One Person's Journey

Anniversaries of the heart are not limited to one day. Often, there are days or weeks of memories. Flashbacks of trauma, days of stress and confusion. Sometimes a clear view of the dysfunction doesn't happen until long after the event.  I kept a journal during the hard times in life. It served me well then, and it serves me well now. Why do I look back? Because it helps to remember that I did all I could. That things were so completely messed up. That I made choices based on what I knew at the time. That I did the best I could. And, that I am a human prone to human moments. We all are.

At times we think back and say, self, it really wasn't that bad. The journal reminds me otherwise. It reminds also me how prayerful I was every day in unbearable circumstances. I understand that while specific prayers went unanswered, other prayers I never put words to were.

A friend said to me recently never forget the sting. Which seemed an odd. Most people would hope for that, long for that. She clarified that my story needs to be told. That someone out there, who I will likely never know, needs to hear it. I don't know for sure how my words will get there, but I believe they will. It's like planting seeds and never seeing them grow. You trust the process.

There are a million different stories of loss and grief due to suicide, all different, none make it easier to accept. The loss impacts who you are to the core. So many lives forever changed by one decision.

As the days countdown to seven years since this loss. I look back and I look forward. I count blessings, I grieve losses. I remember how hard life was. I remember those who sustained me. I recall the pain and the prayers. I trust that the words of a survivor can be balm for someone else. Therein lies the grace. One person's journey can ease another's. 

Do What You Can

We do what we can. It's both simple and complex. Each person decides what they can or cannot do. Sometimes we can do a lot. Sometimes we can do a little. There are times we don't know how to do, or what to do, but we trust the way will become clear.

For me, doing what I can includes putting ice packs on a foster dog who had a leg amputated yesterday. It's telling him what a good boy he is when he balances on three legs to pee when he used to balance on 4 legs, although one pained him greatly. It's giving pain meds in the middle of the night.

For me, doing what I can is working my butt off to fill orders for a large funeral this week. For me doing what I can includes clipping foliage from own garden to help give the designs that rustic wildflower look the family wanted. 

For me doing what I can is taking time to find 5 things I'm grateful for before I go to bed each night. It's texting a friend/friends daily to share the minutia of life. It is sitting down to write, knowing the words will come.

It's sometimes looking past what I don't want to do, or can't, to with the grace of God I can. It's pushing past depression, fatigue, the never ending "I should" things that life holds to I will, I can and I do.

We do what we can. Your list is not the same as mine because your gifts and talents are different. Your worries and burdens weigh differently. Your experiences color your approaches. It is all about showing up. In all the little ways and sometimes in the big ones.

Show up, trust in the process, do what you can. 

Scott's Sweet Corn

How do we keep memories alive? How do we remember and share them? Fact is we do not forget the days past. The lucky ones have a treasure trove of good memories to draw from. 

I will own that I struggle with releasing the harsh realities of losing someone to suicide. Mental health issues are painful to witness and debilitating for those who suffer from them and their survivors. I hope there is a shift someday and the good memories come first. It's a process. I'm not there yet.

I will also own, and I suspect I'm not alone, that I wish I could just say - I lost my spouse to _______ fill in the blank. I don't wish anyone cancer or an accident, or illness. But I stumble over the stigma of suicide every time. People understand how grueling a cancer journey is. They can envision an accident, or other illness. They cannot fathom death by choice, and it frightens them to think about it. I get it. It is a daily process to make any sense of it at all.

While I'm envious of those to talk freely of those they lost, I also find joy in it. I love how it draws them out, and gives them purpose by simply sharing their passions, their loves, their life.

Case in point. Scott's Sweet Corn. They began harvesting sweet corn at Master's Hand in Tekamah, NE this week. All the signs on the property shout with joy that Scott's Sweet Corn is ready. Made me think of the Burma Shave signs, or the multitude of signs to Wall Drug. Scott loved his sweet corn. Susie loved her Scott. In a way he is with us delighting in the corn. Isn't that cause for celebration? I think so.