Our first Christmas without you....

Our first Christmas without you....

Our first Christmas without you....

A Christmas Message from Heaven.

Posted by Steve Wentworth

  

 'Steve Wentworth' author. 

For most of us, Christmas is a time for joy, laughter and spending quality time with friends and family. But this time of year is often the most difficult and painful for anyone coping with bereavement.

The grief we feel when losing someone close to us is unlike any other feeling. Words cannot even begin to scratch the surface or do justice to the sorrow we endure. Nothing ever prepares us for the utter despair and Christmas just seems to make our loss all the more poignant.

There is nothing wrong with grieving. Grief is a natural process that human beings and many animals need to go through. But why does grief sometimes seem to last so long? 

We grieve because we deeply miss someone who was a big part of our lives. Grief not only happens when someone dies, it also occurs when a relationship breaks down or a person is 

no longer a part of our lives. Whether the person we have lost is physically alive or not, the feeling can be exactly the same and just as intense.

Grief is a feeling unlike any other. It is one of immense incompletion and despair. Our hearts ache with the deep loss we feel for that special person and we long for the emptiness to be filled with their presence again. We long to physically embrace them in our arms once more, to hear their voice, touch their skin and smell their scent one more time.

When they were with us, we loved them so much that they carved a chasm deep in our hearts. But now they are gone, even the thought of beginning to move on without them seems an impossible task and even disloyal to their memory. So instead of looking for peace, we sit on the edge the chasm they carved, staring longingly for them, but instead, all we see is the vast, cold void of emptiness. The chasm in our hearts no longer becomes associated with the deep love we felt for them, it becomes a ‘Chasm of Grief’. This ‘Chasm of Grief’ provides us with constant, painful reminders of the person we lost. But to have a reminder of them, no matter how much it hurts, feels better than having no reminder at all. This is how the Chasm of Grief begins to consume us.

Sometimes, we try to cope with the pain by shutting ourselves away, especially if others seem to be coping better with their grief than we are. But we are all different, and the ways in which we manage our loss are personal and unique to each individual. 

Occasionally, we reach out to others. We want someone to listen to us talk for a while and acknowledge our grief without judgment. However, this is when we hear that oh so familiar phrase, 'Give it time.'  

‘Give it time’, is one of those well-intentioned pieces of advice frequently offered to us whether we asked for advice or not. To be fair, even if the people we turn to have also lost someone close at some point in their lives, most do not know what to say to help you through your time of need. Saying ‘Give it time’, fills up some of that awkward silence. But most of all, it allows them to walk away from the conversation feeling as though they have helped you out, when the only thing you really wanted, was for someone to just sit down with you and listen without saying a word.

But you know what? I hear from so many people who are hurting just as badly as they did when they first lost their wife, son, mother, father, daughter, husband, step parent, nephew, grandfather, grandchild, grandmother, niece, aunty, best friend, uncle, partner... ten, twenty or even thirty years ago and longer. Time does NOT always make things better and time is definitely NOT guaranteed to heal the pain or take away your grief.

So I'm not going to patronize you and suggest that you 'Give it more time'. Instead, I just want to convey one message.
 

What I am about to share with you does not require any faith in God. Whether you believe in an afterlife, or even if you don't, this message is just as much for atheists as it is for believers of all faiths and traditions. While faith provides many billions of people with enormous comfort, the truth is, faith is not the important factor and faith has never been a requirement for coming to terms with your loss. In my experience, there is only one factor that truly matters, and this is the universal key to making the pain of losing someone a little easier to bear.

Do you remember the 'Chasm of Grief' we were staring into? Well, the reason why it feels so bad when we stare into this deep, dark void of emptiness, is because there is nothing. It is a lifeless abyss. It is cold, dead and silent. This deathly silence just hurts us even more, reminding us of their death and the silence we have endured every single day since we lost them. Even though it hurts, we still cling to the grief because the pain is such a potent reminder of our loss. But that is what the ‘Chasm of Grief’ does. It tricks us into clinging to the loss, rather than remembering the person. This is why grief feels so empty, lifeless and hopeless. The empty ‘Chasm of Grief’ has the power to fill us with such a dreadful, hollow sadness, that in some cases, the pain of grief can last for years or even decades.

So how do we overcome the power of the Chasm of Grief? Before you feel the pull to stare once more into the ‘Chasm of Grief’, write down some happy memories of the person who is 

no longer in your life. Do it now.

