Mowing

I spend a lot of time mowing these days. I have some thoughts about that. Up until last summer I'd never used the riding mower. Oh, I was welcome to use the push mower any time, lol. But not the John Deere. I admit I was leery of it at first. I can honestly say JD and I are in a committed relationship.

Here is what I've learned, I rather like mowing. For 2+ hours a week I have life under control. My edges are clean from trimming. The yard is neat and lovely. It looks picture perfect. I accomplished that neat and tidy, that picture perfect. I take comfort in that small period where I've got it all.

Most the time, I/we/you/me haven't got squat under control. I don't know about you, but I guess, you also find life both blessed and chaotic at the same time. Both, full to the top and empty beyond belief. Sometimes simultaneously. It's not what I expected, not what I ever dreamed, and yet full of grace. 

I like the neat and tidy, the under control part. Those of us growing and healing know it's messy, and gut wrenching. We're not sure how we'll come out on the other side. We know the healing will be a life long process. We worry the loneliness will never end. We push hard just to keep up our momentum. And, we long for the comfort of rest. We dream of path's less rocky and exhausting. 

So if my two+ hours of mowing gives me a semblance of normalcy, I'll call it a win. At least temporarily I need the bliss of the idyllic. I wish you the same, respite in the pain of progress, and peace during times of growth. If mowing does that for you, you're in good company.

Life Is Hard, Say The Words

Life is hard, although most of us keep that to ourselves. We tend not to say, I'm hurting, I'm struggling, I'm lost, I'm worried. We put on our game face and tend to the business of life. We rarely say....I am a survivor of suicide, part of every day is hard. Or, I'm a cancer survivor, I'm thrilled to be "cured" but I am forever changed and struggle to define the new me. Or, I lost a child to miscarriage. Part of my heart will always be broken. There are things we don't say, things we need to say, and things we are afraid to say. Granted, not everyone needs to know our whole story. But, some do, and we need to find the words to share it. Someone needs to hear it, to ease their burdens. To end the isolation.

I've shared before that I have never felt as invisible as I do now. People didn't know what to say immediately after Gordon died, and even with the passage of time, they still don't. It's like there are safe subjects and few veer off that path. Work is a safe subject, the dogs are, my kids are. How are you is still a trick question. Even when I give a safe lead in, few march willingly into my life reality. God bless those who do. Not so much with how are you, but with how was this for you? How is life looking for you today. Or simply, what kind of day is it today? Even days filled with absolute joy, such as my daughters recent wedding, held a flip side with sorrow weighing heavy on the heart. We can, and do, feel both complete joy and pain at the same time.

I think I need a t-shirt that says, I'm Not The Same Person I Was - Love Me Anyway. Or one that says, It's Okay To Say The Words. We are more than those words, and there is no shame in sharing it. We are strong, not by choice, but by the lack of other options. And, we can strengthen others by telling our story.

Letting go with love...

I heard, that your hearts are heavy and full of sadness. Tomorrow you will help, not just one, but both of your senior Labs across the bridge. Face it, they say we own our pets, but basically they own us. They own our hearts. They have us hook, line and sinker. There is nothing better than being owned in such a way. 

They own us, but in many cases we have to decide when it's time to say goodbye. It is our last gift of love for them. I think we'd all agree that decision sucks, sucks royally. Yet how could we deny them comfort? All of their years with you they gave you unconditional love and comfort beyond measure. Mixed in with antics and shenanigans. They made you laugh, and worry, and they eased your pain in the sad times. They gave with unbridled joy and tails wagging to beat the band. 

So tonight you cuddle them, give them unlimited treats and whisper I love you's. You thank them for taking up residence in your heart. You know your last gift of love is the ultimate gift of love. And while you doubt your ability to let go, you will do so with a strength you don't know you have.

With your sorrow, know that you provided for all of their needs. Know your love for them was only exceeded by their love for you. Know that you are not alone, are never alone. Know that they are so very well loved, and you will see them on the other side of the bridge. 

Sending you love and hugs......and a smooch on the schnozzle for them.

New Normal

Life changes after a loss. After a health issue, the loss of a relationship, a loss by death. We pick up the pieces of what life once was, of the person we were and reassemble them into our new normal. First I'm gonna say, there ain't nothing "normal" about this new normal. That phrase ticks me off. I never asked for new, and I certainly can't define normal.

Most days, I can tuck the enormity, the reality, of Gordon's death away and go about life. Other times I am overcome by how tragic a death by suicide is. It is impossible to absorb all of it. I cannot fathom the level of his pain, as I try to process my pain. The first year was mostly numb, which is a blessing of sorts. The second year is harder than the first. Each holiday, wedding, anniversary, birthdays, the 19th of the month, even random days bring the pain to the surface.

I feel like I repeat myself as I share this struggle. Perhaps because over and over I am poignantly reminded how hard life is. For others the event happened long ago, and they are over it. Over it is not an option I have. 

