The Times - They Aren't for the Weak…..

I don't know what is hardest about losing a spouse… is it the loneliness at night when the kids are asleep and the house is quiet - sure you can watch tv alone… but isn't it more fun to embrace a show with someone watching with you?  Is it when you find yourself at some party and you walk in alone and look around and can't find that person that is waiting for you or look to see your special person right there next to you?  Is it when you go somewhere with your kids and they run off to be with their friends and you find yourself alone with the parents but without a spouse as they all have with them?  Is it at the baseball games and basketball games when your kid does some great play and you don't have that person to smile at and say with your eyes "that is our kid!"

It is all of them and more.  

It is when you see someone you know and meet someone new and know that the first thing they are going to say when you walk away is "that is the one I was telling you about that lost her husband.  It is so sad."

It is when you get invited to something and you reply "1" will be attending and when you walk in to a restaurant and have to say "one adult, 2 kids."  Or when someone says "where is your spouse?"  Dead.  

It is a constant reminder.  The everyday of life bombards your mind with the aloneness of it.

Worst of all, it is the knowledge that you don't have that ONE person that you had before - the one that is always there for you, that helps you take a step back from an emotional situation, that hand slaps you and chuckles at your kids accomplishments, that tells you you are wonderful just the way you are and that hugs you and kisses you right before you go to sleep. 

The aloneness is all around you.  Always.

Hugs to all, 

Lorin  

More Signs

I didn't realize it has been so long since I have posted.   My last "sign" from Eddie was pretty magical but there have been even more.  I love them and think of them over and over in my mind.

A week or so after the text one I was telling a friend how hard it is to grieve the loss FOR Eddie.  Sure, I miss him, my kids miss him but we are alive and busy and have to keep going.  When I stop, when I am in the quiet of life, I feel the grief FOR Eddie - I grieve for what he misses and doesn't get to be a part of here.  WIth that, my friend said, "but perhaps he is and the text and other signs are his way of really showing you he is here seeing it all with you."  I told her I hoped so.  After that, I left and went to a store for a friend.  I quickly called her to ask which brand of something she wanted.  My touches were simple - phone, favorites, friend number.  After we hung up and I was in the check out line, I heard chimes.  Very unusual chimes.  I look around and finally realize the chimes are coming from my phone.  I look down, press menu and swipe it and up pops:

I don't know how these things happen but I know it happened.

More recently, we went to our temple's family camp.  We were outside at the morning shabbat service, a very special place for Eddie.  Just as the Rabbi said, "it is now time to turn our thoughts to those that came before us."  With that, a huge black and white monarch butterfly (which has been the butterfly before) flew down, flew straight to Dylan, fluttered in her face a bit and then flew around and out of the area we were in.  It was awesome and even Dylan asked me later "Mom, did you see that butterfly?  It flew right at me."  I loved that she noticed.  

It does make one wonder… could he possibly be around us?  I hope so.

Hugs to all, Lorin

MORE SIGNS

I am a believer.  I like to believe in things.  I like to believe that there is something greater than us - it brings me comfort and always has throughout my life, in good times and bad.  I believe that things happen for a reason - not to say that I can see any reason for Eddie's dieing - but I generally believe that if one just listens to life's whispers, they generally tell you what to do and where to go and why things might not be happening the way you want. Thank God for unanswered prayers as the say.

I have never been sure however that I was a believer in hearing from those that have died.  It seems unreal.  A body dies.  That is it.  Yes, there is this soul but what is that exactly.  When I sit very quietly I hear and feel something deep within myself that I know is something greater than my body.  My brother and I used to challenge each other to sit and really ponder what are we exactly?  What is this body and this feeling within.  Perhaps through Eddie's death I am starting to learn a bit.  I feel him, I see clear signs he is around.  Here are the latest incidences.

I was at a religious school advisory board meeting last week.  Religious education was something very important to Eddie.  He volunteered at the religious school for several years (how he ended up as an art teacher helper is another question but he loved it each and every week).  Most everyone that knows us knows that our temple was a safe place.  It was a special place.  It was a home for us and we reconnected there over and over.  As always, I had my phone in sleep mode, nearby for those moments when the meeting goes astray.   One of these times, I reached to my phone, gently pressed the menu button and swiped it on.  We all have done this countless times and the screen pops up to the last place we were - the text screen, a text exchange, an email exchange, a webpage, etc.  At this particular moment, here is what popped up on my screen:

There was simply no explanation other than some divine soul intervention.  It was not as if my phone accidentally went to a former text exchange with eddie- this one is blank.  It is not an old email.  It is a brand new text started with Eddie's name in the "to" space.   He was there.

