Since You've Been Gone~ 5 Years

Well, Honey, here we are at the 5 year mark since you passed away.  It is just you, me, and time here to commemorate this occasion.  Not sure what to do.  A part of me wishes we could raise our glasses and make a toast.  Maybe to wish each other some form of congratulation.  It really should be that way.  It may sound strange, us, clinking glasses to your leaving this world.  All I know is, I was able to survive thus far, and that has got to be worth something…

I mean, it hasn’t been easy.  Trying to embrace life became my own battle of survival.  I don’t think I am all the way there yet.  Not sure anyone gets “all the way there” in this world.  But, I have come a long way, went out on a limb or two and took some chances.  I learned to laugh in rough situations.  Began to think about my future and make decisions for me. 

As you already know, I tried dating this last year.  Only one person, and you know that took a lot for me as I have not been with anyone since you.  It was, shall I say, interesting?  I didn’t stay closed off and I opened my heart, so I am proud of me for that.  It was nice to feel pretty in someone’s eyes again. 

Still, I will never forget your eyes.  How blue and sparkly they were, the way I could see your love for me within them.  So far, Baby, you have been the best man that I have known.  Such a stand up person.  I don’t overly romanticize our love, because I also remember the look in your eyes all those times I annoyed you as well.  I still wish you were here.  I still draw hearts on my misty bathroom mirror for you.  This morning I saw the snow fall, in big heavy flakes, and my heart went to thoughts of you.

Everything I do, from raising the children, to taking care of our home and even opening my heart, I still feel that you are my confidant.  You are the person who really knows what’s going on and what it takes for me to do these things.  I believe that you help guide me.  Thank You for that.  Even though you died, I know you never truly left me. 

Let’s raise our glasses, Baby, and make a toast.  First, To Life~ which brought us together, what an amazing thing life is!   In its complete beauty that people and their generous spirits can impact the hearts of so many others.    To Us, My Darling~ and all the things we have accomplished and are still working towards no matter how simple, profound, easy, or difficult.  And Finally, To You~ for guiding me along, never abandoning me, and to your beautiful blue eyes.  

Until we meet again, my love,

~Breathing

Since You've Been Gone~ 4 Years

Hey Babe,

It is hard to believe that 4 years have passed since you left us.  In a way, I know your not very far away and I can feel your gentle support as I make my way through life.  

When you first left, I remember sleeping.  I slept as I never had and someways, now that I think about it, I probably sleep-walked through the entire first year.  It was probably my body's way of recovering.  As time passed, I, then had trouble sleeping without you.  Staying up to the wee hours of the night and awakening before dawn.  Each day was always a reminder that you were not there.  

I made it a point to take road trips.  Less about the destination and more about the desire to prove to myself that I was a capable woman.  During the second year, I got myself a camera.  Nothing too expensive, but it suits me fine.  Since then, my camera has been my little companion.  I have always been creative, but when we went through your illness, I wondered if that part of myself had been lost.  It might sound strange but the camera saved my life.  I enjoy the beauty that unfolds each day and I enjoy the patience of photography. Being still.  

I still have a hard time with what seems like our shrinking family.  My oldest is now out on his own, following his dreams and working hard at it.  The youngest, is a teenager now.  Very thoughtful and attentive, although, as you know with teenagers, that only can go so far as they really need their space.  I try to remind myself not to rely too much on him and to learn to find contentment in my own space.  It is something I work on daily.  It is scary to think that I am completely on my own.  I think the hardest part about it is not being able to share things with another who understands me.  Certain thoughts and experiences to only be kept to myself.  I have found though, there is a beauty in learning to thrive within the serenity of my own soul.  

I have taken a few chances.  Recently, I bought a very old cottage to renovate.  One day, it might be my downsized home.  When I am there, I feel happy.  There is something about having a home that is just mine.  It is the first place that I have owned that I have not shared in raising a family, or as a married person. Lately, I go there and paint on a canvas.  Just simple abstract stuff.  But, again, that is another thing that I stopped doing when we went through your illness. It feels really good to blast music and just mindlessly paint.  It seems cleansing and healthy to me.  

I am trying to make the conscious effort to be a healthy person.  Not necessarily physically, although that is also coming along.  But more about, up here, in my head.  One of the best things I did recently is decide, that I do not want to be a martyr.  Yes, I am a widow, and yes, only you and I know the ways in which I still grieve.  At the same time, I have chosen not to be "In Mourning" my entire life.  It was a personal choice that needed to be made.  Since for whatever reason, I happen to still be walking on this Earth, should I allow my entire existence to be determined by your death?  I want to celebrate in my existence.  For instance, everyday, I have been playing music.  Recently, I started to dance to the music.  Really dance.  To feel my body come alive, to feel sexy, female again, elevated my heart.  I did this without guilt.  I found myself happy for a moment and I have decided that is okay.  I am still here, still ~Breathing.

I love you, Baby.     

I'd Be Lying

If I said I had never been in love

I'd be lying, 

Sailing on an open road,

Beneath a blanket of stars,

Glimmering light reflect in our eyes,

Unspoken secrets dance in our hearts,

Whisper trust,

Between promising souls,

If I said I had never been in love,

I'd be lying.

