Jump to content
Grief Healing Discussion Groups

Finding A New Way Of Being


feralfae

Recommended Posts

I follow David Whyte on Facebook and am often struck by the relevance of his poems. I seem to be a different person these days than I was when my Pete was here and we were happy living. Nowadays much of my reading is related to life, death, loss, grieving, spirituality. Its the full moon tonight. I have to go at 6 pm to a meeting along the road (us co-conspirators trying to prevent the visitr centre). These things keep me grounded as does my relationship with my two grand daughters. And yes, my relationship with nature and the garden which I am trying to nurture. Anne put a piece on recently which began

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.

I think I get this. Now and again I get that flicker and I think it's my Pete. I've just been reading the pieces from some of our recent grievers. You wonderful people who are giving them support put me to shame. But I won't beat myself up about not taking part. I know they are in good hands.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Speaking of David Whyte, I just saw this on Facebook:

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief
turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.

-- David Whyte
from Where Many Rivers Meet
©2007 Many Rivers Press

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Jan,

I understand. I have those days as well. Also, perhaps sometimes unfortunately, here in my community, I am someone most of my friends turn to when they need to vent, share, talk, sort things. Some times I can do that with them now, but sometimes, I need days of quiet to just go within and work on my own healing and feeling. There are days when I come here, and read some of the posts from the dear hearts who have had very recent losses, and I cannot find words of comfort, because sometimes their words call up a welling of my own pain, and the memories float up with the tears, and all I can do is sit in wonder that I am still here, alone and alive, and that Doug is gone, yet still here in my heart.

I like that you went alone and had a glass of wine and lit a candle. I do that some evenings, and just sit and hold memories of Doug. Last night, memories of our visit to the Getty welled up, and I could see us sitting out on the terrace, looking out over the Pacific, enjoying our lunch, talking about the art we had seen, and just relaxing in each other's company as we enjoyed being together in a new place.

I think we are so blessed to have all these wonderful memories. They hold us to Earth, and also help to hold our broken hearts together.

Jan, I am sending love and healing thoughts to you, dear friend. I hope that your days are filled with peace and Light. I am also hoping you win on keeping the visitors' centre from happening. I imagine if the birds could vote, they would also be in favor of no visitors' centre.

*<twinkles>*

fae

Link to comment
Share on other sites

3-5 years is not that far out...it still calls up emotion when running across raw grief. I think it is good to be aware of what you can and can't handle and provide that environment for yourself that best nurtures YOU.

I once said that it seemed anything after three years stayed the same...now I'm not thinking so. I think I've come a long ways, but when in the thick of it, I couldn't notice it. Yet ALL of us can be hit at any time, no matter how long it's been. It's the funny thing about grief. And forever, I will be missing him...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"nor find in the darkness glimmering

the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else."

What an amazing image! Because of course at the bottom of the well—at the core of our heart, where I think Spirit dwells—when we arrive there, we find beautiful and wonderful treasures. We find new depths of ourselves. We salvage old dreams, remember things about our solo, salad days, and try our hands at things we hadn't time to do for a while. Treasures.

Kay, you are so right that 3-5 years is not that far out. I miss Doug so much. But I am learning to do this solo stuff better every day. :) But there are still grief bursts. As I turn to my present responsibilities, I am learning more and more that: I absolutely MUST take the best care of my body that I can. I MUST expand my social network, as I lean into the reality that I am a solo female, and unlike solo males, not quite so much welcome at dinner parties and functions. Sigh. I will get back to holding my own functions. I used to have teas . . .

I must schedule more play time. Active playing. Doing fun things.

And I must do it all gently, patiently, with compassion for myself and where I am today. As Anne said, "Allow yourself to be where you are."

And on that note, time for dinner.

