Learning from Loss

Welcome

Welcome. I'm am both glad you are here and sad you are here. I am guessing you are in the midst of unimaginable loss or you are a close friend of someone who is and you don't know what to do to help. First, let me level set. Nothing I say can fix this. It's not fixable but hopefully my words can help.

So, who am I? I'm just somebody making her way in this world and living a seemingly ordinary life. I met the love of my life in college while working at a restaurant. Reid and I didn't get along all that well in the beginning but grew to be very good friends and then, 3 days after my 24th birthday, we got married. Fast forward 23 years, a couple of kids, dogs, cats, homes, jobs and vacations later................he died.

Just like that, everything changed. "Ordinary" isn't in my vocabulary anymore but it doesn't mean I am not living a good life. So, who am I not? Well, I am not a psychiatrist....though I did major in psychology....it plays no part in my healing. I don't know everything about loss. Reid got sick and fought until the very end. It wasn't until his final 6 hours that "there is nothing more we can do". We always had hope. So, I don't claim to know what it is like to lose hope months in advance. I didn't lose him in a "sudden" accident- and I have a whole opinion of how we use that word in the grief world. I can say that I know what it is like to go through the worst experience of your life and be ok-ish.

I haven't lost my parents but I witnessed my favorite kids in the world lose their dad. I have the support of my brother anytime I need it. I can't comprehend losing him. Some of my favorite men on the planet lost their youngest brother- I saw them hurt. That hurts. I have my children but I saw a elderly man in tears when he lost his youngest son. My parents had to nearly ignore their pain of losing their "son" to support their daughter and grand-daughters. I heard from high school kids in disbelief that their teacher who impacted their life so much was gone- but I never lost my favorite teacher. I'm not a doctor- have never lost a patient. I witnessed the doctors who were so much a part of our lives struggle with the reality that, despite their efforts, there was nothing they could do. One of my best friends lives right across the street from me. Another lives in Hawaii (not a bad friend to visit). My best friend from kindergarten is about 20 miles away. I can't imagine losing any of them but I've seen it happen and witnessed grown men fight overwhelming emotion as they said goodbye to their childhood best friend.

So, I don't claim to know everything about every situation. I only lost my husband, and that's a pretty big deal. I want to share his story, our story and most of all, I want to share the journey of recovering and assure anybody who is reading this that living a good life will happen. It will be different forever but it will happen.

~ Laura Webster

A gift of more "I'm Lucky"

Many of us who have traveled through loss, have learned some intense life lessons. There is so much advice to give to others but they will never really take it unless they are on a grief journey. It's just human nature. But we are on the ready to support when the time comes.

What if

What if the one who needs to learn from your experience is not one who is grieving.....but one who is leaving. Writing that takes my breath away but let's think this through. I have said many phrases in my head that have began with "I wish he would have...", "I wish I could....", "I'm so lucky he did....".... For everything from being thankful he saved those home improvement receipts or organized the tools to wishing he would have left a longer voice mail and many things in between.

What if

What I had known I would be thankful or wishing before? Would we have done things differently? This, is the gift I wish to give to woman I know. As she is facing......leaving.....she is desparately trying to make things easier on those she adores. She wants them to have less "I wish" and more "I'm lucky" as they start their own journey. Her courage is powerful and her selflessness is inspirational.

This requires crowdsourcing so when I feel like I have enough information, I will share the link with her.

Thank you for sharing your life lessons!

Click the comments, add ANY I wish or I'm Lucky or whatever words describe you with any story that says it best. Add your name and location if you want. Otherwise, it will say "Anonymous" and that will be just as wonderful. You can share with others....or not. You are gifting this knowledge to a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend.....just to name a few or her cherished roles..

Making My Way

This is me now and I am ok. I am better than ok- I am good. I was going to take this blog down as I don't share everything here anymore but learned it was useful for somebody I know. That's all I need to keep it up and maybe even some motivation for me to keep something going. Grief is so hard to explain because it is so much more than a word. It is part of me but not all of me. For anybody going though it, you often have to sit through dark emotions but don't stay there. They don't want you to.

I am better than ok.

Happy New Year?

