KathyG

Because my mother and I lived 3,000 miles apart, I wasn't with her on the day she died, but my sister was. Alice was visiting Mom in the nursing home, talking with her while standing at the foot of her bed. Suddenly Mom sat up and cried, "Move! Move!" and gestured for my sister to stand away from the bed. When Alice asked her why, Mom said, "Because you're in the way! You're crowding them." My sister looked around and replied, "Who, Mom? I'm the only one here." Mom gave her a funny look. She said, "What's wrong with you? Can't you see your dad and Mamoo, standing right where you are?" (Mamoo was Mom's grandmother.) Then she shooed Alice out of the room, saying, "You go on home now. I need to talk to them." My sister left. Not four hours later, the nursing home's director called to tell her Mom had been taken ill suddenly, and had died en route to the hospital. Then, also: Four days before the heart attack that killed him, my husband had a grand mal seizure, something that had never happened before. The paramedics came and took him to the hospital, and the doctors there ran some tests but couldn't tell immediately what was wrong - and Bill seemed to be back to normal - so they sent us home. Bill hadn't been wearing shoes when we took him to the hospital, so I asked him to wait by the emergency entrance while I got the car. As I was driving up to the building, I saw him standing there - and then suddenly, he vanished. I blinked and shook my head, and he reappeared right where I had left him. I started sobbing in the car and couldn't stop crying after we got home. He asked why and I answered, "Because I'm losing you. We don't have much time left." He tried to reassure me and told me everything would be OK and he wasn't going anywhere. But somehow, I knew he would leave me soon. Then four days later, he was gone.

Experiencing grief as it comes brings pain and hardship, but I'd have to agree that it's best to just let it happen and go through it. Distance doesn't help, and I found that if I bottle up my feelings, they'll burst out of me later and when they do, the hurt is worse because it has had time to accumulate. However, letting yourself experience grief doesn't necessarily mean you have to seek out things, people or situations you know will be painful and expose yourself to them. Some people in this group might argue that we should deliberately and directly confront such things to make ourselves stronger, for example go alone to a place that was special to us and the person we lost, just to see if we can "take it." But not everyone can do this, and in some cases it may do more harm than good. Shying away, using distance like emotional bubble wrap to protect your feelings, isn't a good long-term strategy for handling grief. Neither is the "that which doesn't kill me, makes me stronger" method of slamming yourself up against things from your past. Let people and experiences come to you as they will. You may find that when they appear, you'll have evolved to a place where they aren't as hurtful or threatening as you thought they'd be. And if something does confront you before you're ready, using your problem-solving skills to figure out what to do will give you more confidence in your ability to survive and grow.

I hate being hypocritical and saying I'm OK when I'm not. So when someone asks if I'm OK or everything is OK, I use one of these answers: - No, but I'm learning to deal with it. - Well, I'm still standing. - I'll manage; thanks for asking. - (shrug) Oh, you know... I've also used "as well as can be expected" often.

Dear Walt, Some comments I hope will help: - All human beings have limits. That's why you couldn't be with your wife 24 hours a day till she passed. Grieving and traumas take a huge toll on us, but in times of severe grief and stress we can't survive unless we allow ourselves some rest and a few moments of emotional relief. That's why no one can stay awake indefinitely; our bodies know when lack of rest is becoming dangerous, so they shut down after a time and we fall asleep. - Though we know we all will die someday, no one really wants to think about it happening. And really, how could we live day to day if we constantly feared that in the next moment, we or someone we love might be gone? Even when we know someone's death is near and inevitable, we can't help believing to the last that there still may be some hope. We don't want to give up on those who are precious to us. - I can't tell you where you'll go as you move on. But every day you've gotten through since your wife's death, you HAVE BEEN moving forward, though you may not have realized it. Time doesn't let the world still, so even if we do nothing, things change and go forward around us. Just by asking these questions, you're moving forward and working on getting through your loss.

