Are You Dying Alone?

 I was pondering life today. Actually, I was thinking about those who die due to illnesses, physical or mental. And...those who die alone. I think, in a way, the stress of the pandemic makes us all feel a little bit like we are dying alone. Which made me think of my husband's life and his suicide. 

I think he spent more days dying alone while he was living, than he did while he was trying to die. I know that's hard to wrap your head around. Believe me, I wrestle with it daily.

Here's the deal, we can actually live the life we are given, or we can try to shut it down all the days of our life. I won't pull any punches, it's hard, it doesn't work out how we imagined. Sometimes it's better than we dreamed, sometimes it's a nightmare we can't even begin to fathom. We have to push ourselves forward, hold ourselves back. We have to own our mistakes and learn from them. We have to celebrate our successes. We have to ask for help and accept that we need it. We have to learn to forgive. Often we have to forge a new path seemingly on our own. We have to acknowledge the fear and push through it. We have to invite in the joy and embrace it. We have to plant seeds of faith, tend and harvest them.

He lived with a deep ache inside him, and in the end he let go. In his case, in spite of trying to die alone, he died physically and emotionally surrounded by people who loved and cared for him. In that regard he got lucky. 

Here is the hard question. Are you living each day, or dying alone each day. Are you making mistakes and learning from them? Are you challenged by a messy life, and blessed by it? Every day we have the opportunity to begin again, to make new decisions, to change our path. 

I will never understand his choice, or the depth of his pain. He chose not to share it, own it, heal it. In taking his life he transferred his pain to us. We have to chose how to handle what we are given. Each of us has pain and opportunity. Are you living in yours, or dying in it. 

For Them We Speak

Three years ago life changed. A man let go of his tenuous hold on life, and we were left wondering how, wondering why. And....what could we have done differently. You know what? There are no answers to that. 

We weren't included in his decision, just changed by it. He struggled. We all struggle at some point in life. In the struggle we have the opportunity to grow. We face strife and mind boggling disappointment. We learn to adapt. We lose things we love, we certainly lose our way. Most of us find a new way. 

I know from struggling with depression what a slippery slope mental health can be. It can sneak up on you and you don't realize how sick you are. I know also that you have to own your struggle, own your truth. You have to dig deep to reach out for help. There is no shame in that, in fact, there is much to admire about that. 

Three years ago he made a choice and the horizon tilted for those who knew and loved him. Everyone's experience with him was different, so each loss is profoundly different. Some feel just the loss, some feel the loss and the stigma of his choice. Some have fond memories wrapped in sadness. Some feel torn by both good and bad memories. Some withdraw in sorrow and never speak of it again. Some unwrap it, examine it, and share it to make an easier path for others who follow.

My husband died by suicide. Even when you live that reality, day in and day out, it is hard to speak that truth. It is hard to speak the words to the world, because it is painful to do so, and because the world doesn't want to hear them.The world is willing to judge, question, and whisper about those who die by their own hand, and those who survive them. But the world also wants to think, wants to believe, it could never happen to them. It is a scary truth. Shhh, Don't talk about it openly. Instead talk in secret circles about it creating layers and layers of isolation. Because of his choice, I have never been more visible and invisible in all my life. Therein lies the grace. His choice changed me and I will speak of my experience. I will speak of the sorrows, the truths, the stigma, because in real life mental health issues and suicide are still taboo subjects.

No one chooses this path. No one chooses to struggle with mental health. No one would chose this kind of loss. Some fight the battle, some lose the war. For them we speak...

 

Merging....

Having become a country girl rather than a big city girl, I have to say driving in the big city makes me nervous. I've been told I drive like an old lady now, and that "you" country drivers are way too polite. Truth be told I probably do qualify as an old lady, and I am polite.  

I have to say, though, that merging stresses me out. I always pray, Dear Lord protect my merging.... In the country there wasn't much merging, and if it happened it was much slower and everyone waved. I miss the waving part.

Merging happens in so many realms. We merge onto the interstate, we merge our lives, we merge our attitudes. We merge on the job. We merge our faith base. All merging intending to get us safely from one place to another. It means we take turns, we make room, we adjust ourselves to allow for others.

