The Cavern

I look in the distance and what do I see? A cavern, a hole and I think "Oh, it's me".

Where did it come from, what do I do? There's emptiness within, a space he used to fill. 
There are errands to run and expectations abound. I see the 'death duties' all around. 
I see not the value nor feel that I care. I exist in the vacuum, no purpose right there.
I don't find the fuel to energize my day. Love all around me doesn't help find my way.
There is sadness and pain, back to emptiness again.
The hole is overwhelming. The lack of a soul.
I live in an emptiness and really don't care. I can smile and laugh. But, I always come back there. The cavern, the soul, there's an emptiness here. 

What makes me happy, that I cannot say? It seems like it's nothing, I can't find the way.
I sit and I pray knowing He hears my pain. One day in the future I'll see sunlight again.
I climb on the lap of the Lord God Almighty, knowing His mercy, compassion and grace. 

I open the door to my soul, my sorrow and pain. And allow Him to take the emptiness away.

Bailey and Sketty and Uncertainty

Dogs have always been part of my life. Today, I have 2 dogs. They are Sketty, the Corgi General and Bailey the lovable, goofy mutt. Both are rescues with different stories. Both exhibit personality issues probably caused in some way because of that story. Sketty came to us with a very emotionally shut down and distant. He watched the goings on from afar. If they came too close too quickly, he would leave the room, or growl to protect himself from the apparent incoming danger. His "job" in life is to protect. Protect me from the UPS truck, noises of a cell phone and from the squirrels in the back yard.  Bailey came to us a "Nervous Nellie". She was attached to me always and was scared of noises, tennis balls and being outside by herself. She has lovingly been called our "Attention Whore" because it was, in her opinion our job to pet her 24/7. If you stopped petting her and just hold her, she's done, she moves on to the next person (ah...Sucker)....

As they have learned that they are now home, they have each settled in and their "issues" have lessened. Sketty stays in the room with me more. And on occasion, he comes over to tell me he wants attention, always when he decides its time. And, has learned that attention is nice.  Bailey has decided that Teddy bear or rope is really fun and that going outside is no longer scary because Sketty has taught her to scare off the birds. She has also decided that food is of greater importance than attention. They have each been affected by Daddy's death differently. Sketty now sleeps back in the corner of the room behind the little rocker. Bailey, lies quietly in my arms for long periods of time without moving. He has become more distant, she more needy. They each have moved more into the "issues" they initially exhibited. Why do I tell you all of this? Although I do enjoy talking about my pups (ask me about Rocky sometime :), it is to make another point. 

How do we as friends of the one suffering loss love and support them? My observation here is that in the midst of loss, we move in the direction of our comfort zone. And you, friend of the grieving one, may have a different comfort zone than your grieving friend. Your best opportunity is to follow them into their place. Don't let your automatic mode kick in here. You being uncertain and uncomfortable may try to comfort by pulling them into your place. Follow them, do not lead. Will it be uncomfortable? Yes. Will you know what to do? Maybe, maybe not. And THAT'S OK. Remember, it’s about walking beside them. Let them know that you are there. 

It has meant much to me that friends have shown up, and said "I can't imagine what you are feeling right now" or "I don't know what to say”. That they chose to be into my space with me. If I had the opportunity to offer one piece of advice, it would be to not say "let me know what I can do"....Do something. Bring a meal, go out for coffee, send a card, sit close and listen. When one is drowning in confusion, your grieving friend may not be able to tell you what you can do for them. And, as with my Sketty and Bailey, the place of grief may be different for each friend.

It is an Apple Cart

It is an apple cart, a display. Red and green the fruit displayed to feed the families who shop here. Why does this little wooden display cause so much pain? Why is it that these little round fruit make me struggle to maintain? Makes it hard to go on?

It is because of us. You and me. Who you became in my life. Who I became in your life. Who we became together. Many would not understand. But, for us, it worked. We lived with passion in our fun; we lived with passion in our sorrow. We exuded passion in our conflict. Our life together was honest. Our bond was palpable, our peace was full. We were, through it all, friends. Friends who knew the other, the good, the bad and the ugly. Your strengths balanced me. My strengths supported you.

 We learned to laugh about those miscommunications that existed simply (or maybe not so simply) because we spoke different languages. The communication became about more than being hurt because we were not heard. It became about more than pointing out that flaw. There came an acceptance of what we each were (and were not) and that sometimes things simply would not flow smoothly. That sometimes, you just needed to be who you were, and I needed to be who I was and together we needed to build that bridge toward the other. To stand together upon it in the midst of those differences. To allow the storm to flow under us and not consume us. The understanding that the only thing that we can expect is that we will be different by God's design. We will come from different sides. And we learned NOT to label it "bad" or "wrong"  but simply "different". And that difference will sometimes will cause conflict. That we choose to build towards each other not apart. That in the midst of it all "You" is important. "Me" is important. "Us" is important. Each of these is more important that being the same, being right or being without conflict. Each of these is more important than being correct or pointing out the error/flaw. That destroying the "You" or the "Me" destroys the "Us". 

