In Darkness Comes The Light

[enna]

In Darkness Comes the Light

The last several days have been ones that caused me to question “Why?” I know there is no answer to this question but it still doesn’t stop me from asking it. Why is there so much pain when you lose someone so precious to you? Why do we have to go through so many hardships? Why do people we love have to endure hardship after hardship? Why go on in this earthly life when we have been ripped away from our soulmates – the one who has completed us when we were together?

Today when I took Benji for our walk I thought about these questions. I battled in my mind that there is no reason for me to only look at the darkness. Here I am in sunny Arizona basking in the sun with temperatures in the 80s. I should be grateful. After our time in the park, I went over to Memorial Park where I have a remembrance paver identifying Jim as a pilot serving in WW11. He was so much more than a pilot. He was a son, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a Christian…

Today I did more crying than thinking. My heart ached but I sat there for a while.

I really have no reason to see only darkness so upon a friend’s suggestion I’m going to try to turn my attention to those things that bring joy and happiness to me. Benji, grandbabies, a rather healthy mind if not body, playing the piano (I’m getting better), pinning (I’m addicted), reading, listening to music, gardening, being outdoors, sitting by water, watching sunsets, baking, eating (well, what I’m allowed), meeting friends or talking to friends, and being a member of this ‘tribe’ of very special people. I don’t know if it will pull me out of this curtain of darkness but it will be a reason to focus on what I do have here as I wait for my time with Jim again. One thing I decided to do was open The Box that has been sitting on top of the fireplace since Christmas and read some of the messages my family and friends wrote on index cards about their memory of Jim. I was waiting for the first year of death to read the notes. To my surprise many of the messages were addressed to me telling me how lucky Jim was to have me. How he loved my cooking no matter what I cooked. The kids thanked me for taking care of their dad, friends were kind in their notes remembering how Jim loved to be at the ballpark keeping score for the Senior Softball Association. His golfing buddies remembered his good swing and the conversations over beer. His disposition never changed. People liked being around him. I love him. He kept me grounded.

I am trying to figure out who I am now. I knew who I was almost eleven months ago. Today I am not sure. Anne

….the photo is a picture off The Box

[mfh]

Anne, I think this post is lovely and it speaks so well to the two sided world we live in and walk in...the dark and the light...yin yang...joy and pain. I love the notes you found...and how neat that you did not hold yourself to the original plan of opening them on the 1st anniversary.

Of course no one knows the answer to the 'why' questions. We all have our moments when we ask them and I think one of the greatest joys (not THE greatest joy-that will be seeing Bill and others) I anticipate on the other side is knowing 'why'.

You had a very pensive day walking in the dark and walking in the light and I just know that Jim feels he is (I won't say was) happy to have shared this part of the journey with you and is waiting for you to continue over there.

You are in my heart and thoughts and prayers.

Mary

[Wifflesnook]

Oh I just wrote a long heart felt reply to that and went and looked at something else to check it and lost it. I may try again later :-(

[MartyT]

An essay whose message seems to fit nicely here: The Anatomy of Hope ♥

[mfh]

Marty, this is truly one of your best gold nuggets...and so early in the morning. You must have your miner's light turned on high. I wept through it because, though the first two years after Bill died are a major blur except for the depth of the gut wrenching pain I lived, I distinctly remember feeling hopeless...for the first time in my life and in spite of some pretty rough patches I have crossed through in my history. I remember feeling I would never ever ever see or feel hope or joy again and frankly I just did not care if I did or didn't. Nothing mattered. I just wanted to die. Reading this reminded me that since those darkest of darkest days, I have experienced moments/times of joy (which is pretty much how joy comes, I believe-in moments/times not in weeks) and I do have hope again though it has taken a great deal of patience, work, support, open mindedness, and buckets of tears that needed/and still need (though now it is more like cups of tears) to be cleansed out of me so I could see more clearly.

However, my hope has changed in its essence. Perhaps Bill and I hoped for a great trip to Ireland together or that Alzheimer's would not be in his future (as it was in his mom's and brother's); or that we would die together sitting under a glorious tree on our land; or that the world would find peace and child and animal abuse would end and wars would become a memory...and on and on and on. I do hope the world finds peace and how I wish that child and animal abuse would end but my hope now is deeper than that. In part, I hope each of us comes closer each day to just being/knowing who we are - temples of the Holy Spirit, the great spirit, God, all being, life in its essence - however you call that awesome power or intellect or being. Once we know that, all the rest will fall in place and through all the crap that is happening everywhere on this planet, I do see signs that give me hope that this awakening in each of us is happening and will someday happen everywhere - though not in my lifetime. The parents of the Newtown kids who were killed in December had a huge influence in DC yesterday...that is a sign. The grass in my yard (such as it is) is greening up. Corporations are providing meditation spaces and times for employees (granted they think they will make more money but it IS a step). When I worked with corps I could not mention the word spirituality and that was just in the 80s. A pope was elected who reflects peace and justice instead of power and control. We can, thanks to folks like you, talk about end of life issues and life after life. And places like this exist, the fire (as fae calls this circle) where grieving folks can gather and give and receive the love and support they so sorely need. Even the world of computers is a sign as it becomes a symbol and a vehicle of connection...our oneness (yes, even when they do not work . Tears do not flush out hope...they clear the way for it. And I have learned that once in a while, people come into our lives, people who truly hear us.

