Arthur's Note

When my husband died, a friend wrote to me that the memories of your beloved become even more precious - because the quantity has now been fixed by death - you won't be making any more memories with him.

Three groups of people provided the most comfort: those who knew him (especially those who loved him), those who'd been through the experience of losing someone, and those who shared my faith that I would see him again.

Make memories while you can. Take the time to notice the blessings, and tell them. Although a cliche, I would give quite a bit for a few of those moments back. I would love to have more memories of me telling him how much I loved him, how special he was.

Travel Guide To Heaven

My sister sent me the book on CD, "Travel Guide to Heaven" by Anthony DeStephano.
What a blessing!! The exploration of what the Bible tells us about heaven gave me a lot of peace. I have loaned it to many people. Each told me it was appreciated. I highly recommend it.

Two steps forward, one step back

At first, I hung on to my sister's words as if they could save my very life: the first 6 weeks are the hardest.

I marked the 6th week on a calendar. Getting to that mark became my long-term goal, just as getting through the next few minutes represented the short-term goal.

One grief counselor encouraged me to write a journal. Initially I scoffed at the VERY IDEA that I could possibly do ONE MORE THING, but decided to be "good-er than I am" by patiently listening to whatever crazy rationale might exist for such a ridiculous suggestion.

Grief is two steps forward, one step back, but you never feel the forward movement. All you ever feel is the one step back. You begin to feel as if you are falling into a bottomless pit of grief.

In addition you your loss, the grief itself becomes a never-ending nightmare - the first one faced without your beloved. By keeping a journal, you create an initial reference point. Later, reading the older entries, you see progress previously hidden. Your changed outlook, represented in the journal, provides encouragement. The changes throw light on the darkness - not actually banishing the bad dream - but keeping you from stubbing you toes in the dark.

Writing DID help me. Looking at the early entries, I transport myself to that place and time. Although I experience the feelings and mental state of that time, now there is something more:

A hint of new strength, a wisp of Spirit.

The physiological responses to the death

I was surprised to find my mouth always dry. My brother explained: adrenalin. He provided a solution for my dry mouth: keep hard candy and gum on hand.

His explanation puzzled me - I felt shock, not fear. Then I touched the terror. The prospect of continuing without my husband seemed as unlikely as running without lungs or climbing without limbs.

At first, I could not remember to do simple things: sleep or eat. My sister told me to set an alarm for mealtime and to gently exercise - so my tired body would match my exhausted mind.

The grief counselors told me that grieving takes 65% of your mind, heart, energy and memory. I would have to do everything I normally did on 35%. No wonder I felt many cards short of a full deck - I was!

Dealing with the physical shock of his absence seemed as if I were withdrawing from a powerful drug. Whether we reading or watching TV, we held hands - or our feet touched. We slept, lulled by the reassuring sound of each others' breathing. We started most days together and generally ended our days the same way. We parted reluctantly each morning - he graciously left early, knowing I lacked the discipline to leave when I could talk to him a few more seconds. We greeted each other with smiles, hugs and kisses.

The longing to hug him and be hugged by him, to hear his laugh, to tell my best friend the news - overcame me several times each minute. Then each hour. Then each day.

Fortunately, my family and my friends supported me, steadied me as I put one foot in front of the other. They gave me books, frozen meals, hugs, and their time.

My loss felt so great, the echoing emptiness so limitless, the work of grieving so eternal, I did not want to come home at night. I did not want to face his empty chair, his empty truck, our empty bed.

I had work I had to do. I HAD to focus. So I formulated a simple plan: morning offering, yoga, water throughout the day, vitamins and zinc supplements to ward of viruses, salad for dinner, and a fuzzy act of contrition as my exhausted head hit the pillow.

I called on people when I needed help - and they seemed grateful to give me comfort and support. I bought a shiatsu massage chair cushion to entice me to go home at night.

I AM comforted by the belief that I will see him again. Somehow, God has answered my daily prayer:

I thank God for the good times that give us a taste of His love and the difficult times that draw us closer to Him. I ask that God's perfect will - for myself, my immediate family, my extended family, my friends and acquaintances and the whole world - be accomplished.

In time I may understand how He answered that prayer, but for now I can only trust that He would not give His child a stone or a snake.

Reluctance to burden others

I recently offered my phone number to a widow whom a mutual friend reported as struggling (who wouldn't be?). She seems as reluctant to call me as I had been to call others.

This blog may be a way to share information with others who are grieving - on THEIR schedule and to the degree comfortable to THEM.