If I said I didn't miss you

I'd be lying,

Mapping lines around your eyes,

Lost in the turn of your smile,

Intertwined and connected,

Your hand in mine,

If I said I didn't miss you, 

I'd be lying.

If I said I didn't believe in you,

I'd be lying.

Between the grey and blues,

A night bird coos,

Familiar melodies floating in air,

On softness of moonlight,

I know you're there,

If I said I didn't believe in you,

I'd be lying.

Happy Anniversary, Baby.  I miss you.

~Breathing~

Check Your Status~ Single? Married? Or, It's Complicated Grief?

If your like me and not sure which status to check, I found an interesting article that may add some helpful insight. ~Breathing

http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/complicated-grief/basics/definition/con-20032765

Everywhere

For the man who wandered
Beautiful lost soul  
So many places on the road
One of your words when we did part, was for me to move on
Put it to start
It was everywhere that you wanted to be
Most importantly, Inside of me 

On my roams
I have seen the mountains 
Seen the sky
Not a day comes that I don't ask why
Where you are needed to be 
So far away from me

I sprinkle the dust like stars in the night
Watch as your beautiful spirit takes flight
Beneath my feet
Earth's ebony 
Soft as a whisper
From my hands the powder blew
Sweet is the breeze
As my spirit flew.

~Breathing~


Dear Hubby, How am I doing?  I hope you think I am doing alright.  You said you wanted your ashes in some of the places we have roamed.  But, I thought it was more of a joke, because you and I have been to so many places.  I don't know how I would start to do that. I have tried in my own little way to fulfill your wishes.  So far, in the last two years, you are in: Cannon Beach OR, Donner CA, "Lovers Rock" NV, Wrights Beach CA, Santa Cruz CA, Snake River ID, City of Rocks ID~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Forever Mother's Day Gift ~Pam Brewer

I was actually listening to the radio while working today for the first time since you left, Rick. I heard Trace Adkins singing, You're Gonna Miss This....it is so, so true. So, for Mother's Day, I want to just remind everybody that these times of busy~ness with your kids that just seems so hectic...it will very soon pass to never be again. 

The times you are going to events with your children or grandchildren...or, running around to events with your spouse that seem so "busy"....they will be gone forever in the blink of an eye.....looking back, if I had it to do over, I wouldn't be so worried about the next work day and make sure I went to more softball games my daughter was in....or not had "work" on my mind when attending a baseball game one of my boys was in......they literally seem gone over night to me now.....Sitting in the stands as a mother with Rick and watching....going to their plays or to their concerts.....over now.....and Rick not even here to share this feeling now with me. 

My parents, that were the best any one could have ever had..."my" mother....gone now too (and my father)....Please, remember....take..in...these moments!!!! They will be gone and not be able to be re-lived!!! I do have the memories....I cherish the times my Mom and Dad and brothers families and Rick and I and our kids, shared at the "river"...we didn't do anything special....we were together...joking around...visiting...living life..playing games...together......those are what NOBODY can take away from me....and nothing can replace! That, is my forever Mother's Day gift!

~Written By Pam Brewer

**Dear Pam, Thank You for allowing me to post your beautiful words that perfectly express the love that lives in a Mother's heart.  May your day be blessed and Happy Mother's Day to all!  ~Breathing

Since you have been gone~ 2 years, 4 months

It is Spring once more, Babe.  This year I have been much better about pulling my head out from the covers and enjoying going outside.  It still was a struggle to see that a new season has come upon us and you are not here, physically to share it with.  Sometimes, I think it was because you passed away in December, two-weeks before Christmas, and I tend to stay in that space too long.  -The space in which it is cold outside and the shortness of the day descends upon me like a shadowy cloak.  I feel invisible during that season.  The feeling is familiar and reassuring, but then, like a surprise, a new season gradually comes upon stretching sunlight into my world. Rather than hide reluctantly from it, as my previous tendency has been, I realize that it will still come and that time will move forward.   

Not a day goes by that I do not speak to you (as you know) and most of the time I hope you can hear me. The rest of the time, I am not so sure because you know I can be long winded and sometimes tend to ramble.  I think you might even know when I am going to do that before I do.  I see the signs you send me, especially all the birds, and I also feel the way you still support me and there are times I really do sense a larger, overall feeling of glowing love with the intensity that can only be from you.  I also think about the year-long period that you were sick.  The heart-breaking moments when you struggled and there was nothing I could do.  

I think about the moments that I used to step out onto the balcony and look at the stars and think that this could not be happening and I would wish with all my might that something might turn around the progression of Pulmonary Fibrosis within your body.  At that time, I also had a sense that what I was praying for was bigger than you and I, almost like I wanted to re-write the stars themselves.  

I stay involved with the Pulmonary Fibrosis community and I have to say, since you have been gone, there have been so many new names and each person has such an individual story that at times I wonder if our individual story has made any kind of a difference at all.  But then, I realize all of our stories, collectively, create's one large entity of its own.  Still, there is not a cure for the disease, although it seems as though there is more conversation regarding a variety of treatments as well as possible links as to why this disease occurs in some people.  I know you always wondered what caused it for you. 

