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Changes I'm Making


enna

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Dear friends,

I am coming to know and to love you as my friends. I care very much that each of you is hurting. I hesitated to write anything about this day, but Jerry came and sat on my side of the bed this morning, and told me that he felt like something is very wrong and something is about to happen. He was feeling anxiety, but didn't understand why. Of course I couldn't know for certain the reason for his anxiety, but suspected I did, because I felt it also. I helped him verbalize what he couldn't quite "put his finger on." He is experiencing reliving his memories of being so near death on Valentine's Day 2013. That was his second time to be in serious trouble on Valentine's Day. He had a quadruple bypass surgery with a St. Jude's mechanical valve put in on 15 February 2002, as well as having surgery for an aortic aneurysm. Valentine's Day has always been a special day for us (flowers, roses, candy). We were on our way for our Valentine's Day dinner on Valentine's Day 2002; instead of a romantic evening, he had a 9.5-hour surgery. He is feeling vulnerable, due to these danged aneurysms that threaten his life. I hurt for him. He's experiencing loss from another perspective.

Hugs,

Carrie

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How good of you, Carrie, to know your husband well enough to be willing (and able) to tune into him so well and to help him acknowledge and verbalize what is weighing so heavily on his mind and heart. He is blessed to have you by his side, watching over him and taking such exquisite care of him.

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Yes, Carrie, your sensitivity and insight are a true blessing.

To be able to find the source of anxiety, worry, or other feelings, and to be able to pin down prior events that might be bringing up these feelings and to be able to recognize the emotions related to the event and hold it all of a piece, knowing it is a past event, even if it still touches us, is a true gift.

I have found that days, such as anniversaries and notable events, as well as those days of great upset, do seem to carry energy into the same days in subsequent years. You are wise to be able to identify the sources of the emotions that are appearing.

I hope that you and Jerry found a lovely way to celebrate the day.

*<twinkles>*

fae

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Love and squeezes, Marty. Thank you for your caring words. May God bless you for being such a blessing to so many lives, including mine. I have not one doubt that God led me to you, and to the warm, friendly people on this forum.

Carrie

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Good morning, dear Fae,

Thank you for your response, and understanding. I wonder why it is that we can't just turn off these anniversaries, or outrun them. Do we do this to ourselves, or is there an unwritten law that we must suffer holidays after loss or cell-deep fear of loss?

Because of our track record, Valentine's Day will always be bittersweet (this word would sound more positive were it sweetbitter; no, there is no way to make that word a positive with bitter in it). Perhaps we can go look for wildflowers this afternoon, or find a place for Jerry to sit in his chair and fly his drone without concern about landing it in a 150-foot pine tree. We will need to go to a lower elevation, but I think maybe we can get a driver for this afternoon (driver not always available).

Sometimes (more often than not) my sensitive soul is a blessing, and I'm glad for the ability to discern; however, to pick up up on someone's broken heart from two pews over pouring out his or her heart to God, or to hear the heart of strangers at the market, is a mixed blessing. The real blessing is to feel the joys of others almost as much as if their joys are my own.

In truth, it is a blessing for each of us to be able to know the source of our anxiety, so that we can talk ourselves through it. We know to remind ourselves (sometimes over and over again) that this is today, and not yesteryear. I think much of our ability to understand is a learned skill that those who have suffered great loss learn. It is a skill we did not ask for, but one we try to put to good use by caring for others. Our hurts teach us to understand other hurting souls, and to treat them tenderly. We choose to find ways to turn the negative energy into positive energy for ourselves and for others.

My family has told me that I'm too sensitive for as long as I can remember. Perhaps I was born sensitive, or perhaps my childhood made me sensitive. Perhaps bad things happened to a sensitive child. Whatever the reasons for my sensitivity, God wanted at least one of me, for here I am.

I now remind myself, this is today, and not yesteryear. Today the sun is shining as it comes up over the eastern mountains, and I'm grateful to see such beauty as the Light chases away the Shadows. This is a day God has made, so I'll go now to rejoice in it, because He has given me so much for which to be thankful, including understanding, caring friends here "around the fire" and among the Tribe, as you say.