A few nights later as I lay sound asleep, I woke very startled and very alert. I truly with all my being felt his presence.  I woke myself up more and I talked to him, sure to capture the moment.  I said "ok, I know you are here.  I feel you" and with that I felt a very firm tap just behind my right shoulder and I acknowledged it.  I slapped myself silly in that moment making absolutely sure I was awake and realized it was real.  It was.

Recently, we were at a friends house who I had not been to since Eddie died and this family was one we spent a lot of time together as families.  The husband and I were standing very close to the door as I was getting ready to leave having dropped my daughter off there.  The doorbell rang.  We both walked to the door and he opened it.  There was nobody there.  No menu left behind, no solicitation, no person heading down his porch stairs, no kids pranking.  It was Eddie, just letting us know he was there.

Lastly, as my son packed his brand new baseball backpack with all of his baseball accessories, he and the babysitter heard a knock on the door.  Eddie loved baseball - it was his favorite sport.  My son and the babysitter went to the door and opened it only to find absolutely nobody there.  They both heard the knock clearly.  My son told me "mom, it was dad. He loved baseball you know."

He is here.  It gives me the best comfort knowing that he is with me in some way some how.  I hope he is happy with all that we are doing in his memory and to honor him each day.  I hope he knows how much peace his little injections into life bring to me.

Hugs to all,
 

GRIEF GROUP

I am really appreciating the grief group I attend at a place called Our House.  It is such a nice group of people and we manage to laugh and talk and cry together quite easily.  The bond from this loss will inevitably last forever and we will each give and take that which we can and need.

At the end of each group meeting, we receive a reading that we read out loud.  I really appreciate these readings.  Here is the latest that really has stuck with me:

Some People
Some people come into our lives and quickly go
Some people move our souls to dance.
They awaken us to new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom.
Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon.
They stay in our lives for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never ever the same.

Author Unknown


My soul definitely danced from the moment I met Eddie.  I am not sure it will ever dance that way again but it is forever warmed by his having been with it for those 11 years.  He imparted so much wisdom on me that sticks with me to this day.  I try so hard to listen at those moments that I would have sought it still.

Hugs to all,
Lorin

I SURVIVED THE FIRST HOLIDAYS

I suppose I always took for granted, particularly these last 10 years, the relevance of family to the holidays.  "Going to be with my family" just always was what I did, what others did.  It was sacred carved out time.  But when a key element of your family is no longer there, how does "going to be with my family" make sense?  How can I be?  He isn't here. … a key component.  He can't be made up for, his absence can't be ignored and that hole of him not being there certainly cannot be filled.  I have learned a few things that can be done around it that certainly can help ease the pain of that absence.  I share these things only with the hope or intention that I awaken someone else so they are able to help the next one that follows in my path.  Perhaps some day my children read this and get what it means to really comfort someone who is grieving.

Everyone certainly moves on with their own lives.  I don't know if I entirely agree with most people who say that to me in the sense they mean it (as if trying to explain why people don't call or check in).  People certainly continue to move forward and carry on as they should and are entitled to do.  But most people stop when they see me and offer a hug or a smile or ask how we are all doing. So many reach out and email or call to ask directly, those in town and out of town.  Most people want to acknowledge the grief.  They know.  Life isn't back to normal for us.

A wise man recently told me that some might want to just see me get back into the wheel of life that I was in before, that not being in that wheel makes them feel uncomfortable with themselves or around me.  But my life isn't going back to that normal and as far as my being a cog in that wheel, I am now a bent cog and I won't be able to go back into that wheel.  I now must find a different wheel to fit into to carry me on my journey.  I am absolutely committed to that once I am through mourning the wheel I am no longer a part of.

I think its important for people to understand this analogy - its not being healed or getting fixed or the right therapist or the right grief group.  Its about time and going through the process of grief.  This process is so different for everyone but so necessary for all.

I also have realized the power of "how are you"once you are not so fine.  Three simple words.  They show care and concern.  They show "I know your life isn't the same."  But I also think perhaps these three words need to be turned inside out at times. Perhaps consider "I am thinking of you.  I know it must really be tough during the holidays (or summer or whatever time it is) and I am thinking of you today".  It takes the onus off the person grieving so that they don't feel compelled to pretend they feel something they don't such as "I'm fine" or feel that they must get into a deep explanation of how or why they don't feel fine.  It is expressing that the person has taken the time to imagine without my having to explain what it is like.

