#462

 Every experience has a "take away". I'd like to share take away #462. 

You see, I bought a house last week. This is the seventh house I've lived in and the first that is on a number street, not a name street. For some reason that seems significant.

If you look back at life experiences, even the really difficult ones, you see the path you are led down. If I hadn't gotten married the first time, I wouldn't have been blessed with three terrific kids. If my first husband hadn't left me, I wouldn't have learned that I could raise kids mostly on my own. Mostly alone, not entirely alone, because we are never really alone. Unless we choose to be. That's a whole different blog. We basically have a complete support system that works entirely in the background. God is that good, how cool is that?

If I hadn't married a second time, I would never have moved away from the big city. Granted, doing that at age 50 was no easy task. If I hadn't move away from home, I'd have never found my country girl heart and experienced how wonderful rural America is. I didn't know I longed for a rural life. But that support system that works in the background? It completely knew.

Out there, in the middle of corn fields, in the middle of nowhere, a tiny community adopted us and became our family. Yes, they thought we might be members of the witness protection program, but still they embraced us. They too were part of the bigger plan.

As rural life grew to be home, so too did struggles and hardship. No one goes without hardship. Without hardship there is no growth. Without hardship life does not evolve. The support system in the background? It's all about support and evolution. It supports us in joy, and it supports us in tragedy. Without the tragedy of becoming a survivor of suicide loss, I would not have pulled up roots and returned to the city. Funny thing is, when I got to the city I discovered I couldn't live there any longer. I am not a big city girl. And, that is okay. 

So according to the greater plan, which of course I have no control of, I found my way to a smaller community. I'll work in the city, I'll be close to my city kids. But I'll enjoy the quiet of a smaller town. So back to the take away, in case you thought I forgot. I hired a local moving company to move my furniture and appliances. A group of guys who are fire fighters by trade, and move people on the side. They see a lot of life on both jobs. They probably see stuff that would make us cry. When they finished moving my stuff, including way too many flower pots, cement bird baths and planter pots, random really cool rocks, a hydraulic wood splitter, and a riding mower that would not start. In the rain, did I mention the in the rain part? I pulled them aside and shared the take away. They are #462 on my list of 1000 graces. Without all the other life experiences, without marriage, childbirth, divorce, remarriage, moving, love & loss, moving back to the city and then out of the city again. I would not be here, they would not have shared this day in my journey. Giving thanks for #462 on my list of graces, for my new home and the bigger plan that guides and unfolds before me.

Home

There is, I believe, always going to be a longing for my old life, even as I embrace my new life. Life is a mixture of bitter and sweet. Easy and hard. Empty and full. 

I am beginning a new chapter, putting down new roots. And, yes, I cried. You would expect no less from me. I didn't let you down. In the midst of joyful anticipation, I will always be reminded exactly why I am where I am. It is okay. It is part of my journey. It is both joyful and sad, I can embrace both.

I've been in transition for quite some time. We know transition is uncomfortable, we know it can be painful, we know good comes in the end. It's just the hurdles we cross to get there that are hard. Hurdles are not my strong suit, but moving towards them, launching over them, sometimes stumbling over them and moving beyond is what I've been led to do. I may have fallen a time or two. Strong hands of faith and love always pick me up.

I am excited. That has been a long time coming. I've been blessed, I've never doubted that. I have been guided even when I've struggled with how life has unfolded. Yet every step of the way has been planned, and every place I've landed met, and often exceeded, my needs. I found family in the big city, family in little villages, family in friendships, and family in faith.

I'm moving again and am going to unpack, really unpack. See what is in all those boxes. See what fits, see what needs re-homed. I planted today. literal roots and figurative roots. I planted my first perennial in my new yard and I planted roots of a new life. And....I cried. Because even good change is hard. I cried, because love surrounded me. I cried for the past, and I cried for the future. 

I prayed as well, in gratitude for all who've walked this journey with me. You see, I've packed you too. All my parts travel along, all my parts make up the whole. My parts, the broken, the beautiful, the cracked, and the mended. Help define me, help me grow. Help me begin a new chapter. I believe I'll call it Home.

I'm Finding

I'm finding myself. I'm finding my way. Sometimes with one foot planted in the past and the other trying to move into the future. It takes a while to get anywhere like that. Growth, like healing, is a slow process. Don't get me wrong, there are dazzling moments of clarity and boggling moments of uncertainty. Admittedly the dazzling moments are few and far between. Mostly we plan and pray the road opens up in ways we'd like. We are hesitant, and questioning. On a path that is sometimes rocky and obscure. 

If it was easy, if it was obvious, it wouldn't propel us forward. Life is what happens between point A and point B. It's messy, it's heartbreaking, it's beautiful. I had this vision of what it would be like moving back to the city, back near my kids. I thought it would be full of social opportunities. I didn't anticipate social distancing, and a pandemic. For a while I was deeply alone in a place that didn't feel like home. I was used to alone. Alone in a place you feel at home in is a different kind of alone. Alone in the unknown is painful. Through this I've learned not to fight being alone. 

The few I interact with socially are family and dear friends. Even then visits are few and far between. I know I'll see less of them in the winter months. Because of this communication takes on new meaning.This pandemic has pushed us to condense our interactions to the bare minimum. For the record it sucks. It's necessary, but it sucks. It does not, and cannot, erase our connections. They are sacred. Some are connections we've grown up with, some are newer. Some help us find our way when we get lost, share our laughter, bring us gifts that build our faith. Some share our passions, and some are vastly different. Some understand our pain, some love us in ways we can't love ourselves.

I am finding my way. Never in a million years did I dream I'd be here, now, as I am. I could not anticipate the losses, the grief, the growth or the blessings. I'm finding alone is okay (as long as I have dogs) and people I love near. And...."near" is not defined in miles but by interaction, investment and connection. Would I prefer things to be different? Perhaps in some cases, not at all in some situations, absolutely in others, and possibly in a few. But, here is filled with grace. Here is part of a journey, not simply a destination. Here is an unfolding. So I trust in the process even when I don't understand it. I work to accept the now, and find myself in small ways and large. 

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.