How lucky I am having something that makes saying goodbye so hard. ~Winnie The Pooh
Pooh had it right. I've been saying a lot this week, talking myself through the challenges, saying goodbyes, saying I love you's, saying thank you's, saying in God's time not mine, saying "self, it's okay to not have every little thing perfect". Saying....this is so freaking hard...and, it won't always be this way.
But, and there is always a but, in this moment it's hard. I recognize that, I honor that, I own that. I kept figuring others would understand how hard this feels, and then I remembered they can't possibly know. They aren't me, they see from the outside in, and I feel from the inside out. They bless me, they prop me up and give me hope, all of which I need. What a gift to myself to realize this. Another thing to be okay with. Life offers so many of these opportunities.
It's okay to be in transition, it's okay to not know all the details of what's coming next. It's okay to do my best and accept it was not perfect. It's okay to step back in thanksgiving, in gratitude. It's okay of acknowledge the weight of the grief that has been part of my journey. It will go with me where ever I go, and, it won't always weigh this heavy.
I sometimes forget to add the....and...part. I get stuck in the moment. Things seem permanent when they are in fact temporary. I'll look back on this time and laugh, I hope! I'll wonder why I worried so much. I'll give thanks. I'll see the good that came of pushing through hard times. And, the value of owning the difficulty, but not getting stuck in it.
When you love deeply it's hard to say goodbye. So sometimes goodbyes are simply I'll see you soon. I'll remember you well, I'll treasure this time. I'll miss your face. You were a blessing to me.
Saturday, January 18, 2020
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
Change
Change is on my horizon. Let me be the first to admit, I weep daily because of it. Even when I am moving in the right direction I weep. I weep because even good change is hard. I weep because letting go of one thing to grasp another requires courage and faith. In between those two places is the unknown.
I know my history here, I know the joys, the challenges that came with it, I know the depth of the losses. I know the blessings, graces and friendships that have sustained me. I fully trust I will be as blessed in the future where ever I land. Still, letting go is hard.
I will not miss the comments I still receive, in passing, that connect me to the actions of my late husband when he chose to end his life. That stigma precedes me here. I never asked to be "that person", I like to believe I am my own person. A person who endured great trauma and horrible loss. Let it end there. I know it won't, but I'd like it to. Part of being a survivor of suicide loss is the stigma. Beyond my control, and yet, hard on my heart.
I am trying to balance appreciating all the blessings this chapter of life offered, grieve the losses, and look forward to great things coming my way. I feel like a weepy juggler trying to keep it all in control. Keep in mind, I'm not a juggler, we never really have control and I wouldn't be me if I my eyes didn't leak regularly.
So here I am. In transition, guided by faith and trust (although they get shaky at times). Surrounded by those who love me here, and there, and ready to love anew down the road. May the road be smooth, with hands to hold along the way.
I know my history here, I know the joys, the challenges that came with it, I know the depth of the losses. I know the blessings, graces and friendships that have sustained me. I fully trust I will be as blessed in the future where ever I land. Still, letting go is hard.
I will not miss the comments I still receive, in passing, that connect me to the actions of my late husband when he chose to end his life. That stigma precedes me here. I never asked to be "that person", I like to believe I am my own person. A person who endured great trauma and horrible loss. Let it end there. I know it won't, but I'd like it to. Part of being a survivor of suicide loss is the stigma. Beyond my control, and yet, hard on my heart.
I am trying to balance appreciating all the blessings this chapter of life offered, grieve the losses, and look forward to great things coming my way. I feel like a weepy juggler trying to keep it all in control. Keep in mind, I'm not a juggler, we never really have control and I wouldn't be me if I my eyes didn't leak regularly.
So here I am. In transition, guided by faith and trust (although they get shaky at times). Surrounded by those who love me here, and there, and ready to love anew down the road. May the road be smooth, with hands to hold along the way.
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
A Silent Night A Star So Bright
It's time to say Merry Christmas, Season's Greetings, best wishes and I love you. It's always time to say I love you.
I used to take Christmas for granted. As a child, what did I know? I knew the magic of tree's and gifts and feasts. I snooped once, searching the stack of presents, in my parents room. I didn't open the gifts, I just wanted to make sure there were some with my name on it. Funny I should worry about that, I was always a good girl. But sometimes even good girls have doubts.
