A Holiday AHA Moment

           

           One of the tenets by which I live is that we never should stop learning, and especially we should not stop learning about ourselves. Self-awareness, while often an uncomfortable process, is essential to growth and to emotional well-being.

In my last post, I related how my dear friend metaphorically whacked me upside the head, and set me to thinking on a new path.  This week, while trying to decorate the house and do a bit of holiday baking, as well as making sure all the gifts for the kids, grandkids and others were on their merry way, I started thinking about the whole idea of isolation versus solitude.

                Most of you probably have had to endure at least some of my carping about “numbing isolation".  I carried that supposed cross around for quite some time.  Well guess what?  Unless I was mysteriously sentenced to prison without my knowledge, if it has been isolation that I was really feeling, I have chosen to isolate myself.  Well, Duh! Not only that, come to find out there is a great deal of difference between isolation and solitude.

                Over this past weekend, I baked cookies, made out holiday cards, and basically enjoyed myself the entire time. I felt calm, confident, and looked forward to passing out the goodies.  Wow.  I began to understand that there can be joy in solitude, that what I was experiencing was solitude as opposed to isolation.  I finally understood that if I was feeling isolated, I could pick up the phone, send an email or otherwise contact one of the many, many friends and family with which I am blessed.

                Because of this experience, combined with the “slap upside the head”, I am starting to realize that the notion of a fresh start is for real: that I can do this. I can make it happen, and so I shall.  As always, I have all you wonderful friends and family to thank for helping me through the forest of my grief and loss.  And while I know that I will still occasionally bump into one of those metaphorical trees while I am not paying attention,  for the most part, I can proceed with my life and make of it what I will.

                To all of you, I wish to a happy Hanukah, a Merry Christmas, a happy Kwanzaa, and a happy, healthy and lush New Year. 

MPC/12-19-2016

A Slap Upside the Head (in a Good Way!)

                I was having supper with a friend of mine the other night, who happens to be a member of my old grief group from last year. We have dinner together once a month or so. His grief story is remarkably like mine, but he has been more proactive in dealing with his loss.

                In the course of the conversation, after listening to me being dark (as I have a tendency to be), he posed the question, “Why can’t your life be as good as, or better than it was before?”.  I must confess that his question knocked me for a loop.  Since Susan passed away I have always held the notion that my best day since her death would never be 10% as good as my worst day when she was with us.  Why? Having latched on to my friend’s question, I was forced to start considering why I have felt this way for over 2 years.

                I watched my mother live in misery and grief from the age of 36 until her death at 73 after my father, her husband died in 1961, leaving her a widow with 3 kids.  After that I lost my brother, sister and mother, my whole family.  In addition, I was raised and educated, as I have said many times, to believe that my life was about service to others. In addition, I was taught that thinking of myself and my own needs was somehow selfish. It somehow never occurred to me, even during years of therapy, that if I did not consider my own needs, who would?

                 Thus, I have refused to think about what I might want out of the rest of this life. Too painful, too selfish, I told myself. But I realize now that this is simply an evasion.  There are clearly things I’d like to do. There are things I’d like to accomplish, and places I’d like to visit.  After my conversation with my friend, I laid awake all night thinking about the concept that life could be as good, as happy and fulfilling as it was before. I was forced to take inventory. I have friends and family who are wonderful. I have kids and grandkids who are wonderful and kind. I have reasonably good health. I have resources, and I have meaningful work.  There is really very little on the negative side of the ledger.  I have loaded the negative side up in the past with false things, invented things, all swirling around the loss of my beloved wife. But as my friend pointedly asked me the other night, “Would she really want you to be miserable like this for the rest of your life?”.  Wow.  Never looked at it that way. I would guess that she would not.

                My friend pointed out that he did not wish to be defined by his wife’s death.  “It is not what defines me, it is something that happened to me”.  I had not thought of it that way.  But he is right (again!).

                Yes, I miss her. Yes, she was the center of my life. But she is gone, and I am not. As a wonderful song from singer-songwriter Michael Johnson says, “That’s that. I can scream I can shout, I can cry my eyes out, but she’s not coming back. That’s that.”.

