Learning..

Reading Austin Woman, December 2010, I read a powerful article that interviewed Jaston Williams, who experienced the death of his son in a car wreck in 2005. He wrote about learning to set the search for understanding and context aside...

"So, allow yourself to grieve appropriately and go on. To me grieving forever, and allowing the grief to send me into some cave for the rest of my life, is hardly a fitting memorial to that child and all the amazing things he brought to our lives."

This definitely made me reflect. Maybe I am still searching for understanding and haven't accepted it just may not ever happen...

December 2010.

Another passing of December 19. Two years honoring the last day of my husband's life...

Two years since I heard his voice, telling me how much he loved me... Two years since we wrapped our arms around each other, holding on tight never wanting to let go... Two years since I layed beside him in our bed, feeling the strength of his faith... Two years since I held his hands and watched him leave...

It's been two years without my husband by my side, guiding my path... protecting me, encouraging me... Two years since I lived a life as two, being a wife with a husband who adored her...

Now I sit here at the ocean, watching and feeling the powerful waves... listening to the sounds of God... my heart is still broken...

I search for peace... the strength to find joy, to have dreams for the future...

I search to find meaning in my life... the strength to find my path.

Moments

George Strait offers such wise words...

Life's not the breaths you take
The breathing in and out
That gets you through the day
Ain't what it's all about
You just might miss the point
If you don't slow down the pace
Life's not the breaths you take
But the moments that take your breath away

My life has been blessed by moments that have truly taken my breath away.

Thanksgiving...

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving two years ago... my husband had a doctor's appointment that put a timeline on my his life... two days, two weeks, two months...

I'd taken a Death & Dying class when I returned to college and one of our reflection questions was this -- if you could know when you were dying, would you want to know... my response, yes.

This year my thoughts are filled with memories. I remember back to Thanksgiving when we lived in Tulsa, inviting friends to join my family... enjoying our home filled with those who brought love and laughter into my life. And now I sit alone... my home is filled with silence... the only voice I hear is mine, talking to my husband as if he's sitting here beside me. I miss him more than I ever thought possible.

I am truly thankful for my journey. My prayers continue as I search for inner peace...

Morning Sounds

A new day begins. On this crisp morning drinking coffee, I watch the sun leisurely make its way arrival while my mind drifts through years of memories… Scanning the horizon I watch as the blanket of fog over the lake disappears into the sun’s bright rays. Geese flying overhead loudly honking a melody like a choreographed dance tune.

I reflect back to when my daughter was in single digits. Her Dad always planned our annual summer vacations to Table Rock Lake. Early mornings he and I drank coffee as the lake stood still without movement. We ended each day with a campfire sitting in silence smelling the crisp chill in the air. The surround sound of crickets and bullfrogs offered rhythmic song to end the day.

Sleeping with the windows open during spring month in Tulsa guaranteed an alarm clock by the flocks of mallard ducks. Our home was between Swan Lake, where they spent their days and Woodward Park, their last destination in the evening.

Listening to the sound of a flowing creek takes me back to a B&B in Red River, New Mexico. Even though it was a cold winter night, my husband and I slept with the window open, serenaded by tranquil water rushing over the rocks.

Escaping into the past I return to night after night, sitting out on a deck in the Hill Country of Texas. The blanket of stars with their sense of security in the darkness, without the starkness of man’s artificial light. The peacefulness, the serenity of the life I lived there... something I will always miss…

Spectrum of Hope

For it is in giving that we receive.
~ Saint Francis of Assissi

Being comfortable in our own skin isn't easy.
Having conversations about real life often brings tears not laughter...

Life is such a personal journey.

There aren't any answers or magic wands to make everything better.

When life offers you the opportunity, lay all your cards on the table and share life without holding back. It creates such a spectrum of hope. Hope in finding the strength and courage to accept what we can't change.

Choices

At some point, we’re all forced to face the good, the bad, and the ugly. Some of what “happens” to us in life we can’t control – but those aren’t the chapters of our book that define us.

Our life story is written in how we respond to those few “uncontrollable” situations, and by the choices we make in the arenas we can control.

~ Allison LaMarr
http://www.allisonlamaronline.com/

Resilience

The more we define ourselves as part of a specific group or type, the more we can relish a shared reality.
~ George A. Bonanno

I look around and see a world full of hope. Friends dealing with life, looking for direction, wishing they had a blueprint for which way to turn. I have nights when I can’t go to sleep, then mornings I don’t want to get up. I pray for my family, friends, and for myself, to have courage, confidence, wisdom, and balance.

