You said WHAT to a griever?

How are you doing? For those of us going through any kind of grief event we hear those words often. When it gets closer to special days we hear them more often. And, although we know that the asker means well and is really saying that they care for and even love us, they do not want the real answer. Because, for those of us struggling to get through whatever special days we may be facing, the answer is usually not one we want to face, much less announce. We are not doing well. Our world came crashing down on us and now we have to face a birthday, an anniversary, a holiday without someone who gave meaning to those days. 

So, what should you ask? How about not asking anything? I don't mean that in a bad way, I mean, why not share a statement instead? For the griever we have no new stories. I don't get to tell you about the gift that my daughter unwrapped this Christmas. I don't get to tell you what I got my wife for her birthday. I don't get to tell you about the anniversary trip, the special valentines dinner, or even the New Year's Eve party we attended together. I don't get to tell you how incredibly beautiful my wife looked in her dress or how those diamond earrings she wore sparkled almost as much as her eyes. BUT, I can tell you about a memory I have. Because that's all I have left. 

Depending on who is grieving and their personality, they will each handle what you have to say about what joyous time you had or what challenge you are working through. Personally I LIKE to hear what your family did for the holidays. I especially like to hear what your children did. I like to envision the joy in their faces when they opened their presents because I don't get to witness that in my own home anymore. And just because I don't doesn't mean you shouldn't either. However, another griever may not feel that way. Another griever may be so wrapped up in their grief that the only person that matters at that very moment is him or herself. So how do you know which kind of griever you are facing? You don't. You take a chance and if you guess wrong you remember and move on. 

What can you say to a grief stricken person - especially through the holidays? I believe that, surprisingly enough, they would like to hear you share a memory you have of the loved one they lost. Or, if the grief is for another event, share a good memory you have of your past with them. When we lose our loved one and we lose the ability to make new memories, then our loved one can only live on in through the old ones. I would rather cry over fond memories than cry over no memories at all. 

But what if you don't really know the person that well? What if you never knew the loved one that was lost so you can't share memories? What if you run into the griever at work, at church, or out shopping and the only thing you can ask is, "How are you doing?" Why not ask them instead what one of their fondest memories of a holiday in the past is? Try something like, "I know this year must be tough and all you probably have are memories now. What was one of your favorite things your loved one did during that holiday?" Then listen carefully to the answer. Ask questions about it. Show that you want to take some of those memories with you to share with others so that their loved one can live on in the thoughts of others. 

None of the above thoughts are by any means a one-size-fits-all approach. Each person grieves differently, but if you want to be a friend, a true friend, learn how that person grieves and adjust. Talk about their loved one if they want to talk. Don't talk if they don't want to talk. Tell stories of your own (but NEVER compare your struggle to theirs) if they truly want to remember what it was like to have a loved one around. Hug them if they are a hugger. Let them cry on your shoulder if they need. Above all, if you truly want to help, make that person the most important person you could be talking with at that very moment. 

And, if you and I should ever cross paths and you want to help, just give me a hug, tell me a memory you have of my wife or daughter, give me a hug, tell me about your kids, give me a hug, tell me about your grandkids, or you can just give me a hug. And don't be afraid to bring it up. It's not like I've forgotten. Don't be afraid that you will make me cry. I can cry all on my own. As a matter of fact I was probably crying ten minutes before you ran into me and probably will ten minutes after you leave. Be yourself. If we are friends it's what I love about you anyway!