Thank you for your sweetness, words of wisdom, and friendship.

To end this what you sometimes call "nattering" on a happy, positive note, I'll say that Jerry and I had ourselves a good chuckle at Marty's Moses cartoon for Harry this morning.

Blessings and warm hugs,

Carrie

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Carrie, I was unable to get on line this morning before leaving as the electricity went out at 4:45 am. When I read about your husband feeling contemplative/anxiety over remembering the past Valentine's Days where death felt imminent, it broke my heart, that anyone should have to feel like that. Perhaps that's how George would have felt about Father's Days, had he lived through it. It must be a scary feeling, for lack of other words, for both of you. Yes, this is today...funny how yesteryear can get wrapped up in it.

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Yes, thank you, Anne. It is indeed beautiful. It's one to go back to and read multiple times.

Jerry and I were able to get a driver for about three hours on Valentine's Day, so he was able to fly his smaller drone. It was quite windy, so he couldn't allow it to go high. He wouldn't fly his Phantom, both due to wind conditions, and because we were near people riding horses on the trails. He wouldn't take a chance of spooking them. I thought of you, Anne, when we saw the beautiful horses. We saw a Great Blue Heron also. There were few wild flowers, only one meadow of tiny yellow flowers. It's a bit too early, and a lot too dry.

Kay, thank you very much for your caring. It means a lot to me. I'm so sorry Jerry was feeling as he did on Valentine's Day, so it was a blessing for him to go "play drone" for a while. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, so we took deli sandwiches for a picnic. Perhaps your George would have thought and felt much like Jerry did. It surely would be understandable. Jerry's sharing his feelings gives us a glimpse from another perspective.

I think I told you all before that I lost to 99 pounds after Jerry's first Valentine's season surgery (2002). I realized I was in trouble, because there was nothing wrong with me physically to cause the weight loss. My primary doctor was ready to shake me. He told me that I was going to die if I didn't get a grip soon and stop losing weight. Could I have gotten a grip, I would have.

I went to see a psychiatrist in Modesto who Amberly knew well through the doctor's office where she worked. He told me I have PTSD (when I first heard the request for extra help for Jerry, I had been so paralyzed by fear that I couldn't move until Amberly hit me between my shoulders and said, "Move! That's Daddy they're talking about!" That's WHY I couldnt move!). I told the doctor that I would get over the PTSD, and he told me that it's not something people get over.

Jerry and I both started seeing the psychiatrist together every six months. We saw him once after Jerry's second and third surgeries in 2013, but transportation became a problem. Jerry told me on this Valentine's Day that he wants to go see him again. Amberly told me yesterday that she will make the appointment, and schedule time off from work.

The doctor told me that he cannot help me grieve, and that I would have to do the grieving on my own, but that he can help me learn to function. Define function, I thought (think). He lost his mother to death in Italy not long before this conversation. He's not a grief counselor; however, he grieved so hard that he had to take time off after his mother's death. He understands what losing a mother is like. He does not know what it's like to lose a spouse. He has talked with many grieving spouses though. That helps, I think.

He told me that one of the most hurtful things for the one left is that there is no one with whom to share memories. He said that there is no one to say, "Remember when . . .?" to. That scared me, and still does. I gave this a lot of thought as I tried to prepare (I know I can't truly). During our next visit, I told him that there really is Someone who remembers, for He was with us while we made each and every memory, just as He was with us on the day we said our wedding vows. I know it's not the same as remembering with our spouse, but knowing there is Someone who remembers helps my feelings. We can still say, " Remember when . . . ?" and He will say, "I do remember."

It's late, and I've begun "nattering" (I love that word, Fae). I hope I've made sense.

Blessings and hugs to all, dear friends,

Carrie

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Enjoy life one day at a time. Those we have loved are with us because they have loved us. This I believe.

