I Need Your Help

[mfh]

fae, regarding the piece on light. I failed to put the source on it. It came from the Henri Nouwen website....I really like the daily meditations they send out. I am glad you liked it. I did also.

http://wp.henrinouwen.org/daily_meditation_blog/

[enna]

Chris,

You are on your path and your Paula is so proud of you. Each one of us must find our own way and you are doing just that.

One comforting thing that we all know who find this place is those here understand. We don't give advice, we don't try to tell you how to feel. We allow what happens. This is the beauty of this place. One way or another we all help each other.

Knowledge is power. I still take classes via internet because I want to learn new things. Good for you for any new schooling you find yourself interested in now.

Anne

[boogieman]

Please believe me when I say I don't want to have to be doing these things. The only reason is to try to fill the endlessly long hours and days of being alone and lonely. I would much prefer to still be tending to My Paula and/or enjoying our time together in our "golden years" . We were cheated out of that and I still harbor a certain amount of resentment in that regard.

I'm as lost as the rest of you. Not a clue about much of anything. Just trying to find a way "forward", whatever that means.

I do know that My Paula is here in me, coloring, influencing, and is the guiding spirit in what time I have left.

Not even close to acceptable but this is what I have to "live with" now. As if anyone could ever confuse this with "living".

Lisa, my Grief Counselor, left a message yesterday about a 6 week group session she is starting next week. Really mixed feelings about going. Not sure I can "go back" to revisit the darkest period in my life. Thinking about it though.

[kayc]

Chris, I encourage you to explore your feelings...do not let fear stop you from anything...let only the "not needing it" deter you. Consider what is best for you and go with that and you won't be steered wrong. Not everything that is out there is right for us, but sometimes we don't know until we consider it. Timing is everything it seems.

[mfh]

Chris, only you know if this group is for you and fear of it feeling as if it is going back to a dark period is understandable. I am glad you are thinking about it as you may find good support (face to face support) and good information.

Peace

Mary

[MartyT]

Remember too, Chris, that no matter what you try, you have a right to change your mind. If you take the initial risk to start something new, whether classes at the community college or your counselor's in-person support group or anything else, you always have the option to stop.

If you know and trust your counselor and she is recommending this group for you at this point in your journey, maybe you'd be wise to follow her advice, and at least give it a try. (You might find this post of interest: Grief Support Groups: What Are The Benefits?)

[feralfae]

Chris,

This is a welfare check.

How are you doing?

Sending good thoughts and energy your way, Chris.

*<twinkles>*

fae

[boogieman]

Still hanging around. Today is the 9 month date of the final chapter in my and My Paulas' lives together. By this time she was admitted to the hospital.

I am distraught and numb all over again.

Going to be a hard 7 days ahead. Trying to "hold it together". Whatever "it "is.

[feralfae]

Chris,

Thank you for checking in with us. I am sure you are distraught and numb, because that is how we all feel at these times of significant dates. It will be a hard 7 days, and I hope you can find some things to do for yourself to help ease the pain.

I sit and look at photos of Doug, read his love letters to me, and just cry. I find that being alone on these days is easier for me than having people around to try to comfort me. Okay, we are moving the last of the office boxes today and tomorrow, so I'd better get back to work.

You take good care of yourself and be gentle and kind and compassionate to your broken heart. I know that Your Paula is right there with you, and her Love is all around and within your heart, and you will make it through these days, however sad and lonely "it" is.

We are all here for you.

*<twinkles>*

fae

[kayc]

Sometimes I wish we didn't have calendars as all they seem to do is remind us of "anniversaries of..." and that is hard to get through. I could tell you it's just a day, just a number and it doesn't mean anything in and of itself, but I know you wouldn't buy that, these dates do signify something to us, how could they not? We will always remembe everything about their dying and death day, each moment, each word, each breath. We are here for you and I hope you will take good care of yourself this week, you'll need all of your strength and energy.