*<twinkles>*

fae

:wub:

fae

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I found myself looking up at the picture of George on the wall tonight and talking to him...they're going to think me dotty and haul me away one of these days!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Lovely conversation. I feel I am amongst friends. I love this place. No judgement. Just pure empathy and understanding. I've spent a lot of time labelling videos today (family one's including a few with Pete on) and also putting other non family videos on Facebook and Youtube. I've been busy and I've done some useful things. Then I watched a Dutch film on Amazon Prime. It's after eleven PM here and I need to try to sleep. Yes 3-5 years is nothing. Time seems so strange sometimes when we are lost without our loved ones. Time is different. It isn't linear any more. It's episodic. Strange

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Oh, Jan,dear,

I was just trying to describe this non-linear existence to someone. Episodic is the exact word. Thank you. We are amongst friends. :wub:

Today is the 37th month anniversary of Doug leaving. I have been fairly well at peace all day about this fact. Tonight will be the actual time. But I am calmer, feel more "in place" and have begun to be able to feel a sense of belonging to life and Earth again. I miss Doug, and I know that the tears will fall when they will, but mostly, today, I have been grateful for Doug in my life, for our love, and for the years we had together.

Kay, I talk with Doug as well. And when one of our godchildren called this evening to check on me, I could hear Doug's love and compassion in her voice. Now I am moved to tears that the love we shared has been able to flow out to some of those we loved, and that they can still feel it as well.

Yes, time is different. Life is different. And we are making our way. :)

namaste,

fae

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"Allow yourself to be where you are" is not original. I think all of the words we have used once belonged to someone else.

I am encouraged by how we are allowing ourselves to accept pain as we learn to live our new lives.

Episodic is a good word, Jan. I think of how some of us have been here for a while and I see our growth is transforming us into who we are now.

I'm thinking of you dear fae as you continue on your journey. I used to be interested in time, but now I live each day and try not to think about yesterday or tomorrow. It is not easy.

I am constantly learning from those around me.

Jan, I have seen some of the videos you posted on FB. Great job. Have you found out how to upload them to YouTube yet?

Hey Kay, I agree with Marty, we'll never tell about how "dotty" you are! We will keep watching though. :ph34r:

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dear friends

Yes time is strange. It was brought home to me by looking at the family videos because Rosie-Mae was born the day before Pete died and so her development runs alongside my grieving but not in a way I can get my head around. The first year I hardly even remember. I went back and forth to Leeds or they came here and the girls grew and changed and I helped out whilst at the same time being in a complete fog of ...... Don't know really. And the second year was worse as I began to realise Pete wasn't coming back. And the third year isn't really any different or better as I make my way through life alone. And yet I bravely continue, and I reach for gratitude because of what we had, and what I still have. And I try to keep healthy and busy so as to be in the world as long as possible for my family and I suppose for myself? Sometimes I feel so puzzled as to what I believe, what I feel, how I carry on. I've always been introspective and Pete and I have had such conversations about things. But one conversation we never had, oddly, was how one of us would cope when the other one had died. If it had been up to me we would have talked about this, but it upset Pete too much to even think about how he would cope without me, and we couldn't just have talked about that, we couldn't just have talked about me without him. So I have to project it.i haven't lately had any moments when he has felt very close but I do beleive they will come. I don't mean he feels really far away. He doesn't really. But I'd like a few times when he gets really close. Oh well onward and upward. It's the start of a new day.

Fae I'm listening. I always do. I love what you write. Anne, Kay hugs.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

It's like nothing really changes after three years or so, except little by little, so gradual as to be imperceptible, we begin to get more used to life on our own, we take care of ourselves, we allow our lives to flow as they will...and one day,in looking back, we realize, we're doing it.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

In honor of Doug, I wore my squash blossom necklace to meeting today. I think the last time I wore it was for his memorial service. But today, I was able to talk about it, about him, and not give in to tears. I was composed. :) Then I visited my friend, who is about the same, only more alert, I thought. A nice gift for this early spring day. It is warm, sunny, and windy here.