Oh Karen, You're so sweet to be comforting me when you're coping with your son's situation, which because of the drug people is even worse than my sister's plight. Thanks so much for your support and your courage; you're a role model for me. I hope you remember to give yourself some R&R once in awhile. We both have to rest now and then, because if we don't we might break down at critical times when our loved ones need our help most. My sister is 54 and she lives on her own. She hasn't officially been declared disabled yet, so she isn't receiving any financial assistance yet. Her boss has put her on unpaid leave for 6 weeks and if she can't go back to work after then (which obviously she won't be able to do), then she can get long-term disability benefits from her employer and apply for SSDI. I'm surprised that the Housing Authority can take away your son's rent subsidy if the drug people don't leave him alone. How can they hold Danny accountable for what the druggies do? It's not his fault they're leeching on to him. You and Danny are in my prayers, along with the other caring souls here who share our struggles with loss. We can't give up. But we (I) do have to recognize the need to recharge or else burn out. Blessings, Kathy

Yesterday, I did something I felt I had to do to protect myself emotionally - but this morning, I feel selfish and guilty for doing it. What did I do? I didn't answer the phone when my sister called. I just couldn't. A few weeks ago, I posted about trying to deal with my sister who is losing her battle with bipolar disease. Since then, she has become even sicker, she lost her job, and now she wants to give away or spend all her savings (the only money she has to live on) because she thinks if she does, "the government has to support me and pay all my bills." Although her case worker and I are trying to get my sister into an outpatient program at a local clinic, we're still waiting. And all the other things we're trying to do to help are stuck in progress. Nothing's happening. And there's a strong possibility I may have to go to court to petition to become her legal guardian. My sister is calling me three, four or more times daily while I'm at work, just to say the same things over and over again - she's "not sick" and "doesn't need help"! Yesterday (and still today), I've been going through a strong grief attack. I miss my Bill so much, and my sister's situation makes me miss him even more because I know if he were here, he'd put his arms around me and cry with me and give me all the love and support I need. So when my sister started her barrage of phone calls to me yesterday (caller ID told me she was calling), I didn't pick up the phone. I told myself, "You can't handle this right now. You have to think of your own emotional needs first for a change." Not taking the calls did reduce my stress for awhile. And I tried to just relax with a good meal and a movie for the rest of the evening. But now, I feel like I did something wrong. I know my sister needs me, but I'm standing here in the ashes of my old life, hammering away at a half-built new foundation that's still pretty shaky. Is it selfish of me to push her away (or at least, keep a distance from her) at times when I don't feel strong enough to carry both her burdens and mine?

Doublejo, Some of what you say rings true (the part about life being random, "unfair" and full of events beyond our control). I also agree that although we have little control over what happens to us, we do have the power to direct our responses to events good and bad. And that personal growth often results from dealing with loss. But though we can't control the flow of life, that doesn't make me any less sorrowful that my time with my husband was cut short. I don't think of his early, sudden death as "unfair," though, or that I could have done anything to prevent it. It simply happened and I've accepted that. I'll continue to make a new life for myself. But that doesn't mean I'll stop regretting that things had turned out differently, that Bill and I didn't have the chance to realize more of our dreams together. We lose so much more than the person we love when they die; how can we not mourn for all those secondary losses and the things we hoped for, but can now never be?

Lily, Being let down by people you thought were friends is, I think, one of the saddest aftereffects of losing someone you loved. But after awhile, you may find that a few individuals who were strangers or casual acquaintances before - become close friends and your strongest supporters. This has happened to me, and I hope it will to you too. I understand that feeling of "Why bother doing anything? What's the use?" But the fact is, it helps to do things when your heart isn't in them. You may have to fake enthusiasm now. But the more you do, the further you extend yourself, the easier it becomes to get out and be active. And at some point, you'll start to look forward to doing things again. It happens slowly, but it happens. For now, let your pets be your reason to keep on. They depend on you for care and love, and even if you feel no one else wants or needs you - they do. They love you unconditionally, and they don't judge you or run away when you can't hold back the tears.

Good for you, Derek! What you accomplished is huge. I'm sure that your wife rejoiced to see you and Carson having fun.