[mfh]

Chris, I am confused and need you to "un-confuse" me. I know the date of your Paula's death was April 16 last year. I know you are at the 9 month mark to the 1st anniversary.

But I am confused about the meaning of the "next 7 days". I do appreciate deeply the significance of anniversaries. And I just want to be sure I am clear on the right dates. I know you are at the 9 month mark to the 1st anniversary.

Mary

[boogieman]

Not a problem Mary.

On the night of the 12th, My Paula was in agony from her ever increasing pain. We were up all night trying everything at our disposal to ease her pain to no avail.

Early on the morning of the 13th we had to admit My Paula to the hospital for her extreme pain management. Her words still echo in my ears, ... " I just can't do this any more."

On the 14th we made the decision to contact Hospice Care due to the oncologist's assessment of possibly My Paula had 36-48 hours left.

On the 15th My Paula had a "resurgence" and was lucid, jovial, conversing and going back-and forth with our children who were there to visit her. She ate a part of her lunch, her first food in several days. We laughed and loved and shared this one last family time together. After the children left late in the day Paula "crashed" so to speak. I know she knew her time was short and wanted to spend her last hours surrounded by the family she so dearly loved, and she did just that.

Her extreme pain caused me to decide to have the Hospice nurse increase My Paula's pain meds to control the pain she was suffering so greatly with.

As we had previously talked about and agreed to, I had her pain meds drastically increased knowing the ultimate consequences of that promise I had made to her to not let her suffer even one minute longer than necessary.

My Paula passed away at 3:00 am on the 16th.

We held My Paula's memorial service the afternoon of the 19th.

Funny how so much of those times is so very blurred and confusing, yet I remember the details of the times in her final days here with me. I was by her side continually.

So, in short, the 12th through the 19th is the week I refer to.

Oddly, I just realized I haven't gone in to details like this with anyone except here on this forum.

This is all so raw and personal for me. Perhaps I have held this in for too long.

Either way I close for now. Tears prohibit any further lucid communications.

A very hard 7 days indeed.

[mfh]

My dear Chris, Thank you for sharing what is so precious and personal and for accepting the possibility that in sharing it, there is a bit of healing to be had. Now I understand better what you have been through and believe me, I have deep appreciation for it...watching the person who is a part of you suffering in pain and agony and knowing that the only way to help is to increase meds that will also make it more difficult, if not impossible, for any communication to happen. A selfless choice.

I will be thinking of you these difficult days as will everyone who reads this. I just know deep in my heart that your Paula is smiling at you and how you are trying so hard and succeeding at going on with life while she surrounds you invisibly with her ongoing love.

Peace,

Mary

[Wifflesnook]

Dear Chris

I think we all put things on here which we don't share anywhere else. There is something about this forum, a meeting of hearts and souls, which encourages honesty and I know it helps us.

[MartyT]

Bless your dear and precious heart, Chris ~ You took such good care of your Paula, putting her needs before your own. That is true love, and selfless indeed. Thank you for trusting us enough to share those painful details.

(And Jan, I agree with you completely about this special place.)

♥

[boogieman]

It has been a while, but here it is approaching 3:00 am and I can't sleep from missing My Paula so greatly.

This is tearing my heart out all over again.

And I have the next 5 days to relive.

[Wifflesnook]

Dear CHris

I'm so sorry. Just keep telling us. We are all here. Jan

[boogieman]

Coming up soon on 3:00 am on the 16th.

[mfh]

...and at 3am you will not be alone...the love and support from here will be with you.

Mary

[feralfae]

Chris, we are here for you.

Bring whatever you need to bring and share it here, and we will cry with you and hold you in our hearts through this very rough time. These last day memories are terribly painful. Mine have begun for Doug's last month, because he left on 7 February two years ago, and sometimes the memories of these days overwhelm me. I feel as though I am in some sort of countdown mode, and that I will make it through somehow, but this will be rough for me, because I am not so numb as last year.