 It even scared your best friend and co-worker enough that he, himself, went and had a CT scan while you were ill. He was afraid it was something environmental that he may have been exposed to as well.  He showed no signs of it.  Of course, he never told you that, but he let me know about the ways your illness affected him, shortly after your funeral.  Speaking of friends, I have to say that there are so many wonderful people who, unfortunately, have become familiar with Pulmonary Fibrosis, either by having it themselves, or through losing a family member to it.  I feel honored to know some of these people and am truly amazed at the support we feel for one another.  

Home is going well.  I planted 4 lilac bushes along our west fence-line and 10 more are due to arrive, soon. It was one of your favorite plants and I won't forget that one time we were sitting at our favorite hamburger shop and you were talking about the Lilac because there were a whole bunch outside.  You were saying how much you enjoyed the smell of them during spring and as you were talking, a really large gust of wind started up outside the window and the Lilacs started to lose petals from their bloom.  It looked like it was snowing Lilac.  That was right about when you wanted to discuss getting married at that exact hamburger shop!  That makes me giggle.  I still go there, but I am glad we found our own perfect spot for our wedding. 

 I think a lot about our wedding, too.  That was a perfect day ~always.  I see your face, the way it looked when I was walking down the aisle toward you.  I know the bride is supposed to be glowing, but you really had a light emulating from you and it made me want to run up the aisle to join you!  I had to pace myself.  I also remember how you got Strawberry Lace cake on the top of my wedding dress because you tried to shove the wedding cake into my face.  Not cool!

Speaking of Strawberries, I planted a whole strawberry patch!  All I could think about the whole time is how much you would have loved if I did that years ago.  We now have six, good sized rows.  I really do feel you guiding me.  It was amazing because about 3 weeks back I kept posting pictures of strawberry stuff on Breathing's Face Book page and that same week at my orthodontist appointment, the assistant and I started talking gardening and she mentioned that she is going to thin out her strawberry patch.  I said, "I'll take them!!!"  and Viola! We have baby strawberries!  

It has really been a Godsend.  Because of the strawberries, and the preparation thereof, I have been wearing my gardening hat at 8:am in the morning.  It feels good.  It feels good on the outside and on the inside.  To be out there, not caring what anyone thinks, and why should I?  I am doing what you and I loved doing together.  Boy, after losing you, I had the hardest time carrying on working in the yard because you and I spent most of our free time together doing it together.  We found it so beautiful and it almost hurt to do it without you.  The same goes for traveling.  Everywhere I went, I remembered everything we ever saw together.  And, we put on a lot of miles with each other.  When I do these things now, I feel it is when I am closest to you.  

Thank Goodness for Spring.  It literally has come to save me.  I love you so much!  ~And I will see you tomorrow in the garden.  

~Breathing

My wedding ring is on my right hand~

It has been a little over two years since my husband passed from Pulmonary Fibrosis.  There are moments that I still feel like he's coming right home and that I will see him again.  I haven't been in denial that he is gone, I don't think so anyway.  It just seems to me that acceptance comes in gradual stages.  As a matter of fact, one thing I did not realize is that while he was sick with this insidious disease, I was already in a grieving stage.  It was called anticipatory grief.  It was a feeling of great loss, even though he was still with me.  

When he passed, my mind did struggle to come to grips with never seeing him again.  My mind and heart still struggles with this.  Deep down I felt, and still do, that our love supersedes his death and that somehow our relationship continues.  I really do believe that we still have a connection and it isn't just me carrying on his memory, but it is active on both our parts because I feel him in big moments and in small.  He has been a part of my daily life, even if that meant I had to grow and become more independent.  In his death I still felt his support of me.  So, in my heart I consider myself still married to him.  

I remember the first year after he passed I had to fill out some documents and there was a box that needed to be checked.  Single/ Married/ Widowed, and I went to immediately check the married box.  But, in the eyes of this document, I was no longer considered married and my hand was forced to check Widowed. This caused me a moment of resentment, not toward my husband, but toward society.  Just because my husband is dead, why do I have to check any other box other than 'married'?  After all, I was still married in my heart.  

Being a part of grief support groups, I had read several discussions about what the widowed do with their wedding rings.  There were many creative ideas such as melting them down into another piece of jewelry, moving the ring from the left hand to the right (which I hadn't realized, symbolizes a widowed status), or putting them away to one day hand down to the children.  Each choice is a very personal choice and there is not one correct way to handle this.  I read this, the whole time, rubbing the rings on my wedding finger and thought with great conviction that mine would never leave my finger.  

In public areas, such as the gym or the shopping center, there are moments inside I think of the fact I am a widow.  I long for just a bit of acknowledgement of this.  For someone to notice, hey~ I am damaged.  My heart hurts.  Or that I am spending my birthday alone.  Or that I do not feel the warmth of a hug very often.  I think these things, while absentmindedly rubbing my wedding ring.  Then, strangly, I wonder why no body notices this about me.  

