Grief 5: Peace

 As soon as I lie down, I fall peacefully asleep, for you alone, O LORD, bring security to my dwelling.

Psalm 4 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps it is the glorious sunshine, or the warmth in the air. Perhaps it is my beautiful daffodils—or the music of Easter—but today is a joyful one. OR maybe the privilege of being a Eucharistic minister today.

My last counseling session was simple and good. I think I've come to terms with the nature of grief.  It isn't collapsing in pain or uncontrollable tears. There is some sadness, yes, but not a debilitating amount. Regret? Not over my marriage, but I'm letting go of some over parenthood.

 

My grief is more general malaise and weariness as I adjust to new realities and expectations. It is an inability to imagine the future, which is undoubtedly a good thing. It is work, but it is manageable and it will pass. For now—one day at a time, one step at a time.

 

And I'm remembering His "word is a lamp unto my feet."

Grief 4: Life and Death

 

We had a glorious Easter—Alleluias, soaring music, sunshine, flowers, and warmth. I was reminded, though, that in order to have Easter, you must have Good Friday first. As CS Lewis famously said, "The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That is the deal."

My readers are probably aware this has been a difficult year. You may not know I lost both one of my daughters and my Beloved of 54 years in a space of three weeks at the beginning of the year. It is a lot to swallow. It will take a good long year of mourning before I can approach normal, if then.

This weekend I discovered the concept of "widow brain," a state that includes brain fog and fatigue. there is a growing body of science about the impact of loss on brain function. My whole brain is building new pathways and struggling with old ones. It explained a lot. Every thing I do from the time I get up until i go to bed (and especially then) is new and different. Expected stimuli are missing, new ones forming. No wonder I'm exhausted.

I continue to write daily, or try at least. This week I'm flying off to visit family. They live at an airport in a condo facing a pond visited by migrating birds. It will be a good break. This morning, I have to pack. And write. But first, coffee!

(This was originally posted on Caroline Warfield's blog. Caroline is Carol's pseudonym for novel writing.)

Grief 3: Alone

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4

I've never lived alone before. The quiet is deafening, hence the need for the TV to be on. I'm talking to Ambrose, the bear every day. SIGH.

It occurred to me yesterday that I am reluctant to wake up in the morning. I get a decent night's sleep, wake at 7:30 or 8, and then roll over, letting melatonin hangover drop me back into dreams. I've been sleeping until 10! I may be using my need for sleep after hospice (which is very real) as an excuse to avoid getting up to an empty house.

I've also been pondering advance grief. Is it possible I'm finished already? I was relatively calm when the decision for hospice was made because Greg and I had had suspected heart failure all along. Dr. Yasmajian thinks not. She suspects that caregivers frequently experience relief in the immediate aftermath of death that masks other things and grief can come in a wave later. Everyone grieves differently. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I walk with God every day. I'm not alone.

Two Hours Later...

Walking out on a nippy afternoon, I thought about something else, the hermit saints. Starting with Anthony of Egypt to Thomas Merton we have a whole history of people being called to solitude. I am not one of them. I've never felt a strong contemplative call. I was called to marriage and family. So what are God's plans for me in widowhood? I'll find out eventually.

Grief 2: One step

I do not ask to see the distant scene; one step enough for me.

Cardinal Newman

 

 Another day and again I ask what am I to do. I've begun to write, and I put that in God's hands. Does He want me to spend my time or part of it writing novels of love and romance? Seems trivial, but then, he's never asked me to step out of the domestic sphere. The world of marriage and family is where he put me. It is the one thing he actually said to me. But without Greg...

I think of Greg with a smile, and I carry around a bear made of one of his shirts. I feel like a whole new life is flickering awake for me. I have no idea what it will bring. And what role with Rachel's sudden passing play? No idea.

One step...

Grief 1: Thy Will Be Done

Whenever we imagine we are in control of life—our own or someone else's—we have fallen prey to the ancient whisper in the Garden: "You shall be like gods."

Magnificat, Vol 24 Number 12, February 27, 2024

It is now forty-one days since my Beloved, my love for 54 years slipped gently away to God.  Suffering with his heart for all of his eighty years, it finally gave out after two particularly long difficult years of care. The last six months of in-home hospice care were a blessing. Every day from our anniversary July 26 until his death I knew exactly what God expected of me--caring for my husband round the clock. It was the longest period in my life when my calling was brilliantly clear. Every moment of it was a blessing.

Greg always said God would take him when He was ready and was perfectly at peace. We had lived every day of the last thirty years since the last crisis as if it could be our last. We had no regrets or work undone. we had traveled and spent endless time enjoying one another. We'd moved to be close to our Grandson and took full advantage of it. After some years of terrible estrangement, we had reconciled with our middle child, Rachel, and had her close for the last five years, seeing her at least weekly.

And then, God took Rachel too. On Christmas Eve. We had two funerals in three weeks. The burden of that added to months of sleepless and endlessly interrupted nights, left me numb. The exhaustion remains, and I still haven't relearned how to sleep through the night.  I still haven't cried or crumbled.

My calm concerned me. The counselor I'm seeing pointed out there is no one right way to grieve. Perhaps I was just ready. Perhaps Greg's faith and strength in the face of death sustain me. We'll see.

I've never lived alone before. I'm taking it one day at a time. I offer my day to God every morning. My theme song is now "Lead Kindly Light..."

Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th’encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

Yep. That was me. Telling God what I was going to do for him and never waiting to listen. I am so trying to wake up every morning and give my day, that one day, over to his will. I did that yesterday, and he gave me...  MICE. I'll be dealing with the mess in my garage for a long while. Such is real life.