A shadow of joy flickered - it is me.
I told you I wouldn't leave.
My memories, my thoughts are imbedded deep in your heart.
I still love you.
Do not for one moment think that you have been abandoned.
I am in the Light.

In the corner, in the hall, the car, the yard
these are the places I stay with you.
My spirit rises every time you pray for me,
but my energy comes closer to you.
Love does not diminish - it grows stronger.

I am the feather that finds you in the yard,
the dimmed light that grows brighter in your mind,
I place our memories for you to see.
We lived in our special way,
a way that now has its focus changed.

I still crave your understanding
and long for the many words of prayer
and good fortune for my soul.
I am in the Light.

As you struggle to adjust without me,
I watch silently.
Sometimes I summon up all the strength of my new world
to make you notice me.
Impressed by your grief,
I try to impress my love deeper into your consciousness.

I am with you and I am in the Light.
Please don't feel bad that you can't see me.
I am with you wherever you go.
I protect you,
just as you protected me so many times.

Talk to me and somehow I will find a way to answer you.
Mother, Father, son or daughter, it makes no difference.
Brother, sister, lover, husband or wife, it makes no difference.
Whatever our connection, friend or even foe, I see you with my new eyes.

I am learning to help wherever you are, wherever I am needed.
This can be done because I am in the Light.
When you feel despair, reach out to me. I will come.
My love for you truly does transcend from Heaven to Earth.
Finish your life with the enthusiasm and zest that you had
when we were together in the physical sense.

You owe this to me, but more importantly,
you owe it to yourself.
Life continues for both of us.
I am with you because I love you
and I am in the Light.

~ Author Unknown

Painting by Marina Petro

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Thank you for sharing that, Anne. I appreciate you as a "hunter/gatherer" of sayings, poems, songs, pictures...we appreciate the time you take to find and share things with us.

Carrie,

You're right, losing a parent is not the same thing as losing a spouse, and I don't think a person can fully grasp what it's like unless they've been through it, but just as we all have unique relationships, unique grief and sets of coping skills, we also have some commonalities on which we can relate. I hope your visit to the psychiatrist together is a profitable time.

I'm glad you and Jerry had your Valentine's picnic together and he could enjoy flying his drone.

You mention who will remember with you...you would be the keeper of memories here, but never forget, wherever Jerry is, he will still remember. We may have that veil between us after death, but that does not mean we are not the same people or we have forgotten...just as our love still remains, so will our memories. Somewhere out there, that person I shared memories with, still exists and our connectedness still remains.

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❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Thank you very much, Kay. We do absolutely share commonalities in grief regardless of the kind of relationship. Pain is pain, and grief is grief, and each of us here hurts. I would never compare people's grief and pain, because it can't be done, and no one should ever do that, for that is unthinkable. I thought I couldn't live after my mother died. I've lost nearly all of my near relatives, including my first husband. That one was (still is) shocking, and it hurt. My sister has lung and bone cancer. I'm anticipating grief in a few different ways at this time. I must stay strong, especially for now. I reserve the right to have my "nineteenth nervous breakdown," but with God's help, and that of a good psychiatrist (provided I have transportation; I don't expect to be able to go, except every six months). In truth, I'm relying heavily on my compassionate and caring friends here on this forum, including you.

Hugs,

Carrie

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Oh Carrie, I wish we could lighten your load by carrying some of it with you...I didn't know you lost a husband already. You have way more than your share.

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Sometimes all we can do is let someone know that we will sit with them in their grief. We will not go away. We will not try to "fix" them.

One of the things I find most helpful when I come to this discussion forum is that there is always someone who is willing to sit with me and listen.

I am grateful for that. It makes my grief journey more tolerable.

I have learned much from you, Kay. The one word that comes to mind is ACCEPTANCE. You have demonstrated that in so many ways. Thank you for teaching me to accept what comes.

Carrie, I am here for you and Jerry and your Amberly. I do not have advice for what you are going through, but I do have a listening ear.

Anne

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Sometimes a listening ear is what we need the most. Sometimes it's the hardest thing to find...as you said, Anne, sometimes people want to fix the situation...and they can't. As the Bible says...Be slow to speak, quick to listen.