Think of their smile, their face, how you held them, the sound of their laughter or something you did together. Whether the memories make you cry, laugh or smile, write them all down on a piece of paper. Have you done it? Now, fold the paper up and keep it with you at all times.

As you begin to dread the approach of Christmas and your thoughts start wandering ever closer toward the edge of the ‘Chasm of Grief’, unfold the piece of paper and read what you have written on it. Allow your mind to focus on those memories. Allow those memories to fill your consciousness. Let them make you smile, or even shed a few tears. When you do this, it’s important that you connect with the memory of the person, rather than the feelings of loss. Relive those special moments as if they were still with you. Feel the joy and love. As you connect with the memories, instead of the loss, you will begin to feel the universal key to managing grief coming to the forefront of your awareness. So what is this 'universal key'?

When you are grieving for someone, it is because of the love you feel for them. You don’t require a spiritual faith to believe in love. An atheist who is grieving for the loss of a loved one believes in love. Even though they cannot prove their love ever existed, they know that the love they have for that person is without a shred of doubt, absolutely real.

So rather than staring into the emptiness of the ‘Chasm of Grief’ this Christmas, each time you immerse yourself in the happy memories you once shared with the person you have lost, instead of the cold, lonely, emptiness, you feel the strength of the love you shared with this person.

And you know what? The love you are feeling, as you remember your loved one, is just as strong as when they were physically here with you. You see, love is unbroken by death or by distance. It remains intact and even has the ability to continue to evolve and grow stronger.

Love is so immensely powerful that when you recall those happy memories, it is as if someone is physically surrounding you in their warm embrace. When you relive the love you share with your loved one, rather than recalling the loss, the love begins to pour into the void of emptiness left by grief, over time gradually replacing the cold, empty, darkness of loss, with the warmth and light of love.

Unlike the emptiness of the ‘Chasm of Grief’, love is very much alive. As long as your love lives on, your loved one lives on with you.

Love transcends death; it is the bridge that connects us, an unbreakable bond. The love you 

are feeling right now as you remember them, that love IS your loved one. Through your darkest hours, they were embracing you all along with their love... holding you, comforting you, and 

living on in your heart.

Through love, we live forever...

...because love NEVER dies.

Adrienne's Journal - 5 Years have passed...

"We move on in our own time, in our own ways. There is no cut-off date for grieving or feeling sad. There is no timetable for when to start dating. It’s all about doing what feels right and authentic to whoever you are."

Posted by Adrienne Gruberg 

Adrienne's Journal

It’s five years since Steve died. March 19, 2011 at 6:45p.m. But who’s counting? Even with five-plus years of anticipatory grieving, when the real thing comes along, you’re sideswiped.

Every year, at this time, I run the “last days of Steve” scenario in my head, over and over again. The three weeks leading to his death are still very much etched in my memory. The quick downward progression. The emergency room visits. The hospitalizations. No, the end was definitely not fun. It was an emotional roller coaster that still has me reeling to this day, which is why I’ve come to limit the days I revisit that time.

But, five years is definitely a milestone. I went from counting the days, to the weeks, to the months, to the years—it’s amazing that it’s come to that, since he’s so present in my thoughts and daily routine.

There is life after caregiving. I can attest to that. One month after he died, I went to open our summerhouse full of its memories—it was a great space to grieve, reminisce and heal. By the end of the season, I was ready to take on the mission of creating The Caregiver Space. As tinged with Steve, illness and melancholy as the task may have been, it was my way of reinventing myself and getting on with life. Something that began as a pipe-dream and a way of staying in touch with women who had been in my spousal care cancer support group, became instead a way of touching all caregivers in need of emotional support.

So, creating the website was my way out of the darkness and into the light—the website and Broadway theatre. I’ve never been one who had a problem doing things alone—restaurants, museums, movies and plays—and I hoped I’d begin to meet people doing things I like to do—to populate my new life with people who had common interests. Didn’t happen. But that was never the reason for going out. I relish cultural expeditions on my own. It was getting to be the time, however, for me to “fish or cut bait,” so to speak. I was, much to my surprise, ready to date.