I probably can't speak for everybody about how New Year's Eve/Day changes when you jump into grief but I suspect some may be able to relate. This is my fifth holiday without my life partner and my third without my Dad. Since we lost my Dad over Christmas, I don't really remember the first NYE. But I do remember the first without Reid and it caught me completely off guard. I am ready for it these days and it is certainly easier than the first. New Year's is more than a day- it's a step into a new time, a new year, new ideas and is another step further away from the day when life was so much different. Further away from the world which included his presence. It's kind of a cruel reminder that everything keeps on moving forward.

I know people who are doing this day for their first time without a parent, sister, a wife or a husband. They, too, might be blindsided by this unexpected emotion of New Year's Day. So far, I can say that it never goes away but I can also say it does get better. That first year you are blinded from the good that did or will happen as you only have space for the grief that is now.

I know people who are celebrating their daughter is cancer free. I celebrated my niece turning two and will hold my new nephew in just weeks. I was forced to spend every hour of every day with my youngest. She is tired of it for sure but I feel like it did something amazing to the unique relationship we already have. I watched my oldest try new experiences and new places. Her pandemic experience led her to her toddler who needs her. I got to meet that family and hear first hand the impact she is having. Her Dad is super proud, as is mine. Well, and of course, I am!

Taking these steps away from the past- that feeling is still there and it's not a good one. But it doesn't overwhelm anymore to the point of missing what there is to celebrate. This year will be a good one and I am grateful to be here to do it.

Grief doesn't go away but it does get easier to carry.

Race Day- round 4

Today, on this 4th anniversary of his last day, I couldn't write anything better. I got a text today from the Make it 20 inspiration. "Happy Race Day. We think of you and the girls often.". It really is the little things.

Race Day- 7/7/2019

This is a picture of me after the first time I walked the Fueled by Fine Wine half marathon- one of the most difficult in the country. Reid volunteered there so he could meet me at the finish line with my medal. He was crazy proud of the accomplishment and was my biggest fan. Volunteering also got him into the wine tent after the race and we love wine tents. I went on to do that race 3 more times. The last time was right when we had gotten thrown into the life of medical uncertainty. I didn't think I would ever do it it again and haven't. This is the last year of the race. It falls on the 3rd anniversary of his last day. I am meant to spend that day battling hills. Tomorrow is race day.

As I have the previous two year, I will remember the 5am call from the hospital. I will remember the tearful good-byes our daughters said while he could still hear them. I will remember family and friends rushing to the hospital, just for one last moment with him. I will continue to be amazed that the doctor, the nurse and I, the final three in the room with him for his last breath, all share the same name. I find that to be so interesting. I will remember thanking him over and over for loving me even when I wasn't so lovable and assured him I felt the same. I will remember them giving me his blanket, which his youngest daughter still sleeps with every day. I will remember every single detail of my darkest day ever. But I won't stay there.

I will remember him at the water station. I will remember him at the finish line. I will feel his presents with me through the whole thing because I believe more than I ever have before that it's true. I will close the Fueled by Fine Wine days.

I always refer to July 7th as his last day. There isn't really a good word for it. Maybe, starting this year, I will call it 'race day'.

No such thing as being 'low risk'

There are plenty of motivating positive stories out there so, if you need one of those, this isn't it. There are also a lot of people that seem to think that the death rate in this pandemic isn't high enough to be concerned about. You do need this.

Have you experienced the ventilator process? Well, let me paint the picture for you. You are in a hospital, typically the ICU, with somebody who really means everything to you. Let's assume they do NOT have the virus. For whatever reason, this person cannot breath. Illness, accident, stroke- something that I am sure was not planned. Pause for a minute and think this through. They. Can't. Breath. They are terrified and desperate. Chances are their heart is racing, anxiety is up...fear is overwhelming. They. Can't. Breath. The room is loud. There is so much commotion. Doctors and nurses are guiding you out of the way so they can save this, the most important person to you. Some will come out and try to comfort you while also trying to get information from you that will help them understand what is happening to their patient, your most important person. Machines are beeping, more people are coming in, drugs are being called for, people are asking this patient for a response if they can be heard. Energy is high. They. Can't. Breath. It's ventilator time.