'Twas the night before a widowers Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through my home

Not a creature was stirring, I am all alone

Stockings aren't hung by the chimney I swear

'Cause the people I want to be with, are not there

No one is nestled all snug in their beds

Just me and my iPad and a sense of dread

The holidays are not the same around here

No milk and cookies just bread and stale beer

No voices are lifted, just a night that's silent

No tree dressed in lights, no packages of white

When what to my crying eyes should appear

Why it's nothing, and it brings me to tears

No sound of Santa dodging the fire

No carolers singing, no heavenly choir

No jolly fat man shoved in a suit of red

My eyes are where you find that color instead 

Christmas without my family here

It makes me long for the first of the year

But before this poem starts breaking your heart

I'm learning to live, make a new start

Friends they surround me with love and with prayer

There's no doubt in my mind I have friends who do care

I have food on my table and a roof overhead

So much to thank God for this Christmas instead

Thank Him for grace, it's new every day

Thank Him for love He keeps sending my way

Thank Him for mercy and thank Him for joy

And most of all, thank Him for the gift of His boy

If you find yourself in my shoes this year

Perhaps you can find a source of good cheer

Find it in faith, find it in friends

Find it in others who are there 'till the end

Give gifts to someone that you may not know

Let someone out in traffic when it's your turn to go

I bet if you tried you could think of your own

Special ways to make others feel less alone

Doing for others, now that's a great gift

Giving someone else that much needed lift.

For in giving away joy I'm sure you will see

Joy comes back in a large quantity. 

If you think Christmas this year will be blue

Think of all the good you could do

Then when you rest and say your prayers just right

You can say Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

I'm diving in

I have had a number of people speak to me and acknowledge how difficult this week will be for me. And I do appreciate the fact that they have recognized how difficult Christmas week can be on one who who must spend it alone. Having a spouse whose birthday is Christmas week makes it even more difficult. The most difficult thing is dealing with the emotions leading up to the actual event. 

When we lost our daughter my wife and I dreaded each upcoming event. The first Mother's Day. The first birthday. The first Christmas. We had some very good friends who had travelled the road ahead of us who told us that the first year was tough because the anticipation hurt so bad. And the second could be even worse because you let your defenses down. Since you are probably reading this on my wife's birthday, I can tell you that, so far, the first is worse. But the second will probably be even worse. 

To say the pain is bad would be like saying the Grand Canyon is a deep ditch. And the funny thing is there are some days that you can fool yourself into thinking you are doing better than you are. 

In the mid 70's I attended a church camp. I do remember the lessons we learned and the testimonies I heard. But this past week I suddenly remembered something else. It was recreation time for my group and we were sitting poolside at the indoor pool. We had our feet dangling in the water and it was very cold. The instructor told us how to get our bodies accustomed to the water temperature. We began by tossing water from the pool on our legs. Then we tossed some in our lap. Finally we tossed some under the arms and we were ready to slip into the cold water. That was great instruction but the 12yo me reached a little too far for the cold water and slipped into the pool. The instructor looked at me and told the others, "Or, you could do that." Total immersion was not the original plan but it was evidently MY plan. 

Throughout this past week, and even in preceding weeks, I've noticed that there were days I felt like I was doing pretty good. I would think that I had gotten to the point where I could recall memories and not be rid of them all. I would stick my feet in and think that things weren't so bad. I would splash more memories onto myself in an attempt to see if I could tolerate it. And then, before I knew it, I was totally immersed and struggling for air. It seems that I was not doing as well as I had thought. 

So, how do I face the day? How is it that I can breath? How do I find the oxygen that my soul is starved for as the flood of memories overtake and overwhelm me? And how can you learn from my pain so that you don't have to experience it yourself when grief hits you? The answer is... I don't know. There is only one thing you can learn from me regarding how to handle it and that is that you're going to have to handle it. And you're going to have to handle it in your own way. Some of you will ignore it in hopes that it will just go away. Some of you will lash out at others for not understanding. Some of you will wallow in self-pity throughout the entire day. Me? I will do the manly thing. I will cry. A lot. But I will let the tears wash me. Then I will reach down and pick up the joy and peace that I know are there but often misplaced and wear them like a coat against the cold the world is trying to show me. I will show that world that I may be struck down BUT I AM NOT DESTROYED!!!

I've never been more homesick than now

I would be lying if I said the holidays were not tough on one who is missing a spouse. I find it doubly so (I believe) when the spouse's birthday is the same week as Christmas. This past week, whenever I let myself get beyond the present and dwell in the past or future, the waves would crush me. Just today I sat having lunch alone and found myself asking God to bless OUR food when it suddenly hit me that I should only be asking Him to bless MY food. Peanut butter sticks bad enough in the throat as it is. When it has to work its way past the knot and the sob it takes some effort to swallow. 