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Beautiful, Anne! They're saying snow here Sat. and Mon., we'll see.

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Dear Friends,

I thank each of you for "sitting" with me. Thank you for letting me know you won't go away. How special, and how much this means to me! I could wish for no more, except I wish I could open my front door to you, and say, "Welcome to our home. You all come on in. Let's have tea (or something chocolate)." I am here for you guys, and I will sit with you, hold you, and rock you any time you need me. I care about your joys and hurts. I pray for you every morning, and particularly for those who are going through particularly rough times. We are each other's safety net, for we are here for each other. I won't leave any of you either.

We here are hanging tough, and are all right. The plum trees are pink with blooms, and there are small patches of orange crocus and purple hyacinths blooming. There is a small patch of violets in a side garden. Several mahonia bushes brighten the yard with happy yellow. These blooms help me fight feeling sad, so I count them among my many blessings.

I was in a fit of depression one winter (during my mother's illness), so my gynecologist who had known me since I first married Jerry, and who trained at the same hospital in New Orleans as did my sister who is now so sick with cancer, told me to hang on, because I would feel better when the flowers came out again. I think of him when the flowers come back each spring, because he was right. He stuck close to me during the days of Jerry's 2002 heart surgery, and took me on his hospital rounds with him (days before strict HIPPA laws). He died before Jerry's 2013 surgeries. I lost a good, long-time friend.

The doctor who shared my motel suite with me so I would have transportation in 2013, died of pancreatic cancer on 2 February 2014. He had been one of our very best friends for over twenty years. Another February loss.

Blessings and hugs,

Carrie

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Yes, we're here with you, Carrie. I notice you're often up late...I hope it's not pain keeping you awake.

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Carrie dear,

We here are hanging tough, and are all right. The plum trees are pink with blooms, and there are small patches of orange crocus and purple hyacinths blooming. There is a small patch of violets in a side garden. Several mahonia bushes brighten the yard with happy yellow. These blooms help me fight feeling sad, so I count them among my many blessings.”

Thank you for this beautiful description of nature, Carrie. It always leaves me breathless at all the beauty in our world. Those who are not familiar with mahonia bushes may not be aware of the wonderful smell of the yellow flowers that dress their bushes. It is not unlike a field of pansies blowing gently in the winds.

It is good to think of spring as so many are suffering the cold of winter in so many states. As much as I love my beautiful state I empathize with all those who are caught in the frozen terrors of ice and snow. Nature has always reminded me that we are not in control.

I keep both you and your Jerry in my thoughts and prayers. I hope Jerry is doing as well as can be expected and that you are taking the respite you so deserve.

Those of you who have followed my journey for a while know that I have not shied away from challenges. After the death of my Jim and the sudden death of my precious dog, Benji, I looked congestive heart failure, spondylosis of my spine and hip and knee arthritis head on and now I face yet another health issue ~ a possibility of bladder cancer. I am awaiting biopsy results in the near future. My urologist does not believe in sugarcoating any diagnoses! “Prepare for the worse and get the best,” he said. “We cannot biopsy until your “angry” bladder calms down,” he said. So I’m on antibiotics for three weeks and then another cystoscopy exam with biopsies. He said that this might be the reason I’m having lumbar pain and may not have anything to do with bulging discs! PT is stuck at the six/seven level of pain.

One’s spirit can easily be broken, but that is not who I am. I move forward with guarded reserve knowing that nothing is as devastating as the loss of my Jim.

I know I do not walk this journey alone and I thank those who walk with me. I ask for your continued presence with me as I face yet another “bump” on my journey.

Grief comes in all forms of loss.

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Oh my dear Anne. This news has brought me to my knees.

I am so sorry to learn that you find yourself at the base of yet another mountain to climb.

I pray that the hand of God will lift you up and hold you softly, even as we hold you gently in our hearts and await the results of your tests.

It goes without saying that you are in our prayers, and no matter what lies ahead for you, we will not let you walk through this alone.

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