You are updated as you leave to the waiting room. A Chaplin is likely the first person to come see you if you are there alone. You search the area.... the Chaplin can't be here to see you. This is not happening. You don't need him. You are a survivor. Remember, they don't have the virus so it doesn't impact you.

The image when you return is jolting. The sound of the machine breathing for them is deafening and calming all at the same time. You speak to them. You might get a response that they can hear you. You might not. I'm not sure which is worse.

Drugs are keeping them calm and comfortable. For that you are enormously grateful. What happens next? If they survive, their brain might be very kind to them. "I think I remember you combing my hair" or they remember voices of encouragement or nothing at all. They likely don't remember pain. If they cannot survive, people will be brought in who are experienced in "this'. People who can use the drugs and science and experience to delicately help this broken body to the next phase....whatever you believe that to be. Maybe you will find comfort if they can be an organ or tissue donor. None of this was part of your plan today. It's both heartbreaking and painless. Quiet. Sad.

Now, as you reflect on how you are not impacted or the death rate is not high enough, rewind this story to that first pause- the peak of fear. They. Can't. Breath. It's ventilator time. Imagine if instead, the words on the next page of the story are- "we have no ventilators".

Get to your beach and your parties because this won't impact you.

Next lesson: A story of accessing your chemo port with no mask.

Surrounded by Good List opportunities

7500 people daily- that is about how many people die each day in the US. How's that for a dark introduction? We forget this is happening everywhere and that thousands of others are pushing through their most devastating moments while possibly crossing our paths. And tomorrow, there will be thousands more.

I have seen many comments this week about the loss of a great athlete. The loss of a child. Frustration with the coverage because of the others also on the fateful flight. The fact is, if Kobe had not been in that helicopter, the others would have simply been among the 7500 for most of us. That is not what is happening. Instead, the world has paused to think of all on the flight. The world has paused to understand how their surviving friends and families will go on. The world has paused and possibly reflected on their own experiences as they know what these families have ahead of them. How they will always remember where they were when they got the call and very little after. Helping children pick out an outfit to wear to the service. How they will need to relearn daily life. How each day that goes on is one further from the life they loved living.

These consuming thoughts might cause them to miss that the light turned green while angry drivers honk. The phone call might come while they are simply trying to find just the right bananas in the produce section, while eyes roll because they are on the phone. The Mom in the bleachers might not seem social as she using all of her strength to hold it together on this first child performance without her partner. Or maybe a Dad is watching the teammates to honor his child is who is no longer there.

When somebody in our circle dies, we are reminded of all of these things. When a celebrity dies we are all reminded at the same time. That is powerful. As we remember the families of those 9 people, we wish we could do something for them. Prayers, hugs, thoughts go pouring out. Remember, since that news broke, thousands more have perished and their friends and family are equally crushed........ and might be standing right in front of you right now.

You might be the first stranger they encounter in this new life. You might be the last they encounter in their old life and they don't even know that yet. Whether you are on the list of firsts or the list of lasts, be nice. Be on the good list.

Make It 20- again

Make It 20 was one of my favorite memories and most powerful lessons. I wrote it three years ago today as we launched into our first holiday without Reid. Two days after that post, Reid's Dad died. Two years after that post, my Dad was in ICU and never got out. So, here I am, three years after that post and the reminder is a healthy one.

Tomorrow is the annual party. I fear that I spent the last precious moments with my Dad worrying about who was coming to the party. Do I have enough food? Will everybody have fun? I was sad for those who couldn't be here and even more sad for those who just wouldn't. I know he enjoyed helping with the prep, laughing at the holiday chaos and planning for the fun evening of stories and memories. Of course, that party didn't happen as planned but he enjoyed just being in the moment. He was always present.

So, time to get back on track with the Make It 20 lesson. Mindfully engaging and being fully present with every face I see tomorrow will bring me happiness. We'll capture pictures to share with those so far away who we will miss so much. I will greatly appreciate the day for the gift that it is. Going into each day with that mindset will keep me grounded. It will keep me prioritizing the really important things. It will keep me being my best self in this short life.