No wonder it can be scary. Merging involves confidence, and trust. It requires diligence, observation and patience. Most things in life can be scary, require confidence, trust, diligence, observation and patience. Growth fits into this description, grief does as well. Some merging happens at 60 mph. Some merging, such as healing from trauma or loss, happens in small moments over long periods of time. Sometimes it is imperceptible. Still it happens. 

It's okay to be scared of merging. It's okay (more than okay!) to pray your way through the process. I will most likely still pray when I merge, Dear Lord protect me....from that other car. Protect that other car from me. Let me safely in, Lord. Let there be space, let there be light, let there be a place for me to move with the flow. 

Every Day A Choice

Just about three years ago my husband chose to end his life. So September is a hard month, a time of great reflection. This is what I have learned about life. Every day we have a choice. A choice that nurtures life, a choice to hold steady without growth or regression, a choice to let go of life in tiny increments or in singular acts of destruction. All of those options require enormous energy. So I have to ask, where am I putting my energy? Where are you putting yours? 

I know at the core of things, we have to be able to ask for help. Is it easy? Oh hell no. Not many of us are comfortable, and/or fluent in asking for help. That he was unwilling, or unable to ask for help is part of the tragedy. If we could love someone enough to keep them alive we would. We can only do so much and the rest is up to them. 

I have been vastly changed by his decision. It's taking time to find my way in life again, it's hard for me to be open with people I don't know. It's hard to trust that good things will come. I hold things closer and observe more deeply. Okay, let's just say I overthink things. I am always aware of the stigma and isolation that comes with being a survivor of suicide loss. I know my story often precedes me. I know it will always define my life. I've lost relationships because of his death. I've doubted, I've wondered, I've asked why. I will never know, nor will I have the capacity to understand, how profound the pain was that death was the option he chose.

I look back at journal entries from when he was struggling, when we were struggling. I see how many times I prayed for his safety, for my safety, for healing.  And....I know those prayers were heard. I know they were answered in the way they were meant to. Not how I asked, but according to a bigger plan. The loss of a loved one forces us to examine life, to sift through our regrets, to sort out what was mine and what wasn't. In their moment of despair, their moment of choice, they have no clue that when their pain ends, the family and friends pain begins.

So we deal with the fallout. Every single day. In a myriad of ways. Grueling baby steps, and down the road, easier strides fueled by faith and hope. And....God willing, we make choices that nurture life. We ask for help, we accept help, we find ways to help others. We never forget, but our story isn't over yet, so we press on. If you are pressing on, still writing your story, know you are not alone. Be not afraid, ask for help, know you are loved. 

Uprooted, Transplanted

Sometimes you have to dig deep. Sometimes you have to be willing to be uprooted. Sometimes your Plan A gets delayed and you have to resort to Plan B. Being the sentimental type I get easily attached. I have a plant of my Mom's that was her Mom's before that. It exists on minimal care and maximum neglect. It rarely gets fertilized. I need to give it more love. Who of us doesn't need a little more love?

Today I want to talk about Ralph. Ralph is a plant that goes where ever I go. He was a gift from a dear neighbor...you guessed it, whose name was Ralph. My Ralph came from Ralph's Grandmother's yard on the East coast many many years ago. He's traveled all across the US like a 3 dimensional Flat Stanley in plant form. I've moved four times with Ralph. He's always thrived. When I dug him up in June I put him in a pot and promised him a place to put down roots later this year. I've tended him all summer. He's looking a little forlorn.

It occurred to me I'd have to let him go for a while for his own good. We have to do that sometimes. I'm not good at letting go. Maybe none of us are. He's not thriving. So, Plan B became the only option. We let things we love go sometimes so they can go, or grow, the way they are meant to. We often don't much like it. Sometimes we get them back, sometimes we have to wish them well and leave them behind. I'm counting on going back for Ralph somewhere down the road. I'm trusting he will thrive in the meantime. 

We too need to thrive in the meantime. Our "meantime" can be a time of uncertainty, of loss, of grief, of hope, of growth. We have to examine our "meantime" carefully for signs of growth, for signs of despair. Take it out, hold it gently, and if necessary plant it somewhere safe. It may not be in the place you hoped. And...sometimes that just has to be okay. 

So I tucked Ralph in today with some of the dirt of his past, in a safe place and I'm willing to let go for a while. 

