Fond memory

The first time I went into a shoe store after Faye died it was a painful experience for me because of the memories it brought up.

Faye had bad feet and it was difficult, very difficult, to find shoes that fit properly, were comfortable and attractive.

I've spent many hours hanging around shoe stores while Faye tried on shoe after shoe. I sympathized greatly with the poor clerks pulling out shoes for her.

Now Faye was a sweetheart. And she clearly needed to be careful when buying new shoes. They would fit in the store but hurt her feet a few days.  So she was obviously not a difficult customer. But I think she wore out more than few clerks.

A year ago I really could not spend time in shoe stores, even if I honestly needed new shoes, because of the triggering of sad memories.

That memory has switched to sweet and slightly amusing. So inch by inch this mountain is becoming mine.

Pressing on.

Long and winding road

Every bit of this journey of grief and healing is long--longer than I could ever expect--and winding--windier in more ways than I dreamed off. Mind you, who dreams of losing half your heart.

It seems I miss Faye in new ways every other day.

The newest way is interesting. Or it would be interesting if I could examine it from the outside looking in--or objectively. Of course I can't do that.

But I've been blessed with hints about a new life and healing and good things ahead.

One of several items is encouragement arising through my involvement in Toastmasters. I've won a competition and evaluators of veteran Toastmasters have been very encouraging.

That makes me happy but then I think about how much, how very much, I'd like to talk to Faye about it. But I can't. That pang is worth it, but it's a pang nonetheless.

And then I think about the impossible--how much I would like to have Faye's hand in mine as I watch this exciting new journey. It would happen.

The road ahead is winding and foggy in places. But I am excited. Yet I ache.

Pressing on.

Coroner's report

I was finally called by the office of the coroner last week--14 months after Faye's death, with the final report on the cause of death.

It was natural, of course, and everything I actually suspected. Now I'm dealing with regret, just slight but regret nonetheless, that I could have and should have dragged her to the hospital that last night.

But the past is the past. She didn't want to go.

And so I press on.

More fallout

The loss of a spouse creates a wide range of fallout--beyond the grief itself.

For instance shared household responsibilities are no longer shared--there's no one to share them with.  So the one left behind is forced to do things they didn't do previously, or take complete responsibility for something they shared. All that, of course, adds to the loneliness, the sense of loss and the disarray coming from that loss.

The fallout from Faye's death includes, in my case, weight gain. Some people lose weight when grieving, others, like me, gain weight.

Faye was my nutritional conscience.
Yes, she didn't hesitate to talk about it if she thought I was getting off course. And she was very disciplined in her eating habits.

But she was so much more than that. She was my partner in health. We were on the same page. And when I lost her I frankly got lost in terms of my goals for health and fitness. I came unglued.

For months after that dreadful day I honestly didn't give a rip. My give a rip button was broken. Now it's flickering on and off. There's so much involved in that, including the lack of joy in eating alone. Every time I make a good meal I find myself wishing Faye was enjoying it with me. Obviously laziness and lack of discipline plays in as well.

But here I am now--fat and unhappy about it. And I can't help but think how upset Faye would be if she was here. Although she could hardly be unhappier about it than I am.

So what do I do about it?

I know what to do. I know how to eat. I do know how to take care of myself. So I need to take action on doing what I know to do. I need to start enjoying healthy meals. I need to set aside time to prepare food. And I can't get anywhere beating myself up about it.

The past is past. Time to control. And I need understand--and I do--inch by inch, inch by inch and step by step. This mountain too, will be mine.

Pressing on.

Ain't No Grave (LIVE) - Bethel Music | VICTORY

Broken brain; broken heart

I've begun to slowly reread to the book The Grief Recovery Workbook by John W. James and Russel Friedman.

In the very early pages there's a quote that I highlighted on my first trip through the book. It obviously struck me that first time, but it struck me even more strongly today.

They say "Grief is about a broken heart, not a broken brain." I think that is absolutely true. Let me see if I can explain why I think it's true.

At one level, when Faye died my heart was broken, or even ripped in half but my brain was not.  That's not to say I haven't suffered brain fog, or have always been in a place of great mental clarity.

Grief does cause brain fog. But I wonder if, maybe, that's really just the brain protecting you from being destroyed by your sorrow.

I'm thinking out loud here. My blog, I get to do that.

It was my heart that was broken. It's my heart that needs to be healed. Far too many well meaning people attempt to address my brain in their efforts to comfort.

