You're Not Alone

I found this morning's wake up song was a nice follow up to my post about the dream sequence. There are days when I feel so alone, even if I am with people.  And then other days, even if I am physically alone where I know Jim is close.

I used to, and even sometimes still do, feel that way about my grandmothers, both of whom died before I was a teenager.  Yet to this day, when I call out, they are close, and watching over me.

We all have someone in our heart that we can reach out to in times of need... Some call on a guardian angel, some call on God, some call on a dearly departed others call a friend.  I am blessed to have all of those options.


We all have our days
When nothing goes as planned
Not a soul in the world
Seems to understand
And for someone to talk to
You'd give anything
Well go on and cry out loud
'Cause someone's listenin'

Call it an angel
Call it a muse
And call it karma that you've got comin' to you
What's the difference
What's in name
What matters most is never ever losin' faith
'Cause it's gonna be alright
You're not alone tonight

Writer: Keith Lionel Urban
Copyright: Guitar Monkey Music, Songs Of Universal Inc

Dream Sequence

For the last few nights I've been trying to dream about Jim. A few times in my life I've been able to kind of direct my dreams but it hasn't been successful in bringing Jim to my dreams. I'm just missing him and want to see him so I was hoping for a good dream, but it just hasn't manifested. So this morning I decided rather than wait for a dream I was going to do a sort of guided visualization. Here is what I saw. 

It started with Dharma in her window yelping with delight. She has a different bark for strangers than she does with people she recognizes, and I knew she recognized who was at the door. I opened the door to see Jim standing there. I fell into his arms, knowing it wasn't real, but going with it, knowing how much I needed to feel his arms encircle me. 

I hugged him and held him and held him and held him. Finally, we came inside and we sat down on the couch, our arms around each other. I wanted to sit where I could see him and feel him I just didn't want that moment to go away. There was so much to say, to ask, but all I could do was tell him how much I loved him and how much I missed him. Jim said he was always there, he was always with me, but that he couldn't stay physically here. He wanted me to know that he was always looking out for me. In life and now he would do what he could to  keep me safe. He reassured me he would always be there watching out for me.

He helped me see that he was always with me, in my heart, in my spirit, in the very air around me. Somehow I knew it was time for him to go and I just squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to watch him go, to lose him all over again. All of a sudden light just shattered into 1 million pieces in front of my eyelids and I knew that he was gone, but that his light and the light of his love and the light of the spirit's love is around me always.

Perspective

Early this morning, before dawn, I laid down on the sand and faced the sky. The majesty and enormity of the heavens above, the millions of grains of sand beneath, the unrelenting, pounding surf, the immensity of love, all combined to remind me. They reminded me of my place in the universe. How can something so insignificant, one life, also be so incredibly important? Because we are all connected, man, woman, stars, sky, moon, waves, sand...we are all part of the same whole.

The grandeur of the wee hours reminded me of Jim, my loss, our love. Even though he is not part of this physical world, conservation of matter tells me he is still here, he is with me forever. He is part of the sand, the waves, the sky. I know he loved me more than this world. I am grateful that I loved him so much that I miss him this much. I believe our love is simply transformed. I like to think that I am growing, that I am taking the loss and love and somehow returning it, expanded, to the world around me. That the love we shared will shine though me, in compassion, empathy and yes, even joy.


As the moon shadows danced on the waves, the moon's shining face reminded me of hope. That even in the darkest night, we know dawn will come.

The Reason We're Here

So here is what I have been contemplating: when I look back on my life, for the most part, it's been pretty sweet.  And I can honestly say that all of the big, bad things led me to Jim...so that is good.  My miscarriage led me to New York, which was good then bad, but from that bad, I became friends with Jim and then lovers. So, is it possible that from this horribly sad thing, the death of my husband, that something better will come? Or just different?

Even though I have moments where I think this might be possible, later I cry just changing the sheets and can't imagine how anything good or better would ever possibly come from this. I don't want to imagine anything better than the love I feel for Jim.