Being uprooted is hard, being transplanted is hard. Letting go of the outcome is hard. All of these things are part of the bigger plan. The one we pray is a gentle plan. The one we know can be unexpected and impossible to fathom. I longed to plant Ralph in a yard of my own. I'm releasing that dream for the moment. And, in this meantime, this time of growth, I'll let go and let God. God will provide for Ralph and I. In ways yet to unfold.

Alone

 Have you ever pondered how many alone's there are in life? I never had until recently. Living alone, in a pandemic, brings alone to the surface where your brain rolls it and rolls it around and attempts to sort it out.

Now, alone isn't all bad, or all good. It is a part of life. Some journeys can only be taken alone. Part of loving yourself can only be learned while alone. Alone is a blessing, and a challenge. Alone is comfortable sometimes, and a piercing ache other times.

Growing up feeling alone was uncomfortable, it was the absence of love and support. It was scary and nothing about it felt tolerable. It is a long journey to feel comfortable being alone. One must develop strength of self confidence, faith, and self care to be comfortably alone. Yet, we long for connection, so the comfort of being alone only goes so far. As it should.

There are so many alone's.....the peaceful alone of a new Mother feeding her precious infant. There is the alone of the elderly wondering what is left to life. There is the alone of the widow/widower at a wedding with other couples celebrating the sacrament of marriage. There is the alone of a painful period of growth. There is the alone of offering tough love to someone in transition. There is the alone of contentment, when all your needs are met and you pause in gratitude. The alone of a scary diagnosis. There is the alone of betrayal, and the alone of reflection. There is alone within relationships. And, alone without relationship. There is the alone of knowing you did the best you could and still life imploded. There is the alone that is a communion with nature. I like that one a lot.

So many alone's. So many opportunities to count blessings, look within, and extend grace to our solitary self. Alone is a process, and a promise. And....there is the truth that we are only as alone as we chose to be. 

Which part of alone do you find yourself in? Can I walk a tiny part of that path with you so you know you are not completely adrift and, you know..."alone"?  Can I share I've struggled with being alone, and fought with the reasons it happened? Can I own each day is a new alone. Happy alone, angry alone, lost alone. Comfortable alone, lonely alone and peaceful alone. We all have our alone, and we grow from it. May your alone's be as short as possible and as long as necessary. And...may you embrace the gifts that come from the process. 

Putting Down Roots

For so long now I have felt lost. Dreams planted and grown were gone. Life as I knew it changed, love was lost, and bit-by-bit I've had to reassemble a new life. Starting a new life is something you begin over and over. It's not a one and done thing. It's a commitment. We all know commitments require, you know, some pretty intense commitment. 

The hardest part of starting over is the starting part. And the middle part, and the will this go on forever part. I have no doubt a blessing this part of life gives me is that of solitude. I say that, because I find it the most difficult. Solitude is hard for me. I crave connection. There must be a gift in this struggle. I just have to figure it out.

We all want to get the rough parts in life over as fast as possible. Make it quick, Lord. Make me a fast learner of hard life lessons. Let me be a quick study. Let me grow fast, instead of at a snails pace.

And....while I'm feeling lost, struggling, trying to grow, hoping to heal, let me also have a grateful heart. Let my faith be strong even if I don't feel strong.

I want to put down roots. I long for a place that feels like home again. You know, that sacred place you choose that feels right, uplifts your spirit, that houses your stuff and soothes your soul. This place I am in is temporary. It's not where I was, it's not where I want to be. And...I go through the motions here. I've planted patio pots and hope. I'm growing tomato's and dreams. I'm in between and trying to embrace that place. Truth be told I wrestle with it. I wrestle with it daily. Let me add I'm not a graceful wrestler, but I'm digging deep for the grace. 

I have things to plant in my new place, I'm holding space for them. I have some rhubarb, and a perennial hibiscus. I dug an old rose bush from my country yard in the hopes it would thrive, but it didn't. I have the sad branches of that rose in a bucket. Even in it's barren state I keep the faith I will have this particular variety of rose bush in my yard again. Sometimes we are just in that barren place. It's a hard place to be. It sucks, we all know sometimes it sucks. We've all been there, and if you haven't, God bless you your time is coming. 

So we commit to this moving forward, this building of a life that nurtures us, sustains us, so we in turn can nurture others. If part of that for me is this journey of solitude so be it. If it is dreams of my own sacred space, guide me steadily toward it. If it is a lonely process shower me with hope. And...when the time is right let me sink down roots again in a place that feels like home.