Heart to Heart

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.

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…

The pain of loss to suicide is unlike any other grief. All loss is painful, and suicide adds layers that survivors must navigate. With the help of mental health professionals, fellow grievers, and a close network of friends, I have started my journey of grief recovery. Yes, this journey is about me. Not my late husband, but me.

Coping is a verb meaning “to deal with or attempt to overcome problems and difficulties,” and is often used with “learning to cope.” This is a word that I have become very familiar with over the last year, and is an action that I have become used to.

I want to share with you about my beloved, and how it was that she gave me an important gift – permission to make tough end of life decisions; to ultimately let her go.

Today I want to talk about getting through the first year after the death of a loved one, in particular at times of holidays and anniversaries. My wife Marilyn died on July 23, 2022, so I have just been through my first year without her. While I am suffering the pain and loss of a spouse, the loss of anyone, be it a parent, child, sibling, or friend impacts the first year in a way that is unimaginable and very difficult to live through. I don’t mean to imply that the second or third or fifth years are easy, but all I can relate to at this time is the first year. And I want to emphasize that I am not giving advice, only relating what has helped me this past year. We all have our own way of dealing with the tragedy of losing someone we love.

We scattered Robert’s cremated remains this past weekend in his favorite spot in Vail, along the river walk that he loved. A family friend of ours, who is also a minister, said to us as we gathered together, “It’s not for Robert that we grieve but for ourselves. We grieve so deeply because we loved so deeply”. I thought a lot about my own experience with losing Robert. This is what I now know, almost six months since he died:  Grief is permission.

Next to my husband Dan, my dad was my second-best friend.  When told that dad had six months to a year to live, the news tore my soul.  I silently suffered anticipatory grief.  Even though I was trained as an end-of-life doula a year prior, I was not prepared to practice on dad everything that I had learned. I went to my hometown on Valentine’s Day to care for dad while on hospice.  Dad died from prostate cancer in April of 2020.  I thought I would never laugh again.  Losing dad at the beginning of a devastating pandemic did not help.  The loneliness and isolation from family and friends left me numb.