I miss the simplicity of life. For a while there simplicity included being married, sharing the day in and day out. Having someone listen, to laugh with, to love. Not to glamorize it, because there were challenges and days of struggle. In the end nothing was simple, and I struggle with the complexity of the outcome.
I'm having trouble finding the beauty of the "here" in my life. Finding some routine that isn't filled with anxiety. Some comfort in the midst of massive change. I miss knowing where I belong, being able to recognize where home is and what it looks like. I miss being connected. My "people" were just a phone call a way. I know my "people" are still just a phone call away, but I deeply grieve the losses, the changes, the huge shift in the landscape of my life.
I don't do well with isolation. Life as a survivor of suicide loss is fraught with isolation. Some of it due to stigma, some to being/feeling different than others because of your experience. Some due to the very nature of tragic loss. Some of it is the self being afraid to be open and trust again. Yet, my soul longs for connection. I know I made changes in my life with solid logic. Then the whole balance of the world tilted with the pandemic. I rather thought I was moving toward more connection, more social opportunities, more belonging. I am not where I fit before, and haven't established how I fit in where I am now. And....it's lonely.
I've been gently reminded of other times in my life when there was great change. Where my center of balance was challenged. Of how I survived them, found joy in the process, and a multitude of blessings along the way. The Lauren Daigle song, Look Up Child hits home. "Where are you now when darkness seems to win. Where you now, when the world is crumbling. I hear you say, I hear you say, I hear you say look up child." Sound advice (no pun intended) and an affirmation of faith. Plus a little musical styling while we look up can't hurt either. So...Look Up Child, Look Up Child.
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
Saturday, May 2, 2020
Wrestling and Releasing
I'm wrestling these days with how to move forward in life when I keep missing my past life. How does one do that? How do you release one to embrace the other. One would think I'd know how since I've made some serious life changes in the last three months. Let me own this, I feel clueless. I wonder if I'm where I'm supposed to be. I wonder if I'm answering my calling. So if you ever wonder that same thing, please know you are not alone. All I know is change is hard, so very hard.
I recognize too, that my past life had struggles too. Yet, they were familiar struggles in a place that was home. At present, I have unfamiliar struggles in an unfamiliar place that doesn't feel like home. It's kinda an icky place to be in. Intellectually I know this is temporary. I wish my intellect and my emotions would have a come to Jesus moment and get on the same page. They are miles apart.
I feel kinda lost and alone. I feel uncertain. I feel like there is more unknown than known in my life. I know that sounds full of drama. I try to hold fast to verses of comfort and encouragement...be still and know....be not afraid...ask and you shall receive. Still this is a time of great adjustment, great transition, great growth.
Wouldn't it be nice to know all the answers? Maybe, maybe not. Wouldn't it be nice to know how it will all unfold. Wouldn't it be nice to know this desert-like period will yield green pastures? Yes, yes it would. Oh Lordy, yes it would.
All this calls upon faith for the journey, trust in the process. And yes, it's hard. I've gotten a lot of practice at hard. Frankly, I'm sick of the hard stuff. Part of moving through this is breaking it down into small pieces, taking it one day at a time. I have to change my thought process from when will this end, when will I find comfort, to being open to each day's beauty and understanding tomorrow is another day. I only have to do today today. I only have to feel what I feel right now, own it and release it. I do have to breathe. I do have to let go and let God. And...then...having done all this I shall rest.
I recognize too, that my past life had struggles too. Yet, they were familiar struggles in a place that was home. At present, I have unfamiliar struggles in an unfamiliar place that doesn't feel like home. It's kinda an icky place to be in. Intellectually I know this is temporary. I wish my intellect and my emotions would have a come to Jesus moment and get on the same page. They are miles apart.
I feel kinda lost and alone. I feel uncertain. I feel like there is more unknown than known in my life. I know that sounds full of drama. I try to hold fast to verses of comfort and encouragement...be still and know....be not afraid...ask and you shall receive. Still this is a time of great adjustment, great transition, great growth.