Well, I had a few bites but nothing that intrigued me—so I started prospecting myself. It sort of felt like “Goldilocks”; this man was too short, that man lived too far away and eventually I found someone who was just right. Steve had let me know he wanted me to find someone to be with after he was gone—but he had his list of people I could not date. What’s really funny is that the first two people who were “suggested matches” for me in my daily notifications were on his list of candidates not to date. And I was going to respect his wishes.

My capacity for reading people paid off. I’ve been dating the first man I went out with—someone I found for myself—for almost two-and-a-half years. I DO know myself and have learned to set boundaries in my life. I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve learned to make my feelings known. After years of caregiving and what sometimes felt like bowing to my husband’s every whim, what “I” wanted was paramount; being direct, honest and caring has allowed me to be in a loving relationship where my limits and my person are respected.

In no way do I feel disloyal to Steve or his memory. My “boyfriend” (in quotes because it feels so silly saying girlfriend or boyfriend when we’re both over 65) lets me speak about my past. There are photos of Steve everywhere and that’s fine and how it should be.I was with Steve for over thirty-five years—he is still a big part of my life—and he still comes up in conversations with people who knew him. There’s no way I could be with someone who didn’t understand that.

Moving on doesn’t mean you have to leave your past behind you—sometimes I feel mine is like a friendly, cozy, favorite sweater I wear that keeps me safe and grounded. It’s made me who I am. Your past is part of who you are. It doesn’t go away. Carrying it around with you is unavoidable.

We move on in our own time, in our own ways. There is no cut-off date for grieving or feeling sad. There is no timetable for when to start dating. It’s all about doing what feels right and authentic to whoever you are. If you stay honest with yourself, you’ll know what to do when. It’s all about being an individual again vs. part of a unit. Find your new comfort zone—sometimes it’ll be just a little out of your old comfort zone. Be brave. Be happy.

Bloggers Note: I have joined the group http://thecaregiverspace.org/  I strongly endorse this resource for all providing caregiving to a loved one, a friend or as a professional.

You have cancer.... "I’m sorry. I didn’t get it."

Dear every cancer patient I ever took care of, I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

This thought has been weighing heavy on my heart since my diagnosis. I’ve worked in oncology nearly my entire adult life. I started rooming and scheduling patients, then worked as a nursing assistant through school, and finally as a nurse in both the inpatient and outpatient settings. I prided myself in connecting with my patients and helping them manage their cancer and everything that comes with it. I really thought I got it- I really thought I knew what it felt like to go through this journey. I didn’t.