I am at a time when I can redefine, refine, reframe the story of my life.  Who do I want to be? I want to be loving, caring, generous, adventurous and indominatable, if that is even a word.  Right now I don't feel any of those things

I was raised in a church-going family, twice on Sundays, Wednesday night Bible study and Thursday night choir practice.  There were pleasantly blurred lines between family and congregation. I was raised American Baptist, which I later learned is quite different from Conservative or Southern Baptist.  My parents were (and are) loving, welcoming, compassionate and have a daily relationship with God. When I was old enough to think for myself, I accepted Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. Over the years I learned that for me, organized religion was not my path, however I have a deep and abiding faith and spirituality. 

Years ago I sat at the bedside of a friend in his final days. We talked late into the night about why each of us are here. Kurt believed that God asked special angels to come back to Earth and live with HIV to teach us all compassion. In the middle of the night, as Kurt slept, I must've dozed off because I woke with a start with one thought in my head, Romans 13:9.

As soon as I got home, I looked up the passage in my Bible. 

The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 

That was it, the answer to what is my purpose, to why are we here, to how do I respond to life's curves: the answer is love. I believe that we are put here on Earth for a purpose, and that purpose is simply to love each other. As Chrissie Hynde sang, "now the reason we're here, is to love each other, take care of each other, is to help each other, stand by each other."

Throughout our journey, I have never doubted the presence of a higher power. I have never asked, Where is God? Why me? I believe that God is here and God is everywhere. I do not believe God gave Jim cancer, anymore than God caused a 13 year-old girl to come out of tonsil surgery as brain-dead or God caused a mentally ill man to shoot up a school.  I do believe that everything we have been through in our lives prepares us for everything to come. Thich Nhat Hahn says, in Living Buddha, Living Christ, "To breathe and to know you are alive is wonderful. Because you are alive, everything is possible... Please don't waste a single moment. Every moment is an opportunity to breathe life into the Buddha, the Dharma, the Sangha (the community). Every moment  is an opportunity to manifest the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

"We think the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, room for relief, for misery, for joy."

- Pema Chodron

"What we can do that takes best care of us is to trust Life completely. Our part is to 

stay right here, with the breath, paying close attention and moving in the direction 

Life guides us. In that way, we can learn all there is where we are and be ready to 

be somewhere else when that learning is complete."

- Cheri Huber

I am still learning.

This is Country Music

I was a lifelong Foghead, from the first day KFOG played We Built this City. I listened to classic rock but not hard rock. Sometimes classical. That was about it.  When I married my husband at the age of 37 I was pretty set in my ways. I wasn't very good at compromise. Fortunately Jim had more experience in that department.

He grew up listening to bands like AC/DC but by the time I met him he mostly listened to Country. Luckily we had our own cars, so in his car, the radio presets were country and hard rock, mine were set to KFOG, NPR and KNBR for baseball. I really didn't need the other three buttons. Once in a while we'd switch cars, and I'd usually leave the radio where it was...until some song came on to make me cry.  I distinctly remember the first time. The song was The Little Girl by John Michael Montgomery.

She said, I know that man there on that cross

I don't know His name, but I know He got off
Cause He was there in my old house
And held me close to His side
As I hid there behind our couch 
The night that my parents died.

After I changed the station, I called Jim, and all I yelled into the phone was,  "I hate your country music" and hung up. It became kind of a running joke with us, dubbed 'a country music moment.' I learned to appreciate some country music and when we got married, "our song" was Mary Chapin Carpenter's Shut up and Kiss Me.  My tolerance built up over the years and as KFOG changed their format and became too predictable and commercial, Jim became less tolerant and finally changed the station that piped throughout our home system. Now every morning as we got ready for work, we listened to Gary and Julie on KRTY. When our son got married, we chose Keith Urban's, Memories of Us, as 'our song.'  When Jim got sick, I began to pay more attention to the lyrics and more and more, the songs spoke to me and Memories of Us took on a new significance.

I'm gonna be here for you from now on
This you know somehow
You've been stretched to the limits but it's alright now
And I'm gonna make you a promise
If there's life after this
I'm gonna be there to meet you with a warm, wet kiss

I'm counting on that warm wet kiss.