Wouldn't it be nice to know all the answers? Maybe, maybe not. Wouldn't it be nice to know how it will all unfold. Wouldn't it be nice to know this desert-like period will yield green pastures? Yes, yes it would. Oh Lordy, yes it would.
All this calls upon faith for the journey, trust in the process. And yes, it's hard. I've gotten a lot of practice at hard. Frankly, I'm sick of the hard stuff. Part of moving through this is breaking it down into small pieces, taking it one day at a time. I have to change my thought process from when will this end, when will I find comfort, to being open to each day's beauty and understanding tomorrow is another day. I only have to do today today. I only have to feel what I feel right now, own it and release it. I do have to breathe. I do have to let go and let God. And...then...having done all this I shall rest.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Strength For The Journey
I haven't written specifically about grief for a while. It tends to come and to go, sometimes like a small nagging reminder, sometimes like a huge flood of pain. Truth be told it never goes away. We learn, day-after-day, to live with it. In that process we rebuild a new life.
Granted, it's never quite the same, because we evolve along with our grief. As we change, so does our grief. They say the first year you are mostly numb. As you get further down the road, you wish you could go back to the numb. In the middle of the numb you just do the best you can with whatever brain power you have to work with. Then they tell you the second year is harder than the first. So much for any hope of a reprieve. I'm well into the third year and find it's taking some hard jabs at me.
I still struggle with the stigma of being a survivor of suicide loss. I still try to wrap my head around the reality of it. I still lay in bed and wonder how can this be, how did this happen, what could have been done differently. I still find myself both visible because of it and invisible because of it. People sometimes don't hesitate to tell me of other suicidal tragedies, and sometimes I don't have the strength to carry that additional pain.
I also know, that having chosen to speak of the journey, people expect a certain strength from me, a dedication to the process, a life mission of sorts. It's there, some days I can carry the load and articulate it. Other times the tears force me to hunker down, to feel and release the pain. Both the strong days and the grieving days serve a purpose.
This I know. We all grieve losses at some point in life. They come in a million ways, shapes and forms. Some come early in life, some mid-way through, some late in life. They come in the shapes of illnesses, pandemics, divorces, job losses, and other tragedies of the heart. When they do, know you are not alone. Know the tears are part of the healing no matter how wretched they feel. Know that it's okay to not be okay. Know that asking for help is a good thing, a smart thing, an important thing.
Then remember we only have to do this one day at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time. There is grace in taking it bit-by-bit, moment-by-moment. Growth, like grieving and healing, is a slow process. So cry when you need to, surrender to the process, have faith in the outcome. We'll get through this, trust me on this.
Granted, it's never quite the same, because we evolve along with our grief. As we change, so does our grief. They say the first year you are mostly numb. As you get further down the road, you wish you could go back to the numb. In the middle of the numb you just do the best you can with whatever brain power you have to work with. Then they tell you the second year is harder than the first. So much for any hope of a reprieve. I'm well into the third year and find it's taking some hard jabs at me.
I still struggle with the stigma of being a survivor of suicide loss. I still try to wrap my head around the reality of it. I still lay in bed and wonder how can this be, how did this happen, what could have been done differently. I still find myself both visible because of it and invisible because of it. People sometimes don't hesitate to tell me of other suicidal tragedies, and sometimes I don't have the strength to carry that additional pain.
I also know, that having chosen to speak of the journey, people expect a certain strength from me, a dedication to the process, a life mission of sorts. It's there, some days I can carry the load and articulate it. Other times the tears force me to hunker down, to feel and release the pain. Both the strong days and the grieving days serve a purpose.
This I know. We all grieve losses at some point in life. They come in a million ways, shapes and forms. Some come early in life, some mid-way through, some late in life. They come in the shapes of illnesses, pandemics, divorces, job losses, and other tragedies of the heart. When they do, know you are not alone. Know the tears are part of the healing no matter how wretched they feel. Know that it's okay to not be okay. Know that asking for help is a good thing, a smart thing, an important thing.
