Closing Time

     It is about time to wrap this up. It has been 20 months since my sweetheart left this life, and while this has been a profoundly miserable twenty months, on the heels of a somewhat miserable 3 years (the length of time Susan was ill), I have learned a great deal about myself, and about the grief process.

     I should say first and foremost, that my friends and family have been integral to my being able to get through this time, and included in that group is my wonderful group of customers.  They have unfailingly been there for me, and I cannot say thank you loud enough or long enough.

     If someone were to ask me for advice on how to get through a trauma like this, I would have to say that the best strategy is to get up each day, muscle your way through the day, watching for moments when you can actually smile, lock each of those in, and go to bed, get up the next day and repeat. Do it often enough and it becomes habit.  In addition, be open. Be open to what happens. Be open to the people who love you, and whom you love.  As much as you may want to, don't close your heart and don't close your mind.

     It is OK to be miserable. It is OK to be angry, to be resentful of what has happened. Too often we fall victim to the 'tyranny of positive thinking'.  I am a realist.  But do remember that emotions are like the passing clouds on a summer day. They come and go. They pass through making way for something else.  Miserable one moment, sad and crying the next, missing your loved one the next, laughing the next, solving a problem the next; that is how it has been for me.

     One of the most difficult things to master during this period is the idea that you CAN give yourself permission for many things. You have been used to consulting with your beloved for however long, and the idea that you can give yourself permission is a novel one. It is hard, but do it. Practice.

     I have learned that I absolutely detest living alone. Of the 44 years of my 'adult' life, I have been in relationship the best part of 39 of those years. I miss Susan to core of my being. We were so much a part of each other, and silence and solitude are a poor substitute for my partner who on her worst days was kind, loving, generous, funny, smart and a huge source of light, in addition to being incredibly good company. But just because she is gone and I am alone does not mean that I/we cannot have some enjoyment in our lives.

     I suspect that for each of us who has lost a beloved spouse, a part of us does not want to heal, does not want things to be 'OK'. I have seen evidence of that in myself. At some level we feel that if we heal, if we make things OK, we are somehow disrespecting the memory of our departed loved one. Just remember, we're here and they are not. Their problems are solved. Yours are not. Allow yourself the latitude to feel OK. You will likely always miss your beloved, as I am sure I will. But you do not have to make that the coat rack upon which you hang your entire life.

     Some months ago, I developed some significant shortness of breath.  Thinking the problem was related to my asthma, I sought help from my primary care physician. She prescribed some strong medicine, but the problem only grew worse. She recommended I see my cardiologist, and lo and behold, the problem turned out to be a significant case of ventricular arrhythmia, which caused my heart to function very inefficiently, resulting in shortness of breath.  I am to have a cardiac procedure at the end of September to hopefully resolve the situation.  But having had to face this situation more or less alone (at least psychologically) has been a new experience. I have found some strength I did not know I had. And once again my friends and family have been there for me. My heart has been broken physically and also metaphorically, but I think I will be fine.

     I am not 100% sure what the future will look like, but once the heart thing is resolved, I will begin to move forward. And be OK.

     One more thought to share with you about the grieving process. I have learned to appreciate what I will call 'rich emotional experiences'. When you allow yourself to feel your emotions, you can learn a great deal about yourself. And in the past couple of years there have been, as I am sure you can imagine, a wealth of these moments. Feel them, Don't stuff them. It's not healthy.

     I will be starting a new blog, perhaps featuring writing (a putative second career?) in the form of poetry, short stories and essays.  I'll keep you posted.

     Be at peace everyone. All my love....

MPC:08-02-2016

   

   

   

     And so today I have a poem for you.  It has occurred to me recently that the focus of grief has shifted, and I dwell less on the pain of loss and more on what a future for myself might look like. I think this is a positive step, remembering that no healing process is ever a straight line.  But for you, my family and friends who have been such a blessing to me, please take comfort that the healing has begun in earnest....

The Land of Loss 

I am a denizen of the land of loss

   A place I have come to know too well.

A place of sorrow, a place of pain

   A horrid place in which to dwell.

Where the fallen leaf is more highly prized

   Than those still brimming with life.

One may not travel to this dark land

   But that the transit must be paid

With broken heart and yearning soul

   And anguished mind thus made

By a departing loved one

   Snatched away by life’s indifference.

We come to know this wretched place

   and we learn to speak its tongue.

Down the ladder we descend

   To its very bottom rung.