Psychologist George A. Bonanno has written a book based on research for those going through the death of a loved one. “The Other Side of Sadness: What the New Science of Bereavement Tells us About Life After Loss” talks about one’s capacity for resilience, the ability to thrive in the face of adversity. Filled with the words of bereaved individuals, the reader can’t help but be touched and learn from their journey through loss.

I knew that Helen Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief model was initially developed for helping dying patients cope with death and bereavement. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. For years those five steps have been linked with grief support counseling, as well as emotional response to trauma. Definite stages of emotion that I experienced when my husband got sick. I dealt with denial, anger and bargaining especially when his congestive heart failure accelerated and he was accepted as a candidate for a heart transplant. Depression, absolutely. Acceptance? Now this is challenging. I do accept that he’d physically gone, yet is “he” gone?

I had an experience a few nights ago as I was looking through my husband’s cds. He always talked about having to listen to an entire cd to hear one or two specific songs. So on February 2007 we burned two cds, of songs by his favorite male and female artists. I had totally forgotten about this but listening to them now has given me a sense of comfort. This happened at a time when I had been reaching deep inside for strength.

There are times I feel my husband is still protecting me. He always told me I was hurting myself through often compromising my needs and continually tried to teach me how to set limits. Recently I’ve gone through several situations that made me think how he would suggest I handle things and I found myself having confidence, to take action, and stand up for myself, focus and expand my capacity for resilience. Something I know I desperately need. I think we all do.

Looking into my husband's eyes

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.
~ Washington Irving

To look into my husband’s eyes… I remember vividly, over fifteen years ago, riding down the escalator in Albuquerque, knowing that I would soon be looking either into then again my husband’s eyes, or into the eyes of the man I divorced three years before. When I signed the papers to end our marriage I knew I was still in love with the man I had married. Our world had spiraled out of control and ended with neither of us knowing who we were anymore. In the three years of silence we both had focused within. Sifting through years of sadness from our childhood, we both resurfaced more grounded and at peace with life.

There are days I spend a lot of time looking at photos of my husband, looking deep into his eyes. My favorite photos are the ones I took of him.

One of his doctors’ compared my husband’s heart to a tire. There is only so much tread and when spinning normally, there is X years of life. But nothing had been successful at stopping my husband’s adrenaline from racing, which in turn was spinning his heart out of control. We were in the final laps of the race. A heart transplant before the tread ran out. His new heart didn’t come in time. Hospice came. At times there weren’t any words, just long looks into each other’s eyes knowing our time together was running out.

Today marks 18 months since I looked into his eyes… There are times a song will come on the radio and I find myself closing my eyes and remembering the very first time we two-stepped out together. We looked deep into each other’s soul and our hearts connected for the love of a lifetime… A man I fell in love with when I was 26 years old.

My husband. My Guardian Angel. Always.

The Stars Line Up

On a trip to the West coast four months ago, the stars lined up for me to meet an amazing woman. We went from the casual “Are you on a vacation?” to sharing our deepest feelings regarding what was really happening in our lives. Her journey the past few years with breast cancer… the loss of her breasts, five surgeries. My life with my late husband… his need for a heart transplant, the limited time we had before that window softly closed. Complete strangers sharing the darkest time of life; a conversation about our reality, life journeys full of heartbreak and tears.

For months we have continued that conversation through emails and happy hours via phone. We were well aware of how tough it is to be in our 50s and feeling like a fish out of water.

Being comfortable in our own skin isn’t easy. Having conversations about real life often brings tears not laughter…

This chance meeting reminds me of the ending scene of the movie "Michael" with John Travolta. Remember to look up when we're walking down the street turning the corner. We never know who we might meet.

Protecting my family

All I can do is be me, whoever that is.
~ Bob Dylan

There are times we know exactly why our emotions are what they are. Then there are times they take us by surprise and emotions become challenged. We often find ourselves trying to defend them. Explaining why we are feeling a certain way. Why?

