How One Widower Decides (?) What's Next

     The question that is never far from my consciousness is "What would you do if you were me?" Another way of phrasing it is "What is next for me?". For the bereaved it is a question of great importance, as well as being possibly the most difficult question to answer. I have been asking it to myself, to family and to friends for months now.  I get many helpful suggestions, much good advice, but cannot seem to arrive at a suitable answer as of yet.

     I am generally a very decisive person.  In the 32 years I have run my own business I have made any number of crucial decisions: some good, some not so good, but always made without dithering. Now I am dithering.

     There is a good reason to dither. During the first year after losing my loved one, which is approaching its end this month, I have determined that it is unwise to make major life decisions while grieving and mourning. I have passed through periods of depression, periods of contentment, periods of joy, encouragement, and sadness.  Attempting to overlay that circus wheel of emotions with any kind of life altering decisions seems to me to be the height of folly.

     As a purely practical matter, I am in good shape. I am still working, which I enjoy. I have a few bucks put away, have just gone onto Medicare and am in reasonably good health.  I have an incredible group of friends, family and customers who are unwaveringly supportive and helpful.  So there are no compelling reasons why I need to figure out what is next right now.

     So I guess the conclusion I have come to, at least for the moment is this: "what would I do if I were me?". I would sit tight, and consign the problem to my subconscious and let it work itself out over as much time as is needed.  In the meantime, keep watching the horizon for as much light and hope as can be realized.

Cheers, everyone.

MPC:11-01-2015

Gratitude and Other Thoughts...

     I am deep into the 'anniversary season'. A year ago my beloved wife's health was deteriorating as I watched, powerless to halt the march of the disease.  And all those images are still relatively fresh in my mind, making this season somewhat difficult.  I miss Susan terribly, and that will not change, but oddly enough, there are other factors at work that I must acknowledge if I am to be honest with myself.

     The first is gratitude. In spite of the tragedy of losing my wonderful Susan, I have a support system so rich and deep and varied as to make me dizzy. Family, adult stepkids and their incredible spouses, friends, customers, neighbors.  Wonderful, kind, supportive, amazing.  The members of my grief group, with whom I still get together regularly are an example. Incredible people.  I cannot overstate the gratitude I have for everyone.  Secondly, one of the reasons the loss of Susan hurts as much as it does is that we had a deep connection on many, many levels and to lose that is profoundly hurtful.  However, as it occurred to me this week (again): I got to have the honor and privilege of being her husband for 20 years.  To walk the earth hand in hand with a soul so stunning, so magnificent as to take my breath away.  The gratitude for that makes some of the sharp edges of loss somewhat less sharp.

     In addition to the dimension of gratitude is an odd and building interaction with the bathroom mirror.  The image in the mirror says to me, "Wait a moment.  I am not the one who has died.  I am not the one whose problems have all been solved permanently.  I am the one who must figure out how to live in this plane of existence.". I have had (in my mind, of course) a number of interactions like this. Do I need an aluminum foil hat and a prescription for lithium? Probably not. What I need is to start trying to move forward with my life.  Part of my resistance to that whole idea is the fear that doing so would somehow be disrespectful to the memory of Susan.  But especially in the past few weeks I have had a couple of incidents where I almost felt like Susan was telling me to get a move on.  Recommit yourself to your business! Be happy that so many people care about you!

Wow.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
who's the most broken hearted
man of all...
 Hmm...

Not me.
Sad for sure, sometimes lonely
missing her with all my heart

But I got to be her guy
had that honor for 20 years
and that must be enough....

MPC:10-19-2015

The Year of Thinking Dangerously

     I am now deep into the season of anniversaries from last year. One year ago today, after having learned that the cancer had incurred into to my beloved's brain, she elected to come home and into hospice care.  I then in what I can only now imagine was a delusional state, determined that if I made a superhuman effort to see that she was properly medicated, properly fed and hydrated and made to feel loved beyond all measure, that I could keep her alive indefinitely.
     I am experiencing some seriously bad flashbacks to that time, and am also having some deeply felt moments of uselessness (see the poem below), failure (she died on my watch damn it!), and guilt (why her and not me? She was surely more valuable to humanity than I??).
     So for those who are grieving, the approach to the first anniversary is a very difficult time, and all I can advise is that it is best not to spend too much time in your head.  I have a hard time avoiding that (i.e. following my own advice), because I live and work at home and am alone 90% of the time.  I am blessed with a magnificent support system of friends and family, which is of immeasurable help, but this will be a difficult stretch to navigate.
    So stay busy, stay grounded as much as possible, and try to avoid such darkness as is illustrated by this poem:

USELESS 

I wake each autumn day

This question on my lips

Just what is it that I should do

Just what is it that is

Next for me

Now that all has been lost?

