KathyG

A friend sent these to me. Some are especially significant for us who are mourning. 1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good. 2. When in doubt, just take the next small step. 3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone. 4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does. 5. Pay off your credit cards every month. 6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree. 7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone. 8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it. 9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck. 10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile. 11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present. 12. It's OK to let your children see you cry. 13. Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about. 14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it. 15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks. 16. Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living, or get busy dying. 17. You can get through anything if you stay put in today. 18. A writer writes. If you want to be a writer, write. 19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second childhood is up to you and no one else. 20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer. 21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special. 22. Overprepare, then go with the flow. 23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple. 24. The most important sex organ is the brain. 25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you. 26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: "In five years, will this matter?" 27. Always choose life. 28. Forgive everyone, everything. 29. What other people think of you is none of your business. 30. Time heals almost everything. Give time, time. 31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change. 32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch. 33. Believe in miracles. 34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do. 35. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger. 36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young. 37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable. 38. Read the Psalms. They cover every human emotion. 39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere. 40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back. 41. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now. 42. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful. 43. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved. 44. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need. 45. The best is yet to come. 46. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up. 47. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind. 48. If you don't ask, you don't get. 49. Yield. 50. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

Teny, I haven't been a widow very long, but I am finding that it's easier to get out of the house if I do things I probably would have done alone even if my husband were still alive. For example, my Bill hated to shop for clothes, didn't like to exercise and didn't like Mexican food. So, before he died, I would go work out by myself and once in awhile, I'd go to a Mexican restaurant or go shopping with my women friends. Now that Bill is gone, doing these things by myself doesn't cause pain because they weren't activities we would have shared. However, it hurts very much when I try to do things Bill and I used to do as a couple. I'm surprised that your therapist thinks your effort to avoid taking anti-depression pills "is killing you." Maybe he believes that the pills would bring you real benefits -- and that may be true. But most doctors I know prefer NOT to prescribe medications unless it's absolutely necessary, and even then they try to keep the dose as small as possible. When he and I first found out I have diabetes, my doctor started me on a very low dose of one medicine. He didn't give me any more pills or higher-dose pills until he saw that the low dose wasn't enough to control my blood sugar. Don't give up. I know you are struggling and I am too. The pain may always be with us, though it may grow less over time. But we can learn to make new lives for ourselves.

Thank God for this place and the wise, compassionate people who come here. I woke up crying yesterday morning and couldn't stop, so I logged onto this site and was lifted up by the messages of hope and support for the new year that you all posted. There's a lot of power in all of us standing together and in knowing that if others can get through the fears and pain, we can too.

Thanks, everybody, for your wisdom and for welcoming me into the fold here. I knew you'd give me good guidance. And I'll continue being a regular part of the community here. For now, I'm going to take Marty's advice and find a new counselor I can meet with individually. I don't think the in-person support group I attended was at fault, it was more that I wasn't ready to be there. I'll probably give that group or another local one a second chance later. But as Jo said, my loss is still too fresh and I haven't been in this situation long enough yet to be able to help someone else by sharing my experiences -- though I DO want to help others when I have a better handle on my grief. Right now, it controls me rather than vice versa. These last few weeks, I've been feeling more and more strongly that somehow, I'm being called to become a helper for others (in what way exactly, I don't know; I've been praying to God to show me). I have the desire to help, but realize that I'm not now in a position to - I feel like a musician who wants to compose songs but hasn't yet learned to read and write music.

Hi everyone, I feel very comfortable on this forum and have already received great support from the people here. You encourage and inspire me. I'm learning a lot from those who've been inhabiting this world of grief longer than I have. That's why it would be good to hear your thoughts on the following issue. The forum helps me, but I feel I need additional counseling. I met individually with a grief counselor from the hospice where my husband died and she encouraged me to come to one of their local support group meetings. I went, but hearing the other group members' sad stories made me feel uncomfotable even more depressed than I already was. (For some reason, hearing the stories of the people on this forum doesn't have those effects.) I know that support group meetings aren't right for everybody. But should I go to at least one more meeting before giving up on them? Individual counseling seems like a better fit for me, but I'd probably have to ask the hospice to assign me to a new counselor since the person I talked with before doesn't seem to want to meet with me privately. Should I give the support group another chance, or follow my instincts and seek individual counseling?