Chris, you are going to make it through this somehow, but each event, each memory, is still very raw and and deeply painful for you, and it is going to be rough. Come here and share with us and let us acknowledge your pain. As Harry quoted from Callahan's Saloon, "Pain shared is halved, and joy shared is doubled." although I may have the quote slightly askew.

Come and be here with us, and stay in touch, and let us carry this time with you.

Blessings to you and Your Paula, whom I know is right there with you, even if we cannot see her. *<twinkles>*

fae

[kayc]

Thinking of you, dear Chris, prayers going up for you!

[nats]

Hello Chris,

I pray you find some peace...I know all to well the emptiness you feel, we all do...reading your post

brings back the memories of Ruth's final days and I grieve with you...during Ruth's battle I kept a daily

journal in which I posted twice daily, I of course kept that but it's been in a folder on my PC and backed up

on another...well last week I was driven by some unknown reason to open that folder...I read all 9 months of

my postings from the beginning to the end, well needless to say I felt the intense emptiness once again, and I've been

pretty edgy all week since...but you know what I discovered? just how much pain she was in, and as hard as it was/is/and will be

each day without her, I do know she is now at peace, without the pain, without stress of the treatments, and feeling as I know her

smiling everyday down upon me guiding me in ways I never knew she could.

I am approaching the 4 year point next month, keep positive, remember happy times and you will heal, you will still

have an empty spot in your heart but it will be less painful and you will discover that your dear wife will always be with you.

May Peace be With You

NATS

[boogieman]

Thank you, NATS. I went back and read most of your postings. I appreciate your openness and candor. There aren't many men of this forum.

For me, today is the 9 month date of My Paula's passing.

Still feeling empty, lonely, alone, abandoned, hurt, and even resentful. At who and for exactly what I don't know.

I have little problem in understanding why. This is HARD! Where to go, what to do, when to do it, who to do anything with, dealing with the myriad of small issues that seem almost impossible now, and all the other life changes brought on by the cruel circumstances we all here find ourselves in.

THIS JUST ISN"T FAIR! I KNOW I"M SCREAMING! I CAN"T HELP IT! I MISS MY PAULA SO GREATLY!

Living, breathing, eating, sleeping, enjoyment, are all issues from a past life hardly recognizable as once being mine.

I have lost over 60 lbs. since the first of last year. Clothes don't fit anymore and I don't care. Food has no taste, no shared enjoyment at all. Minor issues are continually blown out of proportion leaving me feeling even weaker and more vulnerable.

My blood pressure is all over the place. Constant headache. Stomach always tied in knots. A looming sense of doom and gloom permeates my very being. If this is supposed to get better and/or easier, I ask the rhetorical question... "WHEN?"

My Paula and I are very private people. We looked no further than to each other for over 35 years. Now who do I share this life with? This sad, lonely life and the ruined shambles of what once was.

I get through every day somehow. No idea how or why. What is the point? To exist in this state of upheaval, turmoil, uncertainty, and stress is not what anyone could consider "living".

Yet, here we are, aren't we?

The Love of My Life taken from me.

I am so much less without My Paula.

Is it enough?

[feralfae]

Chris,Dear Chris,

I am sorry for the depth and sharpness of your pain. Your Paula is there, soothing your heart and loving you as much as ever.

I know you feel less. I feel only half of myself these days. No, it is not enough, be we learn how to begin to draw in other bits and pieces of life, of love, of family, of friends, and we fill little bits of the emptiness in these and other ways. I don't think I will ever not miss Doug. I don't think I will ever feel as whole, happy, and loved as I did when he was living. But I am learning to go on, to find ways to make life bearable, and to slowly find small promises for a future that will be peaceful, even if not joyful.

Hang in there, Chris, and let our caring and compassion help you to make it through these very rough days. I will be coming here to look for more support to bear the memories and pain as the 7th approaches.

