Which way am I facing?

 There's no super easy way to say this.

On September 6, around 11:45 am, my husband quietly slipped away into Eternity, after a brief (3-months is brief) but intense battle with metastatic (i.e., Stage 4) pancreatic cancer, which affected his liver, one adrenal gland, and eventually his stomach.

He died of a gastrointestinal bleed, a fancy way of saying he lost a lot of blood and threw it up. Transfusions had worked the previous day, but this time, his body was having none of it. His organs started shutting down. By then, it was a matter of making him comfortable, and it wasn't long after that when he breathed his last.

I'm not going to tell you all that happened. Some of it was intensely personal and very wrenching.  

The week after that day, all that week, people gathered around me and my daughter, and they loved on us. They cared for us. And love (as I have said so many times before) does heal. 

His service was the following Friday. And it was amazing. I felt as though he were watching from Heavenly places. Perhaps in another dimension we can't see. Perhaps in that very room. 

I cannot describe or explain how this can be. When we first heard he might have cancer on June 1 (and it was confirmed June 16), I had this terrifying moment of sheer panic. And then I remembered who was in the room. My daughter was sitting beside me ... and I knew I couldn't afford to fall apart because she would need me - and so would he. So, I stayed strong, even when I felt so very frail inside. 

I truly believed he would be physically healed and that the miracle would be a testimony to the greatness and power of our God. When it became clear that physical healing didn't happen, I was ill-prepared for the flood of sadness and shock and grief that flooded me on that morning. 

But ... but ... God knew I would need someone, not my daughter, but someone, to lean on and grieve with. My daughter was carrying her own pain and didn't want to be comforted. 

But about 10 minutes before hubby passed, my best girlfriend phoned me. "I can't talk right now," I told her. "Do you want me to come?" she intuitively asked. "Yes, please," I said. "I'll be right there." And she was ... but only after he had stopped breathing, and we were in fresh grief. It hit her too, for we were all such great friends together ... and for the next hour, we sat there, unwilling to leave... because leaving would mean they would take his body to the morgue.

Free image by pixabay.com

Finally, though, as we sat in silence, I began to feel restless, and we gathered up our things - and his - and we took our leave. Nurses hugged us and told us how sweet he always was. "I know," I said. "He was just so grateful for the excellent care you gave to him." 

The rest of the week seems like a blur. Somehow, however, I managed to get the details of the Celebration of Life service put together and someone to speak, folks to serve as pallbearers, music chosen, and so forth. And it all came and went in a jumble of faces, words, and final duties. 

And suddenly, a week had passed and I was amazed at how well I was sleeping (Ativan is a thing!) and still functioning day to day. And then I saw it.

An email from a training organization that sometimes gives free workshops on various topics, offered one (in 3 parts) on helping clients through grief. Hmmmm. Well, I guess I could check this out!

The speaker was Tara Brach, who is a mindfulness-based psychologist. And in those 45 minutes or so, she suggested turning TOWARD grief, instead of AWAY from it. It's normal to turn away from something that is painful. But in turning toward it, we allow ourselves to experience the deep feelings that need to be expressed, and in so doing, we participate in our own healing. 

I had been cringing away from this thing. The crying I was doing was (with rare exceptions) making me feel worse. Until I participated in Tara's demonstration guided imagery exercises. And then, when I cried, I was feeling my feelings with NO JUDGMENT ... and I was able to start the healing process. 

So I'm learning to ask myself, "Which way am I facing?" Am I running away from my pain, or am I turning toward it and accepting my own vulnerability and need for comfort? Am I allowing sadness to accomplish its work and gather people around me who will help me? The more I do that, the more completely I will heal and embrace my "new normal."  

 

 

  

Summer Daze

 I passed in my last assignment (revised per my prof's instructions) on August 6, 2021. Four hours later, she emailed me and told me that I was done and congratulations, and to enjoy my summer!  Just like that!

It took quite a while for the fact to sink in that I was done my Masters degree. Done homework. Done writing papers for marks. Done. It's still sinking in that I can enjoy a vacation for what feels like the first time in a very long time. Not an enforced one, or taking time off to do self-care, but a real, honest-to-goodness vacation! I had almost forgotten what it felt like ... so for the last week or so, I've been enjoying that feeling.

But I'm not done learning. That never ends.

The summer has been muggy, and the last two or three weeks has been super hot for this part of the country. One day the "feels like" temperature, or humidex, was 41 degrees Celsius (about 103º Fahrenheit). That was brutal. Plus, the mosquitoes! We have been so grateful for any breeze strong enough to blow those little suckers away ... pun intended. 