If we all get dotty at once, how will we know? :)

Jan, our darling grand-goddaughter Harbani was born a few months after Doug left, and so her life will perhaps always be, for me, tied up with Doug's leaving. Because our goddaughter and Doug were very close (he was her godfather, after all) she tells me that when she looks at her daughter, she also sees Doug smiling at her. As a toddler, she used Doug's beard as a nest for her little farm animals from her barn set. :)

I am glad you have the videos. And, although Doug and I talked a lot about him leaving, me staying, what it would mean and what I would do, it did not at all prepare me for the reality of this grief and this journey. While I have done a lot of the things he left for me to do, I am also learning that I must make my own future, not continue the one we had planned. So some of the things he assumed I would carry on or initiate, I have not done, and now, I don't know if or when I will. I am, after all, building a new solo life, and it is not going to look or feel the same as the life I had with Doug. It is so hard to face that fact sometimes. I want things to not stay the same, but go backwards. :)

Last night, I had a dream of Doug. We were up in Fairbanks, playing with an ice tower, laughing and having fun, and just being wonderfully happy. I remember such days. I had such a sensation of joy in my heart that it woke me up. I have not felt that since Doug left. I think it was his gift to me for the day it was. I have made it three years and I am carrying on. :) My heart felt so wonderful. I have not been able to summon that sense of utter joy back, but at least now I know my heart can feel joy this deeply again. It is difficult to convey how intense the joy was. As though I might burst with joy. :) Most of the time, Doug is not this close, so it was special to have that dream/memory. I talk to him, I write notes, and sometimes he feels very close. But sometimes now, he seems further away. I am observing this process.

Kay, you are so right. Things seem the same, but we are more in the flow of life. Our days are becoming less grief-filled, and more being-filled, and being expands the spectrum of emotional energy and possibilities. Nice. :)

I hope you are having splendid Sunday afternoons. I am about to go read a book for a while. :)

*<twinkles>*

fae

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I am finding that most of my days now, are "nice". They are not as they were when George was alive, of course not! I do not have that indescribable feeling of bliss that I felt when he held me or when we talked or when we shared in life together. But they are "nice". Sometimes I feel a little too alone, but it is not all the time, thank heavens! When I hear my married sisters and friends talk, I realize that I am spared some of what they go through...but then I was spared that all the same because I was married to GEORGE, not their husbands! George was anything but self-centered or demanding, he was a pleasure to be around. Just this morning after church, someone was talking about foot massages and I said George used to give me foot massages and even put polish on my toenails for me...they were astounded! It is the kind of person he was, the best husband in the world, we would have done anything for each other. It is hard not to miss a person like that! Even though I miss him, my life is okay now...not terrific like it was when he was alive, but okay.

fae, what does your squash blossom necklace look like? If you care to share, what is the meaning behind it?

Jan, I will have to go to FB and look up your videos...

Anne, I know you all are watching...that's what makes me feel so cared for here! :)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Kay, here is some reading:

http://www.native-languages.org/squashblossom.htm

Mine is the very old style, with no stones, only silver, using silver coins and silver bars to make the hammered pieces. There are some good examples of squash blossom necklaces on the site above.

fae

(my editing bar is disabled for some reason, so you may need to copy and paste the link)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Thank you for sharing that. I did get to see what it looked like but when I clicked on the necklace link it said the page couldn't be displayed.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Fae how wonderful to have a dream like that. I wish you many more. Kay I think I know what you mean about feeling comfortable with your life. I try to cosset myself. I do it consciously knowing its what Pete would want. Sometimes when I'm feeling ok I get that feeling that it is because I'm not grieving for Pete properly but I try to put that aside. He is within me. When he was on earth we felt like one soul quite often. Now it's true.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

nattering . . .

I woke this morning to birds singing outside my window, to the beauty of the sunlight on the ponderosa pines, and to the sweet, sweet breeze that disguises the air as spring, even though we all know winter is not really over.

As I got up to "open the house" for the day, I was struck by how alone I am feeling these days. Doug is not here for my morning hugs, nor do we rub past each other as we prepare our breakfast, stopping in the midst of toast, tea, coffee, and eggs preparation for more hugs and kisses as we move into our day. I miss our morning prayers together. I miss the talks over breakfast, planning our day. I miss the safe, constant presence of him here with me, someone to warm my heart with smiles, and warm my day with hugs and good talks. I miss working on projects together, and all the excitement when we would win some prize for our writing. I miss someone hanging out in the studio with me.