I didn’t get what it felt like to actually hear the words. I’ve been in on countless diagnoses conversations and even had to give the news myself on plenty of occasions, but being the person the doctor is talking about is surreal. You were trying to listen to the details and pay attention, but really you just wanted to keep a straight face for as long as it took to maybe ask one appropriate question and get the heck out of there fast. You probably went home and broke down under the weight of what you had just been told. You probably sat in silence and disbelief for hours until you had to go pretend everything was fine at work or wherever because you didn’t have any details yet and wanted to keep it private still. You probably didn’t even know where to start and your mind went straight to very dark places. That day was the worst. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how hard the waiting is. It’s literally the worst part. The diagnosis process takes forever. The different consults, the biopsies, the exams and procedures… and the scans. Ugh, the scans. You were going through the motions trying to stay positive- but at that point, you had no idea what you were dealing with and the unknown was terrifying. Knowing the cancer is there and knowing you’re not doing anything to treat is yet is an awful, helpless feeling. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how awkward it was to tell other people the news. You didn’t know what to say. They didn’t know what to say. No one knew what to say- but there was some relief when the word started to spread. It may have been overwhelming to reply to all the calls and messages- and to get used to others knowing such personal information, but this nasty secret you’d been keeping was finally out and your support system was growing. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how much you hung on to every word I said to you. You replayed it in your mind a hundred times. Did I really mean this or that… you wondered if you understood. You called me again to make sure. And maybe another time because your friend asked “well, what about _____”. You asked your other nurses to see if you got the same answer. Please know we are happy to take a million calls a day with the same questions until you can make sense of it. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how much you googled. I told you not to do it. You did it, a lot- and so did I. Searching for information, hope, stories like yours, reassurance. It was impossible not to. My new stance is to just know what a good source is when you google. I’ll help you learn to filter the information. And I promise to give you more information, because I know how much you crave it. It’s not realistic to think you will have the willpower to not search at all (at least it wasn’t for me). I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get what it felt like to get the sad looks all the time. Walking down the hall at work or seeing someone for the first time after finding out. You got the head tilt with a soft “how are you?” You quickly got together your rehearsed “Doing pretty good, tired but hanging in there”generic response. Don’t get me wrong, I know you appreciated all the well wishes and concern- but it sure took a little while to get used to the pity. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get what really goes on at all those “other appointments”. I knew what to tell you to expect at your oncology appointments- but all the different types of scans, radiation, operating room, procedural areas- I didn’t really know what went on behind the scenes there and what to tell you. I should’ve known more about the whole picture. I should’ve been able to warn you that there was an hour wait after a dose of medication before you could actually have a scan. I should’ve been able to tell you what you can and can’t eat or drink before a certain procedure or that some treatments require going every single day. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how weird it felt to be called “brave”. It’s a word that gets thrown around a lot, yeah it kind of made you feel good- but you still didn’t really understand why people would call you this. Sure you were getting through it fine (most days), but it’s not like you had a choice. I’m getting treatment because I have to- doesn’t really make me feel like much of a hero. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how crazy this makes you. Like you literally wondered if you had lost every working brain cell. Especially when dealing with side effects or other symptoms. You could’ve had every side effect in the book from chemo or none at all and you’d still wonder if it’s really working the way it’s supposed to. You may just have had a headache, or a common cold, or a sore joint- but you were never certain it wasn’t related to your cancer and always wondered if it was a sign of progression, even when it made no sense. I hope you didn’t feel dismissed when you called me to ask about it and I said not to worry. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get why you were always suspicious. You couldn’t help but wonder if they all knew something you didn’t about your prognosis. We shared the percentages and stats with you – and that every cancer is different … but still- is there something more? Something they were protecting you from or just felt too bad to tell you? Logically, I know the answer to this but find myself with these feelings as well. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how confusing “options” really were. In some cases, there may be more than one choice. Whether this be physicians, medications, sequence of treatment, etc-  I would try my best to help you understand every angle, but more options many times just meant more confusion. You wanted to be involved in your own care- but the stress of too many options was sometimes too much. You begged me for my input and to tell you what I would do if it were me. I hated that question, but I hear you now. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how hard it is to accept help. Especially the moms. This just wasn’t something you’re used to doing- but you needed it. You felt shy about admitting that you’re not sure you could’ve gotten through the first few months without the extra food, gift cards, support, and other help you were given. You felt humbled at the outpouring and just only hoped you would’ve done the same for them. You still wonder if you said thank you enough or if you missed an opportunity to give back. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get the mood swings. One day you felt confident that you’d completely beat this with no problem; you felt like you could take over the world. And for no good reason, the next day you were just convinced yours was going to be one of those sad stories people tell their friends about. The moods snuck up on you without warning. Literally anything could’ve been a trigger. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get that when you said you were tired, you really meant so much more. Sure there are words like exhaustion and extreme fatigue- but there should really be a separate word just for cancer patients, because it’s crippling. Really. Some days you really wondered how you’d trudge forward. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how much time this really takes away from your life. I always used phrases like “Cancer is like getting another full time job” or “Life doesn’t stop for cancer” when trying to prep you for what you were about to embark on. But now they just seem like corny catch phrases. It completely took over, you had to stop doing things you love, you had to cancel plans, you had to miss out on things that were important to you. It just wasn’t in any plans- and that alone took a lot of mourning. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how strange it was to see your body changing so quickly. You stood there and looked at yourself in disbelief in the mirror. Maybe it was extreme swelling, maybe it was scars, maybe it was hair loss, maybe it was pounds melting away when you do everything in your power to eat as much as you can. It’s hard- your appearance is tied more closely to your identity than you’d like to admit and these were constant reminders of what you were up against. You just wanted to feel like yourself. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get that it hurts to be left out. People didn’t invite you to things anymore. People felt like they can’t complain or vent about every day annoyances to you anymore. People acted differently towards you and it hurt a bit. You certainly didn’t blame them- you had even done the same to others when traumatic life events happened—and no you didn’t want to go out for drinks anyway because you don’t feel good. But you needed normalcy. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get how much you worried about your kids. For this, I’m the most regretful. I should’ve talked to you more about them- and not just in terms of lifting restrictions or germs. You worried about how this was going to affect them. You worried about not being able to keep up with them or care for them properly on your bad days. You worried they’d be scarred and confused. You worried about leaving them. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get the guilt you felt. Especially to those who are married. You thought about how unfair it was that your spouse had to pick up so much slack- mentally to help keep you focused and calm, and physically at home pulling double weight with never-ending every day chores. You understood that everyone promises “in sickness and in health” when you get married- but you still felt like they didn’t deserve this. You felt thankful when your spouse would say “go get some rest and I’ll take care of the kids” but your heart hurt overhearing them play in the other room away from you- wondering if that was a glimpse into their future that didn’t have you in it. I’m sorry. I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get that it never ends. Never. I used to tell you that cancer will be just a phase in your life. Just like high school or something- it seems like it drags on and on when you’re in it, but soon it’ll all be a memory. I’m sorry if this made you feel marginalized – it is not a phase. Yes, there are phases- the treatment won’t last forever, but you are changed now. The worrying won’t stop, the uncertainty won’t stop, the fear of recurrence or an awful end won’t stop. I hear that gets better- time will tell. And time is precious. I didn’t get it.