Telling me that Faye's in a better place is an example of that. m
My brain knows that perfectly well. (To be honest my brain also thinks that cliche is a pretty mushy way to describe the glory of Heaven where is more alive than ever. My brain gets it. My brain doesn't need to ponder that. It's my heart that misses her and it's my heart that's aching and lonely today.

Another thing grievers hear is something to the effect of "you should be over this by now." I must have some wise friends because I've never heard that. I know many grievers who have. That's an attempt to address broken brains, while missing the broken hearts that are at issue.

How are broken hearts healed? That's a hard one. I'm not sure I have the answer. But I know I need to express my sorrow, as openly as possible. Simply dealing with it and moving on offers no help to the broken heart. Understanding the deep emotional need of the broken hearted ones, while respecting the facts that their brains are fully functional is helpful. Friendship is helpful. Refraining from offering advice about something you might not understand is helpful.

It's my heart that needs healing, not my brain.

But I press on.

A flippant post

I'm going to be flippant in this post. I might even indulge in a little bit of black humour. But I'm smiling as I think about it. So I'm going to post it because this blog is all about being as honest as I can possibly be about everything to do with Faye, grief and recovering from grief.

I'm going to think about linking to it on Facebook for a bit. I have a little concern some people might misunderstand my heart in talking like this.

I haven't decided what to do with Faye's ashes. She did not have a sentimental attachment to any particular place that comes to mind. And I don't either.

A month or two ago, however, I read about a company that incorporates ashes into fireworks. And I began to think about it and laugh and laugh.

Faye was an absolute bundle of energy, ready to explode. She was the ultimate Energizer Bunny. Something about sending her off in an explosion of heavenly beauty and energy that the whole town can see makes me smile. Actually I'm chuckling as I write this.

Would I actually do that? Mmm. I don't know. I think a lot of people wouldn't understand. So probably not.

Remembering Faye fondly and pressing on.

Persistence

I'm dwelling on a fond memory of Faye this morning. She was one persistent lady--like white on rice, or a dog on a bone--that kind of persistence. You might also call it stubbornness, but it was all wrapped up in her genuinely good heart.

She was persistent in urging me to eat well.

She was persistent in inviting people to church, particularly our old church in Manitoba, Seine River Church. Her persistent love brought many people to the congregation.

She was persistent in asking people to test the benefits of alkalized water.

Faye was not one to give up. Sometimes she was a pain even to me, but at the end of the day I loved that quality. And I admired her.

Pressing on.

Ain't No Grave (LIVE) - Bethel Music | VICTORY

Southern Gospel Revival: Jamie Wilson - I Can't Even Walk

Focusing on the process

I've been listening to this book on the right, The Practicing Mind: Bringing Discipline and Focus Into Your Life by Thomas M. Sterner.

It's about focus and discipline and living in the moment, but not necessarily in the sense that I associate with Zen. (Confession I don't really know that much about Zen.)

It particularly applies to learning and improving skills by focusing on whatever I'm doing at the moment. I, for instance,  have trouble with letting myself get distracted. Over the last 14 months I've often let myself get distracted by memories of Faye or sadness, or my sense of loss.

Sterner recommends focusing on the process rather than the results.

In a couple of days I'm going to be participating in a Toastmasters competition.

 Focusing on the process certainly is applicable to my preparation for the competition and to the actual competing.Focusing on the process keeps me laser focused on what I'm doing right now, preparing and practicing and then, ultimately, speaking before and audience who will judge my speech and critique. By focusing on process. I will benefit and grow, regardless of the outcome.

I will get better at speaking in front of an audience, which at the end of the day is what I want. I want to get better. Winning is good, getting better is better.

What does all this have to do with grief?

Let me see if I can articulate it. One of the first steps to living through the loss of someone you love, as I loved Faye, is doing the next thing.

That, is focusing on the process. Paying full attention to what I'm doing right now.

For the grieving person--for me at least--it is very easy to get anxious about the end result. When will the loneliness stop, when will the sadness finally come to an end, when will my life finally be back in order.

I can't control any of that. I truly can't.

I can control what I'm doing right now, which is writing this blog post. And I can, and am, focusing on it and the process of writing and getting better at writing, expressing myself better. In the process I get better, inch by inch.

Pressing on.

Steps forward

I've mentioned I want to take an Everest trek next year as part of my journey of healing.

Well I have taken first steps toward that by making contact with a company that leads treks in the Himalaya.

I have an itinerary from them. I also have a breakdown of the length of daily hikes. It all looks amazing.

I also bought a book on trekking the Himalaya. Many fascinating and challenging treks. They appear to be very challenging, but they also appear doable.

Of course, I understand I will need to make sure my soft white, umm, lower back, is fit for this kind of thing.

