Mentioned in this video:
It been almost 17 months since my Pete said goodbye, yet I still catch myself stalking his Facebook page from time to time. However, a few months ago I contemplated deleting or suspending it. I even sent out a request to friends and family asking what their thoughts were on it being obsolete. The result was a resounding, “no.”
I had asked for selfish reasons. The main reason being that the references to him were coming at an alarming rate and they hurt. At that time there also happened to be an article going around Facebook that preached an alternative treatment to cancer, that treatment being nutrition. To me, it seemed like a slap in the face. The writer had obviously never been diagnosed with terminal cancer before, I reasoned. It was all more than I could handle.
Today, I remain grateful that I heeded the many requests to maintain his page because there are days that, without it I would be lost.
There are days I visit his page and am reminded of all those who loved him and my heart is overcome with gratitude because that love is the love that kept him going on the hardest of days.
I sometimes browse his pictures, especially the ones he has been tagged in (many of them from his bachelor days before we met) and am reminded of his adventurous spirit.
Some days I peruse the posts and messages we wrote back and forth to one another because they remind me of the depth of our love.
And then, some days I look at our family pictures and smile as I contemplate the beauty of the entity we created.
Some of the best surprises are the emails he receives to notify him he has received a message. Those messages, from friends and family, remind me he has not been forgotten. I covet them, so please, keep them coming.
I recently came across this video on how to access a deceased loved one’s Facebook page. In light of this post, I felt prompted to share it with you.
What about you? How has your loved one’s social media accounts contributed to your grieving? If you have not experienced loss, do you feel it would be beneficial for you to have access to your loved ones accounts in the event they were gone?
When I was married, it was difficult to see myself as an individual. Instead I understood myself in terms of how I related to my partner. I was Pete’s wife and much of how I interacted day-to-day revolved around that role in my marriage. Many people may see this as a negative byproduct of marriage, however, I see just the opposite.
I believe relationships are crucial elements of our lives that shape, support, encourage, and give meaning. Marriage is intended to be the unity of two people who equally support one other in a partnership. The result of this is two people who genuinely consider the needs and desires of their partner as well as their own. This is why the loss of a spouse or partner is so completely earth shattering for the person left behind. Now, they must suddenly learn to view the world, not in terms of how it relates to their partnership, but in how it relates to them as an individual.
Once my Pete was no longer present I found it difficult to define who I was apart from him and our relationship. I literally felt abandoned and alone without his companionship. I was angry that the plans for OUR future were no longer conceivable; there was no US, only ME.
I felt stagnant and without hope. I am grateful that not long after, I came to the conclusion that anger does not contribute to positive progress. If I wanted to move through grief in a healthy way, I needed to put forth some effort. I eventually realized my only choice was to accept my reality and move forward. Once I did that I literally felt a weight removed from my chest. From that moment forward I did everything I could to redefine myself as an individual and in doing so, I reignited a passion for life I thought was lost when my Pete said goodbye. The moment I noticed the passion returning, I knew my heart was healing.
Here are a few things I learned from that experience.
1. Count your blessings.
2. Invest in relationships.
3. Feel your emotions, both pain and joy are necessary for healing.
4. Remember the positive memories.
5. Learn to enjoy and appreciate alone time.
6. Make an effort to be present in the moment.
7. Take up a new hobby.
8. Set measurable goals.
9. Accept your reality.
10. Get outside.
What has helped reignite your passion for life after loss? I’d love to hear about it.
In this grief journey birthdays seem to be the hardest for me. Birthdays trump all the milestone days combined. Birthdays are a blaring reminder that our loved ones were denied another year of life and that they are, in fact, still gone.
Yesterday would have been my Pete’s 34th birthday. I felt myself growing anxious leading up to the day but I was unaware of why I was feeling that way. It hadn’t dawned on me that Pete’s birthday was coming up, but when it did I caught myself falling back into the “why” phase of grief. Since I believe this is never a productive method of grieving, I stopped myself from continuing.
I then asked myself what I could do to honor him on his special day. One answer resonated with me and that was to be with the people he loved and that love him. That is exactly what we did.
We spent a wonderful day with my sister-in-laws, my niece, my in-laws, and other family. We laughed, hugged, played, ate, cried, and of course-talked about our Pete. At one point I looked around the playground while the children played with their Meme and Pepe and felt an overwhelming sense of joy that Pete would be so incredibly proud of the way we chose to spend his day.
Because of the way we chose to spend the day, I was truly able to say Happy Birthday Pete and mean it when I did.