As a kid I remember feeling that I was both the peace-maker in, and protector of, my entire family. As a little girl I would tell people it was rude to stare at my mom who was often in a wheelchair. Peruvian, my father spoke with a heavy accent. I found myself explaining what he said to salesclerks who, most often than not, didn’t understand him. I remember vividly the store where a clerk kept telling my father “I can’t understand you” rather than listen to me trying to explain. My father grabbed my hand and very slowly said to this man, ”Go. To. Hell.” Then he turned to me, “Come on honey let’s go.” I realized that my attempt to protect him, turned into him protecting me. One night, without telling my sister, I went to the store where her boyfriend worked. I found his car and waited for him to come out. They’d had a big fight and she’d been crying for days and no one was going to get away with making my sister cry.

I had all the courage in the world to protect my family. When faced with a situation in which I needed to protect myself however, that courage was nowhere to be found. I became the peace-maker wanting everyone to be happy, even if I wasn’t. Then, when I couldn’t deal with something, I would protect myself by taking the stance that it didn’t exist. Retreating into my thoughts, I would carefully place situations in a box and put them away in a closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

Acceptance… to own our emotions is to accept them. The peace-maker will become our protector.

Life in a Bubble

When my husband passed away I felt myself withdrawn from normal everyday conversations. My life felt like anything but normal. His last year on this earth had been filled with doctors and hospitals. Our world had been switched to living on hospital time. Time stood still. My entire focus had been taking care of my husband, anticipating his every need. It was like living in a bubble with one topic of conversation; mortality.

Accepting that no matter how much you try to live a healthy lifestyle, it may not be enough.

Accepting that some chapters in our life end no matter how much we fight to keep them open. Paralyzing fear challenges our faith. Confidence can get replaced by insecurity.

To search for meaning while fighting the emotions that you don’t fit in anymore are mentally and physically exhausting. Continually faced with new situations, where and how do we find the courage to stand strong? It seems that one minute we are full of confidence. Then in the blink of an eye, insecurity overcomes your person. Thoughts go flat line. Words escape you. Why?

As an educator and mentor I advocate being kind to yourself. To self reflect asking “Did you do the best you could?” when goals fall short. That’s truly all we can ask of ourselves. A basic principle. Why am I having such difficulty in applying that to me?

Can you make it through a day without expectations of the day, of people, of yourself, of life?
~ twitter @ zen_habits (Leo Babauta)

Think of me... pray for me.

There are days when I’m reminded of a moment in time that I’d not thought of for a long time. My heart smiles. My soul dances. My tears fall. I am trying so hard to stand strong and trust.

The path that leads you to a place where your prayers and dreams come true is there, trust and believe in miracles…

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone;
wear no false air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play… smile… think of me… pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
… I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near just around the corner.
All is well.

~ Canon Henry Scott Holland, English Clergyman and Theologian [1847-1918]

Faith

April 4th, 2010. Easter Sunday.

The last time Easter was on April 4th was 1999. A moment of time filled with precious memories…

When I was a toddler I was baptised Catholic along with my sister. Our father was Catholic, our mother Methodist. We were raised in the Methodist Church yet in my mid-20′s I made the decision to convert to Catholicism. When I first met my husband we talked about our faith. As a young boy his family didn’t go to church. In spite of this, his faith grew and he attended the Baptist Church with his friends. Before we married I knew I would be setting aside my dream, of being a family that shared one faith. Yet I loved him deeply. We would become a family that shared our spirituality.

Years passed. Every September, classes would be offered for those interested in joining the Church. I would bring information home for my husband. Nothing ever came of it. Then one year he shocked me. He had already signed up to attend. There were no promises about converting. I completely understood. This was a decision that only he could make. For six months there were weekly classes, then a retreat. It was there, the Saturday before Palm Sunday, he would make his decision. I still remember that evening when he came home. Sit down, we need to talk he says. That next week he not only wanted to become Catholic, he wanted for us to get married in the Church. I was beyond shocked. Asking him exactly when did he think we should get married, I wasn’t prepared for his answer. ”Well I become Catholic next weekend and I think we should get married right after that on Easter Sunday.”

So we did. I stood beside him at the Easter Vigil as he completed his journey to become Catholic. Easter Sunday, April 4, 1999 surrounded by family and friends, we were married, and blessed by the priest who had walked with him as he searched his faith. My dream had come true. Now I would have my husband join my daughter, walking in front of me to receive Communion. We would be a family, now sharing one faith.

Less than ten years later, again we were surrounded by family and friends. The same priest who blessed my husband as he became Catholic and blessed our marriage, would now preside over his funeral Mass and bless his ashes. Emotions swirled. Time stopped. Life became surreal.

Attending Mass is so different now without my husband sitting next to me. I pray to him for strength. I pray for him Eternal Life.

