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About mbbh

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  • Your relationship to the individual who died
  • Date of Death
  • Name/Location of Hospice if they were involved:

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    winston salem, nc

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  1. Thanks ya'll. I only professionally reported it to our local rape crisis line and my therapist.. I told a few friends. I have chosen not to pursue legal routes. I have worked with too many women through the years who were persecuted and I have not told my family. Just can't.... Too much. I have blocked him on social media and on my phone. He called a couple of times and the morning after he called to let me know he "enjoyed seeing me" the night before. I almost threw up. The truth is, I am trying not to blame myself and I don't, but I do take some responsibility here. Just not the assault. I am seeing a therapist who is helping me through this. I am finding myself isolating more, which is one reason I reached out here. I am preparing to start grad school in August, am cutting my work load in half, and am in the throws of a deep grief reaction. I cannot handle one more thing. Thank you all for your support. Feel relieved to have shared.
  2. Another loss... And another... And another... And another. I am sick of it. My John died 19months ago. 9 months later, his mother joined him. 9 months later, just 4 weeks ago today, his father joined them both. John's parents were elderly and in poor health. Their deaths were expected and they were ready. John's was neither. I need him here. About 2 months ago I reconnected with a high school boyfriend. We had not seen each other in decades. I invited him over knowing this relationship would never work. We are too different and there were other reasons. Nevertheless, there was a spark and I am lonely. I invited him in and 1 thing led to another it it got out of hand and I was sexually assaulted. Sexually assaulted because of grief and loneliness. I need my husband back. I do. I need him. I am hurt and long for John. I don't know what else to do. I cannot keep this up. Mary Beth
  3. Yes. We seek our lives before. We seek comfort and solace. We seek the very thing we cannot have.
  4. What do you seek? For me, it is peace of mind, body, and spirit. All are interconnected and all rely on one another to be well. Seeking... Something to ponder. I created this piece, a Zentangle, today as I sat with my father in his hospital room. Pondering what I seek... So simple yet so out of my reach presently... See below... Mary Beth
  5. Thanks for the article Marty and thanks for the comments everyone. Cacciatore's article made sense. "Our entire existence has shifted. Even the image in the mirror is unfamiliar. Our own sensory experiences of the world change- sound, taste, touch, sight, proprioception feel altered - time has a completely different and irrelevant quality." That is what is happening. My foundation is so shaken. Like everyone else, I am broken. I am in counseling. I reach out to people. I start healing touch tomorrow at Hospice. I am so tired all the time. I do not want to be here. I write. I draw. I work endless hours at a full time job then I teach a class one night per week at a part time job. I care for John's dad 3 out of 4 weekends. I go to church. I pray. I go to therapy every week. I know I am running away. I try to be positive and I can't. I can't. I do not want to be here. The love I have for my son is the reason i even exist. Worn. Out. I have lost my self-confidence, my independent attitude. I do not know who I am. I feel unrecognizable to myself. I cannot make simple decisions. It is weird because I made the decision to start Divinty School at Wake Forest next fall (an old calling from decades ago), a big decision... One I am confident in being the right one... Yet.... I cannot decide what to fix for dinner or when I go to the deli and stand there 10 minutes because I cannot decide which turkey to buy. What the heck?!? It is turkey... I am tired, weary, and hurt. I have PTSD from the awful nature of his death and it exacerbates old trauma. Too. Much. I need a cave to crawl into. Mary Beth
  6. Y'all. I don't think I can make it thru this.
  7. Beyond depressed y'all... Worn completely out. I don't knkw what else to do...
  8. Thanks everyone. Kayc, I am on a multivitamin and taking antidepressants. Thry help some and I am grateful for that. John was 51 as well. I was 47, now 48. We had the rest of our lives together. Just like all of us here. I am just so tired all the time. Doctors have suggested a leave of absence. I do not have the financial means to do that for very long. I know there are lots of others who do not have that luxury to be able to take 6 months off or even 2 weeks. So I do not mean to sound ungrateful. Somehow I have to gain a new perapective as I navigate the new norm of this life. I just don't know how.... He was my rock... Like many of us here...
  9. I am beyond depressed. I am physically ill all the time. No matter what dr I see, they say, "compromised immune system." Well duh... I do all this stuff to get better and nothing is enough. I want him back. I need him back.
  10. True Tom. What. A. Life. No matter how positive I try to be, there it is....
  11. Thank you, Marty. I will read it. I had no idea itvwas going to be like this. No. Idea. Unsure if I will survive.
  12. Why does this second year seem so much worse than the first?
