Tag: Grief

Not Living in the Past

It’s true. I thought it would happen beginning a couple weeks ago, but I really haven’t been reliving the detailed events of a year ago. Sure. I’ve thought about certain things, but in general, I’m not.

However, one year ago on Saturday, May 7th (it’s a Sunday this year) reality became an unwelcome visitor. We’d been managing Pam’s pain for a couple weeks already, taking turns with a 24/7 rotation of turning her and keeping her comfortable. Hospice caregivers came only once each weekday in the mornings.

During a position change that Saturday, Mary, Pam’s sister-in-law and retired nurse, thought a hip bone might be out of place. So we called Hospice and talked with the nurse on call, who happened to be the lead nurse for Pam’s care. She came to the house within about an hour to examine Pam. It was not a bone issue. It was loss of weight/tissue/muscle. Good news – we hadn’t hurt Pam. Bad news – Pam’s condition was deteriorating.

As she was leaving, I took the nurse aside to mention quietly what Kara, Kelley, Mary, and probably others were noticing. There had been a marked change in Pam. The nurse agreed and told me she was going to start scheduling the case nurse for every day.

I was devastated by this news. Two weeks earlier the Hospice social worker told us that if/when this nursing schedule change is made, it meant that most likely Pam would not live longer than a week. She died five days later.

Equipped with this reality Pam’s brothers rescheduled their return flights home and I cancelled arrangements I’d just completed the day before to have Pam transferred to a care facility. Thus began the final watch.

This was a dreadful experience for us all. And yet there was such, I will use the term, ‘grace’ as we huddled in our small living room, taking turns visiting with Pam privately, and in groups. Family. Love. Sorrow. Pain. I realize now that I was in shock, barely functioning. Fortunately, others took over meals and transport as Kara, Kelley, Mary, and I as much as I could manage, took care of Pam.

Looking back, and in talking with some family members, I realize that we could not have done it much better. Pam had us all around her at the end. We took care of her and each other. Through it all, our bonds of family and friendship were deeply strengthened. Pam’s last loving gift to all of us!

May 12th is the first anniversary of Pam’s death. I hope you won’t mind if I take a week off. I have special activities planned for this coming week that I hope to write about afterward. But I think I need to take this time to concentrate on my grief process and contemplate how much I still love Pam and miss her painfully. My view has not changed one iota. Pam was an amazing individual, full of love and compassion. I was fortunate to have known her, loved her, and been loved by her. I know that those who knew her, especially her children, siblings, and in-laws, all feel the same.

“A gentle woman with no guile. That’s why I love you, Pamela Sue.” (The Song I Never Wrote for You)

Today’s take-away message in Martha Hickman’s Healing After Loss is:

“The journeys into the past always include a way back into the present, which is where I live.”

Four Trips in Eleven Months

And I just might make it on my own

Yes, I’m still counting. Last week I was in the Atlanta area visiting my Mother, sisters, and brother-in-law. It was the fourth visit since Pam died in May of 2022. Each trip has been impactful and in some ways represents the progression of my grieving process.

My first visit last June was just a month after Pam’s passing. It had been 2-1/2 years since my previous visit, a combination of COVID isolation and Pam’s and my challenges here at home. I was a mess. I didn’t really want to go but it was time. It takes me two days to drive there. Not quite short enough to comfortably make it in one, yet a bit too short for two. Which leaves me time in a motel to contemplate – whatever, further exacerbating being alone for hours in the car.

Much of the time that first trip was spent crying and wanting to get back home. Sure. It was good seeing my family, but my raw emotions were almost too much to bear, and obvious to those around me. But I made it through. And somehow I knew that it was part of my process, getting out of the house, seeing family, being alone with my thoughts and sorrows.

Leaving home was not much easier in September. I was still attached to everything Pam, and Pam and me, in the house. I chose different routes to and from Atlanta that trip. Exploring. Hoping for new attractions and distractions along the way. Still a long time to think and feel, wonder and cry.

Still with raw emotion I visited, trying to express my feelings while attempting to engage and empathize with everything going on with those I love. They were great! I began to feel safe in my grief. I was allowed, and allowed myself to just be me, trying to at least see the top of the wide and deep hole, the void created by losing half of myself. But I still found myself longing for home. As if Pam was still there waiting for me, even though I couldn’t call her to tell here of my experiences, couldn’t listen to her voice as she told me what she’d learned of our grandchildren or of news in the neighborhood. We used to talk often and long when we were geographically separated.

