children, just be, landscape, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Photography
My daughter is home this week. One week for me to be with her between her Sophomore and Junior year in college before her wanderlust takes her to Yellowstone NP for the summer. So far we have run errands, shopped for hiking clothes, caught up on doctor appointments and put away items I’m purging that she will want for her own apartment sooner than I will be ready. Death has taught me to live in the now. So that’s what I’ll be doing this week, enjoying today with my girl. Take care of you. “All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost.” ~ J.R.R....
grief, hope, just be, memories, moving forward, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, poetry
Today marks year four since my husband died. In this moment, I am OK. For me the day of the milestone is rarely as hard as the time leading up to it. The anticipation gets me. So on a cold gray day in early December I could feel myself going under. I recognized the swell of grief as it came toward me and just let it be. When I surfaced I wrote this poem in just a few minutes. Rather than editing it to death in pursuit of something worth ‘publishing’ I’m simply going to put it out for you to see. It reflects the conflict of wanting the life I had back and at the same time holding dear the life I have now. Grief and joy together. There are times… There are times When I still sink my head into my hands Not wanting to believe he is gone. No, not denial just longing. Longing for a different truth An alternate universe Where his kids have both parents And normal is ordinary. Where I can love in the moment Without remembering what is gone…gone. Where there are no tears Following these familiar trails down my face. He’s off wandering…flying. I’m left behind; We are left behind. I try to follow but my feet hold fast To the ground Remaining. I yearn for a time where weather is just weather Not a trigger for emotions that I will not welcome. Memory becomes ache, Ache becomes anguish Deepening into rolling grief. For some I shift to pariah. Not all love is unconditional. Others fall away But those who...
art, just be, memories, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Photography, Widow Blog Hop, Wordless Wednesday
Deserted Gear on the road to Goblin Valley State Park, Utah. This month I’m participating in a blog hop with fellow widows/widowers. I encourage you to enjoy these other blogs and leave them a comment or two: Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog Janine of One Breath At A Time Red’s The M3 Blog Becky’s Choosing Grace Today Marriott of Miracles and Answers to the Prayers in the Life of Marriott Cole Christine of Widow Island Robin of The Fresh Widow Tim’s Diary of a Widower Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog Carolyn at Modern Widow’s Club Hello Grief Andrea of International Brotherhood of Single Mothers Tamara of Artful Living After Loss Jessica at Buttons to Beans Anne – Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey The Grief...
grief, just be, music, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
I had big plans today. Preparations for the Redefining Loss to Live Wholeheartedly retreat have been a joy and I was looking forward to getting back at it bright and early this morning. But Grief said, “Not today.” The anniversary of my husband’s death – the third now – is coming up in mere hours. I’ve been wondering when Grief was going to show up unannounced expecting to be invited in for tea. Her visits are always the same; she stares at me silently from across the table with her piteous eyes, making even the cup in my hand feel burdensome. So here she is, right on time as usual. At first I tried to pretend I didn’t see her lurking there outside the kitchen window in the rain. I locked the door quickly after my son went to school hoping she didn’t know that I knew. I disappeared to the basement to busy myself with laundry. She can’t get to me down there, right? I was determined to avoid her. But Grief said, “Not today.” The fog and drizzle conspired with Grief to ensure my heart was made as heavy as the air. She wore me down. I let her in. We sat in silence for a while. I told her that if she didn’t mind very much I was going to meditate for just a few minutes. But Grief said, “Not today.” My sweet cat crawled into my lap sharing the comfort of her purr with me. I sipped my tea. We settled in together and rested in each other’s company. After ten minutes had plodded by...
grief, just be, meditation, Motivational poster, music, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
“Just be,” was the sagest advice I received upon entering grief in full force. “What the heck does that mean?” is what I heard my internal voice silently reply. A dear friend who lost his wife nine months before I lost my own beloved gifted me with that message as we departed from another tear-soaked get together. Though I didn’t get it at the time, I came to understand. I remembered his advice and examined it periodically as I tried to live my new, strange life. But I didn’t do it right away. I tried to outrun grief first. It can’t be outrun. Don’t let your mind get weary and confused Your will be still, don’t try I found myself with the bizarre title of executrix and there was much involved in this business of concluding a life: car tags and titles to be changed, hospital bills to be paid, insurance company and hospital representatives to mediate, credit cards to cancel, clients to contact with the sad news and many papers to sign. It went on and on. I was very busy, purposely so I now realize. It felt like it was over a month before I even sat down. There was no time to just be. Truth be told, I was afraid of what would happen if I did quiet myself long enough. There were moments of torturous grief and I was certain that I would be swallowed whole by them if I sat still for too long. Don’t let your heart get heavy Child, inside you there’s a strength that lies Then the day came, I finally...
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