I chose to do some shopping for my nephew and nieces on my wife's side. I truly love those children and I am so happy that they continue to keep me as part of that family even without the blood ties. But shopping without my wife along was like breaking in a new pair of shoes.  I liked what I was doing but it just didn't feel comfortable. I found a lovely friend to walk along with me so the pain wasn't as great as it could've been. Which was good because, without a friend along, Angry Me would have gotten some serious bah humbug stares from my fellow Toys R Us shoppers. 

After dinner and a basketball game (watching of course, not playing, because I would have to ask Santa for Icy Hot if I had played) I found myself at home alone again. I did what I usually do when home alone and decided to be with my Facebook family. I saw a beautiful picture taken by a friend ( and very gifted writer) of a couple who had been married 47 years. The wife claimed that home was wherever her husband was. What a wonderful sentiment and I am truly happy for them. But that quote made me realize how Job-like my trials have been. I've lost a child. I've lost a spouse. And, tonight I realized, I am homeless. Not a sleep on the street in a cardboard box or in the woods under a makeshift tent with a tattered blanket shivering against the cold. No, I am homeless because those who made me feel at home are gone. 

I live in a nice house. I have plenty of creature comforts. I sit on a comfortable couch and type this using my iPad mini. A fire in the gas fireplace keeps the room warm. The air conditioning unit keeps the temperature throughout the house moderate. When I finish writing I'll take a nice warm shower and climb in a bed that I can adjust to just the right firmness. I have food in my pantry, money in my wallet, a nice Riesling in the fine crystal glass beside me. I should be a very content man. But of course I am not. I would gladly trade it all for life as it once was. I would struggle to make ends meet and do without so my child had plenty. I would drive a beat-up old car and add oil to it every week just to keep it running. I would throw an extra threadbare blanket on the bed and snuggle with my wife to stay warm. I would mow my own yard and clean my own house and not think twice about it if I could have the loves of my life back. But this is a Christmas wish that Santa cannot deliver. No matter how carefully I hang the stockings by the fireplace or how snug I would be in my bed, the only hope I have is to have visions of my own sugarplum fairies dancing in my head. 

I am homeless. And, as Mercy Me sings, I've never been more homesick than now. 

Butterfly kisses for Christmas

Christmas came early this year for some of my nieces and nephews. Due to their father's work schedule and a variety of upcoming Christmas programs and parties it was deemed necessary to have a little bit of the Christmas celebration earlier than I can ever remember having it before - regardless of how much I wanted to open my presents early as a child. And so, the first of the firsts began today. 

Every year for the last seven I have missed my daughter at our Christmas gatherings whether at my family's or her mother's family's. I was so proud watching her show her appreciation and how she matured as she got older. She had just reached that age where she enjoyed watching other people open their gifts as much, if not more than, opening her own. She wanted to see the joy in other's faces. And I can vividly remember her last Christmas both at home and at my parent's house. 

This year her absence was felt more than it has in a few years. This time her mom wasn't around to watch the cousins open their presents. And this time I wanted to make it a special Christmas. So each child was given a few things that belonged to my daughter. My nephew, quite the bibliophile himself, was given five books in a series of books that my daughter enjoyed. That and a frisbee she threw like a girl. Before I left the festivities I took him out back and we threw the frisbee back and forth (and into a number of objects) for a while. I would say that it reminded me of throwing the frisbee with my child but my nephew could throw whereas my kid... Well, she was a great singer. 

The oldest niece received a devotional that my daughter read through when she was close to the same age. It gives her something to read and discuss with her parents every day for a year. I also included a couple of fiction books geared for a pre-teen girl. But the most prized possession would have to be the scarf that her cousin knit herself. For the last seven years that scarf has been draped across a bench at the foot of our bed. The scarf had grand designs of being a blanket one day but my daughter never got the chance to finish it. Perhaps my niece will use it as a scarf for awhile and then, once she becomes proficient at knitting, she can continue the blanket project. 

