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Changes I'm Making


enna

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Focusing on the positive today. FaceTiming with Elizabeth Anne and I just know that she recognizes my voice. Oh, how Jim would be beaming with pride for his latest granddaughter. I couldn’t help but reflect on what secondary losses mean.  Jim would have so much love to give Elizabeth Anne. He would spoil her and treat her like a princess. He would do what every grandfather does and that is to shower her with unconditional love. He would read to her. He would show her how to put a worm on a hook to catch a fish. He would show her how to plant seeds in his garden. He would teach her how to catch lightening bugs and put them in a jar and then let them go. He would hold her and make her feel secure.  And so much more. 

 

Elizabeth Anne 7:10.JPG

 

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Oh Anne, she's beautiful!  Hearing you speak makes me feel it too...George would have done those things too.  It is so hard losing them. 

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  • 2 weeks later...

50 Months

If anyone ever told me I’d survive this long I would probably have told him/her that they were crazy. But, here I am, 50 months later. It has been a real roller coaster ride. Nothing was smooth those first few years. I kept looking for a light but very rarely saw one. Days, weeks and months turned into years. Oh, there were some calm days. There were days I didn’t cry. There were days I asked my grief counselor if I was ever going to be “normal” again. And she always gave me the same answer: “yes, you are doing fine.” I changed. Looking in the mirror I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. I looked drawn. My hair turned whiter than it was, and the memory of the tears shed in the shower still remains a cause for concern. The number of times I had to get up in the middle of the night and change the pillowcases because they were soaked with tears was too many to count. I am not ready to write a book about my journey just yet but I am ready to talk about where I am today.

Today, 50 months later, I smile more. I have and am still doing my “grief work” that is a daily event in my life. I don’t cry as often as I did in the beginning. Those “grief bursts” still come but not with as much force as before. I became a member of this forum 49 months ago. Those here gathered me in their arms and have never let go. The message I heard when I first came reminded me that I would not have to take this journey alone. Those words ring true to this day. In the beginning, I read most posts in the Loss of Spouse thread. Gradually, I began to write and share my pain. Over the four years, I have learned that to share my pain and vulnerability I am able to bear the loss of my beloved Jim easier. I continue to be comforted knowing that there are others who understand the pain of loss. If you have found your way to this forum you too will be comforted as I have been and your journey will not be done in isolation.

I do not respond to posts as I used to but I am still reading. I now find a way to let someone know that they are being heard. I hang out more under the Grief and Loss threads for one of the things that I have taken away from the forum is that there are numerous Tools for Healing here. I could not be where I am today if I did not allow myself to learn from those who have walked before me.

My love for my Jim is still very much alive. I miss him every day.

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Your journey is an inspiration to me and many others here.  It is almost 18 months and I cant believe I have made it either. I appreciate your input and sharing and it gives me hope that i can keep walking... keep moving on.. one day at a time.  Thank you for your generous service.  Shalom - George

 

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This posted after I closed my computer yesterday, I'm sorry I didn't see it then.  It seems no matter how many months/years go by, we still miss them.  You've done your grief work and been here for others...it just doesn't seem possible it's been so long.  But then it doesn't seem possible to me that George has been gone over 11 years.  It doesn't change for us that much, does it?

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At just beyond 7 months I really can not imagine the amount of sorrow each person here has suffered.  Actually, no disrespect intended here, I don't want to think about the future beyond a week at a time.  Even that can overwhelm me.

I miss my husband so very much for all kinds of crazy and normal reasons.  

I was just thinking that the last movie we saw together at the theatre was 'Crocodile Dundee'.  I was pregnant with our now 29 year old son.  

No more holding hands, no warm safe arms around me, no reassuring words, no more of anything with him.  

But the topic here is Changes I'm Making.  Everything is changing without my consent or control.  The one thing I am committed to doing is participating weekly in a grief walk and talk group that is supported by hospice.  It is a one hour walk/stroll where persons who have lost their spouse, partner, or significant other are encouraged to talk with each other and with the hospice volunteers.  After the walk is an hour coffee time to continue talking.  It starts August 11th at 10:00am.  I'm kind of excited.  I have registered for other grief help programs, each time they have been cancelled for lack of participants.  I know that if that happens again that I am going to feel lost and probably depressed.  I need to have a plan if that happens...  There is a park nearby and I can take one of my dogs and get some exercise and fresh air.  It isn't ideal but it is available.