I used to have a purpose

To husband Susan, my labor of love

To love to honor to support her life

Was my privilege to fulfill

But she is gone, my task complete

And who am I, what am I to do?

I have survived chaos, turmoil

And the heartbreak of loss

Disease, coma and clinical death

But nothing compares with

This emptiness, this sense of loss

And of uselessness, like half myself

Is vanished to thin air

Susan! Oh Susan!

Would that you could

Take me with you

Take me away to your darkness

To whatever abyss you belong

Please do not leave me here alone

To wither slowly and waste away

There is nothing left for me

There is no light ahead

Save the drudgery of

Every passing day

And of all the words

We left unsaid.

I awake each new morning

And ask myself

What it is I want

What it is I need

To force away the gray

And now I know what I can say!

Oh let me be in the ground!

Please

Let me be in the ground

And go to sleep.

MPC:09-29-2015

   

What Does Healing Look Like?

     Just like healing from a physical injury or disease is seldom a straight line, so too is the process of healing from a loss.  But over the last few weeks, with the help of some intense self examination and awareness, I have managed to receive some insights into healing as well as to experience some actual healing.

     I took a long road trip out to Washington state last month and as part of that, spent six long days in the car driving through state after state.  Such an experience gives one a lot of time to think.  During those long and often lonely stretches of time, I worked on the grief process, listened to music that would make me sad, and basically spent a good deal of that time in active grieving.  While it is unlikely that we can in any way accelerate the process, I felt as though I had arrived at a new perspective after having arrived home from the trip.

     One dimension of the grieving process is the desire for the pain to abate.  That is a constant. And we really must actively search for ways to make that happen.  One of the very best ways to deal with the pain of grieving is to allow yourself to laugh, an incredible antidote to the pain. And when you find yourself enjoying a moment of laughter, it is helpful to stop and acknowledge that moment to yourself.  Lock it in. Give yourself permission to laugh, and grant that permission over and over.

    Another helpful strategy that I discovered quite by accident is to stop stabbing yourself with the sharp edge of the pain of grief.  Yesterday, as is my Saturday habit, I listened to all my favorite NPR Saturday shows: Car Talk, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, This American Life, Ask Me Another and so on. During the shows I caught myself saying over and over to myself "Susan would love this". And I realized that every time I did that, I would feel the prick of the pain of missing her.  I resolved, with some success to stop doing that.  It was really the gratuitous infliction of pain. And apparently it was time to discover this habit and break it.  I enjoyed the rest of the day's programs much more, laughed more and acknowledged to myself that I had a great time.

     There is no magic bullet, no magic potion to get us through the process of grief. But we are active participants in the process, and there are steps we can take to help us get through the process while staying sane.

Be well and at peace.

09-13-2015

 

 

Dealing With Multiple Losses

I have no way to judge whether my situation is exceptional, but I was the last living member of my family of origin when my beloved wife passed away several months ago.  My father, mother, sister and brother have all been lost, and now my beloved.  Sometimes I am simply overwhelmed by the cumulative sense of loss and abandonment. 

My father died at the age of 41 when I was 10. I still miss him.  He was a good human being, kind and gentle, with a razor sharp mind, a sense of humor and a calm demeanor.  My mom passed away in 1999 and my sister followed 4 years later.  My brother had simply vanished several year earlier and attempts to locate him were in vain.

Finally, after a 3 year struggle, my wife of 20 years succumbed to her cancer. And with this devastating loss, it seems as though all the losses have knit themselves together into one horrific disaster, feeding upon one another.  

I count myself very lucky that my family and friends have been incredibly supportive, kind and generous with their time and support.  In addition, I have availed myself of more than one support group dealing with loss; have read a number of books that I have found somewhat helpful, and have tried very hard to stay open to everything offered. This seems to be the best way to get through this absolute madness. 

The other thing I have done is resolved not to make any major decisions until at least one year has passed from the time my beloved passed away. Emotions rush by like so much freeway traffic, and I find myself laughing one minute and crying the next.  One cannot make important decisions under such circumstances, or in any event, should not. 