Lastly, talking about the person who is no longer with us means the world.  It keeps his/her spirit alive within us.  It helps give us a safe place to talk about him/her and it means that you too want to remember and keep that spirit a part of us.

Again, I come back to the wisest words I have ever heard about showing up for others - it changes nothing but means everything.

I survived the first holidays.  They were rough, they were hard and I missed Eddie.  I am grateful I had all of you asking if you could be with us.

Hugs to all,
Lorin

THE PATH OF GOOD INTENTIONS

I don't proclaim to know what people should say to others going through grief.  I have read so many books lately, started attending a grief group and spoken with those who have travelled this road before me and after me.  They all agree that people can just say the darndest things sometimes and then there are those afraid of saying such things that say nothing.

I went to my grief group tonight.  We all laughed at the "you are so strong" and "you look so good" comments.. not to insult those that say those things.  We realize it is the best one knows to say in the moment.  But we really don't feel strong - we just see no other choice, particularly those of us with children depending on us.  We would love to be less strong how should we do that?  We certainly don't feel we look good because we mostly likely haven't been sleeping well or much, eating well or exercising much, most likely.  If we look good because some stress is off of us well, we would just as soon have that stress back and look like hell if it meant our loved one would be back here with us to "stress" over.

The best I have seen in this area however came in the reading we did at the end of our grief group tonight....

A Letter for Non-Grievers
To my dear (family, friends, employer, etc),
I have experienced a loss that is devastating to me.  It will take time, perhaps years, for me to work through the grief I am having because of this loss.

I will cry more than usual for some time. My tears are not a sign of weakness or a lack of hope or faith. They are the symbols of the depth of my loss and a sign that I am recovering.

I may become angry without there seeming to be a reason for it.  My emotions are all heightened by the stress of grief.  Please be forgiving if I seem irrational at times.

I need your understanding and your presence more than anything else.  If you don't know what to say, just touch me or give me a hug to let me know you care.  Please don't wait for me to call you.  I am often too tired to even think of reaching out for the help I need.

Don't allow me to withdraw from you.  I need you more than ever during the next year.

Pray for me only if your prayer is not an order for me to make you feel better.  My faith is not an excuse for the process of grief.

This loss is the worst thing that could happen to me.  But, I will get through it and I will live again.  I will not always feel as I do now.  I will laugh again.

Thank you for caring about me.  Your concern is a gift I will always treasure.

Sincerely,


I dont think I could possibly say it better than this letter...

Hugs to all,
Lorin

THE PAIN AND BEAUTY OF MASSAGE

Sunday night.  Dark room.  Massage table.  Fantastic masseuse just waiting for me to get settled.  These used to be the appealing signs of many Sunday nights for Eddie and me.  Once as he lay upstairs and I was downstairs having my massage, I cried into the massage table pillow.  The pain of all that was going on was overwhelming to me as I lay alone on the massage table with only the silence to comfort me.

Months later, that same silence falls upon me tonight but I have wrapped my head around thinking about the week, the weekend, the nice ease to the weekend for a change, the beautiful day I had with the kids just hanging out with Eddie's godson, Jake, and his father Doug, one of Eddie's closest friends.  The "relaxation" channel on Pandora played a series of calm songs and then it played Pachabel's Canon, the song that I walked down the aisle to as if it were yesterday.  I remember watching Eddie's smiling face the whole time I walked that beautiful aisle.  The song struck me as it always does but this was after all a relaxation channel and that was the ultimate in relaxing songs.  I listened and tried to summon the tears but I was just calm in it, remembering the glorious day 10 years ago.

After the song the channel went quickly south to the song from Titanic and when it played one of the songs from "Aladdin", I decided it was time to change as I turned over.  I switched to "Ambient" music which essentially amounted to listening to air but I actually welcomed it.  I wanted to feel the quiet and help my body ease into the ultimate relaxation and I wanted to try to feel Eddie in some way.  I said a little prayer to myself wishing I could somehow know Eddie was there... "if only he could somehow blow some warm air on me."  Then like magic, the next song, on a channel that literally was playing air, played a very beautiful Pachabel's Canon, the only composition I heard on that station for the 30 minutes I listened to that station.  I was awe struck.  It hit me how really there he was and I cried the warmest tears and talked to him in my head ... in the cold dark silence.

Goodnight Eddie.  I miss you.