What would you do?

Perspective is such a strange thing.  Yesterday I was at the chemotherapy unit (and I am very happy to say I have one more treatment left). It was unusually quiet and I settled into my book with a few other patients milling around.   A few minutes into my wait, a young couple came into the wait area, the man was in a wheelchair and promptly collapsed himself onto the bench seating nearby me exclaiming how everything hurt, making an oh so familiar sound of discomfort. His partner put his head on her lap and was stroking it.  I was quickly transported back four years to when I was trying to support and be there for my husband.  It became hard to not scrutinize this young couple further, but I really didn't want to stare. 
As we sat waiting for our respective treatments, I couldn't help but feel the desire to reach out to them.  I wanted to say, "Hey, I've been there" or "If you want to talk to someone who knows that space, here's where you can reach me." But I didn't say a thing. I felt at the same time I'd be intruding; really, a moral dilemma.  They, of course, had no idea what knowledge I hold, and I did not want to impose.  I found myself starting to compose a letter:
Hi anonymous young couple,
I don't know your situation, nor do I want to intrude. What appears is something I strongly relate to.  Perhaps you, the young woman, could be me 4 years ago - my husband was diagnosed with a rare cancer which then became terminal.  If you want someone to talk to that's "been there" you're welcome to contact me...
The couple got called for treatment before I finished the letter and had a chance to discreetly slip it to the young woman. I learned something from this.  I have been thinking a lot about "what next" for my future and pondering the possiblity of doing work with families impacted by cancer/bereavement.  I figure if I had such a strong desire to reach out, that perhaps this is an area to explore despite my hesitations, despite logically wondering if I want my life experiences of the past few years to become my work life and career.

The Connection that Continues

In the next couple of days I will be approaching the three year date since my husband’s passing.  This is a somewhat odd point in my journey of life.  First, on the concrete timeline aspect, I have actually been widowed longer than I have been married.  That sure is strange; yet it doesn’t feel like I have been away from my husband for three years.  I think this is because I not only think of him daily, but I experience his presence frequently.  Now, this may seem a bit weird to some, but what I have found is that as I talk about death with some of my closer friends, many of them have had experiences of the presence of a loved one after they have passed.

One of my friends suggested that I make a list of these experiences, so I figure that on this significant anniversary, why not share some things that have occurred.

There are some experiences that perhaps have been tricks of my brain, although since there has been so much frequency, I doubt it at this point.  In this category was the feeling of a breeze caressing my arm on the morning of my first wedding anniversary after my husband passed. More recently, after a very late night celebrating my birthday I was woken up early with a call from my brother to turn on my computer to Skype (he’s travelling Asia right now); I groggily went downstairs, started my computer; started a stovetop espresso and started emptying the dishwasher.  I know my habits and before taking off espresso off the stove I check to ensure the coffee has filled to the top; except I got caught in thoughts and forgot about my espresso until I finished unloading the dishwasher.  When I realized I forgot my espresso, I turned to the stove, thinking oh no my espresso, but the stove was off.  Perhaps I groggily turned it off, but I’m sure I didn’t.  The espresso was made perfectly.  My only explanation is my husband did it for me and I thanked him.

Other incidents, of a somewhat more concrete nature: walking into my home after being away all day and smelling espresso (my husband loved his coffee) throughout my house; going into a supermarket and hearing “Green Eyes” by Coldplay – a song that my husband knew I associated with him... and a song that I don’t think is typically played in public places, I don’t think it was released to radio etc. So, strange coincidence, perhaps, but I like to think it reflects my husband’s presence, and perhaps it makes the grief process more bearable, that somehow he is still with me in spirit. I like to think about it as part of our ongoing connection and ways to communicate despite being in different dimensions i.e. the physical  vs. the non-physical spiritual world.

Yesterday there was the weird thing of my cell phone not working when I was going to call my therapist to say I was late.  It kept resetting when I went to my contact list.  I arrived at my therapist’s and shared my apology for being late and explained my cell was doing weird things.  She shared her phone did something weird temporarily that she associated with the loss of someone she was close to and this lead to her sharing reflections written by one of her colleagues that she is collaborating with. The reflection actually answered a struggle I‘ve been having with my extended family.  In fact, if I did not share about my phone difficulties, I doubt that my therapist would have shared this with me and I don’t know if that would have become the content of the session, but this was the right thing for me to gain from session.  Interestingly my phone is now working properly.

So, make what you want out of these incidents (and there are more than I have shared). I personally like to think of it as connection that continues.

On Grief

Grief is an awing process.  In some ways it never stops.  Yet grief is also memories; good memories of my relationship with another person who enriched my life. Today, I felt that heart-stopping gasp of pain? Sorrow? The chasm of a love(r) removed from my heart? Whose pain lingers for the rest of the day after its arrival. I feel this periodically, no longer every day. It still takes me by suprise although it’s presence is as familiar as an old friend.  A simple conversation with family about what we recall about our loved one who has left our physical world but remains alive in our hearts and memories; a conversation that has occurred countless times in these walls, however this time, not the first or last I’m sure, the tears well up unexpectedly even though I have had these conversations without tears before. I wonder why today?  Today was a glorious fall day, with lots of fun and frolic with my son.  Today had great ideas and conversations shared with friends. Today was full of love and joy. Perhaps today is reflective of much of the time I spent with my husband - how we lived together. I know it isn’t a significant anniversary.  Curious the way grief holds the heart and when it provokes a greater emotional expression.

The day that music died

Although a line from the song 'American Pie'; somewhere before my husband actually died, I stopped playing piano. Further, I stopped loving music and no longer listened/paid attention to music. For the non-music lover, this may not be so remarkable. However I love music. 

