Less Alone

Little-by-little, if we are willing to let them, people will step in to walk alongside our pain, or our joy, our hopes and dreams. Everyone has pain, joy, hopes and dreams. Life has it's seasons of each of these. Sometimes we keep it deep inside until we can't hold it any longer. Until the pain is unbearable. Or, until the joy can't be contained. Until our hope is shaken and needs bolstering. Until our dreams need a voice to come into fruition. These things are meant to be shared. 

Funny (not funny really) how hard it is to share the things that weigh so heavy on our hearts. Joy? That's easy to share. Hopes? Sometimes easy, sometimes hard to share. Dreams require a certain level of safety, of comfort to share. Grief is so very personal that it can be extremely difficult to share. Grief has a different face every day, and people may or may not have the life experience to empathize with it. And...that's okay. Sometimes we can walk down parallel paths and get it. Sometimes we need to be on the same path to understand. Sometimes all we need to do is reach out, even if we don't completely understand. Sometimes wanting to understand is half the battle.

I've been sharing lately my struggles, my grief, my uncertainty. I, who thought the heaviest of grief happened long ago, have been taken aback. By the depth of my grief, and of the volume of your support. One extreme to another blessed by love and grace. Holding it in does no good. Sharing it divides it, and opens us to love and support. It also, I hope, sets something free in you. Opens up your heart to feeling, to sharing, to understanding. 

The irony of all this, is that for years I never used my voice. Never used it to say how I felt, to set strong boundaries, to own my feelings, to speak my faith. It was never safe to use it, express it, share of it. I've come a long way and have a long way to go. And...it's hard. And...sometimes I stumble. And...sometimes I get confused. Sometimes I forget how to use it, until I remember how again.

Maybe my words help you discover something of value, something that needs healing, something that needs sunlight and warmth. Perhaps that is exactly why I write, and you read. For mutual growth, for understanding, so we each feel less alone. Less alone is a very good thing. Let's push for less alone. 

I Am In Need

I am in need of some strength, for the journey is hard. I just don't know if I can do it. I'm not feeling very strong. I've been strong for so long, I need someone else's for a while. Will you lend me yours?

I need to borrow some faith. I know "let go and let God" in my head, I need to open it up in my heart. I feel shaken, and while I know the answers are up ahead, at this moment I need some reassurance. 

I need a big box of Kleenex. This week I had to put my beloved Hobbs to sleep, and the tears won't stop. Who knew a gnarly old pointer could take up so much space in my heart?

I need less change, and more consistency. Who knew when I started this journey how hard it would be? I was hoping for more adventure, less stress, more smooth transition, less uncertainty. Who dropped the ball on smooth transition??

Somewhere I misplaced my sense of humor and my confidence. Along with my appetite. I'll find it somewhere and when I do I'll have two pieces of Texas Sheet Cake and extra potato chips. And cheese, lots of cheese. And, wine, duh.

In the meantime, I'll need some patience as I wait for the right path to unfold. Let the record reflect I suck at patience. Waiting is hard. I'm not comfortable with not knowing. Yet, who of us really knows? I've been urged to settle, because it's only temporary. Boy do I wrestle with that concept. Of all the hard spots I've been in life, this feels the hardest. Is it really the hardest, or just a combination that is triggering everything? I'm gonna vote it's a combination of angst and uncertainty. Multiplied by the challenges of letting go. That sums it up.

I'm guessing I'm not alone. That we have all been, or are, or will be in between a similar rock and hard spot. So I'm gonna own my need to lean in on you as I grow. I trust you will hold me and I'll rest while you support me. I will do the same for you some day. It's what we do.

Permission

I've found myself saying lately...I didn't anticipate how hard this would be. Or, my expectations were not realistic. I didn't plan well enough. In a way I was blaming myself for not knowing what I didn't know. Or, could not have known without the life experience to back it up.

I think that's rather harsh, and who needs harsh in their life? I need a big dose of gentle, with a side of simple understanding, and a huge scoop of grace on top. In fact, I need to give myself permission. So I sat down today and wrote a whole list of things I'm giving myself permission for. I gave myself permission to heal, to feel hopeful, to grieve my losses. I gave myself permission to say no, and to say yes, to make mistakes, and to make different choices as needed. I gave myself permission to rest. Wow, that's a big one. I gave myself permission to forgive, to laugh more, to love again. I gave myself permission to learn as I go. I gave myself permission to weep from frustration, fatigue, sorrow and hurt. I gave myself permission to draw strong boundaries and use my voice. I gave myself permission to ask for help when I need it. I gave myself permission to look forward with joy. Sometimes I/we/you struggle with that. Past trauma and loss makes it hard to expect blessings beyond measure. It's easier to look back, at what may have been a desolate place in life, than to look forward to what can be a beautiful new beginning. I gave myself permission to grow and share my faith. I gave myself permission to have moments of weakness. I gave myself permission to be strong and beautiful.