Operating from the position of having no earthly idea what the rest of my life should look like, I get up every day, drag myself through the day doing what is expected of me, leading the life I led when my wife was alive, but without her.  I hate it; detest this colorless, joyless existence that has no Susan in it. But now is not the time to change it. I must be patient with myself and with life in general.  I do invest some measure of hope in the old adage, "This too shall pass".

09-01-2015    

  

Elegy for My Departed Sweetheart on the Occasion of Her Birthday - Matt Cantillon

I met her on a Friday evening

Having dinner at a friends

Her voice, her speech, her acuteness of mind

Robbed me of my breath

As I made my way home that night

Head and heart set awhirl

I knew my life would be changed forever

And I knew she would be a major part…

Friendship followed and it slowly grew

As we took each other’s measure

I helped her and she helped me

And love and respect became our way

She became a healer of those troubled souls

And deftly made her way in life

A stunning mother and parent still

Her children growing loved and true.

And then we became man and wife

Sworn to honor and respect

Standing before the holy person

Professing our I Do’s

And I was made by those very vows

The happiest man alive

She told me she’s been so afraid that

Marriage would upset the scene

But no she said, it only improved

A life already so full of joy

One day soon after sickness came

A tumor in my heart

I at the door of death stood

Ready to depart from my dear love

But I came back from death’s cruel portal

Unwilling to leave my love

Who sang to me and healed my heart

And helped me through that mortal wound.

And so time passed, the children grew

And we moved from place to place

We prospered, traveled and made our jokes

And grew fonder by each day

Until one came a grim grey guest

Unbidden and unseen

A cancer vile and angry moved

Into our lives to stay

A ransom asked, a ransom paid

It brooked no disrespect

We became its servants

Its feudal serfs

And suffered in its wake

My Susan suffered the most of all

From pain from drugs from uncertainty

And I from the thought of loss

And so it was for three long years

We lived in its shadow

Our jokes were stilled

The fires of our joy banked low

I cared for her as best I could

Cursing my inability to cause a miracle

Holding vigil in a darkened room

As the light of my life grew dim

I held her in that darkened room

And whispered her my love

I promised she’d be forever my wife

She asked if I would be all right

For sure I lied for sure

And then she died, the world robbed

A healer wife and mother gone away

A beacon of light gone out that day

And we who loved her are left

To wonder about what plan

Could possibly work this way

No logic applies

In this awful loss

No reason to help us grasp

Why we must live in this dark

Our wife, our mother gone from us.

So must we stay in this crappy world

Devoid of love’s warm touch?

In an empty house

In an empty life

With an empty heart

Susan, the brightest light

The most radiant smile

Lit no more….

MPC For your birthday princess. 08-2015

How Do We Remember?

     When Susan's mom passed away back in 2005, we established a 'remembrance tradition' that we have observed in each year since.  We called it 'Bubbie Day' in honor of Susan's mom, who was 'Bubbie' to all her grandchildren.  On that day, the anniversary of her birthday, we all eat ice cream in her memory.  Bubbie (Ruth) was somewhat of an ice cream fanatic, and so many of us felt this would be a fitting tribute.  And so it is.

      So I am now entering this dreaded "anniversary season', which will last from now until the end of holiday season in January.  Susan's birthday is in August.  Her health really started to decline in August of last year. September marks the anniversaries of the deaths of my father and my younger sister, as well as Susan's and my anniversary. The high Jewish Holidays occur in this time frame, and Susan and I always celebrated them together. My birthday falls in October, followed then by late October and November during which time Susan's health deteriorated horrifically. And then she passed away 11-28 of last year (Thanksgiving), followed by Hanukkah, Christmas and New Years and the anniversary of my mom's passing on January 9.  Pretty relentless, I would say.  

     How do we get through these times?  How do we maintain some shred of sanity while still doing honor to the memory of our lost loved ones?  In that first year after our big loss, I can only posit that distraction is one of the best solutions to dealing with the extra load of grief at these anniversary times. Fill your calendar with things to do; surround yourself with people.  And establish some sort of tradition that you and your family can perform every year to honor your loved one.  

     My Susan was an wonderfully talented artist and also an Art Therapist who helped people with traumatic brain injuries.  So what I think we should do each year on Susan's birthday is to make some art in her honor.  Talent is not required.  Dig out your crayons and color a page of a coloring book. Make a collage; build a house of cards; compose a piece of music (my art of choice).  Susan put so much incredible beauty out into the universe, not only in the art she did, but more importantly in the healing she did.  And in the incredible children she bore and raised. So those of us in her family can honor her by creating something and letting it float out there to join the wonderful things she created and perpetuated..  

Be well and at peace.