It makes me wonder why. Why and what purpose this served. What am I supposed to do with it and how do I make something of this. Why am I where I am in life? In moments of doubt, and we all have them, I wonder if I'm where I need to be or am I supposed to be somewhere else, doing something else. I wait for those answers.

Reality is that life is a mix of grief and grace, joy and tears. So I continue on the journey life placed before me. Perhaps you do too. Maybe, I'm here to remind you that you are not alone in your struggles. Maybe the message is life is hard, but together we are strong. Maybe grace is found in the rubble, and growth comes from it. I wish you grace, and growth. And a new you, normal or not. 

Stigma

Let's talk about Stigma.  I'm giving it a capital "S". A small caps "s" won't cut it. Stigma from losing someone to suicide. By definition stigma is a mark of disgrace from a particular circumstance, quality or person.

It's there in so many ways, shapes and forms. It's silent, and perceived. It's obvious by what's not said, and what you know is said behind your back. It's judgemental, it's fueled by fear, it's fed by partial truths.  It's a shadow in front of you and behind you at the same time. Before I walked this path, my reaction would likely have been the same. 

It often keeps me quiet in large gatherings, and it keeps others from connecting deeply with me. We stick to safe subjects, as if by not mentioning it, it won't have happened. As if we're likely to forget if it's never mentioned. It makes the question "how are you" a trick question. Some days I don't even know how I'm supposed to be. Is it okay to have good days? Will they all be bad days? Can I have a mix of both? It makes people less inclined to to ask about your life, particularly your past life, but also your current life. It somehow makes me a little sketchy, because God forbid if it can happen to me, it can happen to you. It makes church feel uncomfortable. Partly that is my stuff, because while stigma may make others feel scared of me, it also makes me feel uncertain of them.

There is no shame in this loss. But I fight it daily. It is a tragedy, and a sorrow that he could not find his way to help. That mental illness changed him into someone I no longer recognized. It didn't have to be this way. Yet, for Gordon and many others it seems, in the moment, like the only way. 

I offer you this, it's always okay to mention a tragic loss, a devastating illness, a life changing experience. Not by saying, you'll get over this, or it was for the best, or they are in a better place. Not by ignoring the whole topic. But by saying, I think of you often, I'm here for you, this must feel overwhelming. While we go through frightening experiences, it does not make us frightening, or less of a person. Just a person with more pain, and perhaps more grace because of the pain. Don't define me, or think of me only as a person who lost someone to suicide. I was more than that before, and I am more than that after. But I am different from the experience. Anyone touched by it is. So let's learn together to erase the stigma, to ease the pain, to be there for each other.

Accept and Rest

I am the person who first looks for the grace, the positives, the possibilities. I am blessed by that approach to life. But, I am learning I need to acknowledge the realities of life as well.

I will push forward, long and hard. I will put one foot in front of the other, even when it hurts. I will ignore the pain and press on. Until, I can no longer do that. Then I need to accept and rest.

Lately I've been accepting, amid the tears, that life is so so hard. It takes a lot of acceptance to get there. Because, I love life, I believe in it, I embrace it and all it offers. For some time, and probably for a long time ahead I have to own how hard life is. Can I say it sucks? Can I say it's not fair? Can I say I'm tired of the pain of grief? I own this even in the midst of a thousand other blessings. 

It takes a strength I'm still building, and a faith I'm still growing. It takes tears I'm tired of holding in. Yet, in all the pain, the questions, the longing there is hope. For I know the sharp edge of this part of life will soften with time. If I can find this hope, I know you can to. 

So when the weight of life is heavy, accept and rest. When the road is all up hill, accept and rest. Accept the help that is available, and rest. When the tears come, let them and rest. When small acts of kindness ease your way, accept with joy and rest in that. When you don't know all the answers, accept and rest. Own it, accept it, release it. What feels like it will never end is part of the beginning. Call it growth, call it grace...own it, it's yours.

Mess And All

I had someone suggest, after watching an interview of someone who had lost two children to suicide, that they didn't emote enough. That they seemed numb. I'm trying to get my words to catch up with my thoughts when I encounter comments like this.

First of all, grief is not linear, it's intensely personal, it is never the same on any given day. There is a certain numbness to it that gets us through the first months, often longer. It protects us from the enormity of the shock. It somewhat contains how fractured we feel until we can process and feel again. Even then, when we get to that point, it's like walking in high water. A daily struggle. Even if/when we do have good days, the struggle is like an ever present shadow. 

Now, I try to extend grace when I hear comments like this, but I try to balance it with words to defend the grieving, or erase the stigma. Frankly, I shouldn't have to defend those grieving a suicide or any other loss. But I will when needed.

I would say I am mostly past the numbness, but not the dismay. Some days I feel better, some days I don't feel better at all. I push forward in spite of the fatigue, I try to find joy, my humor seeps out and my hope runs deep. 

Tread gently and judge not. We may know a person's story, or have no clue. Reach out in concern if need be. But don't decide we/they aren't feeling enough, showing it appropriately, or moving on. We don't move on, we move through and it's messy. It will always be messy. Accept us, bless us, love us, mess and all.