Those are some of the ways hope has returned to my world and yes, it has taken a hope I did not acknowledge or even recognize (was still in me after Bill died) in order to get here. That hope is, I believe, within each of us even when we are in our darkest days and do not believe or see it or even care. Our role here is, to use the author's phrase, to ignite it by walking through the heart of our grief even when we do not believe it matters and supporting others as they do the same. So thank you for that piece...Mary

And yes, I saved what I just wrote so when one of those days or even months hits again...I can read it and remind myself that I do have hope...and always will.

[enna]

Mary, thank you for saying in words what is in my heart just not in my action just yet! Hope is what keeps us moving and the essay Marty posted was very thought provoking - my meditation for the first part of this day. I know I have not only much to be grateful for but I also believe that I have a contribution still to make in this world of ours. Your willingness to express your journey has given me hope to continue on my journey. It's the pain that I could never have imagined one could feel after the death of a loved one that has taken me by surprise! My hope today will have to be that this pain eases up down the line. Anne

Thank you Marty for the early meditation essay. It needs more than one read from me. I am one of the slower members of this 'tribe'.

[mfh]

I think having hope that you will have hope is a GREAT way to go at this point. It certainly is more than I had at 11 months, that I am certain of. I am glad my thoughts provide a bit of support. As for you being in the slow group, I doubt it. There are no slow members here....just those in deep deep pain.

In my heart, Mary

[enna]

thank you, Mary... pain is not something I would ever wish on anyone - you have been a source of encouragement to all here on this forum - anne

[mfh]

Anne, It is a gift to me to be able to share with folks. It helps me as much as it might help others. And thank you so much. Mary

[kayc]

Anne, I want to address your first post before I go back and read the rest of this thread. Your post could have been written by me, just change some of the details in it. I have George's Christmas stocking for people to put what they want in instead of a box, same concept. I was just thinking the same things last night and this morning. Why does my focus get so inward, is it because I live so much of my life alone? Is it really that the things that go wrong seem to grab our attention whereas the things that are good require us to go looking for them and make an effort to focus on them? Whatever it is, I need to practice it even more than I do. I don't want to focus on the things that go wrong so much that I miss out on some of the things that are good. Life is what happens when we are busy wishing it away.

You wonder why you have to live without your Jim...maybe it's to be here for us, I know you are invaluable to me! I love you and appreciate you.

[kayc]

Marty, thank you for that article, I had to share it on FB and email it to a friend who is feeling despondent today. How timely and fitting this article is for our everyday lives!

Mary, thank you for expressing so well what I know to be true and feel in my heart. Yes it's moments I look for now. So much of my former life was wrapped up in George and HE made me happy. I am now having to learn how to be responsible for my own happiness. That is more challenging than at first it might seem! But I'm learning it. I am trying to shed (my XH's way) the thinking that a moment spent doing what one wants, on oneself is a moment wasted or laziness. I am learning balance.

Anne, what I have learned is that pain, while it may seem all encompassing, does not define us nor should it define how our day goes. The kind of pain we grievers have, we do learn to live with and coexist with. I have learned not to dispel it but to embrace it, for it is all part of the expression of what I experience in my life, along with the joys and the mundane of every day existence. And yes, I do think pain subsides eventually...it is the "eventually" part that we are impatient with.

[enna]

My dear Kay, yes, I think you posted about George’s Christmas stocking before. I know I read about this type of thing and for me I liked the idea of The Box. I am glad I did not wait until May 25^th to read some of the notes. They touched my heart and at the same time made me miss Jim even more. I really have tried to accept what is happening in the moment but being very weak I find I am always struggling with accepting what’s happening right now. I’ve been a good one for giving advice to others about keeping your chin up and being positive but I am a very poor example to my own words.

I think we focus on ourselves because we do spend so much time alone even though we are doing for others we still have our homes to go to and often we are alone in our homes. I never felt aloneness until Jim died. Now I am struggling with this even though I know I’m not really alone. It is very difficult to live in the moment. I still continue to be so impatient. If I had the power to change one thing about me it would be to be more patient and to believe that I am loveable.