It was the first time I had laid eyes on Pete in about a week. His face told the story of the progression of his illness; the impact it had, had on him was visible. He did not look like the same man I had dropped off at the airport just a few days earlier. He was on his way to visit friends and family with plans for us to reunite a few days later on the East Coast.
He had been diagnosed with advanced stage colo-rectal cancer about six months earlier. But, during the initial shock of the fight for his life, I had grown accustomed to his appearance. It wasn’t until we were separated that I noted the effect his illness had taken on him. His face was drawn-eyes sunken in, he was visibly pale, and had lost more weight he could not afford to lose. It seemed to me the cancer was winning.
I had boarded that flight with a copy of Real Marriage by Pastor Mark Driscoll. I devoured the book and with it grasped a new hope for the future of our marriage. I wanted so badly to believe we would be granted more time to grow our relationship here on earth. When we reunited, I passionately outlined, for him, the newly created vision I had for our marriage. A few minutes later he brought me back to reality by explaining he just did not have the energy to invest in it. Chemo and cancer was in the process of systematically striping away every last bit of life he had left. Although he tried so desperately not to let on, I believe he also secretly knew he was losing the fight.
During that conversation I begged him to become more vulnerable with me. I longed to know him more deeply yet fears of his own mortality had been interfering with the depth of our relationship for some time. By his own admission, he stated it was easier to keep to himself than it was to interact with others. His introspective personality made it difficult for him to get out of his own head. I was also a very imperfect person who many times acted out my fears in anger towards him and other loved ones. I saw this opportunity as a fresh start, but in my naïveté I had omitted cancer from the equation. My plan was just not going to work given the circumstances.
We took separate flights home and as I perused Hudson News I came across a book by Jai Pausch, entitled Dream New Dreams. I hadn’t wanted to admit defeat, but in a way I did that day when I picked up that book. I suddenly found myself identifying with Jai. I saw myself in her story. I saw Pete in Randy’s too and I suddenly realized my Pete would not be far behind him. We were losing the fight.
I sobbed on that flight. I was unsure why because I could not process it all. I couldn’t process what loss looked like. I had absolutely no idea what the future of my life might be like. I anxiously attempted to envision his last breath and wondered how I would know. Would there be a sign, I wondered? Would he suffer? Would it be easy? Would I be able to persevere and continue living? I had so many questions yet so few answers. I was so confused. Despite it all, I knew one thing, my Pete was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. It was completely out of my control.
I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. God, in all His might uses each and every experience to prepare us for the next. Throughout the course of that trip He slowly transitioned me into the next phase of our journey as Pete began hospice treatment only a few short months later. I know that it was only because of God I picked up Jai’s book that day. Without it, I would never have known that there is hope after loss. That I was capable of moving forward, but mostly that it is possible to dream new dreams.
Over the course of the past year I have developed a mantra: it may not be easy, but I’ll get through it. Loss has given me a new perspective I would not have had otherwise and in the true spirit of looking at the bright side I must be thankful for ALL I have experienced; both the good and the bad.
I wrote this post a few weeks ago in an attempt to get it published as part of a series on another blog. That has yet to happen but I thought I would share it with you today as we are about to board a plane to return home after celebrating our marriage with friends and family in California. It has been an incredible week filled with love, joy, honor, and sadness, but mostly JOY. In sharing these words, it is my intention to bring you hope.
The year I turned 22 I met the man I envisioned myself spending the rest of my life with. Pete was a young, strapping military man with a passion for risky outdoor activities such as high-altitude mountain climbing. He was also a romantic who longed to be married and to one day have a family of his own. We shared a love for God, a similar sense of humor, a desire to live a life of adventure, and deep compassion for those in need.
When I was 23, he proposed while in a hot air balloon over Napa Valley. I was ecstatic. We were soon married and shortly after I became pregnant with our first child. I was 24 years old.
Amidst military deployments our precious daughter, Isabella, was born. Our love grew exponentially as I witnessed the depth of a father’s love for his daughter.
We continued to live adventurously when at 25 I found myself nursing a baby in a foreign land. He had accepted a position working in the Middle East. We rejoiced as the opportunity meant the end of deployments and the beginning of life as a family.
During our time abroad, we sought respite while on vacations trekking in Nepal and climbing mountains in Europe. We formed life-long friendships with people from all around the world and cherished our little budding family of three.
At 26, we welcomed our second child, our son Lucas. Our family was now complete. We were beyond blessed.
My 27th year included a move back home. We bought and renovated our first home and settled into life together. Daddy commuted to work and mommy stayed at home caring for two young babies. We looked forward to weekends together, which included rides pulling a bike trailer, visits to the park, and service at our local church. Once again, we counted our blessings.