Blessings and

*<twinkles>*

fae

[MartyT]

Chris, my dear, I share the following with you, hoping it will help. It is reprinted here with kind permission of the author:

THE GIFT OF LOSS

by Abigail A. Fuller

Most of you know that I lost my eight-year-old daughter Scout to cancer on July 7, 2007. The past nine months have been by far the most painful of my entire life. I don’t know that there is anything worse than losing a child. At first, I did not want to live–and this is typical for parents who lose a child. In fact, many plan their suicides. For months I woke up every day wishing that the world would disappear. I tell you this not to elicit your sympathy, but so you will know that it was from the depths of this kind of pain that came the unexpected gifts I will talk about today.

I had thought that if Scout died, I would not be able to go on. And yet here I am. And not only am I here, but I have learned more in these past nine months than I ever thought possible. I feel as if I have undergone the most astonishingly rapid spiritual growth spurt of my life–sort of spiritual boot camp, if you will. It’s tough going, but it makes for quick change.

What have I learned?

1. I have learned that our culture deals very badly with death.

We ignore it, deny it, and avoid it as much as possible. This is manifested in so many ways: our culture’s idealization of youth and looking young and feeling young (instead of valuing the wisdom that comes with age); the measures to which we go to keep people alive at the very end of their lives; the way we consign dying and death to hospitals and funeral parlors, instead of allowing these very natural and inevitable things to happen at home.

Why does this matter, our culture’s denial of death? Because when death comes–and it always does–we are shocked, frightened, and unprepared. We do not know how to sit with someone as they die, comforting them and supporting them as they make the sacred journey to the other side. A dead body seems creepy to us because we have never touched one before. We push aside grief and try to “move on” because our sadness is uncomfortable to those around us, and to ourselves. We do not know what to say when someone loses a person close to them, or how to help them, and so we too often say nothing and stay away.

And our fear of death is really an aspect of a larger concern: our fear of loss. Think about this: All relationships end. All relationships end. I read those words recently and was struck by the paradox that while this is so obviously true, we almost never pay attention to it. It is too frightening, perhaps, to live daily with this realization.

In a strange way, embracing the inevitability of loss has given me comfort: what happened to Scout and to me is not out of the order of things, it is part of the order of things. As my husband said, “Eventually, if she grew up she’d have to say goodbye to us when we died. She just happened to go first.”

Think of Mary Oliver’s poem “In Blackwater Woods”:

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

I have been reading a lot of Buddhist philosophy these past months, and a central precept of Buddhism is that the source of human suffering is an unwillingness to accept loss. But as Mary Oliver reminds us, loss is a part of life, because change is a part of life.

So if I face my mortality head on, the next question becomes, What am I going to do with this life that I do have? Here is Mary Oliver again, from “The Summer Day”:

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The moment we fully acknowledge the inevitability of death is the moment we fully feel the preciousness of life, because it doesn’t last. So life and death are parts of a whole–one cannot exist without the other. This brings me to the next lesson I’ve learned:

2. Happiness is overrated.

I don’t think the point of life is to be happy. I think the point of being here on earth is to grow as human beings–to gain a deeper understanding of and appreciation for all that is. And guess what: we don’t grow when we are comfortable. It is when we are challenged, when we suffer, when we are uncomfortable, that we grow the most.

Now, you might argue that as we grow as human beings, we in fact become happier–yes, happy in the truest sense of the word–not fun, ha-ha, laughing at jokes happy, but a kind of hard-earned happy that comes from experiencing both pain and joy, both life and death, from realizing that these are parts of a whole. In fact, the happiest person I ever met was a Holocaust survivor. My senior year in college I took a course on Literature of the Holocaust, and toward the end of the semester the professor invited this woman to speak to the class. She had lived through unimaginable horror, and in spite of that—no, because of that--she had the most serene, genuine, warm presence I have ever witnessed in a person.

