Making a List, Checking It At Least Twice

It’s Thanksgiving week so Hello There, to another of the terrible “firsts”.  More about that maybe even later this week. 

I went to dinner last night with two parishioners who are also widows.  (Birdwalk:  I don’t like the way that word actually sounds.  Where did it come from?  Am I resistant to it because of what it means?  Word study coming with coffee later today).  Anyway.  One of these women is about to experience her wedding anniversary this week and so we toasted to that and to “our boys” as the other described them.  I’d not met their husbands, but in the storytelling they are known to me.

It was helpful to be together; it reminded me that I am not alone in this, that others who are walking this unwelcome path, regardless of how long it’s been, are the only ones who can say with any degree of understanding what it’s like.  They understand.  One of them shared that when some people ask her how she’s doing she will respond with “I’m FINE”.  But what FINE stands for is Feelings I’m Not Expressing.  With an implied “to you”.   In other words, I’m not going to share with you how I’m doing.  As she noted, not everyone asks because they really want to know.  Some people just don’t know what else to say. 

Also note:  Some people really care deeply.  It’s good to be able to tell the difference.

This morning I’m thinking about things that are helpful (to me) in grief.  And things that are not.  Again, this is my personal list.  It’s literally different for every person.  How we process sorrow is a unique and honestly, a holy, thing. 

So, I’ve started a list.  Two lists, actually, or two columns on the same list, whatever: What Is Hard.  What Is Helpful. 

This is an ongoing list, obviously, but it’s been helpful reflection and it’s helped me in those really hard moments/days. 

What Is Hard         

·      Music  - Not all music, but a lot of it.                                                                                     

·      Nights  - I can’t seem to get into a decent wind-down rhythm; I tend to catch a second wind, and them I’m awake when I should be asleep.                                                           

·      People who say things like “you’re a strong Christan woman, you should be over this by now”. (Direct Quote, at 7 weeks out).

·      Keeping Time – It’s been xx weeks/xx months.  On this date in May we were experiencing this in this AML saga. (Also, my trauma therapist says this is my brain trying to make sense of things).

·      Planning for the future.  I can’t imagine this without him. 

·      Too much sunshine.  And by this I mean both literal sunshine and overly ‘sunny’ people. Summer felt brutal.

·      Seeing people we knew together for the first time since he died.  This happened again yesterday and we both cried and said how amazing he was.

·      Telling people who don’t know.  A local colleague whose own health challenges kept him out of the loop while this was happening asked at a recent meeting, “Hey, how’s your husband’s knee recovery going?”  I felt sorrier for him when I had to tell him than I felt for myself in that moment.

·      Thinking “this is something Bruce needs to know about” and then realizing he’s not there to tell.  I mean, honestly sometimes that something is beautiful and meaningful but mostly it’s just catty gossip. 

·      Stumbling across questions that only he knows the answer to.  These are mostly details about auto care or financial details or things like that.  But the answers will forever remain a mystery.

What Is Helpful

·      Silence – This feels like it opens a portal for his presence to slip through and sit beside me.

·      Reading – Losing myself in other stories is so helpful.

·      Writing – Telling my own is helpful, too.  (Thanks for being here.)

·      Community – I believe this even more than I did before: we are cared for and known and we will heal in community.

·      Twinkle lights.  I can’t have too many.

·      My children.  The depth of their care, even as they grieve, is truly sustaining.

·      My grandbabies, because they are so much fun and snuggly and adorable and remind me of the gift of generations.

·      Shared Food.  Whether it’s around a table, or just dropped off to me. 

·      Nature, who reminds me in this season that in the starkness of death, there is the promise of life.

·      Walking.  I used to do so much more of this and I want to try to get there again but I also don’t want to guilt myself into it.

·      Signs.  They’ve been everywhere.  Hearts in my pocket and old notes that take on new meaning.  Stargazers everywhere.  And dimes!  So freaking many dimes!  And the

This is an AI generated image....as you can likely tell!

hummingbird that just this moment flew up to my study window and looked me in the eye. 

Dear Ones, there is so much that is hard in the world and naming it, as naming things does, takes away some of its power. Not the sting, not the pain….but the power.

And there is so much that is there that can be helpful.  Even knowing this is helpful. And hopeful.