I'm sending prayers for everyone here to find peace and a glimpse of true joy.

Marita

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Marita, I hope that it does not get cancelled, it sounds good, to walk and talk with someone else who understands.  Let us know how it goes.  You are smart to plan for "in case".

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Mama thank you for who I am…

Thinking of my beautiful mama who died so many years ago from cancer that took her body but never her spirit. She was a stoic Irish woman who raised her five children as best she knew how during a most difficult time in our country (pre and post -WWII). What she left each one of us was unique to who we were/are in this life today. Our childhood was carefree and filled with play. Catching fireflies and putting them in a jar with holes in the lid and when it was just the right time releasing them as we sat on blankets watching the stars and the fireflies blend into the dark night. We played outdoors from morning till evening without our parents worrying. When the streetlights came on we had better be on the porch. We eat the fruit on the trees or the vegetables underground without a worry. When grapes were ready we pulled a bunch off a vine and eat. I never worried about drinking water from the hose or playing hide-and-seek in the cornfields. When older we siblings each did our own thing. One of my sisters became a cheerleader, another sister followed mama around and was her little helper in the kitchen. She loved canning and baking and was a very good cook later on in her life. I was the middle one – quiet and reserved. I took to dancing and playing the violin. Our two younger siblings grew up in a different time being four and five years younger than me but they also found their own niche.

Mama was not perfect but to me she was. Her love for each one of us taught us how to live in a world that was not always going to be the best. Her words to us still resonate in my mind and they were simple “be kind to others for you never know what they may be going through.”  I still get my strength from remembering.

This song by IL DIVO brought memories back.   MAMA 

 

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Thank you, Marty.

Here is another change in my life...

Something New

I’m sharing this because it is the part of my grief journey I have been on for a little over four years now.  I have become more convinced that spending time throughout the day in being in the present  (mindfulness) has been a contributing factor in my living without my Jim.

I won’t go into all the different events that I have been involved in but I will say that mindfulness has been on the top of my list.

My purpose is to share with you something I started this summer. I have participated in a lunch bunch gathering once a month with a group of ten to fifteen ladies for several years now and some of us have discussed gathering for a “meditation” hour in each other’s homes. Our ages vary but most of us are in our fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties.

I live in an active adult community. We don’t only think we are young we act like we are.

I held the first meeting on Tuesday afternoon and invited six people that I thought would be interested.  It was an afternoon meeting since it is too hot to be out and about in our extremely hot temperatures. Since it was at my home I facilitated this gathering. Served iced tea or hot and Sweet Madeleine’s (a small rich sponge cake) with fresh fruit and whipped cream.

I first had to send feelers out to see if it could even happen.

Once I received four people interested I chose the day and time convenient to most and prepared a simple format. Six came.

First, it was important to set ground rules ~ confidentiality, one only has to share if they want to, not everyone has to facilitate, all phones are on vibrate during the gathering, and each one hosting decides what format will be used (not everyone has to host). A facilitator only helps to guide the meeting along. Some may choose to be a co-facilitator.  

I then started out with lighting a candle and a short, guided imagery video that I projected onto the living room wall. I have an old projector from my teaching days.

We then did a short check-in from members who wanted to share something that is/was going on in their lives. We already knew one another so introductions weren’t necessary.

My topic for openers was to give a brief explanation of what mindfulness is and how we can blend it into our daily lives. We ended with a loving-kindness meditation (found on YouTube) as a way to foster a greater sense of connection to each other and to the world. I made available two articles about mindfulness if anyone wanted me to send them an email.

It went well. We are doing it again in September. Perhaps the weather will be cool enough for a walking meditation. Who knows?

My goal in doing this is to foster growth in my own meditation practice.

What does this have to do with my own grief journey ~

It brings me together with people - grief can be very isolating especially if someone is alone without spouse or family near close by.

It helps me to focus on listening better to what others have to say.