Oh, Teny, I know what you mean when you say that you feel your loss even more during happy times. We wish our husbands were still here to share in the happiness with us; thinking that they can't reminds us we are alone now. But consider - you now feel happy sometimes. That shows improvement; you are stronger now. When I first came to this site last November, your thoughts seemed darker and I think that back then, you felt only sadness. I know you still struggle with the pain - so do I - and our losses will continue to affect us for the rest of our lives. But I think that before we can find the meaning of life again, we have to have regained the ability to feel things other than sorrow. We're both doing that now, so the meaning of our new lives will reveal itself in the future, after reach the point where we can open up to positive emotions like happiness and peace.

KayC, Bob, Dusky and everyone, Your prayers, support and encouragement lifted me up yesterday on my first wedding anniversary alone. So many people don't want to share or even hear about feelings related to loss, and means everything to have you understanding what I'm going through and cheering me on. KayC, you said you thought Bill would be watching over me yesterday, and I really did feel his presence all day. I wanted to do something that Bill and I enjoyed together. So I had dinner at his favorite restaurant, a place I hadn't been able to return to in a long time. It's just a little family-type restaurant at a small airport in north Phoenix, but Bill liked their food and loved to watch the helicopters and private jets take off and land while we ate. I may not have seen him, but I know Bill was sitting with me at the table last night. And the sunset was especially beautiful. I've never been big on pampering myself, and I've put others' needs first all my life - my mom, my sister, my first husband (who was blind), and then Bill, who I nursed through a heart attack, ruptured esophagus, prostate cancer, and dementia before the final heart attack that took him from me. But yesterday I did something totally out of character - I spent most of the day at a spa having a facial, massage, manicure - the works. It was the best thing I could have done. I just let go of everything and let the experience wash over me. And for the first time in forever, I finally felt relaxed and at peace. As I lit the candle beside his urn last night, I knew Bill was happy that I still love him and I remembered to do something to help myself.

Today I am at the worst, lowest point since right after Bill died. This coming Sunday would have been our 12th wedding anniversary, and as the day approaches the more deeply I'm hurting. I know I've grown stronger and have done some healing over all these months. I see the progress I've made up to now. I've managed to make it through Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Bill's birthday - those were tough times for me, and after each event I was able to pick myself up and move forward again. But this wedding anniversary is making me feel like Bill died just yesterday. It's as if all the grief work I've done to this point has accomplished nothing. It's not for lack of trying - I've tried maintaining a positive attitude and doing everything I can think of to fight off the blues. I've even tried to be proactive by scheduling a spa day for myself on Sunday - something I never would have considered in the past, but just something different to try to make the day less painful. But as of this week the things I've been doing (prayer, keeping busy, trying to take care of myself, etc.) don't seem to be working anymore. And though I've found a new purpose to my life (helping my bipolar sister and others like her), it brings me no joy, and any happiness I manage to feel doesn't last long. Yes, I know all grieving people experience setbacks. I get that. And I know I probably won't feel so bad after the anniversary passes. But I'm beginning to worry that maybe this is as good as it will ever get, that the best I can hope for the rest of my life is to reach a level of contentment or acceptance, but never achieve real happiness or peace. I don't feel like I'm saying, "I want serenity and I want it now, dammit!" It's just that after so many months, when other people promise that I "won't always feel so much sadness, and you'll find a way to be happy again" the words ring hollow. Maybe I'm just lacking faith in my survival skills, I don't know.

No one can generalize about people's responses to death as the article's author has done. You can't know how easy or hard it will be for anyone to recover from losing a loved one, unless you're very familiar with that person's personality, life experience, background, etc. - and even then he or she may not behave the way you expected. However, if women really do show more strength in recovery from a loved one's death, it may be because they usually have more role models for responding to loss. Statistics in many studies show that in most cases, the male partner in a heterosexual relationship tends to die earlier than the female. So most bereaved women know one or more other women who have lost a partner, parent, or child and learn from their experience. For example, my mother lived for 24 years after my dad's death, and a close friend of mine also lost her dad around the same time I did. We watched our mothers remake their lives, and we observed what worked and didn't work for them in terms of dealing with grief. I didn't understand how much I had learned about dealing with loss until my own husband passed two years after Mom's death. And I've been made stronger by realizing that if my mother could survive on her own for so long, I can do it too.