                So, I have started a list. Item number one is a “fresh start”.   What does that mean? It means unburdening myself of the past and many, if not most of its artifacts. I have set aside those things which help me remember my time with Susan fondly and happily.  The rest is going away to be replaced by new furniture, new dishes and other of life’s accoutrements. I will move to a new (old) city (Cleveland), and tick off items from a ‘bucket’ list of things I want to do, see, accomplish and experience.

                I cannot thank my dear friend enough for his metaphorical slap in the face, (thanks! I needed that!). And while it is easy sometimes to slip back into the old and trusty habit of being miserable and dark, (somehow this is comfortable and familiar?), I will now have the question of the hour looming in the forefront of my mind, “Why can’t your life be as good or better…?”.  It will serve as a constant motivator, and reminder of what life is about.

MPC 12-2-2016  

Coming Apart

Coming Apart

                It has been nearly two years since my beloved Susan left this life. Since that time, I have tried extremely hard to follow all the advice, adhere to the conventional wisdom, not make any major decisions while grieving, and so forth. My friends and family have been wonderful in trying to provide company and support.

                But I miss her. I miss her terribly. And as the anniversary of her death approaches, I find that it feels to me like I am coming apart. My memories of those last weeks of her life are so crystal clear and vivid that it is like being there. The irrational guilt that I feel because of her disease and death is a relatively constant companion.

                Throughout this year there have been literally thousands of occasions where I had some tidbit, some quip, some fear, some joke, some deep feeling that I wanted to share with her (and indeed did in the metaphysical sense). The day Gwen Ifill’s death was announced, for example, I felt gob smacked. Another wonderful woman struck down by a gynecological cancer that we seem powerless to cure. I am certain Susan and I would have talked through that situation, as we had so many things that affected our lives. Without her incredible mind and temperament with which to interact, everything that happens feels like a shard of glass sticking in my flesh, unresolved and throbbing in a distasteful dissonance..

                The entire horrendous election cycle would have been far more tolerable had I had Susan here to bear witness with me. I am certain she would have been apoplectic at the result, as was I, but we would have arrived at a coping strategy, would have determined what was next, like so many times that we did just that. With her presence, I would have sailed through my heart problems of this year.

                Since her death, life has taken the same type of zigs and zags that it normally takes. Things go wrong, things break. People get elected of whom some of us do not approve. The economy rises and falls. These things all happened routinely when Susan was alive. The difference is that I knew that as long as we were together, we could get through anything, and indeed we did. Now that she is no longer here, the question that comes most often to mind is, “what is the point of all this?”. 

                Without her here to share this life, with its vicissitudes, I lay awake at night pondering that question, struggling to find an answer that will satisfy. It has yet to come. On most days, the best I can hope for is the ability to muddle through the numbing isolation, satisfying all the various obligations I have, and to go to bed and once again ponder how it could have gone so terribly wrong on that late autumn day two years ago.

                I am extremely grateful to all my family and friends, without whom I might not have lasted this long, and I understand that it is not up to them to heal the wounds of loss I carry, nor is it for them to assuage the horrific lack of confidence with which I currently greet each new day. These struggles are mine to try to resolve.  And it seems to me there are two questions at the heart of this struggle: First, do I really want things to become OK? And I must tell you that I do not know the answer to that question. Sometimes it feels like if I make this OK that I am disrespecting Susan’s memory or forgetting her, which I cannot and will not do.

 The second and more important question is this: How is it possible to be a source of light, when ALL of the light has been ripped away out of my life. As much as I try to meet the world with kindness, equanimity and calm, the effort required to do so is massive, and extremely stressful. I do not know the solution to this puzzle either.  I can only hope that with time, either the answers will become apparent, or in the alternative, become irrelevant.

MPC:11-20-2016

               

  

What Makes Life Tolerable or Even Happy?

                We’re inching up on the second anniversary of my beloved’s death (11-28) and I have discovered some interesting changes in how I view the situation.  Before I get into that, I recently came across another poem she had written to me some years ago:

every night

You love on me

hold me in my bed and tell me

you think I am wonderful,

the best,

or maybe the co-best.

It doesn’t matter if you are tired

or sick

or frightened.