As a country, if there has been a great loss, we fly our flags at half mast.  In days of old, it was common place to wear black and withdraw from social events for over a year.  According to Wikipedia many other cultures observe mourning as well.  The Japanese term for mourning dress is mofuku (喪服) and it is primarily black, while in India members of the mourning family and the people who come to participate in mourning all wear white clothes.  In Victorian times, mourners even wore a special ring in memory of someone who has died. It often bears the name and date of death of the person, and possibly an image of them, or a motto. 

As I thought deeper about these traditions, I realized that it is not just society's responsibility to notice I am in mourning, when at a glance they could never know this about me.  Maybe I was not ready for anyone to notice.  In this stage of my grief, I have realized that I want others to know this about me, even if it is unspoken.  Losing my spouse is also a part of my personal experience as a person.  For this reason, I have chosen to switch my wedding ring to my right hand. Not because I have moved on from the love I have with my husband, but because I have moved on from the idea that somehow people will know I am a widow just by looking at my face.  I have also accepted that I do want others to know this about me and to wonder if I am getting enough hugs.  ~Because, hugs are great and I could use all the support I can get.  xoxoxo

My Forever Valentine~ Written by Pam Brewer

This is my first Valentines Day without my Rick. He always gave me such meaningful cards...flowers...and always came up with special arrangements or colors of "our" special meaning roses...jewelry, etc. But, the absolute most important thing he has given me ever since I started dating him before we married, was something he probably never knew. You see throughout the years, when I'd travel either for business or family...all the times I went to North Carolina to see my parents, sometimes by myself in the 11 or so years they went there, or was gone all day on appointments, etc.....you see what I mean....I'd think, "oh, I'm lonely or I'm doing these things "alone"....well, I now know, I was never, never alone....he was truly always with me and a part of me....I was, never, alone!

 He gave me the greatest gift any one could ever begin to give another person! The "being together"...a part of another person...If I was anxious to get home during the day, it was because of him. If I saw something trivial that made me smile, I didn't even realize till now, it was because I could share it with him. If we sat all evening and just once in awhile reached over and grabbed each others hands, or smiled at each other, I was so full and enjoyed that because of him.....in all these years...no matter where I literally was on this earth, I never knew what being alone was ....because of him......Now, I "do" know what being alone is.....I can't go there....no words....every single thing now, is "alone"...even if I'm in a big crowd.....every little nuance or joy has changed...

So, if you don't get the box of chocolates, or can't afford to go out to eat at that special restaurant, "if" you have that special person...you have THEE greatest gift of all....you are NOT ALONE!!!! Thank you Rick Brewer for making it so that I knew not one moment, from 1968 till Oct. 21, 2013, of being ..."alone".......I had "you"!!!!! I LOVE YOU, MY FOREVER VALENTINE!!!!

**Thank You, Pam, for sharing your heart with us on this Valentine's Day!  My heart, filled with love, goes out to you.  ~Breathing

I'm not here to answer your call right now~

After my husband passed away from Pulmonary Fibrosis, I could not bear to cancel his cell phone line.  Talking on the phone was so much of our relationship, kind of like our life-line.  He worked out on the road and while he was away, we called each other with every new day to wish each other a good morning.  We called one another every night to bid a good night.  We called each other in the middle of the day to talk about whatever we were dealing with at the time.  It was a way to find out if we were safe and not a day went by that we did not speak.  

So, when he passed away, my youngest child and I decided to leave his phone line alive.  It helped us both a great deal.  My son would often call his phone while having a hard day at school.  Meanwhile, I would call my husband's line to wish him a good night or to tell him my car had broken down and I just needed to talk. We called his line every birthday, wedding anniversary and Christmas.  On New Year's Eve, my son and I would dial into my husband's voice mail and put the phone on speaker and listen all the messages we had left.  They were mostly tearful whispers and inaudible crying, but we could still make out the words we were trying to say.  

I finally discussed with my son that we should think about cancelling his line.  My son agreed.  After all, deep down we knew that most of the time we talked to my hubby, it is through our hearts and not on a ten dollar a month phone line.  We recorded my husbands voice mail message on another device and then I took the big step to call my phone provider and let them know.  

The customer service provider apologized for our loss and  indicated that we would not have to pay a cancellation fee for that line if the person was deceased and asked the date of my husband's death.  
"December 15th", I responded.
"Okay"  she said, "December 15th of 2013."  
"No, it was actually December 15th, 2011."   Realizing that two full years had gone by.  

I began to explain why we kept the phone line alive and that I had not been ready to cancel it until now.  She said that it was perfectly understandable and that she too, had dealt with the loss of her father and still wishes she could hear his voice.  She cancelled the phone line with no issue and we ended up sending tearful wishes and blessings to each other.  She was very kind.

I still have my husband listed on my speed dial.  I can't imagine anyone else's name listed there.  

Get Over "It"

Soon it will be coming up on the two-year anniversary that my husband passed away.  Recently, a person told me that I should 'Get Over It' and to move on with my life.  The person also indicated that, we all lose people and I should not allow memories to control my actions.  

As a widow, I have heard that this type of thing happens.  Friends or family indicating their opinions of how long grief should last.  It had not happened to me directly within the last two years and I considered myself lucky.  But now, there it was, somebody said it.  How did I respond to that person?  I didn't respond to them at all.  After all, when I look into the mirror, I see my own eyes everyday and I know myself better than anyone else could.  

