It is the season of gifts. I wish I had the ability to lavish those I love with gifts. Big gifts, little gifts, silly gifts, family treasure gifts. Homemade gifts, food gifts, gifts that make your eyes leak gifts. I wish I had more to give.
But back up the bus. We can give things, but often we need less things and more love. I want to give more love in my life. Life is hard, we need more love. Sometimes I wonder if the gifts I gave in the past were enough. Sometimes they were more than enough and I didn't realize it.
This time of year we are pushed/encouraged/expected to spend spend spend on those gifts gifts gifts. Honestly, my budget is stretched thin. Here is the deal, my budget is simply my income and what I do to keep the bills paid, dogs fed and get me from here to there. It only reflects my money, it does not measure my blessings. My blessings totally out weigh my finances.
So how to celebrate the season and share the blessings. Still trying to sort that one out. I can say whatever gift I give comes with way more love than the value of the item. I haven't got a lot, but I have everything that matters. I pray you do to.
I have a heart with love to give, even though life has been hard on it. I have the will to live and to love. I have ability to indulge in my passion for helping dogs, for sharing heartfelt words and the strength to do just that. I want to give you everything and all I have is me to give. Perhaps I am the gift. Perhaps you are the gift. We come messy and grieving, with humor and hope. We come growing and hurting, we come healing and learning. We come in a million different packages. With pieces of ourselves to give. Therein lies the gift.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Saturday, December 1, 2018
Head Games
It's December 1st and I've been writing my Christmas letter for a few days now. Mostly I've been fighting the head games that are blocking the words from flowing out.
We all have head games that keeps us from being and doing. I'll share some of mine relating to my letter. "What could you possibly have to say that merits a Christmas letter". "In your quiet, read - work, no social life, existence what would be worth sharing?" "How do you explain the grieving and growth that has happened this year and who cares?" Here's a really personal one...."your first husband left you and your second husband killed himself, you got nothing". That thought is brutal and I fight with it daily.
I've probably said this hundreds of times in my blog. Owning it is the first step. I share because I know in my heart someone out there can relate. I pray someone out there will find comfort. That someone out there will find courage, and be uplifted. I trust that person will be me and I hope it is you.
So first I'm rewriting the messages in my head and then I'll carry on with my letter. I'll find some humor, some truth, some way to share this year of my life. Some years aren't all glory and extravagance. Some are subtle steps towards healing, laced with gratitude and faith. That itself is worth sharing.
We all have head games that keeps us from being and doing. I'll share some of mine relating to my letter. "What could you possibly have to say that merits a Christmas letter". "In your quiet, read - work, no social life, existence what would be worth sharing?" "How do you explain the grieving and growth that has happened this year and who cares?" Here's a really personal one...."your first husband left you and your second husband killed himself, you got nothing". That thought is brutal and I fight with it daily.
I've probably said this hundreds of times in my blog. Owning it is the first step. I share because I know in my heart someone out there can relate. I pray someone out there will find comfort. That someone out there will find courage, and be uplifted. I trust that person will be me and I hope it is you.
So first I'm rewriting the messages in my head and then I'll carry on with my letter. I'll find some humor, some truth, some way to share this year of my life. Some years aren't all glory and extravagance. Some are subtle steps towards healing, laced with gratitude and faith. That itself is worth sharing.
Friday, November 23, 2018
Not Yet
I think the hardest lesson to learn is....not yet. When will it happen? Not yet. When will that prayer be answered? Not yet. Is the pain ever going to subside. Not yet.
Not Yet is hard on the good days. Harder still on the holidays. Holidays are rough. I took food to a friend in need today and during the conversation I discovered I was the one in need. I was the weepy one, and she was the strong one. I wanted to give support and I felt like I needed it more. Because I will own that I am in a Not Yet time of life. She is too actually. Perhaps the combination of our Not Yets made it all more poignant.
The not knowing if I am where I need to be in life is a recurring Not Yet. The am I doing enough is another Not Yet. The worry over financial issues. The will I always be alone. Will I make it all work. Will I ever know the answers? ...maybe not, but definitely Not Yet.
Will the waves of grief soften and dissipate, no Not Yet. Those waves happen when you least expect it. There is no rhyme or reason. Bam, they just happen. So you wonder, will this ever stop....Not Yet.