To ascend again may ne’re come to be

   Consigned we are to its darkness.

But time does pass and truth does out

   As we grieve our love’s demise.

And we slowly learn each passing day

   That our spirits will slowly rise.

We cannot dwell in darkness till

   Our time on earth is done.

There is a piece of each of us

   That will forever bear the hurt

The stain of loss a scarlet symbol

    That we cannot then avert

But may we each learn to make

   Our own wreckage into art.

And send it back to those we love

   whose lives we may still touch

and in doing so our time down here

   we can come to value such

that we may help those new ones

    who come here after us.

The Installation of Hope

I have been a widower for just over 17 months.  I stood over the still form of my beloved Susan in the early hours of November 28^th of 2014, as her breathing became increasingly ragged and finally ceased at 5:45 AM.  Heartbroken, then as now, I knew to the depths of my soul that from that day forward my very best day possible would never be even 10% as good as my very worst day when Susan was alive. And nothing has happened since then to convince me otherwise, and thus that fact has become one of the underlying assumptions by which I live.

Susan and I had a unique and incredibly sustaining relationship that spanned our personal and work lives. We worked together, made bad jokes together, were creative together and much more. I could not then, nor can I now imagine life without her at my side.  A large part of me became very badly broken when she died.

They say that time heals all wounds, but I still feel very incomplete. But, given my intensely questioning nature, I am forced to consider the idea that for some reason, I do not want to heal.  Is that possible?  And if it is, why would that be?  Here are some ideas that have occurred to me. One possibility is that I fear that if I stop being heartbroken that I am somehow being disloyal, or failing to properly honor Susan’s memory. This is certainly worth consideration.  Another real possibility is just good old-fashioned human resistance to change.  If I remain in the twilight land of the lost, I am not moving on, living the same life I did when Susan was here, and thus not changing. Also worth some thought.  Or maybe I simply don’t have a clue how to proceed.  Or it could be a combination of all of the above.

It is indeed a daunting task to disassemble a comfortable life of multiple decades and then try to envision and construct a new life out of whatever pieces of the old one seem worth hanging on to.  That cannot be minimized. Also not to be minimized is the idea expressed above that life has been diminished almost in its entirety by the loss of my beloved partner. I have yet to find a way around that being the first and last thought I have each day.  However, I find that I spend an increasing amount of time trying to analyze whether or not I might be ‘stuck’, and how to become 'unstuck'.  And I spend an increasing amount of time trying hard to envision some sort of future that is in some way satisfying. And sometimes I actually can.

My Susan was a healer. And she often told me that her job centered around a very simple concept: the “installation of hope”.  And she was a miracle worker when it came to that particular talent. One need not be a person of faith (as indeed I am not) to have hope. Hope is one of those elemental things that makes us human. We can envision, we can daydream. And I know that one of my most important tasks at hand is to overcome the inertia created by my loss and start dreaming of a future. The “installation of hope” begins with the glimmer of belief that somehow, someday, some way, the hurt will lessen, the darkness will brighten, the sadness and heartbreak will be alleviated to at least some degree, and some reasons to go on will present themselves. This is what I am working very hard to try to accomplish.

Time to put out the second installment of the Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding.  Here you go:

• By Way of Sorrow - Cry Cry Cry (Written by Julie and Buddy Miller - see below)
• Love Will Find You Again - Pierce Pettis
• So Says the Whippoorwill - Richard Shindell
• I think It's Going to Rain Today - Norah Jones (Written by Randy Newman)
• Rain - Rose Cousins (Written by Patty Griffin)
• Arrow - Cheryl Wheeler
• Ghost in This House - Michael Johnson (Written by Hugh Prestwood)
• Come With Me - Tania Maria
• Joan of Arc - Jennifer Warnes and Leonard Cohen
• Walls - Tommy Emmanuel (Written by Pam Rose and Mary Anne Kennedy)

1. The #1 song above is almost a hymn about the installation of hope after a massive heartbreak/trauma. Here are the lyrics:

BY WAY OF SORROW – Julie & Buddy Miller

You've been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrow
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have drunk a bitter wine
With none to be your comfort
You who once were left behind
Will be welcome at love's table

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

...

All the nights that joy has slept
Will awake to days of laughter
Gone the tears that you have wept
You'll dance in freedom ever after

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these... You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

I work hard daily to find reasons to hope…

Cheers all!