After Jim died, music was a solace, and at times a curse. I found new meaning in lyrics. Songs made me cry - well, everything made me cry. For a while I had to turn off the music altogether.When Linda and I first went to Lima Family to plan my husband's memorial service, our adviser said they have canned, quiet organ music to play as people come into the service. That sounded benign and easy. Then my brother, Rev.Dave, suggested I find one song to play during the service, then one more to start and one to end. Thus started a musical research project. Mary and I spent hours on YouTube and MetroLyrics looking for songs. We cried, we laughed and finally I narrowed down the list, ending up with an hour plus of music I thought would make Jim happy. With iTunes and YouTube, compiling the playlist was pretty easy. Even songs not on the playlist took on new meaning, a song about a break up because a song about death. KRTY became the soundtrack for my Journey Out of the Valley.

Best start putting first things first.
Cause when your hourglass runs out of sand
You can't flip over and start again
Take every breathe God gives you for what it's worth
Don't Blink ~ Kenny Chesney

When Jim lost the ability to breathe, I told him to breathe with me, that I would be his breath. In the months after his death, I kept reminding myself to center my soul with my breath and try to stay present. In those early days, when grief was a raw, fresh wound, I could barely catch my breath. I really didn't know how to go on.

I want to know,

How do I breathe without you?

If you ever go,

How do I ever, ever survive?

How do I, how do I, oh how do I live?

Without you,

There'd be no sun in my sky,

There would be no love in my life,

There'd be no world left for me.

And I,

Baby I don't know what I would do,

I'd be lost if I lost you,

If you ever leave,

Baby you would take away everything real in my life,

~Trisha Yearwood How do I Live?

Drink a Beer by Luke Bryan hit the top 10 charts in the month Jim died. His sister Pat and niece Kelsey suggested we play the song when I brought some of Jim's ashes home to Iowa. Standing at his parents' grave side, we passed around bottles of Jim's standby, MGD, wept and sang along.

Funny how the good ones go
Too soon, but the good Lord knows
The reasons why, I guess
Sometimes the greater plan
Is kinda hard to understand
Right now it don't make sense
I can't make it all make sense
So I'm gonna sit right here
On the edge of this pier
Watch the sunset disappear
And drink a beer

One of those songs that isn't about death but had significance is Home by Blake Shelton.  In it he sings plaintively about wanting to go home. It makes me so sad every time I hear it, because those are the last words Jim was able to say to me. He wanted to go home.  It just breaks my heart every time I think about it.  In the larger sense, he did go home.  And I try to find comfort in this. But the song still reduces me to tears. Every. single. time.

Let me go home
I'm just too far
From where you are
I wanna come home
And I feel just like
I'm living someone else's life
It's like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
That this was not your dream
But you always believed in me

The grieving process is not a straight line. You move in and out of a whole spectrum of feelings.  Some of them took me into pretty dark places.  Songs like Whiskey Lullaby and Better Dig Two were some of those.  But then, even though it sort of made me feel guilty, I wanna feel better. Guilty because I felt my grief was my connection to Jim and I did not want to ever lose that connection. But still, I knew I needed to LIVE!

There's a bottle on the shelf, talkin' to me
Sayin', "Come over here, you can have a drink"
We can make it through this lonely night together

But that's a road I don't wanna go back down
And I hate myself for what I'm thinkin' now
Hey, it's just one night, it's not like it's forever
I just want to feel better

All these pictures running through my head
From the way he loved to the way he left
Not a single day goes by, I don't miss him

I just want to feel good, feel alright
Feel anything but what I feel tonight
I just want to move on with my life
And put the pieces back together
I just want to feel better

I know there's gonna come a day
When he's still gone and it's okay
~Maggie Rose

Another song that can inspire me, of course, is Live Like You Were Dying, by Tim McGraw

He said I was in my early 40's,
With a lot of life before me,
And a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
I spent most of the next days, lookin' at the x-rays,
Talkin' 'bout the options and talkin' 'bout sweet time.
Asked him when it sank in, that this might really be the real end.
How's it hit ya, when you get that kind of news.
Man what ya do.
And he says,

I went sky divin',
I went rocky mountain climbin',
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull name Fumanchu.
And I loved deeper,
And I spoke sweeter,
And I gave forgiveness I've been denying,
And he said someday I hope you get the chance,
To live like you were dyin'.

I could go on and on but it's late and I need some sleep. I have continued to add to my Out of the Valley playlist as I continue on my journey. So just one more,  and it is so Jim... he did just say Bring it on and he was such a scrappy fighter til the very end.  