And then it hit me, and came cascading down all around me: I am not only missing Doug. I am missing Estelle and our long talks. I am missing Dad. I deeply miss Grammow (best I can do at phonetic spelling) and her deep and loving wisdom. I am missing more than Doug—I am missing a way of life that seems to have disappeared abruptly, although it actually was over a few years.

The years of caring for Doug—doctors, hospitals, surgeries, clinical trials, special foods and all the rest—pretty much derailed my life from the life we had before Doug got sick. I cannot change any of that, but as I stand here today, I so wish I could talk with Estelle, Dad, Grammow, others of those who have left. As one friend said, we have moved a rung up the ladder, and now we are mostly on the top rung, because all the others have gone before us.

I am coming to see this adjustment and creation of a new life as a part of how life goes. People are going to continue to leave me behind, until it is my turn to leave as well. I think that is years and years away, however. And because the odds are pretty good that I will be around for another 30 years or so, I want to do some planning, and carefully implement some new habits into my life.

Today, I went to the public library and got my new library card. I am thinking of going back to our Episcopal church one Sunday a month, and maybe now, after all this time, I will be able to sit in our pew again. I will still go to meeting, but I miss the fellowship of our church community where I went with Doug, and I am going to give it a try to see if I can be there now for services without falling apart. I am making some contacts with the art community again. I am re-opening some doors that had swung shut while I was completely involved with caring for Doug, and stayed shut while I was in such deep grief and trauma.

I think we all have this time of strategic planning before us. I find myself facing so many questions . . .

How long can I stay in my house before I simply must move to town? Where will I move? How do I parse the finances of the foundation to do the most good? Would Doug be happy with my choices of recipients? What can I do to live more simply and in harmony with others and the Earth? What am I called to do? Has a mission found me? Have I found a mission? As I envision the years before me, what "stuff" do I need to take with me, and what can I move out of my life that someone else might use, or that would at least free more time for other options? What else can I do to care for my physical self and to get healthier and stay healthy? Am I doing enough to restore my emotional balance?

I know I will not answer all of these questions now. Some I may not be able to answer for a year or even longer and some answers will evolve, as I heal, heal, and heal more from these last several years. I know the healing is still a significant process of my daily life.

I still find myself occasionally going into a panic when I first realize how long I have been gone from the house to do errands, or just go for a lunch with a girlfriend. It is a reflex, left over from the days of not leaving Doug alone for more than a couple of hours. But as I prepare to jump in the car, I realize what is going on, and that the house does not need me, that I can stay where I am, go for a drive, go for a walk, visit a friend, get groceries, have coffee, and that my job right now remains the job of taking care of and protecting and healing myself. Doug is safe. :)

But I look out at the world before me, at the days before me, and I long to be on a clearly-defined, well-marked Path. I get frustrated at this "holding time" while I heal and learn better how to care for myself after years of neglect of my own being. I wish I had talked about this more with Estelle, with Grammow, with Dad, and with others. How did they manage? How did they find direction after losing a spouse? (Well, Dad and Estelle married each other and had a wonderful time for nine years before Dad left at age 98. Estelle was very lonely, and we talked a lot about Dad after he was gone. I wish we had talked more about building a new life, although she was really at the stage of just waiting around to go join Dad so they could be together again.) I miss them all. I wonder if they would have had some beautiful wisdom to share with me, or if, as is often the case, we are each so unique and varied that what works for one may not work for another. But I miss their love and that comforting sense of being deeply connected to others.

In my heart, I know that I am not all alone. I have friends, I have a social life, and I am learning to be more independent. But I miss the presence of Doug, and by extension, I miss all the loving people who were around then, and are not around now. I am adjusting.

Thank you for helping to fill these holes of loneliness. {{{HUGS}}}

*<twinkles>*

feralfae

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I am feeling the same way, fae. (((hugs)))

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...