How did I feel about what was said?  Well, that part was what surprised me.  I actually felt a twinge of anger throughout the day.  What should "moving on" look like?  Is there a standard of moving on that I am unaware of?  I thought of all the things that I did after my husband's funeral.  
I continued to work full time.  I made improvements to the much ignored house.  I made friends.  I gave my children things to smile about and to continue to work towards.  I strengthened my relationship with my children and let them know that everything will be okay, that I am still here for them.  We went on family trips, to the ocean, to the mountains.  I continued to be creative and did things with my hands that make me happy.  I write and maintain a blog to help raise awareness for Pulmonary Fibrosis.  I realized that I need to care for myself and started to exercise and eat a bit better.  I contemplate what direction my life will go and explore the things that interest me.  I planted a garden.  I read books.  I swam in the river.  I hugged, smiled, and laughed.  Yes, I still keep my loved one's memory alive.  Hmmmm.... not bad for less than two years of losing a spouse, in my opinion.  What was making me angry?  Perhaps the feeling that I needed to defend and itemize my accomplishments toward growth.  Sorry, if it seems like I am not advancing fast enough for you.

I am not one who enjoys feeling anger, I reached out to a friend to see what her standpoint was.  As a matter of fact, she is Annie, my co-host on Breathing's Face Book page.  She, too, lost a loved one to Pulmonary Fibrosis.  She also experienced similar input from a friend, to just Get Over 'It.'  Annie indicated that 'it' is her lovely mother.  'It' is my beloved husband.  'It' was a father, a brother, a son, a friend.  'It' is not an it, It is a person.  A person that we care for and love.  She is right.  

As for not allowing memories to control my actions, that is true if the actions are negative and destructive. What if the actions are of kindness or advocacy?  If we do not allow our memories to shape us or control our actions how is it that we ever learn and grow?  I am glad I am not the person I was at 14.  I am glad I am not the person I was at 24 or 34.  This is because I experienced things that allowed me to reflect, learn and grow.  It is my belief that certain things happen to all of us that cause a struggle or a look within.  This is what life is!  There is a beauty in life because of these experiences.  Love, grief, happiness, mistakes, and success do become part of our memories for a purpose.  So that we can evolve in our thinking.  These are our own personal life's experiences that began from the moment we were born and shape us into the unique beings that we are.  To turn my back on the life's events that shape me would be turning my back on myself.  

   

Care Giving For Yourself

It was in October that my husband was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis.  Looking back at the span of his diseases progression, I realize that at that initial point the impact of the disease was primarily emotional.  Physically, the only way he was diminished was by a slight cough which sounded like he was clearing his throat.  In all other ways, physically he seemed fine.  By December the following year he had passed away from this disease.  He remained active up until the two months prior to his passing, at which point fatigue seemed to overcome him and he became weaker and weaker.  

In the October of his diagnosis, I was physically fine, too.  We both were just two normal people.  Very active and seemed to have a beautiful life ahead of us.  I was his caretaker, confidant and friend.  The initial point of his being diagnosed, it was primarily emotional for me as well.  As he progressed in his illness, I progressed in my level of care for him.  Taking care of my beautiful husband has been the most profound and rewarding experience that I have ever had.  It has also been the most difficult.

Have you heard that over long periods of time spouses start to look like one another?  Or perhaps, an owner of a dog will start to take on a resemblance of their dog?  I think it is because we grow close to the souls we love.  We empathize.  If they are happy we are happy, and if they are hurt, we are hurt.  

When someone we love feels ill, we feel ill too.  If they cannot catch their breath, we feel light headed.  If they are scared of what the future holds, we are scared.  But, here is the catch....   If we are a caregiver to that person, then in that moment, we cannot just collapse, we have to swallow it down and get it together.  After all, logically, we are not the ones that are sick, right?  Furthermore, the person that you would normally run to when you are not well, cannot deal with or accept what you may be going through.  As a caretaker, it is a scary place to be to know that there is no longer anyone left to run to.

There are moments in care giving, that when the patients back is turned that tears begin to stroll down your face.  Or, when you are sitting with them and telling them words of love, that your heart feels gripped with fear and dread.  When your partner is sleeping and you listen to the rise and fall of their breath and you lay awake, sick inside.  

When a loved one passes away, people tell you that their suffering is over.  But, you are still here.  Is your suffering over?  

When you advocate for the disease, you meet others who have the illness your spouse or loved one had.  The disease that you witnessed first hand.  The patients will tell you that because you are just a caretaker that you could never understand the frustrations of having the disease first-hand.  But, you do not say anything because you do understand.  You also understand what it is also like to see it through to the full progression.  Past the point that many patients are aware of.  You swallow this down.  Meanwhile, your husband or loved one is gone.  

As I mentioned, it was in December, almost two years ago my husband passed away.  It gets cold in the winter here.  During that time, I spent most of my time in a blanket.  My primary source of socialization, sitting at my computer.  Dark circles under the eyes, but, always putting happy-faced icons at the end of my sentences.  Everyday, a struggle just to get through.  Time passed, not in sections, but by minute.  If I could just get through the next minute, and the next...  Then, something needs tending.  I tend to it.  I feel glad I did and wait for the next minute.  Then another something needs my attention, and it goes round and round.  Until, slowly I notice what needs attention before hand.  Somewhere along the line, counting time by minutes, turned into measured days and I realized that it was time to turn my attention to me.  