This poem by e. e. cummings expresses so well what we feel when we remember our loved ones: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

KayC, As long as one person remembers someone who crossed over, that person's presence on this earth continues, though in a different way. You will always keep George alive in memory. And because you've been generous enough to share your and George's stories: -- you've made his presence real to us here, and -- through your journey of remembrance and faith, you continue to inspire the rest of us and help us find our way forward along this long, dark road. Thank you for all the comfort and support you've given me since I first came here. Kathy

I guess the title of this post should really be, "How can I take care of my bipolar sister when I'm still grieving for my husband?" Everything's hitting me at once. My sister was diagnosed with bipolar syndrome (manic depression) about 25 years ago. She has been hospitalized several times, but for the last 10 or 12 years, her medication was working and her symptoms were in remission. Now all of a sudden she has decided she's not sick and doesn't need help - but she stopped taking her medicines regularly and her mood swings have become severe and extreme again. She doesn't take care of herself or her apartment, spends money she doesn't have, and is close to losing her job. Except for a cousin, I'm the only family my sister has - and she lives 1500 miles away from me. I'm very afraid for her. I've tried to hire a health care advocate for my sister and have asked her to give her doctors permission to discuss her care with me, but her condition is getting worse and she tells me to mind my own business. I don't know what more I can do. Legally, my hands are tied. Not only do my sister and I live far apart, I'm still reeling from my husband's sudden death six months ago. I feel lucky that I can more or less manage my own life, let alone someone else's. Some days I can't do anything else but cry, I have no energy, and sometimes still can't think straight. I pray for strength to handle all this, but I still feel overwhelmed much of the time. Has anyone else had to deal with a situation like this? How do I hold on?

If there's a way to predict whether a heavy grief day is coming on or if it will be a "good coping" day, I haven't found it yet. But I seem to know as soon as I get up in the morning what kind of day it will probably turn out to be. All but a very few times, that initial early-morning feeling about the day proves true. I just accept each day, sad and grief-centered or otherwise, as it is and try to react accordingly. If it's a "bad" day, I don't try to stop the sadness and tears but will focus my energy on completing whatever tasks I absolutely have to get done that day. If it's a "good" day, I try to do something good for myself or find something, even small, to enjoy.

Lyn, Let yourself cry on your husband's birthday. Your tears show your love, and you'll feel better by venting the sadness. But the day may go a little easier for you if you also see it in a positive light - celebrate the fact that he was born and thus able to bring so much love and joy into your life. If you focus only on your loss and not on the happiness you had through and with him, that's only half the story. Doing this helped me get through this past May 27th, the first birthday my husband didn't get to celebrate. I hope it might help you too. Peace, Kathy

Sync, First of all, I'm deeply sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is never easy, no matter how old or young you are when the time comes. What you describe does sound like delayed grief. Counselors and books on grief usually say two things about unexpressed feelings related to loss: -- Grief does not allow itself to remain unexpressed. We all have to let ourselves grieve eventually, the longer it's deferred, the more likely we are to be damaged by it in some way. And when we finally let loose suppressed grief, it's often more intense than if we had grieved when the loss occurred. -- Often when someone defers grieving, he or she still has unresolved feelings or issues about the person who was lost. For example, someone who witnesses a death (especially a traumatic one) may suppress grief because the memories of the circumstances around that death cause too much pain. Or another person who fought with a loved one shortly before they died may have regrets that he or she never had the chance to settle the dispute and reaffirm their love before the loved one passed. You might want to start by reflecting on your relationship with your father, his death, and how your and your family's lives are different since you lost him. Ask yourself what you miss most about your dad - what meaning did his life have to you? Think back to your initial reactions when he died; were you sad, angry, numb, relieved, etc.? You can use the answers to these reflections and questions to help determine what feelings you still need to express before you'll be ready to move forward. The answers also may point you toward things you can do to pay tribute to your dad and achieve some closure. For instance, people I know have expressed their grief by doing things like: -- Taking on a project their loved one couldn't finish or always wanted to do -- Adopting a habit or behavior they admired in the other person. This doesn't have to be something big; one of my friends always returns shopping carts to their collection point because her late husband always thought not doing so was inconsiderate. -- Having a private farewell ceremony with no other participants. The ceremony can be something as simple as going to a loved one's favorite place, quietly thinking about him or her, and silently saying goodbye. And one thing that always fhelps with grief is talking about your loss and your feelings about it. Sadly, many people shy away from conversations about the dead. But you can see a counselor, join a support group, or start a journal to say what you need to say in writing. Good luck to you, and God bless.