Between September and the end of December the holidays were painful and sad. This was Pam’s favorite season. Decorations, cooking traditional holiday foods, buying and wrapping gifts and, of course, incredible hand-made greeting cards. She would be beaming! But not last year. I managed to bring up the mini Christmas tree with its tiny white lights to put on the window sill. But that was it. No cards, some gift-giving. Visits from our children. Lots of crying – lots!

I left for Atlanta after Christmas and was there with family for New Years Eve and my Mother’s birthday in early January. Once again leaving the house was difficult. While visiting, I sensed change in my emotional stability, not quite as tense, able to engage more “normally.” By then I was no longer counting the weeks since Pam died, just the months. Little changes, but still trying to climb out of the hole.

Last week’s trip had a significantly different feel. I was anxious to go. I even used the excuse of impending severe weather to leave a day early. I enjoyed the drive down and was comfortable with my stay in Clarksville TN, west of Nashville. A side note: this was just days after the shooting and in the midst of the Tennessee legislature debating ousting three Democratic representatives for demonstrating about gun control laws.

Staying with my sister, Mother and brother-in-law was completely relaxed. My other sister visited every day. I played my music several time to this enthusiastic and safe audience. We ate and drank and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Clearly my disposition is changing. I thought of Pam often and missed calling her to tell her about what we were doing. I missed her terribly, but only had one serious bout of uncontrolled sobbing. A clear improvement.

As I drove toward home I realized for the first time that Pam is no longer here (at home). She is with me in my heart. I am trying to go on with life knowing that she is always with me.

Made in the shade
Shabby view – NOT

I sat at an outside table at T-Rav restaurant in Jackson MO (near Cape Girardeau). As I waited for my pizza I started writing. I don’t usually share “unfinished” lyrics or those without accompanying music, but I’m making an exception in this case. I wrote them in an app on my phone, from which they are copied here. I’ve named it I Just Might Make It On My Own. Clearly written to Pam in my heart.

I just might make it on my own
I didn’t plan it so to be
No doubt I didn’t want to
Have to live without you

But here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

It was supposed to be us
Stepping out together
Basking in sunshine
Splashing in the rain

But here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

You and me
Wandering roads and byways
To see the beauty of the world
Meeting others who want to see

Now here I am
Venturing out
Taking it all in
Making it on my own

Eleven months since Pam died. I believe she would be happy with my progress. But I almost feel guilty going on without her. I’ll just have to keep her with me. Here in my heart. I know I will, as I make it on my own.

I have plans for a different sort of trip next month on the one-year anniversary of Pam’s passing. But I’ll postpone writing of that until afterward. Meanwhile, I’ll keep trying to make it – though not completely – on my own.

Lemonade

(Written Wednesday, August 10, 2022)

“My wife used to do this.” That was the end of my brief conversation with a mother and two young children staffing a lemonade stand on one of my usual walking routes. I broke out sobbing. I waived a thank you and had to walk away, not wanting them to witness my total breakdown. It took me a couple blocks and stopping in the shade to wipe my eyes and nose to compose myself enough to continue. I was, after all, about a mile and a half from home. It was the first time since Pam’s passing that I had seen a lemonade stand in the right place, at the right time, having my wallet with me, and was convenient (as in walking vs. driving). I asked the older girl the cost to which she answered fifty cents. I handed her a $5 bill and told her I didn’t want that much lemonade but she could keep the change. She stuffed the bill in her jar. It’s amazing how such things unleash the floods of emotion. Pam made the children so happy every time we stopped, and even went out of our way, to buy some lemonade.

I woke up almost refreshed this morning. Samsung Health gave my sleep a score of 65 out of 100. Not too bad. Not my best. Not my worst by far. Supposedly I fare well vs. other men in my age bracket whose average is 41/100. I usually beat that by a wide margin.

But it was downhill from there. I didn’t even get the Healing from Loss open before my wailing began. It only took looking at Pam’s pictures on the table next to me, trying to make sense of the fact that she is no longer here, to send me to places deep within me where the hurt resides.

I finally pulled myself together and accomplished my morning routine. Being a beautiful weather day, I decided it would be good to walk off some of my emotional stress. It took a lemonade encounter and over seven miles to bring me back home where my journey continues.

I always smile first when I look at Pam’s pictures. Then the other realization sets in. “This (too) is bullshit!”