Peace be with you.

Our Adventure Book

The lenses we view life through continually oscillates during our journey. We enter different chapters of life which can change our role, how we think and what we view as top priorities. Why is it we often forget to make the shift of deleting the old priorities before adding new ones?

Somehow without our even realizing, our hectic schedules become filled with what we think we are supposed to do. We don’t place a priority of what we want to do with our life. We think there will always be tomorrow.

My husband and I had plans and dreams for our future. When he died, all of our those plans and dreams left with him. My list of priorities became a blank page. My heart was broken in accepting that our tomorrows together would never be. My lenses of life became blurry as I listen to the silence and search for direction.

The movie “Up” offers us a gentle reminder. With a special zest for life, Ellie always wanted to take a trip to Paradise Falls. She had brochures and photos and it was clear her excitement on someday going to this magical place. Her marriage with Mr. Fredrickson however kept going in other directions and the trip was never made.

Filled with regrets after she dies, he looks with through her “My Adventure Book” with deep sadness. Yet in the photos it is obvious the adventures of love and happiness they shared as they grew old together. On the last page she offers him a special gift of wisdom… ”Thanks for the adventure – Now go have a new one! Love, Ellie”

My goal now is to keep my list of priorities extremely simple…

Live in today. Quiet my mind.

Carefully choose how to spend my energy.

Learn how to just be.

Happy Birthday to My Husband

Today is my husband’s birthday. Celebrating this day was always a special event. His personality was such I called him “my baby boy” as he never grew too old to have silly fun. One year I surprised him with horseback riding on the Buffalo River. Down a dirt road in Yellville, Arkansas, we celebrated at this small B&B surrounded by nature. One year with our eyes filled with tears, we celebrated life attending the funeral of a young lady very dear to our heart, the daughter of a life-long friend.

His birthday in 2008 was another celebration with tears. The day before, after three emotional weeks in the hospital, I had brought him home. After a quintuple bypass in January, his heart was getting weaker. His cardiologist had called in a specialist from the transplant center, which the nurses referred to as the heart failure clinic. His favorite nurse hugged him goodbye saying “If anyone deserves a new one, you do.”

Never did I imagine that would be his last birthday on earth. Last year I celebrated his birthday with him, and yet without him. His ashes at home, are inside a beautiful hand carved wooded box. Two crucifixes lay on top, gifts from the priest who married us and presided over his Funeral Mass.

And now 2010. I feel like a wreck. I feel more devastated than last year. I don’t choose to be sad. I don’t want to be sad. I pray that his strength will help me better accept my life without him here.

Celebrate Love and Life.

Powerful words I am trying so hard to embraced with passion.

My Mizpah

The Lord watch between me and thee while we are apart and absent from one another. Genesis 31:49

The Mizpah. An emotional bond between people who are separated. Separated either physically or by death.

My husband and I shared a Mizpah medal since we began our life together in the middle 1980s. Always on our key ring, after a while you didn’t even notice it was there. Years passed. Good times. Bad times. Then shattering challenges. Out of our control, we struggled, trying to regain our world. Then life threw us in opposite directions. He moved out of state. Emotions flew out of control. We lived as if the other one no longer existed. All conversations ceased. During one period of deep sadness, I took the Mizpah off my key ring and mailed it to him.

Then late one night I finally realized, it was time. It had been 3 years of silence. Was he the man I fell in love with? Or was he the man who left? It was time. I had to know who he was. So it came as a shock for both of us. I called him. Then we spent months of long nights, hours of mosaic phone conversations. Ultimately in total unison, we began rebuilding our new life together.

And then one day he gives me something, it’s wrapped in this kleenex. I was without words. It was my Mizpah. He had kept it. He had also kept his part on his key ring. We had been physically separated yet truly, God watched over us… our love was protected.

It’s been 14 months that again, again we are separated. Only now we are separated by death. A life of sleepless nights, I feel so alone without feeling his body next to mine.

Now all I have is memories.

I look at our photos and find myself trying to mentally go back in time, to be back in that moment. A life where my husband held me and we danced.

This Journey

Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit; for without being seen, they are present with you.
[Saint Francis de Sales]

This journey through life is a winding path. We can’t see how many turns it will make before it ends. Until two years ago I felt thoroughly grounded on my path. I was living a life that was beyond my dreams. In 2003 I began a career in higher education. My husband retired after years of constant travel. While I was at work, he played golf. We helped each other balance. We were all things to each other. Our life together was more than I had ever imagined was possible.