This is why that little wooden cart can bring me to my knees. That when I walk by and remember that Fuji was your favorite, but that any (except maybe a red delicious) would do. That you loved them raw, you loved them cooked. You would eat them until the drawer in the fridge was empty. It is because I knew you. I was given the absolute gift of being your friend, your wife. And I was given the privilege of knowing all the little things about you that made you, You. And that together, we were "Us". 

Its Called Widowhood

August 7, 2015. The day I began the journey of walking forward without him by my side. I felt many things. Pain and sorrow, grief and anger, confusion, uncertainty, relief that he no longer suffered. Relief that I had the strength to support him until his last breath. A feeling of life being overwhelming on many fronts. 

There was a feeling that he was too young to die, I mean he was only 55. And I was FAR too young to be a widow. I began to try on that new label, "widow". It was uncomfortable. My days consisted of trying to make sense of it all. To find a path that was unclear from this vantage point. To return to a life of 'singleness' again after years of marriage. It didn't fit quite right. The "us" that we had worked so hard to become was now a "me" Over 20 years, God had brought us together and cemented that bond in ways that I would never fully understand until that day came when he was physically no longer here. "Widow". That new label was distasteful.

'Widow' was supposed to encapsulate it all. To give meaning to my new state of being. This new single-ness, cast upon me without my permission, without me having a say in the matter of what "we" were to become, what "I" was to become. I hated that term."Widow". He was no longer physically here with me.  What was I to do with myself now? We were bonded for decades and especially these past months, my life was filled not only loving and supporting him but caring for his needs and letting him know I was here. That I would not falter. That although wounded by the path we were given, I would be here. I would be present and would be walking this path with him, by his side. Lending strength, lending an ear. And when that was no longer possible, holding his hand, his heart.
So now, I'm a widow. There is an alone-ness here, even when there is activity. Like a heart that is torn in two. The life we lived together, that is no longer. How do I function? How do I go on? What do I do? Is it worth the effort? Can I become "single": again? Is it worth the effort? Can my life have value? What does it matter? Does anything really matter now that I am no longer whole? 

The strongest feeling by far was that I was no longer whole. A portion of me had been torn away, an amputation of sorts. A wounded-ness that initially requires drastic life-saving measures, to staunch the bleeding, cauterizing the wounds, providing support so that the body is given the support it needs to begin to heal itself. It (the body) then works to normalize itself without that limb. With the gaping wounds, the body works to maintain itself without succumbing to the traumatic event, a sealing of those wounds. The stitches bind the wound, the swelling subsides, the partial limb survives. But, it is not whole, it is forever changed. So, with time, one learns to walk again. Not the same as before, not really whole, but modified to function without that limb in the space it used to occupy. "Amputation" seems like a synonym for "Widow". 

"Widowhood". Over the past couple of months, the uncomfortableness with the label has changed, but it still does not sit well. The hate has transformed to dislike. I imagine that over time, it will become familiar even though it really doesn't fit. That widowhood is not really me. It is a role cast upon me that I did not choose to audition for. But, it sits here with me anyway. 

Day by Day

Over the past 18 months or so, I have spent much time writing. It started with posting to a Caring Bridge site and Facebook page. My goal was to easily get information to friends and family easily. Many who cared would be able to get information about how Vern (and I) were doing from day to day, week to week. How the struggle with treatment and trying to bring healing to his body. Somewhere along the line,as I wrote those updates, I began to place a piece of my heart into each post.

Then, in April-May of this year, Vern began going down hill again, in June, the slide became even more difficult, headaches, trips to the ER, and more tests. His final downhill slide had come and after a few weeks with Hospice care, Vern passed away in August. The stress was great, of course and the pain intense. Writing became a way of release for my pent up emotions while he was sick and the during the weeks afterward, my journal was never far away. I was alone much of the time, and my journal allowed me to pour out my soul and make sense of all of the emotional hurricanes that passed through. It has been almost 3 months now. I find I am not writing as much, however, my journal is still nearby.

Over the space of this time, I have been encouraged to continue writing. In the past weeks, I have felt compelled to write sometimes for myself, but other times to reach out. To speak whatever gift I have been given. So, today, I write, I start with the intention of turning my writing again to sharing a piece of my heart.