Then remember we only have to do this one day at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time. There is grace in taking it bit-by-bit, moment-by-moment. Growth, like grieving and healing, is a slow process. So cry when you need to, surrender to the process, have faith in the outcome. We'll get through this, trust me on this.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Holy Thursday, Holy Each And Every Day
If only we remembered to find the Holy in every Thursday, not just on Holy Thursday. There is a lot more holy going on than we take notice of, give honor to, give thanks for.
There is holy in the joy of an new baby. There is holy in the mundane chores that keep our household going. There is holy in the grief that changes our life and the person we are. There is holy in those who serve the sick, who minister to the faithful, who teach our children, who repair our cars, who sack our groceries. There is holy in the farmer who tends the fields, and the garbage man who takes our trash and the chef who feeds the hungry. Holy surrounds us.
I know, right now, holy can feel far away. We're challenged, struggling, and lonely for the life we used to know. People we love are staying away in the name of safety, people are sick and dying. People have lost jobs. We're shaky at best, we're afraid.
And...we are holy. We have the capacity to give of ourselves even in the midst of these losses. Everything feels impossible and we long for what used to be our reality. Here is the deal, every loss holds the opportunity for growth. Growth of the holy, growth of strength, growth of our hearts. What is growth you might ask? It is when our shells crack, light is let in, and let out. The cracking part hurts, oh so much. It's hard, sometimes lonely, often overwhelming and always holy.
Whatever is cracking your heart now, know that light and love will somehow accompany it. Even if it is not evident at this moment. It will come. So if you need to cry in the process, cry. If you need to rest before you go on, rest. If you need to wail, then wail. All of this is holy. All of this.
There is holy in the joy of an new baby. There is holy in the mundane chores that keep our household going. There is holy in the grief that changes our life and the person we are. There is holy in those who serve the sick, who minister to the faithful, who teach our children, who repair our cars, who sack our groceries. There is holy in the farmer who tends the fields, and the garbage man who takes our trash and the chef who feeds the hungry. Holy surrounds us.
I know, right now, holy can feel far away. We're challenged, struggling, and lonely for the life we used to know. People we love are staying away in the name of safety, people are sick and dying. People have lost jobs. We're shaky at best, we're afraid.
And...we are holy. We have the capacity to give of ourselves even in the midst of these losses. Everything feels impossible and we long for what used to be our reality. Here is the deal, every loss holds the opportunity for growth. Growth of the holy, growth of strength, growth of our hearts. What is growth you might ask? It is when our shells crack, light is let in, and let out. The cracking part hurts, oh so much. It's hard, sometimes lonely, often overwhelming and always holy.
Whatever is cracking your heart now, know that light and love will somehow accompany it. Even if it is not evident at this moment. It will come. So if you need to cry in the process, cry. If you need to rest before you go on, rest. If you need to wail, then wail. All of this is holy. All of this.
Friday, April 3, 2020
Sometimes I Wish...
Sometimes I just wish I could go back. Back to life before grief, back to life before being a widow. Back to life before moving, back to life before pandemics shook the world. I'd like to go back and have more days with my dogs Mickey, Mr. Hanky, and Hobbs. I'd like to go back to when my kids were little and held my hand while crossing the street. Back to when the hard choices were what to have for bed time snacks and which book to read them. Because some days it just all feels so hard. I feel like I've given up everything, and yet, I know it's not true. I have gone through a lot, lost a lot, made lots of changes. With that comes feelings which are intense and overwhelming. Luckily they are also fluid and transitional.
This is a hard time in life. Uncharted, with no clear end in sight. And...I am, we are shaken by it, emotional because of it. So naturally, I look back some. Because I know what that looks like. Even when it is full of longing, full of pain. It's hard to know, at this time in life, what to look forward to. The struggle is real, and we have to accept that it is.
It's okay to be exceptionally weepy. I, known for being a world class weeper, find myself in tears daily. It's okay, it's just where I am in life. I find myself worrying more. Do I need to? No, I know there is a larger plan in motion. I know I will be blessed beyond measure. Yet, in this time, I worry because I am human. This season in our lives is full of human moments.