As a young Mother I knew all about the gifts. I wrapped them meticulously, late at night, alone in the basement. I often wished I had company for that, just for companies sake. I wish I'd made it more of a festive ritual for me. Sometimes (often) we forget to include ourselves in the rituals. We are too busy giving to give back a little to ourselves. We are too busy with the business of life.
Even as an adult I rather took it all for granted. I shopped, I worked, I decorated, I wrapped, I raced through the season. I said Merry Christmas, I said I love you.
Enter a season of grief, and all that changes. All death is hard to accept, to make peace with. A tragic loss, or a loss from suicide brings more questions than one will ever have answers for. Regrets too many to number, and a profound shift in who you used to be as you define who you are now. I don't say that to dim the warm glow of the season. But to share the reality many people live with. In the midst of the mistletoe and the holly is a sorrow we carry. In the joy, we find the tears. In the midst of the love we feel the loss. We can be laughing one moment and crying the next.
Still the holiday arrives, with it's warm greetings, gifts and love. And, it is good. Even in the hard moments it is good. It's about the I love you's. It's about taking less for granted and embracing life with deep gratitude. It is about a silent night, and a star so bright. Wherever you are in life, in this Christmas season, hang on to the light, give thanks for the night.
I used to take Christmas for granted. As a child, what did I know? I knew the magic of tree's and gifts and feasts. I snooped once, searching the stack of presents, in my parents room. I didn't open the gifts, I just wanted to make sure there were some with my name on it. Funny I should worry about that, I was always a good girl. But sometimes even good girls have doubts.
As a young Mother I knew all about the gifts. I wrapped them meticulously, late at night, alone in the basement. I often wished I had company for that, just for companies sake. I wish I'd made it more of a festive ritual for me. Sometimes (often) we forget to include ourselves in the rituals. We are too busy giving to give back a little to ourselves. We are too busy with the business of life.
Even as an adult I rather took it all for granted. I shopped, I worked, I decorated, I wrapped, I raced through the season. I said Merry Christmas, I said I love you.
Enter a season of grief, and all that changes. All death is hard to accept, to make peace with. A tragic loss, or a loss from suicide brings more questions than one will ever have answers for. Regrets too many to number, and a profound shift in who you used to be as you define who you are now. I don't say that to dim the warm glow of the season. But to share the reality many people live with. In the midst of the mistletoe and the holly is a sorrow we carry. In the joy, we find the tears. In the midst of the love we feel the loss. We can be laughing one moment and crying the next.
Still the holiday arrives, with it's warm greetings, gifts and love. And, it is good. Even in the hard moments it is good. It's about the I love you's. It's about taking less for granted and embracing life with deep gratitude. It is about a silent night, and a star so bright. Wherever you are in life, in this Christmas season, hang on to the light, give thanks for the night.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
Little Things
I seriously considered if I should be writing a blog post or a country song, but my musical ability is sketchy, so a blog it is.
In this season of magic, when it seems the world is out shopping for large extravagant Christmas gifts, my pick-up truck died, my glasses broke, the top half of my fridge stopped working and my dawg got skunked. Not to mention the political unrest, the desire to be more and better, the stress of working retail and a longing to have a magic wand to make it all right.
So here are a few key words: desire, stress, all right. I'm going to turn them around into this: I desire to be all right with my stress.
Here is where I am with it. There are no "magic wands", but there are friends and family who support you in ways you never see coming.
I will always wish I could give my kids a gift the size and scope of my love for them. Every birthday, and at Christmas, I wish I could give them more, give them better. I feel much like the Little Drummer Boy lately. All I have to give is a simple, sincere give of love wrapped in my God given talents. They say my gift is enough, yet I wrestle with that. I need to embrace that, rather than wrestle with it. Maybe you do to. Repeat after me. I am enough, my gifts are enough.
The things I struggle with are sorting themselves out. They always do, yet I often forget that. When I can't measure the progress, I wonder if there is any. Most of them, in the distance, will be laughable moments. I just need to get a little distance. In the meantime, there is a second fridge in the mudroom, new wheels in the driveway, super glue holding my glasses together until I get new ordered, a slightly stinky dawg, and a lingering mustiness to the house. This too shall pass.