KayC, It makes me furious when cheaters and manipulators trample all over the trust given them by kind, sweet souls like you who care about other people's problems even while you yourself are suffering. You are unbelievably generous to even think of giving him another chance! Only you can decide whether your marriage is worth keeping, but I hope time and the Lord will lead you to a solution that will bring you some well-deserved happiness. Also remember - deep down, betrayers never change their ways.

DoubleJo, You also have my thoughts and prayers that your tests come back negative. With so many other worries in your life, you shouldn't have to deal with this too. Ah, Social Security. My dad died when my mother was 58 and she had to wait four years before she could start getting Social Security checks - plus, she was a year and a half too young to collect any 401K payments without paying a penalty. She had only a part-time job, but fortunately my sister and I were able to keep her afloat till she turned 59 1/2. I thank God that, now I'm a 58-year-old widow myself, I have a good job to support me till it's time to retire. It's even worse when you try to claim Social Security disability benefits. We applied for benefits for my husband in October 2006, after his doctors said he couldn't work anymore. When Bill died last November, Social Security still had not told us word one about his benefits application. We'd probably still be waiting.

Now, I'm not letting my imagination run wild or deluding myself that every bird I see is a message from beyond (see my post "Visit from a White Dove"). But this happened yesterday: I was in my back yard again, playing with my dog Josie. She let out a little bark as a hummingbird came hovering over her head, circling around and around several times. The bird then came right up to me, stopped about a foot and a half away from my face, then swooped and dived across the yard for the next five minutes. I laughed and said, "OK, OK, Bill. I get it!" Here was this unexpected visit from the hummingbird, so soon after my white dove sighting and after I had read John (Dusky)'s story and poem about the hummingbird who brought him a message from his Jack. My Bill was crazy about Josie, took her almost everywhere he went and told nearly everyone he met what a wonderful dog she is. I would roll my eyes and joke, "You won't be happy till everyone in Phoenix knows Josie, will you?" So was the hummingbird incident a coincidence, or the product of my wishful thinking for more signs from Bill? I don't think so.

In Dean Koontz' new book, "Odd Hours," the lead character says something really profound about grief: "Grief can destroy you or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you. "So you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just sunsets or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. "The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time. You're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss -- but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness is to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."

Gail, congratulations! Brody is already lucky to start out with a great grandma, and I wish him much continuing luck, love and happiness the rest of his life.

I'm not quite sure what to make of this. Yesterday, when I had just finished my work for the day, I had a powerful urge to go sit outside. So I got myself a cold drink and went out to my back patio. It was a bright, sunny day with a clear blue sky. I started to unwind as a soft breeze nudged my wind chimes and I listened to the water splashing in my fountain. For awhile I spied on the two wrens and their babies who make their home in a saguaro cactus in my neighbor's yard. I closed my eyes. I was thinking about how much my Bill would have enjoyed the day. Suddenly something made me look up. A beautiful white dove was looking down at me from his perch on a tall pine. The bird and I stared straight into each other's eyes for a long moment. Then he gracefully flew away. I've seen many local birds around here, including mourning doves, but none of them look like this dove did. I think it might have been a sign from my husband. There's the obvious symbolism of the white dove, and I had just been thinking about Bill when the bird appeared. But Bill had a phobia about birds - so would he have used one to send me a message? I'm still wondering. All I know for sure is, after the encounter with the dove I felt peaceful and blessed.