nonstop, and the stinging burning pain lasted two hours.
Five pm - sun is going down, both eyes are dilated, one eye is in post injection pain and waterworks, I’m alone, sad, depressed, frustrated, grieving, I’m pissed off that I’m there alone. Spent four hours trying to get authorization paperwork, but ended up having to pay out $2200 anyway. Then I have to drive home at dusk with seriously compromised vision. I had no business being behind the wheel. He used to take care of me. I needed help, but couldn’t have it. I’m so sad, I’m so lonely. I need help. This condition is very painful. We don’t know what causes it. We can treat the symptoms but it is thousands of dollars every two months and treatment is invasive. It is painful, but others with similar symptoms don’t have the dibilitating pain I do. We inject implants in my eye and we flood my body with biological medication. It costs over $3000 each treatment and it is invasive, and I don’t know if it is right or worth it. I need my partner to help me figure it out. I need my partner to lean on in my pain. Today I didn’t have him, but I did have haunting memories of being told that he would soon die. I remember having to tell him that he was dying. I remember how we both tried to be strong for the other.
I’m alone. I miss him. I’m in pain. I need his strength and support. It is so hard - this life alone.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Mothering Grief
Yesterday I posted this to a widow’s group in Facebook:
“Five years ago today, Brian and I spent in the ER. We thought they would admit him and schedule surgery to remove his pancreas. CAT scan showed a healthy pancreas.
Five years ago today, Brian and I learned the word ascites. The doctors didn’t tell us they suspected cancer, but that’s when we both started to think it was likely. He wasn’t diagnosed with cancer until Jan 8, but I suspect all his doctors knew it was cancer. We were ready for the cancer diagnosis, but not for “terminal”, “stage 4”, and “no treatment”.
It would be so easy to allow myself to fall into despair, but that would disappoint him. He has been gone for almost five years, and I have to stop nurturing my grief. Nobody around me understands that this deep pain will never go away, and I will forever miss him and our life together, but I know that I can continue to live. Life isn’t as rich, and it isn’t as fun, but it is a gift that I have and that he was denied.
I recently shared the attached poem that has been so meaningful to me. At one, two and maybe even three years out, this poem would have pissed me off. Now, approaching five years, the poem speaks to me. I can hear his voice in it. I carry my grief with me, but I must stop nurturing it. I must stop allowing it to dominate my life. I most focus on life, and let my grief fend for itself. It isn’t easy, but time is making me feel like it is possible.
Five years ago today we were scared and clinging to a hope that failed us. Today, I have survived the worst of what life could deal me. Today I no longer fear loss because I have lost what was most important. Today I think maybe I can stop carrying me grief, and let it follow me on its own.
Wishing us all strength for 2018.”
Here is the poem:
http://lodestarquarterly.com/work/397/
It is hard to separate the grief of life from the grief of death, but this is where I am. I can no longer blame my grief on Brian’s death. It is time to own it. I hope I can do so in 2018.
“Five years ago today, Brian and I spent in the ER. We thought they would admit him and schedule surgery to remove his pancreas. CAT scan showed a healthy pancreas.
Five years ago today, Brian and I learned the word ascites. The doctors didn’t tell us they suspected cancer, but that’s when we both started to think it was likely. He wasn’t diagnosed with cancer until Jan 8, but I suspect all his doctors knew it was cancer. We were ready for the cancer diagnosis, but not for “terminal”, “stage 4”, and “no treatment”.
It would be so easy to allow myself to fall into despair, but that would disappoint him. He has been gone for almost five years, and I have to stop nurturing my grief. Nobody around me understands that this deep pain will never go away, and I will forever miss him and our life together, but I know that I can continue to live. Life isn’t as rich, and it isn’t as fun, but it is a gift that I have and that he was denied.
I recently shared the attached poem that has been so meaningful to me. At one, two and maybe even three years out, this poem would have pissed me off. Now, approaching five years, the poem speaks to me. I can hear his voice in it. I carry my grief with me, but I must stop nurturing it. I must stop allowing it to dominate my life. I most focus on life, and let my grief fend for itself. It isn’t easy, but time is making me feel like it is possible.
Five years ago today we were scared and clinging to a hope that failed us. Today, I have survived the worst of what life could deal me. Today I no longer fear loss because I have lost what was most important. Today I think maybe I can stop carrying me grief, and let it follow me on its own.
Wishing us all strength for 2018.”
Here is the poem:
http://lodestarquarterly.com/work/397/
It is hard to separate the grief of life from the grief of death, but this is where I am. I can no longer blame my grief on Brian’s death. It is time to own it. I hope I can do so in 2018.
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