As these last few hours of the year tick away, I'm sitting here feeling lucky to have made it through the end of 2007 - but can I make it through 2008? I'm used to setting goals and having a plan for my life. But now I can't even think past next week. Or even tomorrow. I used to be good at setting priorities and separating the important things from the trivia. But since Bill has gone, nothing feels important anymore. Even though I know certain things have to be done, and I'm doing them one at a time, I keep asking myself why because it feels like nothing matters. If I keep going through the motions, will I ever start to regain feelings? Except for scattered moments when I feel Bill's presence or when someone does something especially kind for me, I'm just existing, not living.

If you are looking for scientific proof of the survival of consciousness after death, you might want to read about the Veritas Research Program being conducted by the University of Arizona's Department of Psychology. Their website is http://veritas.arizona.edu/. That's probably the closest you'll come to obtaining "facts" about life after death, and I hope that their research results can ease your doubts. I also hope your friend will at some point communicate with you. Once you've experienced contact from someone who has crossed over, it's impossible to doubt life after death - whether you are or aren't religious.

Derek, Sounds to me like you're handling your loss remarkably well. You'll miss Karen the rest of your life, so when sentimental times like Christmas come up, it's natural to feel your loss more then. But you're moving forward and things are going well for you, so you're on the right track. I hope I'll be doing as well as you after a year or so. My grief is still new, so I'm still trying to survive hour by hour. The only reasons I made it through this Christmas were faith in God, the fact that my sister traveled 2,000 miles so I wouldn't be alone for the holiday, and some kind acts by close friends.

Cat, I'm sorry to hear about your friend. The feelings and questions you're having are overwhelming, but normal for someone who's only a month away from a loss. My husband also died a month ago and I've been battling the same doubts and fears and "Why am I still here?" questions. I still don't have all the answers - maybe I never will - but I urge you: don't lose faith. God will not desert you and will carry you through this. At least, that's what I believe; I know I'm not strong enough to go through the heartbreak alone. About hoping to hear from your friend that she's OK: It should happen in time if you pray for it and open yourself to it. Sometimes, though, loved ones who have passed don't always "check in" with us right away. I'm not sure why, but it may have something to do with how much time they had to prepare and how spiritually ready they were before their death. My dad died suddenly, and within a few days some of my family and I started to see visions of him and receive messages from him. My husband also died suddenly, and about two weeks passed before he contacted me to let me know that, yes, he still is with me and loves me. But when my mother passed two years ago, we were close so I expected to hear from her right away - but it didn't happen for months. I think it took so long because I was more at peace with her death; for weeks we knew she was dying, we were both prepared, and she was ready to go and rejoin my dad. I couldn't prepare for losing either my dad or my husband because both were gone instantly. You said your friend lived only 8 weeks after her diagnosis, so neither of you had much time to prepare for her transition. I'd like to recommend two more books, one I just finished and another I'm still reading. In 90 Minutes in Heaven, a minister (Don Piper) who died in a car crash but miraculously came back to life describes what he saw in heaven and how he was brought back to Earth to tell others about it. And in The Heart of Grief, Thomas Attig explains how our love for those who have died doesn't end, but goes on to change our lives.

My holiday wish for all of you is peace and that, sometime this season, you'll experience a spiritual lift and receive a communication from a lost loved one through a gift, a message, an incident, or a dream. Watch for this communication to come at any time and anywhere; they happen when you're not looking for them, but they always seem to come when you need them most. Also, remember that your message might (as Lori says) be a small thing, or may come through the words or actions from someone who's still on this earth. I believe that after they pass, those we love keep trying to communicate with us, but we have to be watchful and receptive.

I've been a walking mess of tears all week and reached my lowest point this past Friday. It was the one-month anniversary of Bill's death. I had just attended my first meeting of a grief support group, and came away feeling even more depressed after hearing everyone else's sad stories. And everyone else at work was being relentlessly jolly because of the long Christmas weekend. Then yesterday morning, when I went to the front door to fetch the morning paper, the sunlight made something shiny on the floor glow. I couldn't imagine what it was because I had just cleaned the floor the day before, but I bent down to pick it up. There, inside a little plastic bag, was an egg-shaped Lucite "stone" with a message embedded inside: "Miracles happen to those who believe." I had never seen this thing before, and no one was in my house yesterday but me and my dog. So I thought, what else can it be except a gift from Bill? I can't explain it any other way. This is not the first time he has sent me messages since he died. I think he wants me not to despair and to know that he's still with me - only I just can't see him. No matter where my "stone" came from, it made me feel less sad and alone.