It keeps the doors open to talk about what is important to me now that Jim is dead. I say his name every day.

Benefits of mindfulness meditation

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/08/mindfulness-meditation-benefits-health_n_3016045.html

Mindfulness with Jon Kabat-Zinn

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nwwKbM_vJc 

5 Reasons You’re Having a Hard Time Being Mindful

 http://www.mindful.org/5-reasons-youre-hard-time-mindful/

 

 

 

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On July 30, 2016 at 9:04 AM, Widowedbysuicide said:

Changes I'm Making.  Everything is changing without my consent or control.  The one thing I am committed to doing is participating weekly in a grief walk and talk group that is supported by hospice.  It is a one hour walk/stroll where persons who have lost their spouse, partner, or significant other are encouraged to talk with each other and with the hospice volunteers.  After the walk is an hour coffee time to continue talking.  It starts August 11th at 10:00am.  I'm kind of excited.  

Today was the first walk 'n talk.  It felt very strange.  I sure didn't want to join this kind of group but it is where I need to be for now.  10 participants, all ladies, ranging from 40 something to seventy something.  I'm exhausted in too many ways now.  It's too hot today.  

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  • 2 weeks later...

Although I am still struggling with my blurry vision, I spent most of the weekend in my studio.  I am working creatively only for myself, but it has brought me some joy.  I have gone through my many Pinterest "pins" for some time, and printing out the ones that touch me, either through a picture or a saying.  Many of them are about grief... the deep hurting part of it, but also the soul-stirring part of it.  I print them out, and then mount them on coordinating scrapbook paper.  It is fun to match them up...mash them together and come up with a new piece of art.  I have put some of them in those clear sleeves with a magnet to put on my cubicle at work.  A lot of the others I have mounted to black sheets and put them in clear sleeves and have them in a binder.  I will use them as prompts to continue my writing...in my journal and hopefully a future blog.  When I fell in love with Mark, and as our love grew...it awakened my creative soul.  He LOVED to watch me create and was always in awe of what I came up with.  I feel so close to him when I am doing something creative.  Right now, grief is my muse.  Some pins express sadness; some speak of hope and the push to move forward (not move ON).  Some speak to me personally about being brave in the face of grief; some speak of allowing me to feel all the elements of grief without judging myself.  Grief teaches you to go deeper inside yourself, and being creative helps me to show it to the world.

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48 minutes ago, Froggie4635 said:

mash them together and come up with a new piece of art.

Do you put them in a collage?  I'm interested in what you do with them...could you post a picture of what you do with them?  I'd love to see it!  I'm very interested in art too, I don't paint but I have made handmade cards for over 30 years and occasionally mounted & framed something that I really "felt".  I haven't been doing much of anything creative lately, just kind of lost my motivation, I need some inspiration to try try something new!

Good for you for spending time on this!  It's so healing and flowing...

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Kay,

The picture below is a scanned copy of one of the pieces.  I printed out the square in the middle, and then matched it up to scrapbook paper the suited it most.  After, I took some ribbon that matched the color and glued it around the square.  I also took the same picture and then mounted it on two solid color scrapbook paper to get it to an 8 X 10 size (originally it was 4 X 6).  Then I put it in a frame.  It could also be modge-podged onto a piece of wood and hung on the wall.  All of these started by printing out images from Pinterest.  If you go onto Pinterest and do a search for a board called Losing You...I tried it and found my own board.  It has my name listed. 

img013.jpg

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Kay...

I also made some cards I use for correspondence.  I took plain notecards (greeting card size) and used a stencil to cut out an M from black wrapping paper, then glued it to a piece of scrapbook paper on the front.  Inside the card, I cut and glued some paper to write on and then sized and cut a piece of coordinating scrapbook paper (could also use wrapping paper and glued it inside the envelope as a liner.  I did the same thing when I made our wedding invitations...and I did it for Christmas cards.  It gives it a little extra when it is opened.

MM

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Oh yeah, I just remembered, you did some mosaic pieces too, didn't you?!

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  • 2 weeks later...

Did this ever strike a cord...I know I'm not the only one who has looked in a mirror and asked the same question even though the circumstances may be different. 