3. I have learned to let go of what I cannot control (and to cherish what I have).

This lesson was a gift that first came when Scout was diagnosed with cancer in January 2007. During those first days, as I sat crying in her hospital room, I thought, “I cannot control the outcome of this. But what I can do is love her with every ounce of my being for as long as she is here.” And I did that. I was also determined not to allow the terror of losing her to distract me from enormous gift of having her there right then. But the possibility that I could lose her gave me the gift of a deep, attentive love with her. (I remember her asking me last spring, “Mom, why are you kissing me so much?”)

Letting go of what we cannot control means also letting go of the fantasy that somehow if we are good, if we are kind, if we believe in God, if we make the right choices, then nothing bad will happen to us. When Scout died, I wondered, “Why her? Why not some kid who was a bully, who didn’t have a happy life, who was dumb, whose parents didn’t care about them?” I realized after a time that the answer to, “Why me?” is “Why not me?” Nothing makes me or my family immune from death or illness or injury. (And of course the life of a kid who is a bully or not so smart or whose parents don’t care about him is just as precious as my daughter’s life.) But I suffered a loss of innocence: I came to realize that I am not immune from tragedy.

No, we cannot control what happens to us--but we can make the best of what we have been given. What really matters in life is not what happens to you, it’s what you do with it.

4. I have learned that when your heart breaks, it breaks open.

I think of it this way: each of us builds a hard shell around our hearts to try to protect ourselves from pain. It is human to do so. But this same shell also keeps in feelings of deep joy and deep love and of peace, of oneness with the universe. So, since my heart was broken from losing Scout, I have experienced not only the greatest pain of my life, but also the greatest love and gratitude I have ever known.

I find I am less interested in judging people, less willing to get in the middle of conflict, I spend less time speculating about people’s motives, and I am more aware and appreciative of the good qualities in people. I spend more time amazed at and grateful for what life has brought me–especially Scout. What a miracle that she was here, for eight perfect years, and that I got to be her mom.

In my extended family, there has been an astonishing change since Scout left the physical world. I have four sisters, and my mother and father are still around. We have always been a close family, but we have also had conflict. But since July, each and every one of my sisters and both my parents have shown an enormous generosity of spirit, not only toward me, but toward each other. Scout’s death changed my parents’ relationship, my relationship with my husband, and all of our lives.

5. I have learned that love is the strongest force in the universe.

A month after Scout died, my friend Marcie asked me, “You are going through such an extraordinary time. What are you learning?” I replied that I did not know; I was too deep in grief to see that yet. Later that night I was lying in bed and suddenly the answer to her question came to me–and it was so simple that I had almost missed. The big lesson in all this, in Scout’s illness and our struggle to get her cured and our deep sadness upon losing her–the overarching theme in all this is not loss, or cancer, or how unfair the world is, but LOVE. As I lay there, I found myself actually grinning. My love for Scout, and Neil’s love and Leo’s love and my sisters’ love for Scout, Scout’s love for us, the outpouring of love that my family received from friends and colleagues and neighbors: everything else pales in comparison to that love.

Most importantly, I realized when I lost Scout that nothing, but NOTHING, could take away my love for her, and so I would always be connected with her. Cancer could take away her body, but it could not touch my love. Love can outlast time, distance, and even death. It is, indeed, the strongest force in the universe.

As anyone who has suffered a terrible loss will tell you, I would return all of these gifts in a moment if it meant I could have Scout back. But I can’t have her back. A few months ago while I was swimming laps, I found myself thinking, “My life is over.” Then the universe spoke to me–or maybe it was God, depending on your beliefs–saying, gently but firmly, “No, it’s not over; it’s just different.” I cannot have Scout back, and so the important question is, What do I do now with what I have? Here, now, in this life that is so very different from the one I had before, and from the one I wanted–and this is where I find myself. Where do I go from here? I have these unexpected gifts to help me along the way, gifts from Scout.


*Delivered at the Wednesday chapel service at Manchester College, April 2, 2008.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abigail A. Fuller
Associate Professor of Sociology and Social Work
Director, Peace Studies Program
Manchester College
aafuller@manchester.edu