Today I struggle with that. Face it, I want to fix it, and it's not mine to fix. So there I am. In between, praying for answers, stepping forward but with admitted uncertainty. My guess is that many of us travel that same path. Moving forward, waiting, struggling, wondering if it's time. So I try to find some peace in the Not Yet. Or, at least, attempt to wrestle with it less. I'll set it down, and not pick it up, not yet.
Not Yet is hard on the good days. Harder still on the holidays. Holidays are rough. I took food to a friend in need today and during the conversation I discovered I was the one in need. I was the weepy one, and she was the strong one. I wanted to give support and I felt like I needed it more. Because I will own that I am in a Not Yet time of life. She is too actually. Perhaps the combination of our Not Yets made it all more poignant.
The not knowing if I am where I need to be in life is a recurring Not Yet. The am I doing enough is another Not Yet. The worry over financial issues. The will I always be alone. Will I make it all work. Will I ever know the answers? ...maybe not, but definitely Not Yet.
Will the waves of grief soften and dissipate, no Not Yet. Those waves happen when you least expect it. There is no rhyme or reason. Bam, they just happen. So you wonder, will this ever stop....Not Yet.
Today I struggle with that. Face it, I want to fix it, and it's not mine to fix. So there I am. In between, praying for answers, stepping forward but with admitted uncertainty. My guess is that many of us travel that same path. Moving forward, waiting, struggling, wondering if it's time. So I try to find some peace in the Not Yet. Or, at least, attempt to wrestle with it less. I'll set it down, and not pick it up, not yet.
Sunday, November 18, 2018
Unexpected Graces
Last year this time I had to make a decision. I was a mess, life was shattered and there was a dog in need. Frankly, dogs in need trump most everything for me. I didn't feel like I had much of anything to offer, I was barely getting by. But this dog was living with even less than I had to give, so I said yes to him. Some of life's most brilliant decisions evolve in such a grace filled manner.
Hobbs is one of those. Honestly he was the most emaciated foster to ever arrive at my door. It's helpful going into a new foster to have even a little bit of history on them. Are they house broken, crate trained, are they social with other animals. All valid questions. Sometimes you know stuff on them, sometimes they are a package waiting to be unwrapped. Discovery can be a stressful trial and error process.
I've said before, and firmly believe, that rescue dogs are grateful dogs. Starving dogs even more so. He and I had a lot to give each other. We both needed some intensive nurturing, so day-by-day we did just that. I fed him kibble and love. He fed me love and comfort. We were both grateful. We still are.
As pointers go, he is not the most handsome of dogs. Adorable in his own way with his bug eyes and under bite. I've fostered some stunning pointers. I recently had a friend mention that I've always had amazing dogs here. Truly I have. Hobbs reaffirms that love brings out beauty that may not be obvious from the outside. Don't tell the others, but he may be at the top of my list of favorite pointers.
So as we enter Thanksgiving week, I have to give thanks for Hobbs. For the huge package of unexpected grace his carried into my life. I wish you the same, in whatever form works for you. May you all experience a Hobbs whenever you most need it. Trust me, it will be life changing.
Hobbs is one of those. Honestly he was the most emaciated foster to ever arrive at my door. It's helpful going into a new foster to have even a little bit of history on them. Are they house broken, crate trained, are they social with other animals. All valid questions. Sometimes you know stuff on them, sometimes they are a package waiting to be unwrapped. Discovery can be a stressful trial and error process.
I've said before, and firmly believe, that rescue dogs are grateful dogs. Starving dogs even more so. He and I had a lot to give each other. We both needed some intensive nurturing, so day-by-day we did just that. I fed him kibble and love. He fed me love and comfort. We were both grateful. We still are.
As pointers go, he is not the most handsome of dogs. Adorable in his own way with his bug eyes and under bite. I've fostered some stunning pointers. I recently had a friend mention that I've always had amazing dogs here. Truly I have. Hobbs reaffirms that love brings out beauty that may not be obvious from the outside. Don't tell the others, but he may be at the top of my list of favorite pointers.
So as we enter Thanksgiving week, I have to give thanks for Hobbs. For the huge package of unexpected grace his carried into my life. I wish you the same, in whatever form works for you. May you all experience a Hobbs whenever you most need it. Trust me, it will be life changing.
Friday, November 9, 2018
Moving On
I like to think I am moving on, trekking through the grief, through the sorrows of losing a marriage and a husband to suicide. Some days the light is returning to life, and other days it's two steps back.
