Am I a professional griever?

Am I a professional griever?  The four year “mile-marker” of the day I said goodbye to my Kahuna is looming. Today marks 16 months since Scott joined his dad. And recently I had a heart to heart with myself, as I pondered this question: 

Has my public sharing of this unexpected journey labeled me as “That Person”? The one you pity? The one you avoid for fear of triggering tears? Or worse...the one who needs to "Get over it and move on"?  Am I now identified by my widowhood status, and the unthinkable death by suicide of my son? If so, please allow me to re-introduce myself...

While each day is peppered with memories of my “before” life, I find joy and gratitude in the present. I have regained control of my heavy, dark thoughts. I see them now as ripples on water after a stone is thrown - momentarily surfacing, then quickly disappearing into the river carrying me through this human existence. 

I have stepped out of my self-imposed bunker. I say yes more often to social invitations. I sing loudly, hug freely, and smile broadly. I have a beautiful life. Most of the time…

I still feel the emptiness. The pain of their absence. The what-if’s and if-only’s still manage to float through my consciousness. But now they rarely trigger ugly cries. I accept them as the occasional rain clouds in my otherwise blue skies. 

As grateful as I am for all of the blessings in my life, I have also learned to welcome grief when it visits. Sit with it for a bit then let it be. Without love, grief would not exist. Losing a child and a husband - my soulmate - cannot be erased from one’s memory.

Does that make me a professional griever?

There can be no doubt that I have changed in the last four years, but I hope to the outside world I have not become someone to pity. Instead I would like to think my public sharing of life after loss has given my village a glimpse from my “window seat”…

Appreciation of the rare and precious gift that is our human life. 

Acceptance that suffering in life is inevitable. 

Understanding that, without suffering, we would not comprehend the beauty of the joyous moments in our lives.

My gratitude runs deep and I have learned from you what it is to be a friend. I have been comforted with such kindness and compassion from my village. I am truly blessed.

Please don’t worry about me. I’m not grieving. I am LIVING with grief. Thriving. This human existence is messy for all of us. 

My advice? Be kind. Be grateful. Stay curious. Look at life with a childlike wonder. After all, we are all stardust, fleetingly gathered into this human form. 

And we all come with an expiration date from this earthly existence!

Special Acknowledgement to my mentor, my mindfulness and meditation guide, and dear friend Audrey Walzer. I encourage everyone to dip your toes into her Mindfulness Meditation with Audrey course. More information can he found HERE

I Want to See You Dance Again

I know my family and friends want me to be happy again. They see Lonely Paula Marie and it pains them to witness my emptiness. I am so thankful my village has taken me under their collective wing, and even more appreciative none have played the “It’s time to move on” card – at least not to my face. I have promised to keep the door open to counseling options. For now, my dates with this blog are helping me process my transition to Paula, Party of One…

When Neil Young's Harvest Moon kept randomly popping up on Pandora, I started listening more closely to the lyrics. It had to be a #KahunaSign. George may as well have been singing the lyrics in my ear as we danced. “I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…”

Our last dance. Wiping a Kahuna tear.

My happy place in his arms.

The last four months have taught me a lot. I now truly understand how debilitating grief can be. I know what loneliness feels like. I can be very present on the surface and completely numb and distracted inside. I still struggle with a reply when asked how I am “feeling/holding up/coping/managing”. I offer ambiguous non-answers most of the time. “I’m well” “Doing okay” “Taking one day at a time”. I am skillful at getting “gussied up” and putting on a happy, playful facade when needed. Yet the occasional crack in my voice or tear rolling down my cheek often betray me, and provide the authentic answer. “I feel empty/sad/lonely/vulnerable/unsettled, thank you for asking.”

Smoke and mirrors, folks.

As accurately as I count each day without George, I am equally unable to remember what I “Do” from one day to the next. Wake up – early - and let the reality of the empty side of the bed sink in. Try to remember my dreams, hoping to recall a “visit” from George (four visits and counting!). Feed Charlie while I make tea. Check my phone alerts for any breaking news, and scan social media. Read email. Protein shake or other simple breakfast. Take Charlie for a walk. Sit in what was George’s office and face the new business/financial responsibilities of widowhood. Do something – errands, appointments, household chores, perhaps lunch with friends. Feed Charlie. Do something else. Or do nothing. Eat dinner, if I remember to. Channel-surf in search of mindless entertainment. Reading is still impossible due to widow's fog (yes, it's a thing). Turn off the lights. Go to bed.

The “Somethings” that fill those blank spaces in every 24 hour block are hard for me to remember. When Son or Daughter asks, “What did you do today, mom?” it takes me a minute to process a reply. I know I did something. But what was it? I guess the best answer is I survived another Kahuna-less day.

Do Something. I keep telling myself I must. I started making plans and saying yes to invitations from friends and family, and have suddenly found myself with my Fall calendar filled with trips. The recent Las Vegas outing with N, as her plus-one for a wedding. A Minnesota visit with Daughter and family – to tend to the Grands and the cavalcade of equipment that accompanies a toddler and preschooler on a four hour flight. A road trip to the San Francisco Bay Area with Sister-in-law, followed by four days in NYC with Nieces, and all the excitement the Big Apple has to offer. But wait, there’s more! I’m headed to San Diego before Thanksgiving, determined to walk another 60 miles over three days (my 16th time) in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day, an event George and I had done together since 2004. And did I mention concerts and musical theater? Is there such thing as doing too much?

Clearly my current “Something” is a bi-polar existence – agonizing alone-ness followed by manic event overload. I had not set out to cram my calendar (and put a dent in my bank account!) with events that take me away, but that’s what happened. And yet I still feel empty. It’s surely fodder for an interesting therapy session – if I can fit it in!

Today I Did Something! I planned my next journey. It will be difficult – at times impossible - and always emotional. I bought the “ticket” on the day I marked Week 18 without my Kahuna. It will take me deep into my soul. A series of 21 guided meditations to help me find the path to joy again. I know it’s the journey George most wants me to make. My heartbreak is his. He faced his fate with only one regret – he knew the sorrow the kids and I would feel when he left us. I owe it to him to find my new happiness within. No amount of travel or distraction will fill the void in my heart. I must take this inward journey and find my joy again.

I know my Kahuna is with me. Every moment of every day. Every step along the way. I will dance again. Find happiness again. Honey, I miss you so much it’s hard to breathe. Happiness is the Something I can’t begin to imagine yet. But I’m going to try. Because I’m still in love with you.