You come to me each night and love on me,

making me happy and stronger

with each passing moon.

You cherish those things dear to me,

the same happy children,

the same destructive pets.

The same joy and humor

that brings laughter

to me, also brings

joy and laughter to you.

I don’t have to explain, you

pick up the song or the punch line.

It’s as if we’ve been practicing these lines

for the last

twenty-five years, and now

we have a place to use them. 

It’s like planting bulbs in the fall;

we are delighted in the spring

by the surprise recognition

of the plans we made coming to flower.  The

practice-loving we’ve rehearsed

has at last

found its mark.

I love you.

Needless to say,  I was deeply moved by finding this poem, and had a moment of tearful remembrance about what a wonderful woman Susan was, and how much I miss her.  But that moment quickly changed into something else. It changed into a very strong sense of gratitude.  I looked up at her picture on my wall and thanked her for her love, her respect, her regard and her partnership. Not everyone gets that. And while it may all have been snatched away somewhat prematurely, I had it. She had it. We honored and cherished one another right up to the end. And for that moment, I felt complete, I felt almost like she was still out there somewhere keeping an eye on me.  It was amazing.

Then I started to think about what keeps me going now that she is gone.  It boils down to two simple things: conversation and music. 

The interaction with other people that I love the most is good conversation.  I talk but mostly try to listen, hear what others have to say, what they think. That is how we learn, how we grow.  I am blessed with my 3 stepkids and their spouses with whom conversation is always a joy. Likewise, I am blessed with many friends, neighbors and family with whom conversation and company is a real blessing.  This sort of companionship, while it does not necessarily approach that of my marriage to Susan, is life-giving, sustaining and helps keep me sane and grounded.

And music. Music fills the hours of isolation with color and texture.  It lights up parts of my brain that nothing else can do with such efficiency. Right now, I am listening to a piece by the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, a 20^th century British composer.  Hauntingly beautiful.  Emotive.

I do think that if I have enough conversation and enough music, that it will all be OK.

I know this is not something that will work for everyone in my position, but if you can figure out what elements of life will help you along, then you will find the key to going on and surviving the horrible things that can happen in life.

MPC 10-30-2016

 

A Widowers Search for Meaning in Life's Late Afternoon

This is a new blog. For those of you who followed my widower's journey, this will be a new experience. In this space I will try to make sense of this end of life's journey.  There is still much to do, and I do feel as though I can still be useful and make a contribution to life and to humanity.

I recently experienced a wrenching cardiac experience requiring a rather involved procedure. This came in the second year of grieving for my departed beloved wife.  There are many people who, throughout the process, expressed the idea that I had been through a lot these last years, and, while that may be true, I find myself not in the least depressed or feeling sorry for myself.

Life can be a battle sometimes. Life can deal some profoundly crummy cards. But just as often, if you are paying attention, it can deal some exceptional hands which, if played well, can be wonderful.  While I certainly miss my beloved wife to the core of my being, these days I am just as likely to have a happy thought about her as a sad one. Something funny she said, some endearing and lasting wonder of her magnificent personality. But as my friend Bob pointed out, the painful part of the loss seems to be getting further and further away. Also factoring into the 'loss' equation is the idea that it was an honor to be able to care for her when she needed me to. Perhaps that is why I was put here. Throughout our twenty some years together, she always made me want to be the 'best me' that I could, but while I cared for her, I really tried hard to be the 'very best me' I could be.  She deserved that.  I wanted her to know how much she was loved, respected, valued and cherished. And I do think I pulled it off.

So I can go forward with some level of equanimity. I can make decisions that even 6 months ago I could not. She will always be in my (somewhat troublesome) heart.

I will deal with many subjects in this blog, and I hope there will be some words in here that will be of value to all who read this.  I will deal with the practical as well as the existential.  The joyful as well as the sorrowful.

But for now, all I can say to all of you is thank you. Your kindness, your support, your friendship have brought me through. Through not only the death of my beloved, but also all the other bizarre traumas that life offers from time to time.  My only hope is that I will have the opportunity to return some of the magnificent favors you all have granted me.

Cheers,

MPC:10-16-2016