You may find you can't sleep, or can't eat. Or can't stop eating. You comb the news for information, and are appalled when you find it. Or you stay away from all the news because it is just too overwhelming. You may pray unceasingly, or struggle in finding comfort in prayer.
I look back because, compared to now, those were simpler times. We need some simple in these complex days. We need faith more than ever, we need hope in both tiny doses and in large increments. We need to trust that this is temporary.
So I tend the grief, of both the past and the present like I would nurture a small child. With tender arms to hold her, with acceptance that whatever she feels is valid and needs some light to heal it. With a gentle hug, and an I love you no matter what. A soft blanket of love to curl up in and a reminder it won't always feel this way. Be kind to yourself, we're going through a hard time. It's okay to not be okay...and this too shall pass.
This is a hard time in life. Uncharted, with no clear end in sight. And...I am, we are shaken by it, emotional because of it. So naturally, I look back some. Because I know what that looks like. Even when it is full of longing, full of pain. It's hard to know, at this time in life, what to look forward to. The struggle is real, and we have to accept that it is.
It's okay to be exceptionally weepy. I, known for being a world class weeper, find myself in tears daily. It's okay, it's just where I am in life. I find myself worrying more. Do I need to? No, I know there is a larger plan in motion. I know I will be blessed beyond measure. Yet, in this time, I worry because I am human. This season in our lives is full of human moments.
You may find you can't sleep, or can't eat. Or can't stop eating. You comb the news for information, and are appalled when you find it. Or you stay away from all the news because it is just too overwhelming. You may pray unceasingly, or struggle in finding comfort in prayer.
I look back because, compared to now, those were simpler times. We need some simple in these complex days. We need faith more than ever, we need hope in both tiny doses and in large increments. We need to trust that this is temporary.
So I tend the grief, of both the past and the present like I would nurture a small child. With tender arms to hold her, with acceptance that whatever she feels is valid and needs some light to heal it. With a gentle hug, and an I love you no matter what. A soft blanket of love to curl up in and a reminder it won't always feel this way. Be kind to yourself, we're going through a hard time. It's okay to not be okay...and this too shall pass.
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Messy Is Okay, I'm Okay, This Won't Last Forever
How are you feeling these days? Scared, exhausted, uncertain, a bit lost? Okay, perhaps a whole lot lost. Are you feeling out of control, or afraid of the future? Do you feel alone? Is it an alone, alone? As in no one cares? Or is it an okay alone? There are many kinds, you know.
I'll admit to feeling all of the above. The worries of the world feel ginormous right now. Rightly so. So the question is this, how and where do we find some comfort in the chaos?
Jump in with the answers, because I do not know for sure. My guess is, though, that we/I/you/me may find some comfort in the very small things that grace our lives. If we dig deep enough we can find the blessings, the grace, the poignant moments that bring tears to our eyes and confirm the best life has to offer.
It may be be the gentle snoring of an old dog taking up most the space on the sofa. Snoring never sounded so good before. It may be that life has slowed us down to the point we are eating meals every day with our family. It may be that flowers seem to take on new beauty because everything else seems so dark in comparison. It may be the giggles of children playing. It may be leaving care packages on the porch of a friend. It may be asking every day what are the wins of your day, what are the worries. Then sharing them, because sharing increases the blessings and divides the burdens.
It may be digging deeper into your faith, knowing, and remembering that God is holding you. It may be releasing the need to have it all together and embracing that life is messy, we are messy and that is completely okay.
Maybe this is the key, messy is okay, I'm okay, God is holding me, this won't last forever. I, for one, forget that this (what ever this you are dealing with) is not forever. And...in the mean time, I am here for you. Because, life is made up of a multitude of things, messy things, brilliant things, sacred things, even scary things, that create the whole. When looking at the whole is overwhelming, look for the little things. There is grace in narrowing our focus. So I remind myself, again and again...messy is okay, I'm okay, God is holding me, this won't last forever. Trust me, it won't.
I'll admit to feeling all of the above. The worries of the world feel ginormous right now. Rightly so. So the question is this, how and where do we find some comfort in the chaos?