MPC:05-05-2016 

Soundtrack for a Life Rebuilding

    Hawaiians have a wonderful expression for what many of us call "shooting the breeze". Hawaiians are fond of saying that they sit around "talking story". And that expression captures the essence of what is to be human. After all, what do we have, what is it that we actually possess as we weave our way through the journey of life?

    All we really have is our story, and our connections with those for whom we have feelings. Everything else is "stuff". And believe me, stuff, regardless of how much, how big, or how valuable, is inconsequential.

   When unfortunately we are called upon to learn the language of loss, in my opinion the most difficult language there is to learn, it is my experience that we come to understand better the value of our story, the stories of those we know, and our connections with others.  I have written down much of my story, some in the form of these essays, some in short story or poetry format, and some in the form of a couple of novella-length stories. In doing so, I have also undertaken to understand the stories of my friends and family who have been kind enough to rally around me during my time of grieving. In doing so, I have discovered that I truly love to hear peoples' stories. There is something valuable to learn in each and every one. So I really want to hear your stories, if I have not already, and again if I have.

    While I have been grieving, there have been 3 things that have sustained me.  The first and foremost, of course is the wonderful (damn, now I am getting weepy), people who have stayed close:friends and family, from whom I have learned the love of story and the immense value of conversation. The second is my love of music, which has helped me through some of the worst minefields of grief. And a third is a new and interesting fondness for cooking and food. I guess we could call this a hobby. But these are the things that keep me wanting to get up in the morning, even in the darkest frames of mind.

   So to my friends, my family and all those who have helped me traverse this time of sadness and periodic despair, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  And to the universe I thank you for all the beauty you provide: the art, the music, the literature, the architecture, the ideas....

   I am instituting a new feature today on this blog.  I will call it "The Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding".  Every so often I will list 10 songs that have provided inspiration, solace, needed tears, and much more.  So here it is, and cheers: have a wonderful week!

The Soundtrack of a Life Rebuilding - Set 1

1) Sittin' on Top of the World - Richard Shindell - South of Delia
2) Take it Down (John Hiatt) - The Wailin' Jennies - 40 Days
3) Symphony #2 - The Lark Ascending - Ralph Vaughan Williams
4) Don't Go - Tania Maria - The Best of Tania Maria
5) If You Were For Me - Rose Cousins - If You Were For Me
6) Dimming of the Day - Alison Krauss and Union Station - Paper Airplane
7) Paper Aeroplane - Kasey Chambers - Wayward Angel
8) I Don't Know Why - Shawn Colvin - Fat City
9) Street Life - The Crusaders - Street Life
10) Build Me Up From Bones - Sarah Jarosz - Build Me Up from Bones

MPC:04-24-2016

Solitude or Isolation?

     When my father died, I was ten years of age and my siblings and I lived under some rather odd circumstances. My mom was, in addition to being grief stricken, also an alcoholic, and I felt during that part of my upbringing a kind of terror that cuts deep pathways into the brain. It is the kind of terror that only solitude and isolation can create, and usually only in a child.  It is the feeling that there is no one around you that can help you, or understand your situation.  That feeling of terror lasted into my adulthood, when it certainly was no longer useful, if indeed it ever had been.

     Over time I learned to deal with solitude, to make sure it never became isolation (at least the self-imposed kind), and was in a much better place in that respect when I met Susan.  Then, for over two decades, not a moment went by that I felt alone in any way. Now, of course, she is gone. And while I certainly do not feel anything like the childhood terror I felt at age 10, there are many aspects of this involuntary solitude that are very difficult.

     Aside from the constant companionship we experienced, our partnership was such that I aspired to be the very best person I could be, and so did she. In addition to that, I experienced a great deal of positive reinforcement from her as my partner. That in turn simply made me want to be better and better.  And that of course, led to the unshakeable notion that I was a useful person. Useful to her, to the kids, to my clients and so on. Much of that vanished when Susan died. I can tell myself until I am blue in the face that I am useful to someone, but it is not the same. I can tell myself I’ve done a good job on some project or other, but it has little or no meaning, certainly not like it had come from her.

     On any given day, it occurs to me somewhat frequently that I am really and truly alone.  I am the only member of my family of origin still alive, and I have lost my partner, spouse, love of my life.  On the one hand, some of the terror I felt as a young child seeps through into my consciousness from time to time, causing me to have a great deal of difficulty seeing any good reason to go on.  On the other hand, I keep thinking (really as hard as I can) that the rest of my life is mine to make the best (or worst of).  I just wish there was an easier way to understand exactly how to proceed to do that.

