grief, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, practical matters
I need a will. I’m perfectly healthy but this pops into my head every now and then because you never know. I have an old will in place but it has my late husband’s name all over it for important decisions like whether or not I should be kept on a ventilator if there is no hope of my survival. (That answer is no, by the way.) We think this stuff won’t happen to us or that we have lots of time but that’s not always the case. Ken and I looked around one day and discovered we had two children (how did that happen?!) so we had all of the necessary estate documents drawn up. I never thought I would have to exercise that power of attorney, but I did. I couldn’t imagine unfolding the blue cover on my husband’s living will to show his attending physicians but that’s exactly what happened. I thought those papers would yellow with age and eventually crumble to the bottom of the lock box after decades passed, I needed them in less than one. Thanks to our fabulous attorney who was uber thorough and the fact that we followed his advice carefully, I had only one small account that took much effort to probate. That was a good thing because let me tell you grieving widow and estate executrix are two jobs that don’t fit together nicely. Even worse would be having to work through the process when there is no will in place. I can’t imagine. So I’ve been meeting with that same attorney and my updated documents will soon be...
book recommendations, grief, Kenwinks, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, spiritual
Have you ever had a moment when you experienced an event that felt too designed to be merely a coincidence? Or a time when you just knew that you had received a clear message to your heart’s longing through someone else’s words? Or maybe you have seen a sign that you desperately hoped for and felt a resulting peace that could not be explained? I have had so many Godwinks* that I would not be able to recount them all if I tried. Grief broke me open to seeing them in a way nothing else has. As my husband was living his last hours in a hospital ICU I had a private conversation with him telling him that I HAD to have a sign that his soul – that our souls – went on. I have always been a person of faith but his impending death rocked me to my very core. I had begged God to save him but it was clear that was not going to be the outcome; if my faith was to remain intact I needed confirmation that I could not miss. He was the skeptic so I felt that if he ensured I received a message I recognized then I could rest in that. The first came within four hours of his death. They continue to come regularly in the form of hearts, hawks and angels who walk right up and say just the thing I need to hear. Yes, I have gotten the message. No, I’m not ready for them to stop. If you have been following the Wordless Wednesday posts you know...
children, grief, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Ken Gehle
I have a Sunfish sailboat in my basement. I have no clue how to sail it and the trailer for it is long gone anyway having rusted through behind the garage. It seems a shame for it to just sit but it’s the one belonging of my late husband’s that my kids are adamant that we must not shed. I can picture him leaving the shore time after time while the kids, too little to go with him, and I waited on the shore for his return. They have that same picture in their heads I imagine. He always came back before. This grief is a bit like pushing that sailboat into the ocean from the shore. At first the breakers pound you relentlessly and you fear they are going to push you to the bottom. Then after a while you get beyond them. There are still swells and the occasional breaker but you’re sailing now. You feel the adrenaline rush of your leave-taking begin to subside. There is calm in the sailing, even peace, though the need to change direction offers new challenges. Obstacles crop up that need to be circumnavigated. You maneuver. You jibe. You avoid the shifting boom in the wind. Peace returns but let’s be real, it’s not as secure as standing back on the shore. You find that you are steady in the wind again when – wham! – a rogue wave swamps the boat. It’s frightening. You fear you may not live through it. Soon you realize that you are not going to sink but you wonder if you really know what you’re...
art, creativity, Father's Day, grief, Holiday
He wore a suit and hat. Always. My Papa was a Banker living in a city of flip flops, bathing suits, cotton candy, Ferris wheels and changing tides. He appeared a little incongruous in his environment. The man mowing the lawn in suit pants, sleeves of his sky blue dress shirt rolled up to the elbow. Wingtips on the beach. He wanted to be an artist but came of age during the Great Depression. There was no money to continue college let alone lead the life of an artist. It was not a sensible choice. He worked, married, had a child, and moved to the coastal town that still feels like home to me two generations later. He saw a need and worked to fill it. His family grew. The painter he had been at fourteen receded. I might have caught a glimpse of him occasionally when Papa paused in the hall next to a painting he had created a lifetime before. Yet I never had the sense that he regretted his career. He built something useful, creating it from the ground up. He was quite captivated by the people he helped in their own creation stories and even those he couldn’t help but who succeeded anyway. He spoke of them with pride and respect. Over a well-lived life the young watercolorist learned his own form of expression. He created with a different medium. Correspondence with Memory I’m taking an online art class offered by Penn State and this week’s assignment was Mail Art. We were charged with recalling a memory and documenting it by making both envelope and...
accepting new love, grief, hope, letting go, moving forward, widow
When I started this blog I wrote about the pluff mud of grief. In it, I outlined how I thought my life would go…my Plan A. By now you know that Plan A went awry in a few ways not the least of which was the death of my beloved husband. So what do we do when Plan A is not an option anymore? Move on to Plan B, right? Should we take second best? Not even close. Michele Neff-Hernandez, founder of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, was living her Plan A in 2005. She had a husband, three kids and a career as a personal trainer. Life in her Plan A was good, challenging, and stressful at times but all the same, amazing. Her widow journey began after she kissed her husband goodbye one afternoon. Phil left for his bike ride as was his routine but would not return, his young life cut short by an SUV. Breath by breath, step by step, Michele began to learn what it was like to live in profound grief and to move in a world that no longer had Phil in it. Plan A was wiped away. Jump forward to today and you will find Michele standing in front of a room full of widows and widowers delivering a keynote address at Camp Widow in Myrtle Beach, SC. Our Plan A is gone too. Gently she reminds us that we don’t have to settle for Plan B. We can create for ourselves a new Plan A…an amazing one. Yes, it’s hard but equally, yes, it is possible. She urges us to take the...
grief, grief as teacher, loss, Motivational poster, openness, transformation
Would you think I had lost my mind if I said that our losses can result in favorable changes in our lives? Probably but that’s OK. I would have thought the same thing a few years ago. Now, however, I can see transformations that might not have happened without my losses. Here are just a few of the ways that I’m different: I worry less. I wish I could say not at all but I’m not immune to fear. My worst nightmare came true and amazingly…I survived. It was awful, I don’t want to relive it and if I could wave a magic wand to make it go away I would. But I now know I can survive. I’m much less willing to settle for aspects of life that are not feeding my soul, my career for instance. Grief gave me the courage to respond to a calling rather than merely having a job. I have closer relationships with old friends and have experienced the love and caring of new friends. Did some people fall away during this time in my life? Yes, but I understand how uncomfortable it can be to be with someone in grief or making changes in their life as they learn to live with their whole hearts again. I have compassion for them and wish them nothing but good. I understand that we are all connected. I have more empathy for the pain of others than I did before and a desire to support them as they find their way. I know that love lives on. I could go on really but I think...
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