You are a treasure I appreciate, Kay. I have received strength from many on this forum. I know I have not walked alone. And I know that we are all in our own pain.

Anne

[enna]

I have a long way to go before I can 'embrace' pain. I know it does not define me but right now it sure consumes me. Perhaps years from now I can look back and say to myself, "See silly girl, everything turned out all right!"

[feralfae]

Dear Anne,

I don't think any of us will look back and say "See silly girl" but I think and hope that in the future, I will look back on these grief-shadowed days and feel compassion not only for the me that is here today, writing this, but also feel compassion for those who cross my path in the future who have been through tis sense of world-ending loss. I also hope to feel more optimistic anticipation of the future again.

I was reading notes in one of our journals, when we talked about beating this cancer in six months, and how we were still going to have a great time in all the years ahead. I think hope is a rational response to cancer. I also think hope is a rational response to death, once we are far enough along in the journey to believe that there might be a future that is brighter, more joyful, more at peace.

It took me about a year, maybe a bit more, to actually begin to feel hope, and then, having felt it once or twice for a few minutes each time, I began to feed and nurture it like a tiny ember that I did not want to die. I wanted it to grow in me, because my hope is entirely intertwined with my faith, you see, and I needed that to be strong.

I think we nurture hope and faith here, with sharing, with our meditations, with all the rich and affirming readings, and with our own, unique and individual rituals and practices that allow a bit of room for hope, for peace, and for letting go of the pain.

I still find myself all over the map emotionally most days. But I am managing better, not being so worried as much by the small stuff, like a tire that kept going flat or that I may need some work done on the car. And I am more at peace with where I am in my life right now, not so completely undone.

I think we are each walking the journey exactly as we are intended to walk it. I don't think we can do any other than follow the Path we have before us. And that is all right, too. Each day is a new opportunity, a new blessing, and a new awakening to wonder. I try to remember that on mornings when I wake up and remember I am here, alone.

Then I jump into this valley, by this fire, where there is a loving tribe, and I find all this loving and caring, and I am renewed.

Much Love,

fae

[Wifflesnook]

Fae I loved that piece where you said about feeding and nurturing hope like a tiny ember. Maybe there is hope for me. Today as its the weekend and we lve more or less in a nature reserve there are many people walking about looking for spring migrants. It's the first good day for ages. Pete would love it and I find it hard to inhabit a world in which his physical body is not. I talked to several people on my walk round the area with Kelbi, and it was nice to do so, but all I want is to talk to Pete. All of you are struggling with this same need, I know. We all have to continue on our paths. I hope I can persuade myself to enjoy this good weather, as I know Pete would want me to. I hope you all have as good a weekend as you can. Jan

[enna]

Fae, I am looking for the time when hope does become a reality to me. Usually I am an optimistic person so I am having a hard time walking through the negatives right now. I will keep in mind your comment about keeping the 'tiny ember' alive when I do get a spark of hope.

Some of us are just too close to our loss...it is hard not to focus on the pain.

Jan, you will enjoy the good weather you are having because that is in your nature. We are all here walking this journey together. Anne

[Wifflesnook]

Yes Anne. I'm trying to do that. It's hard. Everything seems to have lost its colour and vibrancy somehow. I've been going through some more of Pete's emails and his love of life just springs out. At least I know he enjoyed his life and this has to be a great comfort to me.

[kayc]

Yes Jan, that is a good way to look at it. George did too, and it is a comfort.

[nats]

Anne,

"In Darkness Comes The Light"...That is such a fitting quote/topic as we all have seen the darkness and many of us are still in the darkness!

As we all know much to well it is indeed darkest before the dawn, but if we are patient and nurture our wounded heart, the light does indeed shine brightly once again, many of us find "new meanings" to life we never knew existed and we all are discovering things about ourselves we never knew...I would never imagine my life changing as much as it has in 3 years, but the passing of Ruth has indeed given me a perspective I've never had before...keep positive as I know you are... you as well as many and myself are just encountering the bumps of grief...one thing that has allowed me to deal with the ups and downs of this trip is I've come to understand that this journey will never end! I will always miss Ruth even as I love Brenda and Brenda will always miss Glenn even as she loves me, we will all always and forever remember how we feel inside with the loss of our beloved spouse's as we did not choose to have them leave so soon...but in the end the journey will indeed end and our loss and pain will no longer exist as we will be reunited with our beloved in spirit if we so believe...many say we are being taught as we take this journey, in the beginning I was not in agreement with that, but as time has past I have indeed learned many things I never knew before, I take these new found skills to comfort me daily and continue to build a "new me" a more in depth me...be patient, positive, and thankful and you to will see the "Light" again as you yourself are a radiant light you can not see....