Eventually, I started to see the sunlight.  I almost felt guilty about that.  At first it hurt my eyes, but then it felt good on my skin.   I began to feel proud that I had made it through and continued to take care of what needed tending.  I am surviving.  I am to the point that I have realized that this is not enough.  I have realized that I am not the one who died.  I am still alive.  I still have a purpose in my life and I want to do more than just survive.  I have also realized that Pulmonary Fibrosis has made me sick.  I had forgotten myself, physically and emotionally.  As my husband became more ill, so did I.  As he began to let go of life, so did I.  When he died, I did not.

I have to Give Care to myself now.

Twisted Knots

Hi Babe, It is me.  In December it will be nearing the 2 year anniversary when you departed my arms.  Only a few months away.  I have been working along my little path and even when I can't see where it is leading, I have been sure to stop and soak in the beauty around me.  For that alone, I know you are proud of me.  Fall is now here and the leaves on the trees are changing color.  The coolness in the air surrounds.  

I have been maintaining and managing to the best of my abilities.  The house is buttoned up with the exception of one repair that I would like to make before Winter sets in.  If I can get that completed then all my homestead goals will have been fulfilled for this year.  The garden has been the best it has ever been.  It was a record year.  I think it was because I laid straw down to keep the weeds out and it worked very well to hold the moisture in for the plants.  

The river bank?  It is still the same river bank, growing as wild as ever.  Although two trees, the same ones you kept cutting down so it would not obstruct our view, came back. They were growing big!  So big, in fact, I knew it was something that I had ignored and once they began to take over, I contemplated just letting them grow.  I wondered if I should just let them grow and tried to imagine not seeing the water from the house anymore.  I thought it might be a blessing as a windbreak.  But, deep down I knew I was just justifying keeping those big weeds around because I didn't know how to remove them.  So, I made a phone call and had someone cut them and immediately was glad I did.  I vow to catch them early next Spring so that they will not grow out of control anymore.

You have really changed my life.  Given me the opportunity to see what my own capabilities are.  I am even thinking about my future.  Trying to imagine in a very real way what I would want the second half of my life to look like.  I can only see a foggy outline.  Snippets of things like me still living and taking care of our home, River-Rose.  Each year living more simply and naturally.  I realized that I only envision myself doing tasks that make me extremely happy- only have to do with the family we once had.  Now, our immediate family has dwindled as my oldest has left the nest and our youngest has just become a legitimate teen at 13 years old.  I try to imagine what the house will sound like when there is no one to call out to.  What type of thoughts will roam through my brain as I live my existence alone?  Will I be comfortable with the stillness?

I realize that you and I had an age difference and that is why we joked you were the geezer.  Still, your life ended too short from Pulmonary Fibrosis at age 50.  Which is an age that I think is still very young.  When I transfer that to being a widow at my age, it seems I have a long road to walk down in solitary.  This is not how I pictured things would be for me when you and I were healthy, before this disease came into our lives. At the same time, the idea of being alone does not cause me enough discomfort to want to be with anyone else.  To the contrary, it actually prompts me to discover how I can be more at peace with myself.  To perhaps imagine finding a different kind of joy in my journey.  And that is why I contemplate.  I realize that I must imagine what things I want to bring into my life that will fill my future days.  I cannot be complacent in a comfortable area.  If I would like my life to be a journey of joy, I cannot wait for joy to knock at my door, I have to reach out and work for it.  

Money, travel, clothing, things, may bring a little better sense of security to ones mind, but it doesn't change what lives in our mind and soul.  I have picked up and left and driven for days.  I have found the most beautiful, exciting, and serine places.  In the wrong frame of mind, none of it filled me.  I could have the ocean outside my window, sitting in a beautiful room, and still be filled with twisted knots.  

Just a thought, My Love.  Thank You for bringing me to a moment in time that I have been forced to be truly honest with myself.  Even though I have not discovered the answers, the period of discovering purpose is a gift in itself.

With All My Love....

Doodles From Grief Counseling

 I look at my spirit like a garden.  There have many days I have been cultivating my garden, and there have been times that the wind and storms have ripped it to shreds.  There have been times that I have ignored the weeds and there have been times I have been on my knees, picking each one out.  I have introduced new plants to my garden and I have learned which plants are not suited to grow there.  Loving and kind friends have suggested that I may be spending too much time on my garden alone.  I should enjoy sharing my garden with others.  

Just over a year and a half after my husband's passing from Pulmonary Fibrosis, I decided to go to a grief counseling group.  Although, I feel that my understanding of my husband's death has been fairly healthy and I can look back over the year and see the ways that I have grown as a person, I also know that it is good to push myself out of my comfort zone.  Often it is under these circumstances that I have grown the most.  