One might think everyone understands these things, and permission should be a given. It's not, though. For the hurting, the wounded, the lost, the healing we need to find these graces. When you get right down to it, in some ways we are all the hurting, the wounded, the lost and the healing. We are imperfect people having human moments in need of tenderness and compassion. We start by giving ourselves permission. With permission comes growth. The growth is blessed by grace, which softens our hearts. Softer hearts sounds like a winner to me. I give myself permission to be okay whatever my circumstances are...I hope you will to.

Accepting The Grief With The Growth

I had no idea how much moving would trigger my grief. I was achieving a goal to be closer to my kids so it had to be all good right?

Grief is funny that way. I believe it gets triggered during times of joy, and of sorrow, and during major life events. It floods in without warning, uninvited and takes our breath away. I grieve letting go of the home we shared together, and it hurts to be forging a new life that is so different. At times I resent having to do this all alone, and feel short changed because I have to.

I have had a tiny glimpse of just how overwhelming life in his last days must have felt. The loss, the fear, the uncertainty, the frustration, the impossibility of it all. Then I imagine that it must have felt doubled or tripled in his mind. I grieve for that too. One might think the further out I get, the less I would struggle with this. Fact is I will always struggle with this and life changes will always open the flood gates.

Now I can see these struggles are temporary. Sure, I wish I knew the definition to just how temporary, this temporary is. A crystal ball might come in handy for that. I have the skills (and utilize them) to work my way through. I lean in to my faith and the Word of God. I reach out to my friends and allow them to hold my head above water. I can share my worries and struggles and others help me carry them. I was blessed by a Random Act of Kindness group recently who are supporting me daily in prayer and with a lovely gift of generosity. It's humbling to receive such a precious gift.

It is hard to own your struggles, but own them we must. It's difficult to look forward with anticipation and look back in sorrow simultaneously. To know embracing one thing, leaves the other further behind. In a perfect world I could have this job, in that location, with my kids close by and not have to leave so much of what I love behind. In a perfect world I'd still be a wife and not a survivor of suicide loss. But it is not a perfect world. There are, however, perfectly blessed moments in the midst of growth and grief.

So I accept that grief will be my partner as I move into this new life. No, it's not easy owning that. I might just as well hold sorrow's hand rather than try to fight it off. I can't leave my story behind,  pretend its not baggage I carry or ignore it. It needs to be told. So I share it openly. In the hope that my journey somehow eases yours. Take a piece of my story and use it as a needed. May it bring hope and comfort.

Transition

There is something to be said for pulling up roots and moving into a new adventure. I believe crazy comes to mind, insane and stressful. I'll admit to feeling very displaced lately. Home isn't where it was and isn't on the horizon yet. I've heard those voices of self criticism whispering...you have no idea what you're doing, you gave up something you knew and loved for the unknown. See, even here loneliness and tears follow you. Even here, some of the stigma finds you. Ahhh, those voices. Don't tell me you don't hear them too, even if your message isn't the same as mine.

I'm going to own that it's hard. Yup, part of it sucks. But not all of it, so I try not to lose sight of that. We all go through massive life changes. When I got married nine years ago I gave up my house, my job, the city I'd lived in all my life. I was a weepy mess. Almost 2 1/2 years ago the upheaval of Gordon's death threw me into a tail spin. That's been slower recover from. Not that one ever really recovers. Eventually you just pick up the broken pieces and reshape your life. Rather ironic that reshaping my life again involves giving up my house, my job and a town I grew to love.

I've been a little remiss in reminding myself I am doing hard hard things. That I'm going to be okay. That I don't have to get everything perfect. That I'm not alone. That patience and faith will bless me down the road. I haven't reminded myself to breathe nearly enough. I've forgotten I can encourage myself and others. In fact, it's mandatory.

So in the midst of the hard I offer soft words of support. In this displacement I will count blessings and know I'll find my balance. I'll try to not be overwhelmed by the vast changes, and hold tight to small comforts. And...as needed I'll let the tears wash away the losses and strengthen me on the other side.