Many things factor in, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries all tug at my heart strings. The change in daylight savings time is a challenge. I need the sunlight. I dislike missing the sunset because it's gone down before I get off work. Having it dark when I get home saps my motivation.
I look at couples all the time and wonder how they do it. How do they manage to stay the course and keep the love. Now, I know I'm only looking from the outside in, so what I see may be only a partial truth. It may not be what it appears, or it may be way more delightful than I can imagine.
The mystery is finding my way through the loss, and still trusting in the future. It's knowing I may be alone from here on out, and making peace with it. I'm not there yet. It's wishing I could have done more, and giving myself credit for all I did do. It's missing the happy man, but not the troubled mentally ill man. He is clearly in a better place, and those remaining have to create their new place in life.
I don't have the magic words for how to do that. I believe faith wraps us up in possibility, and to move on we must surrender to the loss. Acknowledge it, own it, share the pain, cry the tears. To move on we must look forward. We need to honor the past and trust in the future. We have to move, to move on. So staying stuck is not an option. It's hard, it's daunting, and it is part of surviving loss. It's taking it a day at a time, a season at a time, an experience at a time. It's moving when we can, resting when we have to and beginning again. It's as simple and as difficult as that.
Many things factor in, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries all tug at my heart strings. The change in daylight savings time is a challenge. I need the sunlight. I dislike missing the sunset because it's gone down before I get off work. Having it dark when I get home saps my motivation.
I look at couples all the time and wonder how they do it. How do they manage to stay the course and keep the love. Now, I know I'm only looking from the outside in, so what I see may be only a partial truth. It may not be what it appears, or it may be way more delightful than I can imagine.
The mystery is finding my way through the loss, and still trusting in the future. It's knowing I may be alone from here on out, and making peace with it. I'm not there yet. It's wishing I could have done more, and giving myself credit for all I did do. It's missing the happy man, but not the troubled mentally ill man. He is clearly in a better place, and those remaining have to create their new place in life.
I don't have the magic words for how to do that. I believe faith wraps us up in possibility, and to move on we must surrender to the loss. Acknowledge it, own it, share the pain, cry the tears. To move on we must look forward. We need to honor the past and trust in the future. We have to move, to move on. So staying stuck is not an option. It's hard, it's daunting, and it is part of surviving loss. It's taking it a day at a time, a season at a time, an experience at a time. It's moving when we can, resting when we have to and beginning again. It's as simple and as difficult as that.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
Reach Out
Those two words - Reach Out - can mean so many things. They have been on my mind for a while. Lots of times we are comfortable, or don't want to rock the boat, or preoccupied, or busy. In that moment, day, week or period we don't reach out as much as we could have. Or should have, or wish we had. Sometimes we need to reach out through the pain, or reach out to share the joy, or reach out to help carry the burden. Sometimes we reach out to inquire about others, other times we reach out to share of ourselves.
One of the few graces that came from Gordon's choice to take his life is that he was able to be an organ donor. Another grace is that his choice opened the door for me to speak of suicide, and the multitude of impacts it has on the family and friends. I'll be honest, my knowledge of suicide and it's aftermath was blessedly non-existent. It's hard to fathom, and a topic few will embrace. Even those willing to tip toe carefully into the topic, are hoping for a quick way to exit the conversation.
So on the topic of reaching out, I sat down this week and wrote to the two people who received Gordon's kidneys. I didn't reach out asking for anything, rather I was offering something. It's all done anonymously at this point. Somewhere down the road it may become more personal. I may, or may not, receive any response. But, and there is always a but, I reached out so that they could know of the man who gave them a great gift.
So that they could know of his passions, his essence, his family, his hobbies. The lovely things that made Gordon, Gordon, before mental illness took him. It was good for my heart to remember the happy man, and let go for the time of the troubled man who gave up on living. And yes, I shared that he chose to end his life. Not to worry them or trouble them, but to know what a miracle it is that his kidneys and their bodies connected with each other. He did not know the gifts he still had to give when he gave up. I do, and now they do. In the communication, that reaching out, I opened more doors. Of communication about giving up, and receiving unexpected gifts. About sharing the truth of journey's we never wanted to take.
One of the few graces that came from Gordon's choice to take his life is that he was able to be an organ donor. Another grace is that his choice opened the door for me to speak of suicide, and the multitude of impacts it has on the family and friends. I'll be honest, my knowledge of suicide and it's aftermath was blessedly non-existent. It's hard to fathom, and a topic few will embrace. Even those willing to tip toe carefully into the topic, are hoping for a quick way to exit the conversation.