#MakeIt20

Balance

December can be challenging for many who are traveling through a grief journey. Personally, I find the less significant days to be harder than the big ones but, no doubt, this is a tough month. There is a balance between honoring those we miss, reliving memories we adore and cherishing those still here. What really gets me through is to remember what they want.

- Balance.

- Live this short life. REALLY live it. Now.

- Love who you still have while you still have them. They aren't permanent.

- We never miss weddings and funerals but seem to let the every day time fly by without visits. Visit.

- Long for those we have lost but don't stay there. Smile. Laugh.

It's Part of Who You Are

I had a dream the other night and Reid was in it. This doesn't happen often so I am pretty excited about it when he shows up. I was happy to see him....elated actually.....but, even in my dream, I knew it was temporary. I knew he couldn't stay and that shortly he would be leaving so I inhaled the moment. With this knowledge, I was sad but not devastated. This is simply how it is.

This is what I mean by "It does get easier". I have heard a million times how it doesn't and it is such a cruel thing to say to somebody in the throws of grief. I remember hearing that in the early days- the days when it was hard to even breath at times. Days when my mind would fail me at work and I couldn't do what once came so natural to me. And then I would hear, "It never gets easier" and it terrified me. It does get easier!!! That doesn't mean the memories go away or I stop missing him. It just means the grief becomes more embedded in who you are and you learn to live with it every day. In fact, you don't want it to go away and that is still a strange mystery to me.

When I woke up from my dream, he was heavy on my mind. I was thinking about the upcoming holidays, his birthday and his daughters sharing their current life stories with family. Then, I realized it was the 7th. It was my 40th 7th. 40 months. 4-0. It seems impossibly long and impossibly short all at once. I thanked him for showing up.

Heading into month 41, yes, I still think of him every single day and that baffles me. How does a mind have that kind of capacity? I still miss him terribly but my 41st month is much much better than my 4th.

I am no longer paralyzed by his loss but carry it with me every day. It's the source of my new perspective, his void sometimes makes me sad and his memories make me smile. It's part of who I am and it helps me really live in this one short life.

He wants me to.

Candy

My youngest was barely 13 years old when she said good-bye to her Dad for the last time. I have often looked back on my life to think about what I remember when I was 12 and younger. Of course, the 'big' things stick in your mind. School, friends, parties, loss. I remember losing a Grandpa when I was 9 but really have little memory of him aside from that. I have had this fear that Reid's last day will consume her mind and she won't have room for memories of the everyday joy he brought to her. Will she only remember those really significant times? Will she block his memory to avoid sadness? He deserves so much more than that but I tread lightly on the topic.

We were shopping for Halloween candy recently and we both know we don't get any trick-or-treaters. Basically, we were shopping for candy for us. She wanted to get a bag of 100 Grand Bars. I had other favorites in mind and told her I am not crazy about those bars. She looked at me in disbelief. "What? How can you NOT like those. They were Dad's favorites.". His candy earned a spot in her memories and that gave me a sense of relief. I love how she embraces his memory.

Of course, she got a bag of 100 grand bars and I hope she gets a bag every year forever.

When Palm Trees Fall

So, recently I wrote about my Race Day Reflection as if it was some major turning point and I was 'done' with the hard part. Well, that was partially true.

Two years ago, I put in a new patio which required me to move Reid's favorite plant in the yard; the palm tree. This tree has a funny background as we had no idea how big it was going to get and quickly outgrew it's spot- right against the house. He cared for it, trimmed it up, researched palm trees in Washington state and it continued to grow.

But I had to move it and it fit it's new location perfectly. I could see it from my kitchen window, it shaded my new patio nicely and made some good whispering noise when the wind blew in it. I LOVED living with it every day. So, when it showed signs of sickness, I tried a few different things, with no luck. Finally, one day, after my race day reflection, I pushed it to see how sturdy it was. I pushed it right over. With ease, it fell to the ground. It was done. His favorite palm, my comforting shade and afternoon whispers- done. Gone. Forever. Seeing it laying there triggered emotions. But wait, I'm done with these waves, right? I closed that chapter, right?