Who knows what my next year-and-a-half will bring. But this is firmly in my plans.

Pressing on.

Her fragilities

I've been thinking about Faye's flaws, or perhaps rather her fragilities. Because they didn't hinder my love for her, they were part of what and who I embraced.

I started along this train of thought when her glasses--the glasses she was wearing when she died--caught my eye. She couldn't see at all without her glasses on.

Then I started thinking about some other things. For instance, Faye was a very poor speller. And numbers somehow always eluded her.

I look back at those little weaknesses, and yes they were little, with nothing but affection. She regularly asked me for help with her spelling or to correct some minor numbers error, for instance putting one zero too many or too few on a number. And yes, I'm smiling.

A lot of people may have thought Faye was just this confident, practical, blunt farm girl but she was more sensitive than may have been apparent on the surface. She had a great sensitivity to the thought she wasn't very smart. It was one of those self doubts that can trouble people.

Sometimes I may have hurt her by saying, or doing, something that made her think I felt she was stupid. She wasn't and I didn't feel that but it's one those little regrets.

And all of those things filled my heart with tenderness toward to wonderful woman God blessed me with.

Pressing on.

PSTC 044 Gracias - Marcos Witt

Gracias Señor

Tender, sad, sweet and healing moments come.

A sensitive worship leader led our church in singing the Spanish song Gracias, a song of gratitude to Jesus. It was deeply moving for me.

I think it was the second Sunday after Faye died I asked if she would lead the congregation in this song because the song is special to me. The reason it's special is another story.

I even have the words Gracias Señor (thank you, Lord) tattooed on my arm as a reminder, in my flesh, to be grateful every single day.

I forget sometimes but I usually managed to stay on track.

So I'm thankful for 24 years with a beautiful. I'm thankful to God for His grace and kindness to me.

And thank you, Karen.

I tried to embed it into this post but it's not working for me, so I will post it above.

Time to tidy up

I'm about to start to re-read this book--the life-changing magic of tidying up by Marie Kondo.

I struggle with letting clutter accumulate in my house specifically and in my life generally. I'm a messy. Yep, I admit it, I'm a messy. I would probably benefit from joining some type of messies anonymous group.

My one word for 2019 is simplify. I feel clear direction to make my life simpler. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what that looks like in every way, but I do believe it will involve eliminating clutter and tidying up. And that will make my life freer and happier. I'm aware of that, although it will be a struggle.

And that brings a memory to my mind. (By the way that is not my office to the right. My office is not quite this bad.)

The last task that Faye and I performed together was to follow the principles of this book to tidy up our clothing. We did that on Christmas day of 2017.

It was actually enjoyable and our closets and dressers looked so much better after we finished.

Nothing made Faye happier than when we worked alongside each other in specific tasks--tidying up our clothing, yard work, or even working together on some type of craft). She was truly happy when we did that kind of thing. It probably spoke her love language, which certainly involved service.

So diving into decluttering will bring up memories but I press on.

Chaos and disorder

Chaos, emotional chaos, never seems to be far away for me these days. The journey is grief is not a linear one--it is a tangled mess, with one emotion this day, and another the next.

After a lengthy break for happiness the monster has grabbed me by the ankle again. The truth is, I really am better equipped to handle the monster than I was even a few months ago. But he is still a monster. And he still wants to drag me under all the time.

It's a fight for me again. I know I will get back on top. I know God is with me. I know I will conquer this mountain of mine. But the fight is on again.

Yesterday would have been Faye's 74th birthday. And how I wish she was here for it.

It was one of those triggering days that occur as part of the journey I--and all my grieving friends--are on. I love my grieving friends. Even those I've never met and maybe never will are family. We have a bond.

Happy birthday, my Queen. I miss you, but I press on.

Beth Hart - Take It Easy On Me

Her sheepdog

I often used to refer to myself as Faye's sheepdog. That was not a reference to my appearance.

It was my shorthand for being her guardian, that doesn't capture it, but it will have to do until I come up with a better way of putting.

The thing is Faye was an innocent--that is not, in the slightest, a reflection on her intelligence. Faye was a pure heart. She really, truly, was.

She did not a grain of deceit in her character or a cynical or untrusting bone. Everybody who knew, and loved Faye teased her because of those qualities.

I was her sheep dog. I took responsibility for protecting her when someone may have been trying to take advantage of her trusting nature. I also helped her sort her priorities when she got overwhelmed with stress and busy-ness. And I would remind her of how beautiful she was.

All of this was a delight.

I was her sheepdog until the time when I couldn't protect her.