The next niece, the one I remember feeding a bottle at our child's last Christmas was next. For quite some time now her Gran has called her "dolphin eyes" because of her big beautiful brown eyes. So she was given a dolphin mini statue that was cut from a beautiful stone. She was also given a travel tic-tac-toe game that uses Velcroed dolphins and whales rather than X's and O's. And lastly she received a orca beanie baby that was the closest thing I could find to a dolphin amongst the dozens of stuffed animals we still have. 

The youngest niece on my side of the family was given the biggest gift. My daughter had a pair of butterfly wings as part of a costume. She loved butterflies. So my youngest niece is now the proud wearer of butterfly wings. Also included in the bag of gifts (I'm a guy and we don't wrap) was a stuffed dog that was so soft and just seemed to call out to be adopted by another little girl. 

Not having my daughter there with me was emotional draining. Not having my wife with me opened the taps all the way. We did end the evening on a fun note with a gift for my mother she never saw coming that had us all laughing. But when the wrapping paper was all picked up and cake and ice cream was served I began to work my way toward the door (unfortunately leaving behind the wonderful hand-made gift from my nieces). It was time for me to go home and be alone. The first of my first Christmas days was over. They never are as hard as you expect them to be, but they don't make the next ones any easier. 

Christmas comes but once a year

Earlier today I began to think about all of the Christmas decorations I've seen in the neighborhoods and posted on Facebook. I recalled how, as a child, I loved to make the trip around the corner at my grandparents house to see what their neighbor had added to his house in the way of Christmas decorations for that year. It was the highlight of the trips to Virginia. I also began to actually think about Christmas this year for me. And that made what had been a good day a little less so. The way to get through the first year of grief - as well as subsequent years, is to focus on the moment and not on the future. Because the future is too darn big and too darn scary to face. 

Seven years ago my wife and I made the decision not to put up a Christmas tree in the house. We still put a small amount of decorations outside but nothing like we once did when our daughter was still with us. It no longer felt like Christmas. There was no longer a pile of blankets at the foot of our bed where our daughter would spend every Christmas Eve. There was no real reason to celebrate at our home. We still celebrated with the family as we watched the nephews and nieces tear into their packages while still at the age where quantity was better than quality. But for the last five years we found ourselves cruising the Caribbean on Christmas Day where it felt a little less like Christmas and where we did not expect to see our daughter at every turn. As it is I can still recall the first Christmas at sea and the poem I wrote about it. 

Christmas Without You

Another Christmas passed without you in it

Your mother and I tried to escape

As we loaded up the car, you weren't there

As we traveled down the road, you weren't there

As we looked out over the ocean, you weren't there

As we walked along the beach, you weren't there

You were so missed

Then I felt it...

In the laughter around the pool, I heard you there

In the smile of a toddler, I glimpsed you there

In the eyes of your mother, I saw you there

In our hearts, I felt you there

You were not there to great us when we returned

How could you be?

You were with us all along

As I began to reflect on my first Christmas without both my wife and daughter I thought that perhaps it was time to add decorations to my living room. Something to mark the season other than the cinnamon candle I found and lit. I could string garland along the fireplace mantle and place candles and bows in the windows. I could put great big Christmas balls on the front porch and put greenery around the columns. I could make the house look and smell like Christmas. Perhaps that would lighten my mood. 

Yes, I could do all of that and was seriously considering it until I rounded the corner tonight and saw a neighbor with a beautiful Christmas tree in their window. It was wonderfully lit and made me think it was time to bring mine down from the attic after 7 years of hibernation. But then I realized something. I would have nothing under the tree. No presents. No one to buy presents for and leave under the tree until Christmas morning where we could waken and rush to open them. This year I don't have to worry about whether or not I got my wife the perfect gift. I don't have to hear her gripe at me for getting her something when we agreed not to do so. I don't have to see her pull out the gift she had gotten me that also broke the agreement. 