That night, I went to my friends house (conveniently located across the street). I provided the bottle of wine and she provided the tissue box. How could this be hitting me like this 3 years into this life?! I just had this milestone and here I am like it's day 1. As always, she was completely reassuring as she drew from her, unfortunately, own extensive grief experience.

Here's the difference. I didn't stay there. It was just a quick reminder that it never goes away but it does get easier and is less frequently so disruptive. Sure, the unexpected trigger will get you but it is much easier to see it, feel it, experience it and then, walk away from it.

When palm trees fall, give yourself the grace to feel it and then get it hauled away and return to that best life you are trying to live. They want you to.

My Moms 9 Month Mark

So, today marks 9 months since I lost my Dad. It's my Moms 9 month mark in this new life without him so I felt the need to look and see where I was at 9 months. Maybe I will be able to support her better if I can somehow understand where she might be. This is where I was- deep in the throws of learning from loss. Was it Sudden, was written while I was trying to understand why we ask what we do and, I see now, it sounds quite cynical. I really wasn't angry but I was learning.

While my husband fought a mysterious illness for his last year, my Dad was taken out of nowhere. It was sudden. Sudden vs. not sudden should not be looked at as better or worse but just a very different experience. My Dad's last year of life was a good one. He wasn't facing a health crisis, loved his dog as much as his kids (ok, that might be a stretch but not much), took fabulous vacations with his absolute best friend in the world, my Mom, enjoyed all three of his granddaughters and visited his Mom frequently. It was good and I am so so thankful for that. So we didn't have months of constant heartache and painful uncertainty as we did with Reid- it still makes me sad that his last few months were like that. But the "sudden" end of my Dads presence added a different element to the grief journey. There's this level of disbelief that takes your breath away. You find yourself forgetting it is real before that cruel reality wave hits and reminds you. This is still true 9 months later.

There's no measure of more or less painful when it comes to grief, but I haven't always known that. Understanding that it all hurts bad and how it can be so different is valuable in my ability to be a supportive friend, daughter, sister and mother.

Today, I am thankful he had this moment but he is so very missed. I think I'll call my Mom.

Race Day Reflection

Something happened to me on Race Day that I have really struggled to put into words. Maybe it was Reid's work, maybe my Dad, maybe God, maybe none of those but it was a moving experience. Let me see if I can explain.

It was the 3rd anniversary of his last day. Typically, each day that recognizes that we are further from our life with him than we were the day before is painful. In my new life, I haven't liked this day and New Years day has become my most unfavorite holiday.

But this was different.

I started the race with audio books loaded, wireless headphones charged and ready for one of the most challenging walks I do. Less than a mile into it, the headphones were off. I had this overwhelming need to really comprehend the memories flying through my mind. To do something with them..

This was so different.

My youngest daughter learned, at 12 years old, what the uncertainty of illness can do to a family. She didn't know who was going to pick her up from school, she didn't know if Dad would be home planning dinner or if she would be doing her homework in a hospital room....again. She learned the relief of a possible answer to make her Dad all better and the heartache when he was suddenly taken from us before he could be saved. Then she learned grief. She worried constantly about how we were going to move forward. If this new life as the daughter of a single Mom meant a life full of financial struggles or if this sadness in the air would last forever. She learned this all silently as she developed the courage to talk about him months later. She was 13.

Of course I thought of all of this but my memories quickly turned to all that has become since. Her teen years cannot be defined by illness, death or loss. That is unacceptable to her Dad. She should be celebrated!! She started high school, started driving, continues to crush academics and has been voted team captain by her gymnastics peers. THIS is how she needs to be living and remembering her teen years. This is what he helped guide her to become.

My oldest learned to navigate her Dad's illness from afar while in college. While we tried to balance between protecting her and informing her when we had very few answers ourselves. She learned how he can be grilling some chicken one day and gone the next. She learned how to see him after he was gone. How to feel his presence and inhale it. She learned the challenge of leaving her family weeks later to go back to college, how to get grief support, how to maintain grades, how to maintain her car and how to do all of this without being able to call him. She was 21.

But she did it!!! She graduated from College. She spent months traveling other parts of the world. She started working, exploring, dating.......living. His death cannot define her college years. His life enriched hers tremendously and he deserves that recognition. She deserves to be celebrated.

