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.