I do have to admit; I’ve probably had it a little easier than you to start off. I know the language, I know all the right people, I work where I get treatment so sure- it’s more convenient. I watched so many of you march through this terrible nightmare with a brave face and determination- without knowing one thing about cancer ahead of time, other than knowing you didn’t ever want to get it. You’ve always been my inspiration and I love each and every one of you. Nothing brings me more joy that when I see you reach your goals and slowly put yourself back together. I love when we get visits or notes from those of you who are several years out and doing great- it’s good for the oncology nurses’ soul. Even though healthcare workers don’t really know what it’s like to be you (well, us) it’s OK. Nobody does. I just hope that I was still able to give you a little guidance and strength to help you get through your cancer treatment. Even if I didn’t get it.

Love,
Lindsay, Oncology RN  

Dear every cancer patient I ever took care of, I’m sorry. 

I didn’t get it.

Posted on November 14, 2016

My Grief..... My Table

Grief Changes Relationships

Holding Hands with a dying person....

Title palliative care.... Doctor, Nurse, PSW, or Volunteer. In reality they are facilitators, coaches, a guide or caring friend. They offer kind, nonjudgmental support and guidance. They help people walk through some of the most difficult days of their life as they say good-bye to a loved one and/or the person who is dying.

Palliative Care people are unique individuals because...

They are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When they are with someone, they open their hearts, offer unconditional support, and bring this person to a new level of experience with the meaning of love.... one to another.

As a Hospice Volunteer and Bereavement Counselor / Grief Group Facilitator, friends and family often ask "It must be hard." "How do you do it?"; "Are there secrets to not getting overly involved in their life?"...... This is my response.

"Yes it is hard.....  but there is a way of being and sharing with others that honors their individuality, plus it gives them the dignity and respect they deserve as they live their final days. This way of being also supports the caregiver(s) and family members as they say good-bye to their loved one." 

• Encourage people to trust their own intuition and judgement. Most already know the "right" action to be taken and lust need to believe in themselves that they can do what must be done. There is rarely a right or wrong way to be with a dying person. Just be yourself and do the best you can.

• Information and emotional overload abound during these times. Give people only as much information as they can handle. Don't show what you know by using medical terms or ten-syllable words. Keep answers short and to the point. Help them understand what is happening and what may be next. Dying is a normal process and it is often harder on the observer that the individual who is passing.     

• No one wants to make a wrong decision when someones life is ending. Family will often ask for your direction on what to do next.....  Decision making is theirs, so don't take their power away from them. Help them work through their options, emotions and feelings. The final decision is theirs to make. 

• Keeping my ego at bay.  As I arrive I visualize hanging my own ego up on a hanger. This is their journey, not mine. I take no power from them. I make no judgments on who they are, their beliefs or actions. I am not a surrogate decision maker. 

• We most often fail at things we do for the first time. (That is how we learn). Supporting a family member who is dying (if the first time) leaves lots of room for mistakes or new learning's. (Giving a needle; feeding; bathing or toileting.) Help them feel safe enough to fail; not to get it right the first time is O.K.. To be nervous about trying new things or having new responsibilities for their loved one are normal.

• Provide guidance and help with humility and thoughtfulness. Again, this is not your journey, it is theirs. LISTEN to their thoughts, fears and worry. Just listening is sometimes the greatest gift you can give. No judgement, no "other ways of seeing it" or imposing your values or beliefs..... Just listen.

