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...
grief, hope, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Photography
“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” ~ Mother Teresa
accepting new love, grief, Kairos, Motivational poster, moving forward, openness, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
I flipped through a magazine while my son sat in the barber’s chair getting a back-to-school trim. A photo of a woman standing on top of a mountain peak, arms outstretched, with her body backlit by the sun caught my eye. She was clearly experiencing a moment of kairos time. The first line told me this was also a story of loss. The subject of the article, Jen Lacey, had made the difficult decision to have her leg amputated after it failed to heal properly from an accident. Coming to the end of the piece I realized that, substituting a few words, I could have written the same. “It’s hard to be a [widow]; I won’t sugarcoat it. But every day, I get more used to my [new life], and sometimes I even forget it’s there. You might think I’d dread having strangers ask questions, but I don’t mind—some of them are in a situation like I was, [pre-widowhood], and I can offer advice. Lately I’ve been mentoring new [widows] and hosting [widow] support groups, and it’s allowed me to help people, which is what I’ve always loved to do… The best part: I wake up every day with hope…” I’m not saying I understand what it’s like to be an amputee – clearly I don’t – but this is the closest analogy I can think of to explain what life feels like as a widow. A part of me was severed when Ken died. We spent our young adult lives in each other’s orbit and grew into maturity together. We became parents and experienced all of those firsts...
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...
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