It was a very small group and ice-breakers were in order to get us acquainted.  A small envelope was handed to us and inside the envelope were many words cut into small squares.  We were told to pick one word that best described our last week.  I poured the words on the table before me and sifted through each one.  Words were spread out before me such as Anger, Isolation, Bitter, and Sad.  I searched, but could not find one nice word.  I did want to say something, maybe all my nice words fell out or was given to someone else in the group.  But, I do not like confrontation and I didn't feel like defending my standpoint, that while, Yes, I did feel some of those negative words last week, I also felt Love, Laughter, and moments of Joy. Perhaps in haste, I decided this was not where I needed to be.  It's one of those things when you just need to listen to your inner-voice. 

 I did stay the rest of the meeting and most of my time was spent with ears open, and hands on paper, doodling.  I still wanted the discussion to flow through me and to absorb what I could, when another exercise seemed quite fitting.  It was explained that grief is not just one big thing but a series of small things over a period of time.  For instance, yes, I miss my husband and learn to deal with that everyday- although why is it that when I have a problem with the plumbing, I unexpectedly break into tears and sadness for a whole day? It is because our loved ones are made up of many components and our love has many facets.  We not only miss that person, but a million tiny things that remind us of them and grief is mourning each and every one of those things individually.  

So, as I listened to this, I began to add to my doodle some of the ways I missed my husband and acknowledge that I will need to mourn these things as well....

Understanding

Love

Togetherness

Your Eyes

Holding Hands

Your Smell

Our Music

Making Love

Security

Dreams

Our Travels

Companionship

Your Hair

Annoying You

Arguments

Making Up

Talking

Laughing

Your Eyes

Partnership

Advice

Safety

Guidance

Your Coffee

Sharing

Parenting

Trust

Comfort

Our Plans

*What I miss most of all and really can't be replaced is 

Our Chemistry

Love, 

~Breathing~

A Memorable Life ~Dan Mathis~

Imagine having a terminal illness and knowing your time here on this Earth is limited.  What are the things that you would want to accomplish?  For some, one of the most important things they want to do is to live each day to the fullest with their loved ones.  Creating memories that will be cherished by those who truly know us.  

Dan Mathis found himself in this situation.  He had other goals to accomplish, such as giving people with Pulmonary Fibrosis a forum where they could express their deepest emotions and still be accepted as family.  Dan founded the Pulmonary Fibrosis Spread Awareness group on Face Book and reached out to everyone who came there, giving all a safe place to vent, laugh or cry.  Even as he was doing this and struggling with the physical pain of his body, he also wanted to spend beautiful moments with his family.  

Together, Dan and his family planned a vacation and went away together.  When he returned he posted a picture of himself. Sun glimmering off of his glowing cheeks, sand at his feet, and the sweetest little grand-baby sitting on his lap. All in front of the backdrop of a bright blue sky.  When he posted this, there were many who were happy for him. Glad to see the love and happiness that he was still sharing.  Also, there were some who questioned, why did he not look as sick as he says he was?  They cast their doubts of his illness.  

Dan responded, "Wow.  The bad attitude of me going to the beach.  Let me tell you one thing, to those who say 'I thought your health is in end stage?' ~Well, I have a family that deserves to have a life and I will do anything to make their life with me memorable.  It took so much out of me and I smiled the whole time.  Now I am having repercussions from it and wouldn't have changed it for nothing.  If Pulmonary Fibrosis takes me tonight ~I am ready."

When I read this, I asked Dan permission to write something about it on my blog.  He gave me his permission.  I think his words had an impact on me as I recall that my husband felt the same way.  I remember a few of our get-a-ways after his diagnosis.  They were never easy as it takes such a great amount of preparation to go when someone is sick.  Then there were the scary butterflies in our tummy's, not fun butterfly's, but the kind that reminded us that we were truly taking his life into our hands by going somewhere.  Would he have enough oxygen, medications?  What if something went wrong?  

At the same time, I will never forget glancing over to the passenger seat and watching my husbands eyes glimmer in the reflection of the sky, streams, and mountains, all putting him in a beautiful trance.  And, I realized, what he already knew, that this may be the last time he sees such beauty.  Our World.  Soaking all of it in just one more time.  Sharing this together, He and I, our children. Nothing can ever take away the memories we created and indeed it was worth every moment. 

I also recall that no matter how ill my husband was, he was always ready to greet a visitor and told me to never turn anyone away.  When it came time for a picture to be taken, my husband always removed his oxygen.  Too proud to take photos with it on, even when that meant losing his precious breath.  Ahhhh, but this is the way he was and this is the way he wanted to be remembered.  As the shutter snapped, the photo captured light that settled into his eyes and a glow upon his cheeks.  I was ever conscious that he was dying, but yet in awe at how beautiful a man he still was....Always taking the time to create another moment of memory for someone else.  I look at our family photos and remember all the time we shared together, grateful.

Dan passed away yesterday.  It was a couple weeks after his vacation.  I can't help but think how lucky he was to feel the sand in his toes and create those memories for his family.  If there is anything I can take away from knowing these things is to keep reminding myself of what I would like to accomplish in my life.  It is simple, really, just to remember that everyday is an opportunity to connect with my loved ones and build tiny moments upon moments, filled with love.