Later that year, the ball dropped. My young, strapping military man was diagnosed with cancer and it was stage IV.
We accepted the challenge and pursued a cure. There was no way I could ever live without him, I thought. Surely, God would never allow him to die. We declared victory over cancer before victory was ours to claim. The treatments came and went and soon we heard those dreaded words, “It is terminal and there is nothing more we can do.”
So, at 28 my worst nightmare occurred when I buried my husband. I was not only a single parent to two young children, but also a widow. Upon saying goodbye, I set about attempting to live without the man I once envisioned myself growing old with. Clearly my plan was not God’s; He had other plans.
When I was 29, it happened, I met my Chapter 2, who coincidentally is a widower. Now at 30 I will marry Dave and we will set about pursuing our life together, while attempting to honor our past.
The reality of love after loss is very bittersweet. There is an intense realization that without the pain of loss, new love would not be possible. The truth is, grief does not end where new love begins. It simply morphs into something different by making concessions for the past.
It is possible to love again. When my Pete said goodbye, my finite mind was incapable of envisioning how I could ever possibly love again. I wondered how I could love anyone as deeply. Now that I have experienced the joy of love after loss, I know it is possible to love again and to love just as deeply as I loved before, if not more deeply.
Loss has allowed me to be more vulnerable in my current relationships. Loss has left me with an intense desire to experience relationships on a new level for which a real vulnerability is required. This vulnerability is capable of creating a love that is unrivaled by any other because I know how fleeting life can be.
I have also learned that comparisons are inevitable. I don’t mean this in a Dave does this better than Pete sort of way, but in a Pete did it this way and Dave does it this way and this with why I love(d) them. I enjoy recalling memories of Pete and often share them with Dave. I also enjoy hearing about his Becky because I understand that if it were not for her, he would not be the man he is today.
I am still actively grieving my loss. There are days I am overtaken with intense sadness for my loss, my children’s, and the life Pete lost. There are days I recall memories of our cancer journey with the same realism as if it all happened yesterday. On those days, my Dave listens to me and comforts me. There are also days when we talk about Becky and Pete as if they are still with us, because in reality, they are. They will always be with us in spirit and we intend to do our best to keep their memories alive. The vulnerability of love after loss allows me to grieve his loss in addition to my own.
Lastly, I am scared to commit. I have struggled with an overwhelming fear that the past will repeat itself. I also have to remind myself that even if I had known about Pete’s illness before we were married, it would not have changed my love for him or the fact that I desired to share my life with him. In other words, worrying about the future will not help anything. Worry will only impact the fullness of joy I can experience in the present.
Despite the pain of loss I am thankful for my experience. I have had to accept that my experience has brought with it many blessings; for one, it has made me a better lover. I now have an intense understanding for the fragility of life and for that reason, I intend to make the most of the opportunity to love and be loved once again.
Jeremiah 29:11
A few thoughts on grief and loss from around the web:
1. On getting through hard times.
"One of life’s greatest gifts is the fact that life is difficult. Because in dealing with life’s difficulties, we build invaluable strength. This strength enables us to successfully fulfill our deepest, most meaningful purposes. It is precisely because life is difficult that we are able to make it great. It is because life is difficult that we are able to rise above the difficulties. We are able to make a difference and we are able to truly matter." ~quoted from marcandangel.com
2. Loving this series on what I want you to know from rageagainsttheminivan.com
On what I want you to know about being a widow.
"I want you to know that you could never predict how you would feel until it happens to you. And you may say that this wouldn’t be your ‘worst,‘ and that may be true, but you just can’t know. You can’t know about the person you would become or the decisions you would make until this life is yours."
3. Leanne Penny on Why I am a Believer
"Who was God? Did he even love me? How could he allow so much to happen to one person, to one family? How could I trust him with my future? How could I stand with the rest of my church friends and declare him “good all the time?” ~quoted from Leanne Penny on believe.com
"My brave façade crumbled, and I grabbed his hand, laid my head down beside him and wept. Voice breaking, I told him for the umpteenth time that I loved him so much, and with tears streaming down my face whispered that if he needed to go, that was okay." ~quoted from ashleypdickens.com
Last night we were asked to bring pictures of our departed loved ones to our family grief group. It was and always is difficult to choose just one. The pictures have this way of bringing him back and reminding me of how much I miss him.
Most of the time I don’t think about how healthy he was, but how sick he was; how I am thankful he is no longer suffering because that is the only way I can make sense of his departure-to give it a purpose. To give thanks to God Almighty that he is no longer in pain, but at peace. But, it does not change the fact that I miss him.
