How Are You

How are you? Three little words. One easy question? Or, one loaded question.

Since my life was impacted by suicide, I'm never sure how to answer that question. Partially because some days I don't know the answer to that. Sometimes it's a superficial question to which we give a pat answer. I'm fine, how are you? Never expecting an honest answer to the question. Some days it's easier to just answer this way. 

I don't know what people expect of those who are surviving a catastrophic loss. There is no way to anticipate or prepare for this. I know that no two days are the same. Growth comes in painful spurts, laughter is always welcome, the loneliness is heart wrenching, and Lordy, I need more hugs. I know there are people I feel comfortable with showing my brokenness. Who either walk the same path, or have sufficient empathy to partner with me. I know that others are a step to distant, or different to open up to. And, that is okay.

It's a daily battle to try to grasp why someone would choose death over life. Likewise a daily battle to build a new life after a loss like that. Enough of a challenge that the question, how are you, becomes quite complicated.

To that I say....self, how are you? Friend, how are you? Neighbor, how are you? And I pray you take a moment to answer that honestly in your heart. Answer it with faith that if it's a hard day they won't all be this way. Answer it with hope, because the best is yet to come. Answer it with gratitude. Answer it with your shattered self leaning into the love that is readily available.

Your People

How do you define your people? Your friends, your family, your work team, etc. I define mine as my kids and family, friends, on-line family/friends, doggy friends, floral friends, farmers market people. Our people are the groups that sustain us, that we connect with.

Since Gordon's suicide, the grieving are my people. His death brought great pain, and continues to do so, but it brought a depth of compassion I never knew before. I can relate to the hurting now. I count this as one of the small graces of the loss. I'm less afraid to own my hurt, and to be open to the hurt of others. You know what, the hurting are all around us. They walk the same halls, sit around the same break room table. They cross paths with us at the bank, at the store, in our neighborhood. In a way, it's a relief to connect with others hurting.

I never wanted to belong in this way. Just like he never wanted to suffer as he did. Mental illness, depression, you name it. It takes a toll on the person suffering and those who love them. It was destroying our marriage and it took his life. It took him from the people he loved with all his heart. It gave us pain we never expected, would never have dreamed possible.

In the rubble we have to find the grace. It's there if we dig deep. Now, I admit owning it is sometimes hard, very hard. Pushing past the stigma, the fear of being judged, the feeling I should have done more. The hurdle of knowing people know your story in whatever version, accurate or not. It's showing up anyway. Which some days takes all you have.

Show up, no matter how strong you are that day, or how weak you feel. Your people will carry you when you need them. Other days you carry them. Take comfort that you can relate to both immense pain and simple joy, can share both tears and laughter. Thank you people, for being my people. For helping me carry my burdens, and allowing me to help you carry yours.

The Power of Compassion

Never underestimate the power of compassion. Everything else may weigh heavy, but compassion brings light to our hearts. 

It is people you never expect to recognize and share your pain doing just that. In the middle of 60+ other people at a Christmas gathering. That you were hesitant to go to, because the freaking stigma part of losing someone to suicide makes you shaky at best sometimes. It's your kids who encouraged you to go, knowing you'd be welcomed with open arms. It's the people who jump up and down when they see you. And, it's the satisfaction of pushing past the fear of showing up more than a little bit broken. Who of us isn't a little bit broken?

Compassion is looking back to honor our trials, growth and the grace that came with it. It's looking forward to the days ahead. Even if, especially if, the present day doesn't seem to hold either growth or grace. Compassion is digging deep. It is finding the good stuff and releasing the bad stuff. It is choosing to take leaps of faith. It is something we give others, and ourselves.

So may you, in your time of need, experience compassion. It manifests love in unexpected, but much needed ways.

The Time Of Year

So much anticipation in these days before Christmas. So much fullness in our days, so much of everything. Expectation, hope, dreams, desires. So much of just plain wanting, not just of things, but of the way things should be during the holidays.

While it's okay to want all of that, it's also fine to own that sometimes reality doesn't come near to matching our expectations. It may be the "happiest time of the year" but we struggle with grief, illness, loneliness, lost dreams, broken hearts.  I've struggled with getting into the spirit this year.  I love looking at Christmas tree's in other peoples windows, but couldn't bring myself to put up one of my own. Motivation to decorate, meh. Maybe next year.

Ever notice, in passing conversation, how often we ask are you ready for Christmas? Honestly, beyond the obvious yes or no. What would you really like to reply? Consider these options...I'm not ready and never will be. I'm on a hamster wheel of preparation and I can't get off. I haven't done enough. I wish I could do more. My heart is ready, but my house is not. I'm ready for it to be over. I'm ready for the proverbial silent night. 

I am ready to lavish my love even if it's not in tangible form. I am ready to own that the holidays remind me of painful losses, challenges and on going struggles. I'm ready to remember I may feel lonely, or lost, but I am neither lost or alone. Most honestly, I miss the innocence of past Christmas'. But, and there is always a but, I will move through the season as best I can. When there are tears, I'll embrace them. When there is joy I will cherish it. When I'm somewhere in between I'll lean on my faith. 

I wish you the magical season we all dream of, and I'll challenge you to find the gifts in the harder seasons in life. They are there, we just have to dig deeper to find them. 

Gifts

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.  

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.

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.