It shall pass because I have way more blessings than challenges. Even challenges are blessings. It shall pass more easily if I remember the reason for the Season, and be, really Be that Little Drummer Boy. Give with what talents you have. Be open to the gifts of love that come in a thousand different ways. Remember it's not what happens to you, but rather how you respond that matters most.
Life, and the holidays are a series of little things. Good little things, hard little things, funny little things, sometimes smelly little things. Little Drummer Boy things.
In this season of magic, when it seems the world is out shopping for large extravagant Christmas gifts, my pick-up truck died, my glasses broke, the top half of my fridge stopped working and my dawg got skunked. Not to mention the political unrest, the desire to be more and better, the stress of working retail and a longing to have a magic wand to make it all right.
So here are a few key words: desire, stress, all right. I'm going to turn them around into this: I desire to be all right with my stress.
Here is where I am with it. There are no "magic wands", but there are friends and family who support you in ways you never see coming.
I will always wish I could give my kids a gift the size and scope of my love for them. Every birthday, and at Christmas, I wish I could give them more, give them better. I feel much like the Little Drummer Boy lately. All I have to give is a simple, sincere give of love wrapped in my God given talents. They say my gift is enough, yet I wrestle with that. I need to embrace that, rather than wrestle with it. Maybe you do to. Repeat after me. I am enough, my gifts are enough.
The things I struggle with are sorting themselves out. They always do, yet I often forget that. When I can't measure the progress, I wonder if there is any. Most of them, in the distance, will be laughable moments. I just need to get a little distance. In the meantime, there is a second fridge in the mudroom, new wheels in the driveway, super glue holding my glasses together until I get new ordered, a slightly stinky dawg, and a lingering mustiness to the house. This too shall pass.
It shall pass because I have way more blessings than challenges. Even challenges are blessings. It shall pass more easily if I remember the reason for the Season, and be, really Be that Little Drummer Boy. Give with what talents you have. Be open to the gifts of love that come in a thousand different ways. Remember it's not what happens to you, but rather how you respond that matters most.
Life, and the holidays are a series of little things. Good little things, hard little things, funny little things, sometimes smelly little things. Little Drummer Boy things.
Saturday, December 14, 2019
New Wheels
The pick-up truck shot craps recently. It was a 2006 and had 210k+ miles on it. It wasn't my truck, it was Gordon's. But it made sense when he died to sell my car, pay off his and use the vehicle that had a newer transmission. It had a dark brown exterior and a black interior. I always wanted to girl it up. I never did. It served us both well.
When it died, it was a huge financial stressor for me. Sometimes we forget how important dependable transportation is. When you live alone it becomes even more critical. So the hunt was on. What I found was an opportunity to weigh my options. To not take the first vehicle that came my way, and to trust the process. I think I wrestled with that most of all. Trusting the process was hard. A woman shopping for a vehicle feels vulnerable, and least this woman did. I spent hours researching vehicles, mpg ratings, owner reviews. None of that mattered as much as trusting the process.
I've never felt like choosing the color was an option I could really afford to base a decision on. And yet, when bartering on the first vehicle I said, I don't like the color, I swore I'd never have a black vehicle again. The pick-up truck offered little trade-in value, yet I had to parlay that as best I could. The first vehicle would have met my needs, but negotiations stalled out. I was willing to let go and let God move me to another option. That was growth for me.
What I ended up with was way more than I'd hoped for. The bartering was smooth and generous. I had a great team working for me on this. I never actually laid eyes on the vehicle until it was delivered. I researched the model. My son thoroughly inspected it, the dealer I worked with was amazing, but the good Lord was in the driver seat. It's not black, it's not maroon which is my favorite car color, it is white. Clean and full of light. Admittedly I cried at the thought of letting go of the pick-up, of letting go of another tie to a past life. That part is hard. But life leads me on. It brought me a white vehicle (at least until the muddy roads of country life paint it another color). With way more luxuries than I dreamed of. I believe I will name it Bianca. No, I have never named a vehicle in my life. But life is taking me down new roads, so new traditions go with it. While I look longingly at pick-up trucks and what they symbolize, I am embracing a new-to-me SUV. New wheels, new growth, love and light. So glad the stress of that is over, that I owned what worked for me, what didn't, that I trusted the process. New wheels, new blessings and a renewed sense of gratitude. Amen.
