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

One Thousand Sunsets in the Widow-hood

In what feels like another lifetime, I noted on my iCalendar that today marks the 1000th day since I said goodbye to George. While I don’t remember exactly when or why I instructed Siri to calculate and mark this date, I know myself well enough to understand my intentions. It would be a day of reflection, marking the absence of my Kahuna with a progress report - my term paper on life in the widowhood. As year three approaches, I could offer wisdom and insight, and celebrate the re-invention of his Lovely Paula Marie. And I would imagine George’s heavenly pride in his delicate flower, applauding her broken-hearted hardiness.  Well folks, as we all know life doesn’t come with a playbook....

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what life would be like on this 1000th Kahuna-less day -  a nation and the world in the throes of a deadly and catastrophic pandemic that has killed millions worldwide, crippled the economy, left millions jobless, destroyed businesses, and has left us masked, un-hugged and sequestered for 10 months. Science fiction and horror genres became our reality in a story too outlandish for even the most creative fiction writer.

Then came the unthinkable, unbearable loss of my first-born - my Scott - my happy, kind, always smiling son, lost to suicide 54 days ago. His death and the circumstances around it left me broken. Again. Speechless. Haunted by if only’s and what if’s. The Covid quarantine was perfectly suited to my need to be alone. Phone calls from my village went unanswered - there were no words to be spoken. Invitations to socially distanced meet-ups were declined. George’s pillow, my nightly spooning partner, would now share bed-space with the LA Dodgers blanket that draped Scott through life support before his donated heart, kidneys and liver were recovered to give life to others.

Losing Scott opened a new door to a different grief.  A mother’s grief for the baby I cradled. The little boy whose “owies” I kissed to make it all better. The teen I argued with over curfews and homework assignments. The son with whom I shared a dance and whispered in his ear how proud of him I was.

My Beautiful Boy

It’s also a grief of blank pages. I realize now how much I did not know - especially when Scott retreated after George died - and it adds to my heartbreak. He left so many unanswered questions. My sweet son with the big smile is gone, and so are the last chapters of his story. Lost in the conversations we didn’t have…

Today I set the intention to resurrect my blog with insight and wisdom gained on this 1000 Day journey as Lonely Paula Marie. But writer’s block set in as I poured through pages of notes I had been writing these past months. What usually comes easy felt forced. Unauthentic. Life as I knew it, as recently as 54 days ago, had been hijacked. 2020, and the first 13 days of 2021, had rendered me hopelessly unfocused. Was I struggling because there was nothing left to say? Was my 1000 day prophecy meant to be my closing credit? I stepped away from my laptop, poured a glass of wine and walked outside to view the sunset. And I got my answer…

George and Scott both loved the beauty of winter sunsets, with their golden yellow-oranges as the sun drops below the horizon. For many that’s the finale. BUT…if conditions are right, and if you have patience, your reward awaits as the sky erupts with a pink-purple brilliance that defies description. Tonight was that night.  Photos can’t capture the spectacle, but tonight’s sunset was just what I needed. My heavenly boys were speaking to me, and I knew what they were saying. Don’t walk away from something you love. Be patient. Sometimes the most beautiful moment is delayed, but the wait is worth the time you give it.

So, my dear followers, thank you for reading this far for basically a request to wait a little longer! I want to share with you some of my breakthrough moments, valuable lessons and mindful teachings that have helped me navigate life in the widowhood. It promises to be bumpy, as I now feel my way through the loss of Scott.

Most importantly, I want to thank YOU. While grief is often a solitary journey, I have made it this far through the weeds because of the unwavering support of my village. Family, Friends, Casual acquaintances whose compassion and kindness have filled my heart with gratitude. I thank you all, and invite you to stay tuned. 

 

Maui Sunset Bliss 2016

My Heavenly Golfing Goofballs