So on the topic of reaching out, I sat down this week and wrote to the two people who received Gordon's kidneys. I didn't reach out asking for anything, rather I was offering something. It's all done anonymously at this point. Somewhere down the road it may become more personal. I may, or may not, receive any response. But, and there is always a but, I reached out so that they could know of the man who gave them a great gift.
So that they could know of his passions, his essence, his family, his hobbies. The lovely things that made Gordon, Gordon, before mental illness took him. It was good for my heart to remember the happy man, and let go for the time of the troubled man who gave up on living. And yes, I shared that he chose to end his life. Not to worry them or trouble them, but to know what a miracle it is that his kidneys and their bodies connected with each other. He did not know the gifts he still had to give when he gave up. I do, and now they do. In the communication, that reaching out, I opened more doors. Of communication about giving up, and receiving unexpected gifts. About sharing the truth of journey's we never wanted to take.
Friday, October 5, 2018
Carry On
I am relearning. Relearning what I like in life, what I will not tolerate. I am relearning how to carry on. Frankly we should all do a self-check and some relearning. Rather like a breast exam, look for things that absolutely have to be excised, do it and move on.
For some to carry on means to pick up the yoke you are harnessed to and keep going. For others (raising hand and yelling me, me, me!) it a bumpy process of rediscovery.
The one year mark of Gordon's suicide gave me pause to look back. In addition to the daily looking back and wondering, I looked back and evaluated. I noted things I achieved over the year, we can call that personal growth. I reached out to the good people at Nebraska Organ Recovery Service and got on an update of Gordon's kidneys. They are both working in their new "homes". They had rough starts for the recipients, but are doing well. They can carry on thanks to his donation. I also share about life after a suicide. Call it my small way to release some of the stigma. If that isn't a good way to carry on I don't know what is.
I carry on with some of our old traditions. Some weeks just require a Friday night celebratory shot to mark making it through the week. I carry on by being part of a survivors of suicide on-line group. I carry on by meeting monthly with a group of widows. Lord knows I never expected that to be a peer group of mine. Life takes you down roads you never thought you'd travel. By the way, what a terrific group of women.
I carry on by fostering dogs and being a crazy dog lady. I carry on my love of flowers/gardening, working as a florist. I carry on by blogging. I carry on with faith, sometimes a bit wobbly, sometimes strong; I carry on because I chose life. I carry on because of all the decisions and happenings that led me to the here and now. Is it easy? No one ever said that. Yet some days it's easier than one might expect. Some days it's all up hill into the wind, in mud up to your knees.
In the end, let us carry on. You lead and I'll follow. I'll lead and you'll follow. Carry on my friends, life beckons and grace follows.
For some to carry on means to pick up the yoke you are harnessed to and keep going. For others (raising hand and yelling me, me, me!) it a bumpy process of rediscovery.
The one year mark of Gordon's suicide gave me pause to look back. In addition to the daily looking back and wondering, I looked back and evaluated. I noted things I achieved over the year, we can call that personal growth. I reached out to the good people at Nebraska Organ Recovery Service and got on an update of Gordon's kidneys. They are both working in their new "homes". They had rough starts for the recipients, but are doing well. They can carry on thanks to his donation. I also share about life after a suicide. Call it my small way to release some of the stigma. If that isn't a good way to carry on I don't know what is.
I carry on with some of our old traditions. Some weeks just require a Friday night celebratory shot to mark making it through the week. I carry on by being part of a survivors of suicide on-line group. I carry on by meeting monthly with a group of widows. Lord knows I never expected that to be a peer group of mine. Life takes you down roads you never thought you'd travel. By the way, what a terrific group of women.
I carry on by fostering dogs and being a crazy dog lady. I carry on my love of flowers/gardening, working as a florist. I carry on by blogging. I carry on with faith, sometimes a bit wobbly, sometimes strong; I carry on because I chose life. I carry on because of all the decisions and happenings that led me to the here and now. Is it easy? No one ever said that. Yet some days it's easier than one might expect. Some days it's all up hill into the wind, in mud up to your knees.
In the end, let us carry on. You lead and I'll follow. I'll lead and you'll follow. Carry on my friends, life beckons and grace follows.
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