When it died, it was a huge financial stressor for me. Sometimes we forget how important dependable transportation is. When you live alone it becomes even more critical. So the hunt was on. What I found was an opportunity to weigh my options. To not take the first vehicle that came my way, and to trust the process. I think I wrestled with that most of all. Trusting the process was hard. A woman shopping for a vehicle feels vulnerable, and least this woman did. I spent hours researching vehicles, mpg ratings, owner reviews. None of that mattered as much as trusting the process.
I've never felt like choosing the color was an option I could really afford to base a decision on. And yet, when bartering on the first vehicle I said, I don't like the color, I swore I'd never have a black vehicle again. The pick-up truck offered little trade-in value, yet I had to parlay that as best I could. The first vehicle would have met my needs, but negotiations stalled out. I was willing to let go and let God move me to another option. That was growth for me.
What I ended up with was way more than I'd hoped for. The bartering was smooth and generous. I had a great team working for me on this. I never actually laid eyes on the vehicle until it was delivered. I researched the model. My son thoroughly inspected it, the dealer I worked with was amazing, but the good Lord was in the driver seat. It's not black, it's not maroon which is my favorite car color, it is white. Clean and full of light. Admittedly I cried at the thought of letting go of the pick-up, of letting go of another tie to a past life. That part is hard. But life leads me on. It brought me a white vehicle (at least until the muddy roads of country life paint it another color). With way more luxuries than I dreamed of. I believe I will name it Bianca. No, I have never named a vehicle in my life. But life is taking me down new roads, so new traditions go with it. While I look longingly at pick-up trucks and what they symbolize, I am embracing a new-to-me SUV. New wheels, new growth, love and light. So glad the stress of that is over, that I owned what worked for me, what didn't, that I trusted the process. New wheels, new blessings and a renewed sense of gratitude. Amen.
Monday, December 2, 2019
To My Village
They say it takes a village, and indeed it does. My villages are diverse, my family and friends village, my crazy dog lady village and the larger crazy dog rescue village. My village of floral friends, Facebook friends, survivor of suicide loss friends and my little rural village friends.
It takes all these villages to keep me safe, healthy, loved and cared for. You, yes you, make life and growth and love possible for me. I won't deny that life has been hard lately. This second year of grieving has been intense. People say the second year is worse, and I'd agree. I've struggled emotionally, financially, and my faith gets a little shaky occasionally too. I try to make due, to go without, to live a simple life without many indulgences. But, and there is always a but, I have big big love pulling me forward. Well honestly, sometimes you have to really push me forward. Even drag me kicking and screaming forward.
My default mode has always been to do with less, go without, make due, and accept less. My middle name should be hunker down and ride it out. I'm can do that. That's not necessarily a good thing. I need to be embrace joyful anticipation. I need to allow light to wash over my life, my faith. I have faith, I don't always live like it though.
I can turn the thermostat low in the house, but I can't do that with my heart. I have to let people in and that involves being open to the gifts they chose to lavish on me. I am amazed by the love God provides for me in the form of kindnesses and support from my villages. You humble me. You make my eyes leak, I know, put on your surprised face!
I forget who I belong to and succumb to worry and fear. I hold in, instead of reaching out. 2 Timothy 1:7 says it all...For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Power, love and a sound mind. All that, and my villages. What an impressive, amazing roster of love. Amen to that, and bless you for being my village.
It takes all these villages to keep me safe, healthy, loved and cared for. You, yes you, make life and growth and love possible for me. I won't deny that life has been hard lately. This second year of grieving has been intense. People say the second year is worse, and I'd agree. I've struggled emotionally, financially, and my faith gets a little shaky occasionally too. I try to make due, to go without, to live a simple life without many indulgences. But, and there is always a but, I have big big love pulling me forward. Well honestly, sometimes you have to really push me forward. Even drag me kicking and screaming forward.
My default mode has always been to do with less, go without, make due, and accept less. My middle name should be hunker down and ride it out. I'm can do that. That's not necessarily a good thing. I need to be embrace joyful anticipation. I need to allow light to wash over my life, my faith. I have faith, I don't always live like it though.