Then the “T” word entered our vocabulary. Transplant. Someone needed to die for him to live. My husband needed a new heart.

The United Network for Organ Sharing, UNOS, offers transplant statistics in real time. There are currently 105,743 people waiting, 3,071 of them are waiting for a new heart. In 2008, 177 people became too sick to survive the surgery, 378 people died before a donor was found. One of those was my husband.

There are numerous resources of support honoring organ and tissue donors and their recipients. What about the loved ones of those who died, waiting for the gift of life?

I’ve often thought back to when my husband and I began our journey, living in a new condo that had a small fenced in area. I watched him transform that space into a peaceful retreat. Planting a miniature Japanese maple in the corner, he designed a brick patio with flowerbeds of small hybrid rose bushes outlining the fence.

Yesterday a friend said, ”I put something in your office, but just know, it’s really not from me.” She told me about about seeing this plant and feeling like she was supposed to get it for me. But what if getting flowers this close to Valentine’s Day upset me? Not being able to put the thought out of her mind, she went back for the plant the next morning. I was touched. How sweet of her to think of me.
The plant from my friend yet as she prefaced, not really from her – a small hybrid rose bush.

Heaven on Earth

Forms that include marital status still make me cry. How do you re-program your perception of your identity? When do you accept that life has a new normal? I continue to base decisions around what my husband would have done if he was here. But he’s not here. Or is he?

Hospice offered quality of life for my husband to be at home without pain. Holding his hands, I watched him leave. I felt the energy in the room change. His presence in the room was gone.

A close friend sent me a card that read ”Richard is now sitting with the Saints and Angels and if he had a choice he would not return. Richard is holding you now and loving you the same as when he was here.” Obviously meant to offer me comfort, yet that first sentence broke my heart.

What on earth was she thinking? Why would she say that to me?? As a little girl I always thought of heaven as this magical place behind the clouds. Angels were playing harps and there were flowers everywhere. Heaven was up there in the sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars, in this galaxy far far away. So if he had the choice, he would not return? He would rather be in this magical place behind the clouds than be here with me?? That hit me hard.

My thoughts took me into a fog of confusion. Feeling powerless in dealing with my husband’s death, I shut down. There was a disconnect going on in my heart. My thoughts finally took me back to my core. What did I really believe about death, a chapter of life we will all face?

I finally realized that my little girl perception of heaven didn’t fit me anymore. I understood why the words written in that card upset me so much. That little girl believed that when my husband left with the Angels and Saints, he couldn’t be with me. He was gone. He would be in heaven, a place that was far far away.

So my perception of heaven had totally changed from that little girl. I believe in heaven on earth, Eternal Life. My husband lives in my heart now as he did when he walked beside me. He will always love me and hold me tight. He will always be with me. Four years ago, we walked a labyrinth out in the hill country of Texas. This past July, my daughter and I walked the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Feeling his presence walking with me, emotions swirled… creating a peaceful comfort deep within my soul.

The thoughts we have as children are still there. They can make us question who we are now. They continually challenge us. We learn to stand strong, to ignore and eventually face our past insecurities and fears. Why does this seem to be a lesson we have to learn, over and over again?

Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge.
~ Kahil Gibran

Relearning habits

Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
~ Mark Twain

Bad habits are hard to break. Often there’s just something about them we enjoy, even if it’s not good for us. Good habits are also hard to break. Good habits can change because they don’t fit in our life anymore. Good habits can also be changed, out of our control, when situations turn life upside down.

The movie “Up in the Air” was all about habit. Ryan Bingham played by George Clooney, declares to the woman who has captured his heart, ”I want my life to be a +1.” After years of staying happily airborne, he was ready to change his habit of living, always on the go, unattached and alone.

Two years ago all of my habits for living changed. They became focused on taking care of my husband, whose strong health was slipping away. My habits took on the role of a caretaker, a nurse, a nutritionist. Then when he passed away my habit of living ”+1″ stopped. My life of automatic habits disconnected. My habit of loving my life was gone.

New Years Resolutions are all about habit. Creating good habits to stop smoking, join a gym, or loose weight are challenging. New habits can also be short lived. But what about when we have to create habits we don’t want? Habits like sleeping and living alone? Planning habits that are for 1 person alone, not 2? Habits that are now my reality. I’ve existed with them for over a year. Now it’s time that I learn how to live with them.