And me. I have shared and overshared what I have learned about life, death, loss and how to live better because of it. But have I been more stuck than I realized? Maybe but I do believe that is part of the process whether it is a month, a year or a decade. But it was time to celebrate. I have come so far. I have a great relationship with my girls and the rest of my family. I turned 50 as a healthy and active person. I took my daughter to China to the same place he went to pick her up. I smile. I laugh. He would tell me "You're too great to be alone"- but I refused to have that conversation then. Maybe it's something to think about....maybe. Whatever all of "this" is, the message I got was to live right now...this very minute. Celebrate all that is good

All of this happened while it was just me in my own head for 13.1 miles. The next day I booked a camping trip with my girls- the first without him. We finished with a few days in a Sun River condo and road trip home through ghost towns. The 3 of us were amazing together- absolutely amazing. We would casually bring up his name with a smile and figure out the camping duties that were historically his to do.

I am different now.

This was the most transformative experience I've had since his last day. When his brother surprised me at the finish line, as Reid had done before, it felt like Reid was taking me across a different finish line. A change. A new way of living- a fuller way. Maybe it was just his own relief that his girls are not going to be fine but great.

I don't think I found the words to do this experience justice but I hope it can give somebody hope who is currently deep in grief. When you are ready, your mind and heart will open in some unexplainable way that will allow you to enter the next chapter of life.......when you are ready.

Race Day

The Day

We all have those dates that are triggers for us no matter how much we try to prepare. I find the dates that were just ours to be far more emotional than the major holidays. Our anniversary, kids birthdays, etc. Even when I hear that spring razor clamming is opening can spark memories because we scheduled a vacation out of that every year. There are many and they make us remember some really great times and sadness that we cannot have those anymore.

One thing I am learning is the anniversary of his last day is an entirely different beast for several reasons. For one thing, there was nothing happy about that day. Rather than remembering something fun, our minds make us actually relive the entire day in painful detail. Additionally, it is not just a day but seems to span several depending on the circumstance. Reid's day is approaching so I start remembering his last week and how hard it was and the uncertainty of it all. Then, even after his last day passes, July 7, there is what seems like your own purgatory between his last day and his celebration of life when you are somewhere between your old life and your new life but not really in either. Then there is the celebration...another anniversary date. Then, finally, your first day in this new life- this one you don't really want to be in.

Others will have different experiences. Maybe the flight to get to their bed side, the time between the phone call and when you could be where you needed to be, maybe you got to say 'good-bye' and maybe you didn't, maybe there was a long painful illness you had to witness or maybe something took them from you before you could comprehend the reality.

Nothing about these memories are pleasant. I don't reflect on that time and smile. I don't want to relive it but do and can't help it. I have a plan for my last day that I hope will change this for me. We'll see.

The anniversary of his last day is an entirely different beast.

The Handsome Kids

It's funny how life lessons can hit you when you are doing such seemingly ordinary things. I was standing in line at the hardware store picking up a couple of pieces I needed for my sprinkler system....again. There was a family in line in front of me with two boys. I would guess they are probably 6 and 9 years old or so. The oldest must have gotten a new shirt because his Mom had already commented on it. While standing there, kind of out of nowhere, the Dad turned to his oldest and said "You know, you look very handsome today.". The kid seemed to light up. Then the little guy said "How about me, Daddy. Am I handsome too?". Oh I wish I could get his sweet little voice and post it here. "Oh, you most certainly are a handsome guy.". It was such a sweet, brief exchange of love.

Kids are listening. They need our approval even when they are teens. My daughters have been without their Dad for nearly three years. My youngest never mentions him....until recently. I talk about him all the time in just casual mentions. Maybe if we are having his favorite food or remembering things he would say. It's not ever deep in sadness but every once in a while, I'll just say "I sure do miss him."...and then keep on with what I was doing. Maybe this is why she is saying his name more. It is somewhat casual, like I do. She has also talked about how much she misses his side of the family. Missing that life, like I do.