Who Was I Before This Grief?

August 30, 2016 by Lindsey Henke 

 

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"I often wonder, “What happened to the old me?”
When I look I the mirror now I can still see her reflection. A woman with long strawberry blond hair, freckles speckling the bridge of her nose, and a small dimple that appears on her left cheek when she smiles.  The young woman in the mirror looks like me but she doesn’t FEEL like me anymore. It’s as if two women have tried to merge into this one body. Me ‘before’ my child died and me ‘after’ her death.

Only marks of memories of her upon our body’s reflection in the mirror remind me of who we used to be. The thinning eyebrows I fill with a pencil each morning and the chicken pox pothole scar on our forehead that has been present since our youth. Still the same, but yet forever changed.

But the eyes, those beakers of beauty that access the soul.  Those eyes tell the truth, a cave of darkness, as they cannot hide the pain of loss, although they sparkle at times like a candle illuminating the dark cavern with hope.

Is she still in there? Is the girl that used her lips to fall in love with laughter and her eyebrows that shared a coy glance with the world still in there?  Those checks that once conveyed her sense of innocent smiles believing in life, where have they gone?

The intersection of before and after grief is so strange.  It’s a place I find myself meeting myself in over and over again.  “Hi old self, I miss you…” the new says to the old.

The old self-smiles at me now and says, “I miss you too.” She takes my hand as a breeze blows through my hair and rattles the street signs of before and after on this dusty dirt road of sadness and longing.

“Are you coming home?”  I, the new me, asks her with a wishful tone.

She answers back gently, but with honest words, “No, not this time.” And my head hangs and a tear rolls down my worn face as I grieve not only the death of my child but me that used to be.

I barter with her like a broken-hearted lover, “Not you too! I can’t lose you too.” I have lost so much.  I need her more now than ever.

As she kneels down in front of me, like a mother comforting her small child, she softly whispers, “Believe it or not, you don’t need me anymore.”

My lip quivers as I hold back my pleas for her to stay.

She continues, “I am still in there, but you have evolved. There is no going back from where you have come. You are forever scarred but not forever broken. You will rise from this place of pain, stronger and more full of life and love than you have ever been. I know now you want to go back, but trust me when I say there will come a time when you can’t imagine ever wanting to leave this new you, for me, the old. For the new you carries all the memories and love you held for our daughter and you will never, ever want to let that go. So please, let go of me instead.”

My body quivers, parts of my being shifting within. A wave of relief moves through me as she says these words.

She kisses my forehead gently before she parts. I resist following her, as I know she is right.

Before she leaves she stops and looks back over her shoulder and with a smile says softly, “You will be okay. We will be okay.”

And with that I know, I will find a part of her in us again someday."

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I wasn't sure where to put this but since it's something to ascribe to, yet can take a while to get there, I figured it'd fit into "changes I'm making"...Mutts.jpg

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened..."

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I did not want to post in the Spouse forum.  I know so many people are having a difficult time with grief anniversaries this month.  I took some extended time off over the Labor Day weekend, just to try and rest my eyes and my spirit.  The summer holidays were never a big deal for us; it was always far too hot to do anything.  We basically hibernated until cooler temps.  I found myself truly motivated to get some things done.  I made a list of 7 things I hoped to accomplish in the five days I was off.  I got to 4 of them.  I felt really proud of myself for the things I did.  I am also feeling the drive to get into the studio once again.  Somehow, cutting paper and creating calms me (even though my eyesight is making it a little more challenging).  I know Mark watches over me as I do.  This health scare has shaken me up, and yet also provided some needed motivation.  Even though I was feeling moments of peace and contentment, I would also quickly get aggravated when I dropped something, or I came upon a roadblock in my progress.  What is written and said is so true...grief doesn't go away.  I went to a party for Mark's uncle who turned 90. His siblings were not present; mostly his uncle's family/children.  I felt his absence tremendously.  He was my touchstone, and the social one.  I missed his laughter and stories.  I was glad to go because he loved his Uncle Bill, but I felt unprotected.  Sometimes changes happen whether we want them or not, but taking baby steps forward is the only way.  I felt proud of myself as I put myself to bed last night.

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