The garden has grown in leaps and bounds, with regular watering from the sky or from the garden hose if there's no rain in a week. I have harvested peas and radishes, and watched corn, winter squash, and cucumbers grow. Beets? Beans? Not so much... A few came up but the beets are scrawny and the beans are few. We have potato plants, but I think the high heat really scorched them. Plus there were some caterpillars helping themselves to the leaves. No blossoms yet. But all in all, it's coming. And oh yes - one of our young apple trees actually is growing an apple! It's maybe 3 years old so we weren't expecting any fruit this year. So in September, we'll be able to harvest this one lone apple from our Red Nova tree. 

Free pic by Jessica Bolander at Pixabay:
Cucumber growing

Right now, it's really easy for me to stress out about the future. I sent in my application to the Canadian Counselling and Psychotherapy Association (CCPA) for a designation as a Canadian Certified Counsellor (CCC), but these things take time. (I hate waiting, just in case you forgot.) So it's been an exercise in self-care to let go of my obsession with getting everything done and getting moving on opening an office, because I really can't do that before being certified. So, I take one step at a time. One day at a time. I've even made an agreement with myself to NOT check the status of my application this weekend, but to enjoy what is, in the present moment, and not to fret about things I cannot change. 

So, I have been spending time in my veggie garden, learning from Nature, reminding myself to be patient and let things happen, and doing things I enjoy doing. Like blogging for example. ;) And feeling free enough to watch a movie on Netflix with the family from time to time. 

Part of me feels like I'm in a daze ... in limbo ... on hold, and I rail against it, wanting the next part of my journey to kick in. And another part of me says to myself, "So...this is what it feels like to be on vacation. It feels kinda good!" Well, I suppose that within a few weeks or so, I'll be busy enough ... so I guess I had better enjoy these summer days while they last. One daze - er - one day at a time.

Quiet

It's quiet in the house. The dog is sleeping, and the only sound is the faint whirring of fans as they cool the room, our computers, and occasionally, the fridge. Plus the sound of my typing. And of course my ever-present tinnitus.

When it's quiet, sometimes my thoughts race as I wonder or even worry about what is to come. Sometimes I do something to fill the void: write a grocery list, play music, anything but be silent in my own thoughts. Other times, though, like this time, I tune into what I'm thinking about and set it aside in favor of experiencing this moment, this one fleeting experience, and enjoying it. I feel the rhythm of my breathing, and I remain present in that rhythm, being grateful for the breath of life. I see patches of sunshine come in their brilliance, and pass behind clouds, hiding the sun's rays in a cloak of water droplets. I marvel at how everything seems so still when the Earth is actually hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour; it is a miracle that we do not fly off the face of the planet. I tune into my spirit and notice that today, it is content. I am grateful for that contentment.

Photo "Sun Ray Behind Dark Clouds"
by Sura Nualpradid at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Sometimes my husband will comment on something that he has seen or learned, and we discuss it. Time with him, when he is truly present (like now) brings such peace and joy to me. I enjoy his company, which, although it sounds trite, rarely has need for words, but we talk anyway.

I hear the footfalls of my daughter as she awakens to another day. I wonder if she will be in more or in less pain than she was yesterday. She is never totally without it. Once, that realization troubled me deeply, because I had an unhealthy need to fix it; now, I am amazed and inspired by her courage and tenacity. She has taught me about so many things just by living them in her life: acceptance, tolerance, maturity, friendship, and more. I am grateful for her quiet, indomitable and yet vulnerable spirit.

I think about my friends. I am amazed by their patience with me as I have been so busy juggling career and school that I have rarely had enough (sometimes not any) time to spend with them as I would like. I know they support me in my chosen path - which means a great deal to me - and I hope to have a bit more time to spend with them as my work life comes to a close and I can concentrate more on school without that added burden of making a living. I have missed our times of fellowship together. With COVID-19 restricting our movements the last few months, I have become acutely aware of the effects of prolonged isolation even on a confirmed introvert like me. How awful it must be for those who need social contact to feel complete! They must feel like they are running on empty all the time! It firms my resolve to reconnect with my friends, one at a time, even though the chief health officer has deemed that it must be at a distance... so no hugging. 😞

The puppy has awakened now, and is letting us know there is a delivery person at a neighbour's house. The silence is broken, but I am left with a sense of calm and peace that remains with me.

I like that feeling.