Maybe 13 was too young to grasp this loss. Maybe at 16 she is simply more capable in understanding and communicating these feelings. Maybe 3 years has gone by so fast yet that wonderful life seems like so so long ago. Maybe it's as simple as- she drives his car now. Whatever it is, I feel like it is such progress for her.

The kids are listening. They are seeking your approval. They need to know you find them handsome. And with that, they will make progress.

The Light of Summer Solstice

At 8:54am today my shadow will be the shorter than any other day in 2019. If I was standing at the Tropic of Cancer at latitude 23.5 in the Atlantic Ocean, the sun would be directly over my head for the first and last time of the year. I can find out when this will happen next year, the year after and 500 years later. Meanwhile, there are no seasons on Mercury because it floats in space a differently than Earth. Summer on Uranus lasts 21 years for a similar reason. This never changes. Ever. Completely predictable and completely out of our control

Where am I going with this? I have often said that grief will test your faith but I think I am discovering that it has tested my lack of faith. I have always questioned the lessons about what happens after we die. Heaven, hell, God, gods, Jesus, Buddha, after life, reincarnation....so many possibilities. What if we are just here and then gone and there really is nothing bigger than us? I don't like that thought and, now, I don't believe it at all.

Maybe the fact that loss makes us desperately want to believe there is more than this short life that it opens our eyes to signs of something bigger that have been there since the beginning of time. The beginning of time. Think of that. If I try to, it hurts my brain. Is there such thing as the beginning of time? I digress.

I never had this obsession with the universe until I started this chapter in my life. There is so much going on out there how can something NOT be making it happen? I know, I know- it's all science. But Science is the study of the behavior. It can tell us that the planets won't fall out of line but not why or how that is possible. Did the universe have a start date and what does that mean? What was there before the start date? What's at the end? How can there be an end and how can there not?

Whew, this writing might seem a little off the wall to some. But all of this kind of thought has made me come to the conclusion that there is no doubt something is bigger than us-much much bigger. I see signs of those who are 'gone' and chose to really see them - It just makes sense and it is enormously comforting.

This is all part of my transformation and it works for me.

Soak in the sunlight on this longest day. Next year it will be on June 20th at 2:43pm PDT. I promise.

Happy "I got through Father's Day" Day!

At times I can be accused of trying to see too much silver lining. Actually, I accuse myself of that. Maybe the hunt for positive thinking has been a way to stay far away from grief. I'm sure it's not completely healthy but it works for me and has kept me from sulking in a dark space for too long. Yesterday was Father's day. I celebrated and tried to encourage celebration. But if I listened, my self talk probably would have sounded more like this:

Father's Day Sucks!

I'm dreading this weekend.

I'll never make it through this day.

Seeing my kids hurt, hurt me too much.

He should be here with them!

He should be here with me!

I might just cry all day.

I DON'T WANT to celebrate.

I don't have the strength.

That was a tough day but I made it.

Proof I am stronger than I ever thought possible. That's what I'm learning and it's worth celebrating.

Happy Father's Day

Here we go....into one of those days that is part of every television commercial, email spam and radio ad. It is my first Father's day without a Father. For my daughters, it is their 3rd. For all of us, it is the first with no Father to celebrate at all. Husband, Father, Grandfather, Father-in-law.....all gone.

Wait, that's not true! They are still worthy of celebrating!!

I will go to the columbarium wall at the military cemetery to visit my dad. I will purposefully read other names as I stroll towards his niche because there is something comforting about the fact that others can read his name. I will be sad that this is where I will go see him and that instead of hugging him, I will run my fingers across carved name.....I will pause and take it all in. I will then celebrate all that he did for me. As parents, we know that our kids will lose us someday. We don't want our kids to live their lives without us in sadness. If your story worked the other way around- I simply have no words other than you kids don't want you to stay in that dark place either.

Miss me, yes, but please please don't stay there.

My husband actually had an opportunity to verbalize this when we were questioning if the next treatment was going to save him. "I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of leaving you." He wasn't trying to make some profound statement with that but it stays with me. If I spend too much time in a dark sad place, I am living out his biggest fear. The thought takes my breath away.

You can still celebrate this life that is possibly only because of the Father's that enriched it. Of course, there is sadness but don't stay there.

They don't want you to.

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