  13. "Being Still" I have pondered the multifaceted meanings of "being still" many times and I have even written about it on occasion. As I think about what it means in this season of my life, I am taken back to 13 1/2 months ago when on any given day at any given moment, John would look around his ICU room with confused eyes and a wrinkled brow. I am almost certain he was desperately reaching out for some semblance of a recognizable space, searching for home. The only things that felt like home in ICU were each other's faces. Sometimes that was enough and other times it simply was not. As I tried to calm him during those times of delirium, I would say both to myself and to him, "I am here. We are here. It is okay." I did not always believe those words, but sometimes a gentle sense of peace, of stillness, would enter our sacred space, if for only a moment. The Spirit would simply amd unequivocally show up. Being still is a challenge for many of us. It can be maddening, for in stillness, we are pushed to focus on our present moment. This is a blessing normally, but if our present moments are filled with worry, despair, pain or grief, being still can be scary. In order to reach a deeper space of stillness, one must attempt to fully immerse oneself in breathing. The past 13 1/2 months have been hard to say the least. The past 3 have been worse than hard. Breathing is harder than normal, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. The physical symptoms of grief have taken up residence in my body and have manifested themselves in a cycle of "get sick- get well- get sick- get well." My immune system will eventually recover, but for now, it is compromised. I no longer have denial and shock in my corner to protect me from feelings of great loss. Reality of living life without John is now, well..... Real. Being still is more difficult now, but not impossible. When I think it is never to be, the Spirit comes and if only for a moment, stillness and a settling of my soul takes up residence. Thanks be to God for gifts that come in gentle whispers of breath. May it be so for all of us. ©Mary Beth Beck-Henderson 2018
  14. Two of our family's littles helped their Pawpaw ( my brother-in-law) cut down my maple tree that was perishing beyond redemption today. I love them. They eased the blow of losing my maple tree. I was sad to see it fall. It was one we purposefully left in our front yard when we built our house 19 years ago. I remember John and I surveying our yard and picking out a few trees that we wanted to protect as our house was built- this one and 2 magnolia trees. Now it is a stump. Sometimes that is the way grief feels- like a part of one's heart has died and all one is left with is a stump. The heart keeps beating, but never the same. Of course, new growth eventually comes, (well... So I am told) but the stump, the reminder, remains and the heart is forever changed by the death of the one you love. Enter somewhat good news.... One is also forever changed by the LIFE of that person. There is a difference. It gets all tangled up into a ball of yarn that any playful kitten could get lost in for hours, but when things settle down in our minds, moments of peace reveal themselves as memories of a good life peek through. I long for more moments of peace. For the past 2 days, I have felt like I am not going to make it. I feel like I am going to die- literally. Sometimes I want to. I want my life back. I want my John back. I want my sanity back. There was more to that maple tree than wood. It symbolized a moment in time when we were really "we," making decisions together. I want peace... Desperately. Mary Beth
  15. Sorrow- Please, God. Please Sorrow- Sometimes sorrow is too much to bear alone. The heaviness in my heart radiates excruciating pain until I no longer know where my heartache ends and where my body aches begins. They are intertwined as one. Please, God. Please. Sorrow- Every molecule in my body cries out for help. They cry out in unison, "Please, God. Please." They moan in disconcerting harmony with such agony that can only be described as the gut-wrenching sounds of late stage labor. No one wants to hear about that, about agony. People just want to say how strong and brave you are and they romaniticize loss. I cannot live up to those expectations of strength and bravery. Please, God. PLEASE. Sorrow- I wonder if Mary felt this way as her son was tortured before her eyes. She must have wailed in pain for the Messiah. How she must have mourned her sweet baby boy. How she must have plead with God, saying, "Please, God. PLEASE!" Sorrow- It was my biggest fear. It still is. This pain is worse now than in the beginning. Please, God. PLEASE. Soothe my soul. Please, God. Just please. Hold me until I can breathe over the top again. Please, God. Please. Lighten the weight and tightness in my chest where John's heart beat in sync with mine, until it didn't. Please, God. Please. Sorrow- "Please, God. Please," I beg to seemingly no avail. It is unavoidable and yet I have run from its grasp for what seems like forever. The journey does not end. It is treacherous and holy ground that is trod for a lifetime. Please, God. Please. Make me bigger than my grief. Please , God. Please. Sorrow- There is balm for wounds, even wounds to the soul, I cry out hoping my screams will be heard because this pain- THIS PAIN- is too great to bear alone. It demands to be acknowledged. Please, God. Please - hear me, touch me. Please hold close vigil over my heart until the heaviness of spirit and fracturing of my bones in the core of my soul subsides. Please. God. Please. ©Mary Beth Beck-Henderson 2017
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