When Bill was lying in a coma after he had been "revived" (in other words, his heart was restarted after it had stopped), I blamed myself for the state he was in, technically alive but brain-dead. I was convinced that I hadn't done enough to save his life before the paramedics came - or that maybe I should not have tried to save him at all. Bill had always said, emphatically, that he never wanted to be a living vegetable and that if it ever happened to him, he didn't want to be kept on life support. And I thought, that was exactly where he was, because of me. I thought this until a very kind nurse saw me crying and stopped what she was doing to ask if I wanted to talk. I explained why I felt responsible for Bill's condition. She assured me that I HAD done good by keeping Bill alive till medical help arrived. She said that even if the situation had been hopeless from the start, I didn't know that and responded the only way I could have or should have: by trying to save the man I loved. The nurse added that movies and TV mislead us laypeople by making us think that CPR succeeds 100% of the time; in real life, she said, CPR usually saves fewer than 30% of patients whose hearts have stopped. Bill had had other serious illnesses before his heart attack. He had cancer that was in remission. And then a year before he died, we found out that what we thought was his absent-mindedness was really early-onset dementia. Through all these things, I know that I did everything humanly possible to take care of him and support him. I would have given my own life to save his, but that was never an option. But at least I feel comfort in knowing that what I could do, I did.

Has this happened to anyone else: you make a call to or meet someone who knew you and your departed spouse as a couple, and that person makes you feel unwelcome? I had heard that widows or widowers sometimes encounter these kinds of reactions, but I never believed it till it started happening to me with both long-time friends and even family. And I'm not sure how to interpret their reactions. Are people shying away because they: - Cared about Bill and feel sad when they see me alone, without him? - Are afraid to talk to me about Bill, that they'll say something that will upset me, or that I'll break out into uncontrolled sobbing? - Liked him, but didn't or don't like me very much? - Don't want to be around me while I'm going through bad times and remind them of death and grief? - All of the above? It's depressing and it hurts when those I thought would stand by me (and whose support would really help now) suddenly don't seem to want me around anymore. Or, am I beeing oversensitive and/or expecting too much from friends and relatives?

Teny, I have mourned for loved ones before, but I'm discovering that nothing exhausts a person more or shatters his or her heart like losing her spouse. How can you or I or anyone not feel devastated when the person who was the best part of our life leaves us? This is natural and normal. When things feel like they are too much, we can look inside ourselves and gather up the strength to go on, just for a few more minutes or one more hour -- no further into the future than that. If we can keep on doing this, then after awhile we'll get stronger and be able to go on for a day, a week, or a month at a time. Have confidence in yourself; you've survived one year so far (I haven't made it through even one month yet) and you are stronger than you know.

Great tip, Marty. Thanks!

When you answer a phone call and an unknown caller asks to speak to your loved one who died, what's the best way to respond? When someone calls and asks for my husband, if I don't recognize the caller's voice I just say, "I'm sorry, he isn't available. Who's calling, please?" I don't want to say something like, "Oh, he's dead," because I don't want strangers to know I'm alone now, and giving the information to the wrong person could have bad consequences (ID theft, robbery, etc.). If the caller tells me who they are and it seems OK to tell them Bill is gone, I do that. But I'm not sure what to do when the caller won't identify himself or herself, and they respond with a question like "I'll call back. When should I try to reach him?"

Wendy, You and your mother will both be in my prayers. The worst part of situations like this one is that the only other thing we can do besides pray is simply to do our best to survive. Try to let go of the fear and worry if you can, because it can't change the situation and will only make you feel worse. And don't feel you have to do all the things you'd usually do to prepare for Christmas; at times like this, taking care of yourself and your mother has first priority.

Thanks, everyone, for your encouragement. Bob, I didn't think the party incident had any benefit, but your take on it makes a lot of sense. I'm beginning to realize that this pain and sorrow is too massive and overwhelming to work through in a short time, and it will only happen by dealing with the grief one tiny piece by piece. I'm also glad I'm not the only one who thought a casino party was inappropriate for a Christmas celebration. One of the organizers had set up her iPod to play music through a sound system, and I actually heard her say, "I have Christmas music on here to play while we eat. But after that, we'll have the GOOD stuff to listen to." Ugh - some people's priorities.

I was sgiven a plaque that has this beautiful poem by Colleen Hitchcock: Ascension And if I go While you're still here... Know that I live on, Vibrating to a different measure -- Behind a veil you cannot see through. You will not see me, so you must have faith. I wait for the time when we can soar Together again, Both aware of each other. Until then, live your life to its fullest, And when you need me, Just whisper my name in your heart -- I will be there.