MPC 04-13-2016

Escape to Nowhere

So today is Easter, which is a ‘holiday’ I have not much celebrated for quite some time, and am not really celebrating today.  Much like so many such days, I am alone, contemplating the whys and wherefores of having had my life burned to the ground 16 months ago tomorrow.

A few days ago, tired, sick and scared, I drove myself to the ER at the instruction of my doctor’s office. I was in pain and had evidence that I had some internal bleeding, which it turns out had occurred but had stopped by the day of the trip to the ER. After much testing and sitting around waiting, they were unable to tell me why I was in pain and urged me to have further testing in order to ascertain the cause of the bleeding, which had come and gone.

In the past, when either I or my beloved wife had any type of medical crisis, we were there for each other, could discuss how best to handle it, and would care for one another until the crisis had passed. And believe me, we had some doozies, including one instance where I had a major heart attack at the precise moment when her cancer recurred for the first time.  A scary narrative, to be sure, but we dealt with it, supported each other, and got through it.

It is impossible to describe the feeling of desolation I had Thursday morning walking into the ER.  The idea that had something more severe or debilitating happened, rendering me incapacitated, there would have been no one to notice until perhaps there was the ripe smell of decomposition coming from the house.  Since then I have tried to think if there is somewhere I could go where I might not feel so isolated, so on my own. There is not.

Make no mistake, I know there are many friends and family members close by that care a great deal, and who would go to extraordinary lengths to be helpful to me in any kind of emergency. But that is significantly different than being in the kind of marriage in which I was for 20+ years.  Never lonely, never isolated, never frightened. My friends and family have their own lives, their own families, and are not responsible for alleviating my sense of dread, my sense of isolation. That is not in their job description, nor should it be.

There is no good answer to this conundrum. It is one of life’s most horrific occurrences. There is nowhere to which to escape. Well, except perhaps one…

03-27-2016:MPC

A Question I've Never Asked Before?

     I was raised by parents who believed strongly in selflessness.  The theme of "not being selfish" was hammered home constantly, not only in words, but in deeds.  On Christmas Day, for example, we always opened up our home to the kids from a small orphanage in our neighborhood, and many of the gifts my sibs and I received would disappear. This was one of the ways in which we were taught to put others first.  It was difficult to grasp at first, but gradually I grew to understand the whole idea. And for me, the idea stuck.

     When I got to high school and college that ethos was further enshrined in the idea that "Your life is all about service to others". That is what the Jesuits taught us. And that dovetailed nicely with what I had learned as a small child.  I fervently hope that for the 65 years I have been on this earth that I have honored what I have been taught.

     However there is a problem inherent in this line of reasoning, especially if the reasoner is a black and white thinker, as I was for so many years. Thus "Your life is all about service to others" can morph into "Any attempt to think about or meet your own needs is selfish and therefore wrong". And that is what happened to me over time. This used to drive my beloved wife crazy. I used to marvel at her ability to know what she wanted and to articulate it. I could not do that. Slowly over time she tried, using some of her therapy skills, to get me to at least admit that I could not be useful to others if I were not useful to myself. In other words, as she used to say so eloquently, "How can you take care of me when you cannot take care of yourself".  I was, slowly and grudgingly able to evolve that far.

     Now I am alone, as all you faithful readers know, and trying to determine what I would like the rest of my life to look like.  I now have some idea as to why I cannot work out the answer to that important question with any degree of certitude. When you have spent a lifetime putting others first, not being concerned with your own needs, or your own comfort, and ignoring your own preferences, ultimately, those concepts become meaningless and you no longer can even determine a preference, or a desire, or even a need, much less ask for one.

     Like so much else in life, black and white thinking is no way to deal with complex concepts like altruism. It cannot be either/or.  It must be either AND.  I can be kind and thoughtful to others, AND be kind and thoughtful to myself. Furthermore when a conflict arises between the needs of others and my needs, I can then make a rational decision as to what to do.  Susan always tried to teach me that there is always a 'third thing'. It is very seldom ever a question of either/or.

     So now the question is floating around in my head, "What would make me happy?". Clearly having Susan back would be my first and unequivocal answer.  But that ain't gonna happen.  So I now I need to start thinking about the real answer.  I need to get a fix on my own preferences.  And where to go from here.

03-14-2016