Heart to Heart

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. 

Dear Fellow Human, May is “Mental Health Awareness Month”. In sharing from personal experience, I recall the first time I confided in someone that I was struggling, and I remember the heartbreak I felt when the reaction I received was irritation and the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” sentiment.