Yesterday my employer held a holiday gathering for everyone in the Phoenix office. They had a delicious hot and cold buffet with desserts and drinks including beer and wine. They also brought in professional casino dealers so we could play poker, blackjack or craps for points good toward prizes. I wasn't going to attend at all, but some of my coworkers persuaded me to "just come for the lunch." So I went. I even played a few hands of blackjack, but I didn't stay long after the meal was over. As I was walking out to my car, a big tidal wave of sadness and emptiness hit me: I felt like nothing was worth anything. I'm not sure why the party kicked this off, because there wasn't anything there that specifically reminded me of Bill. But I had to sit in the car and let myself cry for awhile before I felt ready to drive home. Ever since, last night and this morning, I've been crying. The sadness and emptiness won't leave no matter how hard I try to push it away. The closer it gets to Christmas, the harder it's getting. I thought I was doing something positive toward healing by attending the party. But it unleashed so much that now I'm sorry I went.

Lori, my heart aches for you; you and I are both devastated and heartbroken. My husband (who was everything to me) also died in November, on the 21st, without warning. We had 11 years together - not nearly enough. Our little dog is all I have left. I know what you mean: it's so, so hard. Even the happiest memories bring tears now and thoughts of healing are unimaginable right now. In the middle of all this bleakness, I hope you'll find a moment or two of peace here and there, even if it doesn't last long. May God give you strength and courage. Kathy

I'm so sorry you lost your baby. Chyna's picture is so cute - she looks like Darby, a dog I had a long time ago. Please don't blame Chyna's death on yourself. Your heartbreaking description of what happened sounds like it was a freak accident. Patches was reacting instinctively to protect her pups, but she was trying to scare her off, not hurt her. There's no way you could have foreseen the outcome. I lost my precious cocker, Jackie, a year ago. She died in her sleep. But three years earlier, she almost choked to death because of an overgrown palate. I'll never forget driving to the emergency clinic with her on the floor gasping and me shaking, terrified that she'd die on the way there. Don't let the way Chyna died define your memories of her. It was horrible, but you have so many more, happier, incidents from her time with you to remember. As long as you have those memories, she'll always be with you.

Ever since the initial numbness following my husband's death went away, I've become obsessed with the idea of redecorating my house. Right before he died we had decided it was time to get rid of our old ugly carpet and install new flooring. I haven't done anything about that yet (gee, I wonder why). But now, I also feel driven to paint and replace some furniture and make a lot of other changes. This seems like weird behavior to me. Has anyone else reacted this way to losing a loved one? I can understand why I want to redo the bedroom because that's where Bill died. But why am I so focused on all these other changes? I think it might be because planning my home makeover takes my mind off my sadness for awhile. Or maybe it's because redoing the house is something I can control -- I had no control over what happened to Bill.

I'm starting to receive Christmas cards (addressed just to me, thank goodness). But I'm not planning to send any cards, because it's only been a couple of weeks since I sent thank-you notes to people who sent sympathy cards, called, or made donations in Bill's memory. I hope no one will be upset because they didn't receive a card from me. Suzanne, if I were sending cards I'd probably use the message in your post. It's beautifully written. My little tree is still the only decoration I have. I thought I might put a few ornaments on it, but now I'm not even sure I'll do that.

Teri, I wish I could give you a hug. Being a caregiver and a single parent would challenge anyone. And 7 months ago the worst that could happen, happened to you. So between what you're going through and what you see at the hospital daily, you know how insignificant people's petty complaints are compared to life and death issues. It's no wonder you feel like screaming at them to get their priorities straight. But I'm glad you say that your experience has also made you more sensitive to patient needs (and also, I'm sure, to what the patients' loved ones are going through). When my husband was dying, I felt blessed because his nurses couldn't have been more kind or compassionate. They took care of Bill gently and respectfully even when it involved not-so-pleasant tasks. And the nurses' kindness gave me comfort when I badly needed it. They brought me food when I wouldn't leave his bedside to eat, and they'd take time from their rounds to talk with me and provide candid answers to questions that the doctors didn't seem to have time for. The night nurse even called me at home to let me know Bill was resting comfortably and to ask how I was holding up. As far as getting through the holidays, do only as much holiday-related stuff as you feel you can handle. You might feel you should try to do more for your boys' sake, but they're old enough to understand that these are not normal times for you all. They're also at an age where, if they want some special things for the holidays, they can take on some of the responsibility for handling the details. (They can help you with the shopping, cooking, whatever.)