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus in my house this year. And I'm not sure how I'm going to handle it. Dad always told us as kids that Santa didn't want milk and cookies. Santa wanted beer and pretzels. It will be difficult not to join Santa in his diet this year. But that's not who I am and not how I'll deal with it. 

So, do you want to know what I want for Christmas (aside from the obvious that I can't have)? I want to pretend that December 25th is just another day off. I'm not even sure where I'm going to do my pretending. But regardless of where, please know that I will be wishing you the merriest of Christmases possible.  And don't worry, the spirit of Christmas will still live in my heart - just like it does all year round. Because if you treat every day as Christmas, then it makes the actual day a little less painful. At least that's what I'm hoping. 

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

"You'll know when it's time." No. No I won't. I'll know when it's not time, but only because I thought it was time and found out it wasn't. 

Some well meaning people have told me countless times that I would know when it is time. And maybe I will eventually. But what I am finding out is that I am learning when it is not time. But just what exactly is it that I'm supposed to know it's time for? What if I feel it's time to get rid of some of the stuff that makes this house a home. The clothes, the trinkets, the jewelry, the make-up, the other objects that hold so many memories. What if I think I'm ready only to find out, after its all gone, that I wasn't ready after all? 

I was ready to take off the wedding band one day, and then later that day I rushed to put it back on. Eventually I managed to take it off my finger and move it to a chain around my neck. But I still find my thumb searching my ring finger for that thing that gives it it's name. I try to spin the ring on my finger only to be reminded that it is no longer there. I tap my hand on a table expecting the sound of the ring striking the hard surface only to hear a different sound. Different than I have heard in the last quarter of a century. 

I was ready to pass along some items to family and had more success there. Perhaps because I know my family values those things and I can see them whenever I want. I won't ask for those things back because they aren't really gone. Like the ring that once announced to the onlooker that I was taken, they are merely residing in a different location. 

What about other things in my life? I know when it comes to dating that I am not looking for a replacement for Wanda. For similar reasons, I didn't replace Beth with anything. As I've mentioned before, Beth and Wanda have already been replaced. Everywhere they once resided grief now fills that void. What I am looking for now is to replace the grief. However grief doesn't get replaced as easily as the thing that once held the space grief now occupies.

I've spent some time with a number of people in the last six months in an attempt to find something to replace the grief. The toughest part is recognizing my feelings for what they are. Am I developing feelings for a person or am I developing feelings for something to replace the grief? I've know too many people who, in an attempt to replace grief, have acted quickly. I know a few friends that have chosen wisely but I've also know people who regretted those choices. Don't you think they thought they knew it was time?

My friends know the grief that fills my heart. That grief that pours from my eyes in a cascade down my cheeks. It happens every day. Still. And they want so much for me to not hurt. And I can admit to myself that it would be nice to not hurt. And there have been several nights lately that I have not cried myself to sleep because I had a nice day or evening that left me focusing on the good. But replacing the grief with something long lasting is a bit more difficult. The last thing I want is to anchor myself to something or someone that I will (or more importantly, they will) regret a few months down the road. 

Do you remember losing your first tooth? The adult tooth came up and pushed the other out.  Eventually it was replaced by a larger, permanent tooth that eventually fit in with other teeth as you began to lose those. But until it did there was a noticeable gap. Especially if the front two teeth, those most prominent, are gone. You look at the grin of a six year-old missing his incisors and you can't help but have an emotional response. When it comes to losing baby teeth, that emotional response from that toothless grin usually results in a smile of your own. However, when you see me and recognize the gap in my smile, in my life, the emotion is not usually marked with a smile. And, until what is supposed to grow in that spot finally shows up, I guess we will all keep our smiles to ourselves. 

So today I am just going to admit that I probably won't know when it's time for whatever it is supposed to be time for. Instead I am just going to try to recognize when it isn't time. Sound confusing? You should see it from my side of things. But then again, I pray you never have to.