I can turn the thermostat low in the house, but I can't do that with my heart. I have to let people in and that involves being open to the gifts they chose to lavish on me. I am amazed by the love God provides for me in the form of kindnesses and support from my villages. You humble me. You make my eyes leak, I know, put on your surprised face!
I forget who I belong to and succumb to worry and fear. I hold in, instead of reaching out. 2 Timothy 1:7 says it all...For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Power, love and a sound mind. All that, and my villages. What an impressive, amazing roster of love. Amen to that, and bless you for being my village.
Tuesday, November 19, 2019
Little Cubes of Gratitude
It's Thanksgiving week for me, as we celebrate early, and I have started the cooking preparations. That said, every day is a day of thanks giving when you choose to embrace gratitude. Stick with me on this, we'll circle back around.
Today I cubed bread to make stuffing. I know I can buy dried bread, sometimes for less than what I pay to make it myself. I know there are stuffing mixes out there. None that compare with homemade though. I also know, no matter how much stuffing I make it is never, ever, enough. So I slice the bread, and for the next few days I'll gently turn it over and over as it dries out. I'll remember other Thanksgivings each time I stir the bread cubes.
Other Thanksgivings were different, some were much much easier. Some were full tables of 20+ people. There were adult tables, and kids tables. There was polishing the good silver, getting out Great Grandma's china. There was the joy of the holiday and the fear in the background that too much alcohol consumed by the adults would change the joy to tense moments of anger. Childhood holidays often went like that. There was one Thanksgiving I was sick with mono. The kids and I ate just the basics, turkey, mashed potato's, gravy. Pretty sure I didn't make stuffing that year. We ate off of paper plates and it was good. There were smoked turkeys, deep fried turkeys, and feed the college kids and their friends turkeys.
The times change, the faces change, but the traditions continue. The bread must be cubed and dried. It's what I do to feed those I love with love. It's hard to accept that there are empty places at the table and there always will be. It's hard to find peace in knowing they were fed with love over the years and still they are gone. It's hard to wish you could have fixed it for them, that enough love would have made a difference. It is finding the grace to accept you did all you could, and the choice was not yours.
So I find myself looking ahead, and looking back as I cube the bread. There are tears and anticipation. There are memories to savor, memories to heal from, new memories to make. They are simple cubes of bread that hold so much love. I'd be remiss if I didn't stir in vast amounts of gratitude. Gratitude for feasts, for faith, for family. Gratitude for the path I'm on, for the pain that I feel, for the healing that I find on the journey. Gratitude for bread, cubed, dried and shared with those I love.
Today I cubed bread to make stuffing. I know I can buy dried bread, sometimes for less than what I pay to make it myself. I know there are stuffing mixes out there. None that compare with homemade though. I also know, no matter how much stuffing I make it is never, ever, enough. So I slice the bread, and for the next few days I'll gently turn it over and over as it dries out. I'll remember other Thanksgivings each time I stir the bread cubes.
Other Thanksgivings were different, some were much much easier. Some were full tables of 20+ people. There were adult tables, and kids tables. There was polishing the good silver, getting out Great Grandma's china. There was the joy of the holiday and the fear in the background that too much alcohol consumed by the adults would change the joy to tense moments of anger. Childhood holidays often went like that. There was one Thanksgiving I was sick with mono. The kids and I ate just the basics, turkey, mashed potato's, gravy. Pretty sure I didn't make stuffing that year. We ate off of paper plates and it was good. There were smoked turkeys, deep fried turkeys, and feed the college kids and their friends turkeys.
The times change, the faces change, but the traditions continue. The bread must be cubed and dried. It's what I do to feed those I love with love. It's hard to accept that there are empty places at the table and there always will be. It's hard to find peace in knowing they were fed with love over the years and still they are gone. It's hard to wish you could have fixed it for them, that enough love would have made a difference. It is finding the grace to accept you did all you could, and the choice was not yours.
So I find myself looking ahead, and looking back as I cube the bread. There are tears and anticipation. There are memories to savor, memories to heal from, new memories to make. They are simple cubes of bread that hold so much love. I'd be remiss if I didn't stir in vast amounts of gratitude. Gratitude for feasts, for faith, for family. Gratitude for the path I'm on, for the pain that I feel, for the healing that I find on the journey. Gratitude for bread, cubed, dried and shared with those I love.
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