Why I Write

My mother really does not like that I blog about my grief journey. She simply cannot understand why I would share my most intimate feelings with strangers. Heck, she barely shares them with her family. Yes, I hold some things back, but my writing for me is a way to explore my feelings, to poke and prod them and try to make sense of the senseless. Exposing them to the light makes them slightly less scary. 

Some of my friends tire of hearing about my grief. They wonder why, after three years, can't I just let it go. And why oh why do you keep writing about it? Fortunately with time, I've been able to figure out who they are, and to control my feelings enough, to save my darker, sadder thoughts for my friends who can handle it. There's a song by Kenny Chesney where he sings, "the sun's too bright, they sky's too blue,the beer's too cold to be thinkin' 'bout you. So I'll take this heartbreak, tuck it away and save it for a rainy day."

Some days I can manage my grief like that, hide it away. Schedule time to cry. Not always. But my writing does help me. It gives a voice to those 3 a.m. fears. It exposes my dark thoughts to the light. I share my burden and lighten my load.

The old saying 'a problem shared is a problem halved' may have been based on scientific fact, according to a new study cited in The Daily Mail. Researchers have proved that the best way to handle stress is to share your feelings - and sharing with someone in the same situation yields the best results. According to the study, this is because sharing a threatening situation with a person in a similar emotional state 'buffers individuals from experiencing the heightened levels of stress that typically accompany threat', 

Maria Shriver wrote in her Sunday paper, "No one likes being blindsided. It leaves you in a place of doubt, fear, confusion. But once you gather yourself — and that takes different people different amounts of time — you have the chance to use your voice, not just for yourself but for others who feel the same way, have experienced the same circumstances and want the same things."

I am no longer so self-absorbed my my grief that I think I am the only one who has or will go through what I have. Everyone everywhere is fighting some battle. I have the chance to use my voice. To heal me, and maybe in the process, help others.  

The Storm

California is finally getting the rain we need, and more. The storms have returned. And I am again in my season of storms. Three years ago today Jim and I walked into El Camino Hospital. He never came home. I am certainly not the same person who walked in. 

Grief, like a storm, is unpredictable. You think the storm has broken, the sun comes out for a respite, the puddles seep slowly into the saturated ground. a bird sings. A tree blossoms. And then the storm returns. Wind strips the blossoms from the tree. Rain pours from the sky. So it is with grief. After exhausting yourself with tears and sleepless nights filled with haunting memories, you wake and feel maybe there is hope. You have a good day, or even a great week. You notice birds singing and have hope that early blossoms signal Spring. Then the grief returns, memories flooding over the spillway that protects your heart. 

I woke this morning with memories of that day three years ago. I never dreamed I would be leaving the hospital alone. I replay the day in my mind.  I was at the bank when Jim called and said that Dr. K was admitting Jim to the hospital. I came home, thinking we were preparing for another round of what were becoming routine procedures. I had no idea it was just a calm before the biggest storm of my life.

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones...   

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. 

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”  ~ Haruki Murakami, Kafka on The Shore

As Murakami writes, this storm is inside me. I am certain it is not over. And it has changed me forever. It has make me stronger, more courageous and  more compassionate. I am more mindful and grateful. I cherish my relationships. I try to find joy in each day. And I dance in the rain.

I can live, and I do

Recently, a friend of mine posted lyrics from the Harry Nilsson song, "I can't live if living is without you" and it got me thinking. My first response it, yes, damn it, you can, and you will, even when you don't want to.

There were many days and nights when I wished I could die too, after Jim died.  I never was suicidal, I just did not want to be alive. But I didn't die 

I was, for many months, doing the zombie walk. Getting through the necessities of life but not living. 

Eventually I would surprise myself by smiling or even laughing at something. I was able to find hints, slivers of joy peeking through like sunlight through the edge of a curtain. 

Once I realized I wasn't going to die I had to think about how I wanted to live. My husband Jim lived life to the fullest. He was brave and he was vulnerable. He was strong yet soft. He had dreams and sadly, many those dreams would never be realized because his life was cut short by cancer. I honor Jim by living my life, by striving for my dreams, by showing gratitude and compassion every day. By living in the moment. By finding the joy in life. 

I'm not yet ready to say that I can find the gift in my loss. However I can say my grief and loss have made me stronger,more compassionate and yes, more joyful.

Please speak his name

My friend +Peggy Wolf 's mother, Lorry Wolf, died at the age of 88, A few months later, Peggy shared with me something her sister had told her, She said that people die three deaths. The first is their physical death. The second is when they are "laid to rest" either lowered into the ground or, as in Jim's case, cremated. The third and final death is when no one speaks their name anymore. That was almost 9  years ago, but her words really stuck with me.

Recently I watched the movie Book of Life. It is a cute movie with a sweet message about facing your fears and being true to yourself. It also centers around of the celebration that is Dia de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. It is a time for remembering friends, family and ancestors. In the movie, in the afterlife the Day of the Dead is met with great joy, for they are being remembered. Victor Landa, who was raised in Mexico writes, 

In our tradition, people die three deaths. The first death is when our bodies cease to function; when our hearts no longer beat of their own accord, when our gaze no longer has depth or weight, when the space we occupy slowly loses its meaning.
The second death comes when the body is lowered into the ground, returned to mother earth, out of sight.
The third death, the most definitive death, is when there is no one left alive to remember us.

David Eagleman, Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives, writes similarly, “There are three deaths. ... The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.”

As Riley's imaginary friend Bing Bong tells Joy in Inside Out, "When Riley doesn't care about memories, they fade." The movie reminds us that when memories that are not accessed, they die. 

People sometime seem taken aback when I use Jim's name so casually and freely in conversation. What they don't know is that it is a comfort to me to say his name, and to hear other's speak it. I love hearing new stories about something Jim did or said, or how he is remembered by others. It makes me feel less alone, more connected.

So please, don't be afraid that by speaking Jim's name, you will remind me he's gone. For heaven's sake, I know that with every cell of my being and couldn't forget if I tried. When you speak of Jim, you keep him alive in your heart and mine.