Izzy chose a photo book. It contained the pictures that were taken an hour before he went to the doctor to discuss his health concerns. We looked so happy because we were.
After thumbing through the book, another widow remarked that he looked like such a nice man. She said, “He didn’t look sick. He looked so healthy.” Then it sunk in. I couldn’t have agreed more. That was just it, he looked healthy, but it was just a facade. A deceitful outer exterior that masked what was really happening on the inside.
Most of the time, when I think about him, I don’t think about how healthy he was. Instead I think of his sickness because I lived that pain. I watched the cancer overtake his body until there was none left. But, she was right, he looked so healthy. It left me wondering why that couldn’t have been the truth.
While at the same meeting, a co-worker of my Dave’s late wife Becky saw her picture on the table and came over to introduce herself to him. As we stood there listening to how much she loved and missed Becky I could see the pain in his eyes. There is nothing quite like the affirmation of others that reminds us of our loved one’s existence. It reminds us of the impact they had on society, that they were loved and respected…that they are missed and not forgotten.
Despite the fact that I have found love again, and am very happy, it does not change the fact that I miss him. It does not change the fact that my Dave misses his Becky either. If I allow myself to think too much about how much I miss him I will inevitably go to the place where I begin to wish this was not my reality. I know he does too….and that is okay because this IS our reality. We miss them.
Have you lost someone dear to you? Do you feel like you are drowning in a black hole of pain and grief? Let me first say, I have been there and I know what you are going through. Although it seems like it happened forever ago, my loss is still fresh. I have learned a lot about loss as I actively grieve. Here is some of what I have learned so far.
1. Loss does not have to be a death sentence for you too. Before my Pete passed he told me his loss did not always have to sting for those of us left behind. In his subtle way he was giving me permission to move forward once he was no longer with us. Maybe you did not have the chance to say goodbye like I did, but it is important to know that your loss does not have to stop your life. As you well know, you only get one, so make it count.
2. It is okay to experience joy. Experiencing joy does not denote the intensity of the pain you have experienced due to loss. Experiencing joy does not devalue your loss. In contrast, experiencing joy has a subtle way of paying respect to the life that was lost because it means you are making a conscious effort to make the best of your circumstances.
3. You have a future. One of the greatest promises God makes to us is to give us a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). I want to encourage you to believe His promise today, and to live every day as though you do.
4. You will not always hurt with the same intensity. I make a lot of references, on the blog, to what I call active grieving. Actively grieving means acknowledging your loss, feeling the pain, and determining your reason(s) for moving forward.
5. Loss can create a deeper appreciation and understanding of life. Loss has given me the opportunity to determine what I value in life and forced me reevaluate how I spend my time. It has made me want to savor every moment because I understand how fleeting life can be. I have learned how important it is to count my blessings because things can change at any minute.
What are your thoughts on living beyond loss? I would love to hear them.
One of the most laughable comments someone made to me during the midst of grief, over Pete’s loss, was that I am lazy. Anyone that knows me well, knows that laziness is not a characteristic I possess.
The thing is, this person didn’t really know me, or even Pete, for that matter. This was made obvious by her comment.
For many, Pete’s loss brought to the surface personal fears about their own mortality. It left them wondering how they would be remembered if it had been them whose life was cut short. Although this person may not have realized it, I believe her insults were born out of her own fears and insecurities.
The particular text message in which the comment about laziness was made, was littered with many unnecessary and irrelevant accusations. Only my closest friends and family know exactly what that text message said, my Dave being one of them.
This morning he joked with me about being lazy. He said he found frozen waffles in the freezer. “Frozen waffles!” He exclaimed, “I’m surprised you didn’t make them and make the waffle maker too, Miss Suzie Homemaker.” Later on, he came into the kitchen as I was baking bread and said, “I wish you weren’t so lazy.” We both laughed because we know how far from the truth those earlier accusations were.
You see, when people make comments that have absolutely no foundation of truth, no matter how hurtful, you have to brush them off. In this particular case, my heart actually goes out to this person, because by making those comments, she proved how lost she really is. The best thing I can do is pray; for her and for her family.
The most sound advice on dealing with insults comes from the bible.
1 Peter 3:9 it states:
“Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.”
Sometimes we have to step out of our own grief to make concessions for others. In this case, her comments weren’t about me, but about her. In the complicated mess of grief and loss, the worst of people can surface. But, the BEST also becomes evident if you make a point to notice it.
Has something like this happened to you in the midst of your grief?
How did you deal with it?
Truth is such a rare thing, it is delightful to tell it. Emily Dickinson
Discovering the Gift
Inspiring Hope one card at a time
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