On leaving their home or hospital you can get your ego back off the hanger and be on your way. 

So my response to questions from friends and family....

 " On arrival to their home, I place all of my daily trials and tribulations in an imaginary  box on the front seat of my car. This visit will be about them / not me. When I leave, I take my stuff out of the box and place theirs in the box..... until our next visit."

Bill can be reached at privatesessions@rogers.com

Grief: How Do I Climb Out of This Hole?

Grief: How Do I Climb Out of This Hole?

Feel what you are feeling:  

Holding everything inside will just make you explode later. If others are uncomfortable with you being you that is their problem, not yours! The release of emotions will become your fuel to do something constructive while on your grief journey.

 

Talking about it:

Find a friend or professional support to share your thoughts, feelings, tears and fears with.  Even if you find just one person, he/she/they will help you move through your grief journey to a better place. We all need that support. Unconditional listeners lets us hear ourselves as we talk out loud and sometimes, hearing ourselves gives us the answer we are looking for.

Taking a time out: 

No one can argue that you need a break. Sometimes, (like the death of a loved one) life just needs to slow down or stop. If you have an employer, you will need to take time off work. Not the usual 3 – 5 days for bereavement leave, but maybe even longer. See a doctor for advice on how much time is right for you…. (Do you qualify for long-term leave or can you use up some holiday time?)  Right now it is all about you.

Death creates paperwork:  

We all have a hierarchy of basic needs; (shelter, clothing, food etc.) With the death of a loved one, income levels may change. Wills, legal fees, funeral services, loss of income will impact us at a most terrifying time.  Financial and “must do” demands will add to the stress of the moment, and like a game of ping-pong will fly our emotions into a series of ups and downs. Sometimes with the ball falling right-off-the-table causing us to think / feel we have lost it altogether.   

Emotional Hierarchy of Basic Needs:

Like financial needs us humans require a steady dose of physical touch, hugs, love and a sense of acceptance for who we are. While the frozen dinners and multitude of visitors and phone-calls will last for 3 – 6 months; all this slows down thereafter. Surround yourself with people who are keepers. Friends, or family who will be there for a dinner invitation. (take it, or do the inviting); go for coffee with friends. (Set a schedule like every Wednesday Morning. This gives you something to look forward to). Visit others who cannot get out. Start and end the gathering with a hug. They’re free and are worth a million dollars.

Be on Guard for Grief’s’ Nasty Habits: 

Be cautious about starting or increasing smoking , drinking, over medicating, over eating or other addictive behaviors. IF happening to you, it needs to stop now. These behaviours may provide short term relief but will also bring on long term grief. See your Doctor or seek profession advice.

Nights and Weekends can be the Roughest:

As we jump or pull ourselves out of bed each morning there is an emptiness that cannot be put into words. The mornings and afternoons we function in a fog but we do function. Then the evening hours or weekends arrive and this emptiness deepens to a depth we never knew we could reach. Loud music or having the T.V. on doesn’t seem to help…. We know sleep will not come easily, so we stay up later than we used too in hopes of falling to sleep faster once we get to bed.

Be patient with yourself:

Being forced to start a new life doesn't happen overnight. It could take months or years. You'll be making constant small steps that you won't even notice. Imagine losing a pound a month. You're not going to be able to tell in the first year that you are down 12 pounds…. BUT in the next 12 months  your clothes will be too big, your friends will be commenting, the mirror would be your friend. By the time you do see a difference, you'll probably be awesome, happy, and content with your adjusted life style and future prospects. (I know that sounds like going to the moon and back right now) Until the moment comes when you wake up one morning and say “I feel different” “Don’t know why, but, just different”.  Take your time and trust It will come. It always does. Remember H.O.P.E. “Hold On Pain Ends”

Grief is Not Invited:

Grief is a unwelcome visitor who comes and goes at will.

A song; smell; story; an old joke, even the time of day or as you are walking through the mall…. Grief will pop-up and the tears or that weak sinking feeling will hit without warning. This is normal and you are not going crazy! In time these happenings will diminish in frequency and intensity. In time you will take control remembering the good times and not be focused on the death. In time you will create a new normal for yourself; not forgetting your loved one (that can never happen nor do you want it to) but smiling as you recall the good times. In time you will look to your future knowing the strength and courage to move forward has come to you from the loved one who now only lives in your heart. In time…..