May Peace Be With You

NATS

[enna]

Hello again, Nats, and thank you for being here to respond to my post. I flashed back when I saw your name and remembered how much comfort I received after reading your first post. In deed, darkness does come before the dawn. We sometimes forget that there are others who are taking this journey right along with us. I continue to be amazed at how sensitive people on this site are for everyone reaches out to give a hand, an ear, or words of wisdom to one another in their grief.

I like your idea of finding ‘new meanings” if we are only patient and take the time to nurture our broken hearts. I know how much you loved Ruth and you are now finding new life with your Brenda. How wonderful for you.

My goal will be to learn how to be patient and go through this pain with dignity knowing that it will all turn out however it will, according to God’s plan for me. I think my faith is strong but I am so weak that my weakness has brought me right to my knees.

On my knees I do not ‘pray’ I only remain motionless unable to be positive or thankful waiting for the slightest bit of light. I know it is within me to get up and do something about this lack of gratefulness and I try even though I do not see yet where it is taking me.

I know I am not alone in this struggle and this does give me some comfort. Not that I want others to feel this pain just that I have others walking beside me is enough for me NOT to fall apart. Anne

[feralfae]

Dearest Anne,

I think you are doing all the right things for yourself. You are living in your own awareness, taking care of yourself, sharing when you feel the need, and knowing that some day, you will find hope again. That is enough for you to do, I think.

As far as I know, we do not get to choose when the light returns. There were days when being on my knees in prayer and tears was the only place I could be. Even if I had the strength to stand, I was not aware outside of my own pain enough to do anything other than maybe wash my face, brush my teeth, and put on clothes. My dear grief counselor had to let me know one day, very gently and compassionately, that I had my jumper (a full-length pull-over sleeveless dress with a turtleneck under it, not a cardigan) on backwards, because all I was capable of doing was putting clothing on my body. And I would often forget to brush my very curly hair.

We come back slowly to this life, when we have longed so to go with our Beloved through to the other side with them. Yes, it will get easier, and you will remember to wear matching shoes, and things will begin to take your notice again, when it is time. I have faith that things happen right on time, but it is G*d's time, not ours. Patience is truly tough. My Dad used to tell me "Get patient, get tough, you can do it. Learn to wait!"

We cannot help but be so weak when half of us has left, and we are groping, grasping, and trying searchingly to staunch the flow of life out from us, and to find a new balance now that we stand, figuratively, on one foot in a world where we had for so long balanced each other. We are off balance. Time, space, and emotional equanimity are all shifted off kilter from the horizon to which we were so very accustomed. We can only take one step at at time, and it is not always the step we long to take: back toward wholeness. I have found that I needed to first acknowledge how broken I was before any mending could take place. It now seems to be happening, in fits and starts, in bits and pieces, on again, off again. I never know. But I do know that I can look back to this day last year, when I spent a lot of time on my knees in prayer and tears, and I am more in balance today.

I loved what Anthony wrote: it is filled with so much hope, love, and compassion, all wrapped in happiness and balance. I think we can find balance as a One, if that is our choice, or we can find Balance in sharing, if that is our choice.

But either way, I think we will find balance again, and then fall to our knees, this time in joyful celebration. That is my hope for each of us, that we find that Light of Joy again. We will all then celebrate these tiny little embers. Good things will come our way. I hope you find a bit of joy and peace in this day.

Much Love and

*<twinkles>*

fae

[kayc]

Anne,

There are many forms of prayer...motionless and quiet is one of them. Many people make the mistake of thinking they have to talk incessantly when they pray...talking is only one part of it, listening is another, so is being still. I think you grasp prayer more than you think. Sometimes we are at a loss for words, and that's okay too.

[feralfae]

Dear Kay and Anne,

Ah, yes, very few of my prayers have words or postures.

Yes, being still is one of the best ways I have found to pray.

Listening has certainly brought me more peace than talking.

fae

[mfh]

fae, your lovely post above reminded me that if any one of us had lost a leg and an arm...people would not expect us to heal in three weeks nor would we expect a lot of ourselves except to get up each day and do life as best we can as we learn how to walk and manage minus limbs. Our losses are invisible.

[Wifflesnook]

I was talking to our little grand daughter on Skype earlier today and asked if she understood what invisible meant. I explained it was something that was there but we can't see it. I think mainly once people have got kind of used to us widowed people being alone our loss becomes invisible to them. But to us it's as big as the sky. Synchronicity again. Felt so lonely tonight as I stood at our back door in the dark waiting for dog to wee, and thought of so many happy evenings where I've gone back into the house where Pete was waiting. So hard, as you all know so well.