Music is in my soul.  I breathed music as a teen, having music accompany me for every waking hour of my day – and I still can name songs I liked within a couple of notes and can sing the lyrics all these years later. I took years of piano lessons, learned to play recorder then flute in school. It was my refuge for expressing emotion for many years. As an adult I would relax from a trying day by playing familiar pieces on piano. I was teaching myself jazz to accompany one of my friends who sings. My husband and I invested in a digital piano as a joint Christmas gift one year.

So, imagine the realization that I am no longer listening to music – or liking music. Further, when I start to play piano I start crying – it hurts my heart too much.  At this point I could only listen to radio as selecting as song I liked from my vast cd collection seemed just not interesting – or more likely too painful for my ears.  I recognize now this was one of the ways I was grieving.

Slowly I started to hear new music that would appeal to me.  I think, listening primarily to CBC (the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation – public radio), I started to relate to a song – ‘Heartbroken’ by Canadian Meaghan Smith. This evolved to other songs of heartache that I started to be able to listen to, then sing.  I started to try playing my beloved piano again. Not very frequently, mind you. And teaching myself something new – I wasn’t quite ready for that.

Now, two and a half years later, I am finally able to play songs that I can tell my son; your daddy liked this piece. I am actually singing along to songs I loved at one point in my life and are full of memories.  I am finding out about new bands. I am teaching myself new pieces. And with the impetus of my uncle, I think I’m going to try and teach myself guitar (my uncle gave me his old guitar with a fingering book).

I think I can now say that music is alive. As I write that I take a deep breath and sigh, finally. In many ways my emotional life has been connected to music.  It stuns me to reflect that I have been so disconnected from music for so long.  At the same time, I believe my reconnection to music is a reflection of the healing I have done, and my emotional readiness to really engage life fully again.

On Loss

Earlier this week, Canadian politician, Jack Layton died of cancer. Jack, as he is affectionately referred to, made so many contributions to my city as he initially was a city councillor here; he went on to become the leader of the official opposition. As a social worker I have seen and supported many of the changes and causes that Jack advocated for in public policy that created change for communities.  It is a great loss for our communities and country. 

The loss of Jack has touched many deeply, including myself.  I think I feel his passing intensely as in some ways the loss of Jack reminds me of the loss of Al, my husband; the loss of someone who always had something positive to contribute and to share with those around him. As I read my words, I think of the importance of reframing.  I have been focused on loss. What is more important is how much I have gained by these amazing people who have touched my life.  It is a reminder of how to live life fully. It is a reminder that death does not mean the end but the beginning of a legacy that started with living. And through remembering and story-telling, the departed continues to live.

Jack had written a letter to Canadians just hours before he died.  I’d like to share the last paragraph which I believe are words to live by, and describe how I try to live.

 “My friends, love is better than anger.  Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

On tranformation

It's been awhile since I've posted anything.  I must admit this recent treatment took a bit out of me.  First, it's a new set of drugs, then there are the steroids that they ask me to take to better tolerate the drugs and to minimize reactions.  The steroids really hyped me up (see last blog entry), but with chemo drugs that are supposed to fatigue more than the last set, well, it was inevitable that I would crash and it is only now that I seem to be picking myself up to have enough energy for things beyond the basics needed for living my day to day life with my little guy.
I have made time for myself, despite the fatigue. I am dedicated to the idea of tranformation, especially around the emotionally difficult.  This time of year is difficult for me as it is my wedding anniversay (June 17 would have been 5 years), Father's Day and my son's birthday (bittersweet as I love celebrating with my son but it always seems so evident that his dad is not here). Back to transformation, two years ago with my first wedding anniversay without Al, I was still quite numb and in a very difficult spot.  Through a variety of limitations of people's schedules, I ended up negotiating my leave of absence with my workplace on this day.  I had my very close childhood friend come and help with this process.
After sorting out my leave of absence, needing to relax and celebrate that the negotiation was done, we went to a nice restaurant to eat. We found we cried, we talked about Al and what wonderful things he taught us and what an amazing husband and dad he was.  We drank wine and ordered food "that Al would approve of." Al and I really connected over food, some would call us foodies and we really enjoyed variety and quality of food (both that we would cook ourselves and that which is made for us). Since, June 17 has become a day to go out with this friend (and her husband this year) and have "food Al would approve of". Sorta a celebration of life and love and great food. This year we went to a restaurant that focuses on farm fresh meats and produce (pretty much all organic, free range, grass fed, etc), only cooking what is in season and what they procure from the farmers they work with.  We shared a wonderful cheese platter, I had pork done two ways on wilted kale with a purple potato latke, and we shared a coffeecake (baked in a jam jar) with a espresso creme anglais. Thoroughly enjoyable, making my taste buds dance (despite the horrible mouth sores that developed at the top of my throat).  I was determined I was going to enjoy the dinner as really, the date is inescapable and tears and missing feelings tend to predominate. So I roll with it and try and find some things to look forward to and make the day different, something to celebrate rather than mourn.
Father's Day and hopefully my son's birthday, have become big family gatherings.  I do work with my son and ask what he wants to do for Father's Day.  He wanted to draw pictures to put at his dad's gravesite. So that's what we do. After we had an outing with my folks and then spent the evening with my husband's family & my folks having a big Italian meal that my mom-in-law likes to do for celebrations. My son's birthday celebration with family will be another big gathering, only at my home with everyone being recruited to help with set up/ clean up/ food.  There is something about being near family (or friends), enjoying each others' company and cheer that allows for these difficult days be a little less difficult.