Jump in with the answers, because I do not know for sure. My guess is, though, that we/I/you/me may find some comfort in the very small things that grace our lives. If we dig deep enough we can find the blessings, the grace, the poignant moments that bring tears to our eyes and confirm the best life has to offer.
It may be be the gentle snoring of an old dog taking up most the space on the sofa. Snoring never sounded so good before. It may be that life has slowed us down to the point we are eating meals every day with our family. It may be that flowers seem to take on new beauty because everything else seems so dark in comparison. It may be the giggles of children playing. It may be leaving care packages on the porch of a friend. It may be asking every day what are the wins of your day, what are the worries. Then sharing them, because sharing increases the blessings and divides the burdens.
It may be digging deeper into your faith, knowing, and remembering that God is holding you. It may be releasing the need to have it all together and embracing that life is messy, we are messy and that is completely okay.
Maybe this is the key, messy is okay, I'm okay, God is holding me, this won't last forever. I, for one, forget that this (what ever this you are dealing with) is not forever. And...in the mean time, I am here for you. Because, life is made up of a multitude of things, messy things, brilliant things, sacred things, even scary things, that create the whole. When looking at the whole is overwhelming, look for the little things. There is grace in narrowing our focus. So I remind myself, again and again...messy is okay, I'm okay, God is holding me, this won't last forever. Trust me, it won't.
Sunday, March 22, 2020
You are not alone.
Turmoil, uncertainty, fear, stress. Faith, patience, trust, blessings.
What I've learned from the last 2 1/2 years of adjusting to life after trauma is this. Do the next right thing. It's not going to be easy some of the time. Other times it will be easier than you think.
You are not alone. Ever. If you are it's a personal choice. Personally, I'd say choose being connected. Even in this time of great disconnect for health reasons. Choose to reach out, choose to ask how someone is doing. Find the small wins, own the struggles, and share them both.
I do not have all the answers, but I do have faith. I've cried way more than I've laughed recently, but I believe in laughter. I know it's part of who I am, and it will return as surely as flowers in the spring.
I've made huge changes in my life recently. Dang, they have been hard. All of life is temporary I've learned. Temporarily fabulous, temporarily hard, temporarily funny, temporarily heartbreaking, temporarily heart warming. It is a mix of them all, each day offering a different view. Some views last longer than others. Find the grace in all of them.
Count the blessings. Now, I'm not known for my mathematical ability, but my blessings far exceed my ability to count them. I'm not saying that because I suck at counting. I'm saying it because it's true.
It's the little things, really it is. Trust me on this one. We get lost in the big picture, frightened by it. Overwhelmed by it. Take a deep breath and embrace the little things. We'll get through this. Yes, we'll come out different. We'll have losses, but we'll have huge growth spurts too. Slow down. Find your faith, know you are loved. Know you are not alone.
What I've learned from the last 2 1/2 years of adjusting to life after trauma is this. Do the next right thing. It's not going to be easy some of the time. Other times it will be easier than you think.
You are not alone. Ever. If you are it's a personal choice. Personally, I'd say choose being connected. Even in this time of great disconnect for health reasons. Choose to reach out, choose to ask how someone is doing. Find the small wins, own the struggles, and share them both.
I do not have all the answers, but I do have faith. I've cried way more than I've laughed recently, but I believe in laughter. I know it's part of who I am, and it will return as surely as flowers in the spring.
I've made huge changes in my life recently. Dang, they have been hard. All of life is temporary I've learned. Temporarily fabulous, temporarily hard, temporarily funny, temporarily heartbreaking, temporarily heart warming. It is a mix of them all, each day offering a different view. Some views last longer than others. Find the grace in all of them.
Count the blessings. Now, I'm not known for my mathematical ability, but my blessings far exceed my ability to count them. I'm not saying that because I suck at counting. I'm saying it because it's true.
It's the little things, really it is. Trust me on this one. We get lost in the big picture, frightened by it. Overwhelmed by it. Take a deep breath and embrace the little things. We'll get through this. Yes, we'll come out different. We'll have losses, but we'll have huge growth spurts too. Slow down. Find your faith, know you are loved. Know you are not alone.
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