Doctor said he ain't got long
He just smiled said bring it on
If you think I'm scared
You got me all wrong
A little cancer can't break me
My heart's right and I believe
We all hit our knees
Started prayin'
Naw he never gave up
Said the Good Lord's waitin'

An' that's One Hell of an Amen
That's the only way to go
Fightin' the good fight
Til the Good Lord calls you home
So be well my friend
Til' I see you again
Yeah this is our last goodbye
But it's a Hell of an Amen

~Brantley Gilbert

You first. No, you go first.

It seems morbid now but on occasion Jim and I would talk, before he got sick, about our own deaths. Perhaps because we lost so many loved ones early in our marriage, I'm not sure, but we never shied away from the fact that life is, in fact, a terminal situation. I used to tell him that I wanted him to live just one minute longer than me. Even after his stage IV cancer diagnosis, he would tease that he was going to outlive me. He would be some sort of miracle of modern science and, despite my family's longevity, I'd end up in some freak accident and he'd be left to sort out bank accounts, when to feed the dog, buying his socks... All the things I'd attended to.

After he died I wanted to join him in death. I just wanted the gripping pain of loss to be over, and death seemed the only release. In time those feelings subsided, but I can't deny they were there. I found myself wishing the tables were turned, that I would've gladly given my life so that he could live.

But tonight it hit me. I would never want Jim to have to go through what I have. I don't really want anyone to have to experience the loss, the pain, the sorrow. I cannot imagine Jim having to go through the intense grief, the deep sadness, the vast loneliness that I have experienced.  My love for him is so great that I'd rather endure this pain and not him.

I believe the one who is left, the survivor, suffers more than the one who dies. Hey, for all I know he's up 'there' fishing with his Dad and telling racy jokes with my uncles. But I am here, alone, figuring out how to go on without him. I don't say this because I'm feeling sorry for myself, or because I'm some martyr.  No, I would just hate for Jim to have to endure the loss of someone he loved so very much. I'd rather take the hit. I love him that much. Still.

I am grateful for the love Jim brought into my life. I am grateful that I love him so much, that I can finally find comfort in the knowledge of that love. I am grateful that I lived. That I live. That I love. That despite his death, the love continues. Love never dies.

Being first is not always best

I would not wish what I have had to go through on anyone. Yet, the likelihood is that at minimum, 50% of my friends will (or have) experience the loss of a spouse. My closest girlfriends are all just a wee bit older than me. In high school they got to drive, date, wear makeup, vote and then later legally drink, all before I did. I've never, ever been the first. Until now. And it breaks my heart. When I think about how my friend +Joni Furlong, widowed for almost 10 years, just showed up at my door the day Jim died, the knowing look in her eyes, her arms and heart wide open... I am grateful yet saddened. When she lost her husband I had no idea what that meant. Now she was comforting me in a way few could, because she knew. We were now sisters.  

After Jim died, I sought out people who had survived the loss of a spouse, and often they sought me out.  In addition to Joni, my Aunt Gladys, widowed over 15 years and never remarried, also showed up on my doorstep that day. 'How," I begged her to tell me, "did you ever survive even this day? How did you keep on breathing?"  A few days later, I visited the beach where Jim and I had married. Another friend, Bob, whose first wife died almost 20 years before, walked and cried with me. He knew what my road ahead would be like and it was a comfort to have him with me. He's been happily remarried for years, but still carried the pain of that loss in his heart. And he was willing to share his experiences with me. You never get over grief, you just get through it.

My sisters and brothers in widowhood were generous with their time, listening and answering my direct, and perhaps even prying questions. I remember blurting out to a colleague in the staff room one day, 'when did you stop crying every day?' I just needed reassurance that somehow I'd get through this. One day I was in the grocery store and I ran into another colleague, Ann.  I hadn't seen her since the funeral, but that day was such a blur, I hardly remember who I saw or what they said. Walking up on her in the shampoo aisle, I just broke down and cried when she asked, 'how are you?'  I knew she really meant it.  She knew the loss I felt, and  just held me and whispered in my ear, 'believe it or not, it will get easier.' These people had somehow survived what seemed impossible to endure... There was hope, even when I felt hopeless.

Someday, I will be the one to stand on a doorstep, tears in my eyes with open heart and arms, ready to be there, to know. And it breaks my heart.