Heart to Heart

First step alone, letting go, embracing the unknown: each action requiring conscious effort when grief, sadness or mourning create the texture of your life for such a long time. So often a day without persistent sadness seems to be followed by two or more days with pain and hold no moments of contentment or relief.

Facilitating a support group provides me with the chance to witness incredible courage and strength in those who are grieving. When I consider the fact that here are survivors of one of the most, if not the most, tragic event in their lives, coming together with people they probably have never met and sharing their deepest grief, is truly amazing. Whether their loss was one month, one year, or ten years ago, they are showing tremendous courage in opening their hearts to others. 

November is Hospice Appreciation Month. I have reflected on what that really means, to me, as a former hospice professional. It was an honor to work with families. It was a privilege to enter sacred space when someone was in their final weeks, days, hours and moments of life. I didn’t feel like I needed appreciation for holding sacred space and being a guest in each space I entered.

Hi friends……………………

We are now friends, fyi.  We’re in a club that no one wants to be part of. But I’m glad to call you a friend, for what it’s worth. Thanks for being here (even though neither of us want to be). Imagine I’m giving you a hug right now… because I know I need one, and can only imagine that you do too.

Dear Sue, Where and how do I begin to tell you what lives in my heart? I have let the music play right now as it did for the last year as we would sit together reading while you napped. I knew the rest was good for you and could never waken you before your eyes would open and smile at me. After the stem cell transplant, you never regained your weight, you never regained your energy, you never lost your bright smile or spirit to live. You endured so much to let me have all of the days possible with you.

My mom and I were best friends; best friends that fought and handled our emotions very differently but still…best friends. I will never forget the day she died. The phone call, the rush home, not making it in time, and the haze of the following weeks, and months. Death is so sudden, one minute she was here on this earthly plane with me and the next she wasn’t. She was gone and I was left to piece together a world without her. A world I still can’t figure out. 

Researchers describe this process as “Growing Around Grief,” suggesting that grief evolves rather than diminishes over time. This model shows that grief becomes a part of our lives, integrating into our being as we develop new skills and relationships. This model emphasizes that grief doesn’t fade but becomes part of our broader life journey, allowing for joy, creativity, and new memories while honoring our loss.

My wife Mary and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary on September 12, 2020. On the morning of November 6, 2020 I went for my daily walk. When I returned from my walk, I found Mary lying dead on the bathroom floor. I was devastated and at a complete loss of what to do. Not only was she my wife but also my business partner. So I lost my wife, partner and also our livelihood…

I recently started diving deeper into the practice of writing poetry by joining a poetry meetup group, then forming my own women’s poetry group. A friend joined a challenge to write a poem a day for a month, based on a word prompt in the theme of hope. Every time she shared one of those prompts with me, my immediate reaction was anything but hope. So I decided to write about it, and this poem, “Lifeline,” was born. I read it to my Heartlight Institute support group, and they strongly resonated with it and suggested I publish it for our fellow grievers. Thank you, HeartLight, for giving me a venue to do just that. Writing about my grief always gives me a sense of relief, and I want to share it with others so they know they’re not the only ones struggling.

A couple weeks ago, as I was exercising at my local rec center, I was listening to music on my ear pods when a song by Josh Groban, entitled “You Raise Me Up (to more than I can be),” started playing. This was one of Marilyn’s favorite artists and songs and it was the last song we played at her memorial service. I hadn’t heard it much since she died, probably intentionally because of the memories, so I didn’t know whether to fast forward or skip the song entirely. I decided that I needed and wanted to hear the song after all this time.