                                                            Dan Mathis July 2013

I Think About You

                                                         

I Think About You,

About the way your hair felt running through my fingers,

Your Heart, 

 I laid my head on your chest,

I think about You,

Holding your hand,

The Blue of your eyes,

Sound of your Voice,

I think about You,

And talk to You aloud,

All of our Smiles,

Feeling You with me,

Things we still do,

I Think About You.

The Boat and The Stick

I mentioned that I was going on a little summer trip.  One of the things running through my mind was whether I should bring a teeny bit of my husband's ashes to our destination.  He used to love the area and it was a place we visited on our honeymoon.  Years before my husband was diagnosed and passed away from Pulmonary Fibrosis, we were discussing things like burial vs. cremation and our desires as far as that is concerned.  He always told me that he wanted to be cremated and since he enjoyed traveling our country very much, he also indicated all of the states he wanted his ashes spread.  I told him that was a bit inconvenient as they included practically all of the lower 48.  I remember telling him, that it's not like I would want to go on a cross-country trip after losing him and I found his wishes to be somewhat unreasonable.  He just laughed and told me to stand on a bridge and sprinkle him on a big-rig truck passing below, if that made it easier for me.  I would have never, in my right mind, think that it would be such a short time in the future that the idea of this would my reality. 

My son and I did bring a little of my hubby with us on our journey.  Sounds strange to say, but it was a couple of tablespoons.  We knew just where, if we were to do so, that we would sprinkle him.  The thing holding us back was the idea of letting him go~ even if it was just a little part of him.  The consolation I kept in my mind was that the real spirit of my husband did not lay in those ashes, but was alive and constantly with us in everything we did.  I knew my husband would have liked this.  In the same area I looked for a sign of his approval.  Within moments, I saw it.  Two pieces of driftwood.  One, in the shape of a boat and the second a very beautiful stick.  My son had been searching high and low for the perfect stick.  With the stick he drew into the sand the letters of my husband's name surrounded by a heart.  It took him more than an hour to do this as he made each letter big enough to see from the stars. 

I Would Do It All Over Again ~A shared story of John and Susan~

Susan wrote her heart out after the recent passing of her husband John.  She has been kind enough to share their story with us~

My Husband was given 18 months to live back on February 14^th, 2007.  He was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis, Pulmonary Hypertension, Emphysema and later with an AAA and A Fractured T12.  Eighteen months came and went.  Then, we started our ride on the roller coaster from Hell.  I watched the Love of my life change from a strong, hard working man to a man who spent 24/7 in bed.  Only able to get up to go to the bathroom and who had to wear a catheter for three years. 

He would try not to let me know how bad it hurt.  He would think I was sleeping and he would scream and be crying.  He had an e-coli urinary track infection for over four years.  Over six years and three months later, we would ride the coaster over and over again.  He would always get so close to dying- over 10 times and every time he would bounce back.   

There were things he wanted to happen before he left this world.  He wanted to see our sons again.  They came at Easter.  He wanted to live long enough to see the adoption happen.  The adoption was final on April 11, 2013.  He wanted my Social Security and Disability Insurance to come through, so I would have an income. 

Hospice took the choice for him dying at home away from me.  He had to be taken to the hospital on  Thursday, May 2, 2013.  Everyone kept saying- They didn’t know John.  He could bounce back just like before.  I didn’t think so.  John stopped breathing three times on his way to the hospital.  The hospice nurse was in the ambulance with him and gave him his Roxanol and his Oxygen would go up.  I had that gut feeling that this was it.  Six years and three months, at this point, seemed like a mere few days...

Around 4:45 p.m., I got a phone call that my Social Security and Disability Insurance had been approved.  I told John and he started crying.  I told him everything he wanted to happen, had happened.  He was able to talk as they tried to make him comfortable.  I had told the nurses that if it looked like he was going to go to wake me up, and at 2:15 a.m., they woke me up. 

I was laying beside him and I leaned over and laid my head on him and hugged him.  His Oxygen shot up to 77 and his heart rate 100.  I had stopped his passing.  I cried and cried because that meant he had to suffer longer.  The nurses said that he had enough medicine in him to put two grown men on ventilators.  He finally settled down and I talked to him and told him ~It was time to let go and go to Heaven.

He kept trying to pick up our Chihuahua, Poco, who died on March 13, 2011, and our cat Gizmo, who died in 1999.  I had just put on one of his favorite songs, Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone) and was telling him that he wasn’t alone.  I was right there with him.  He lifted his head and glanced at me. 

I said, “It’s okay, John Baby.  I love you so much Baby.  It is finished.  The battle is over.”

He held my hand as we laid there.  He pulled his arm away and laid it on his stomach.  I hit the nurses button and they came running.  But, My Baby was gone.  I walked over to the window to look out while they took care of him.  I didn’t want to see his face. 

The nurses left the room.  We were alone.  I got my stuff together and as I was leaving, I went to his head and laid my face on his ear and talked to him.  Told him Thank you for 25 wonderful years and that I loved him and would do it all over again.  I kissed his forehead.  I started to leave the room, when, I had a very strong urge to look at him.  So, I turned and looked at him.  As tears streamed down my face, I smiled.  John had the most peaceful look on his face that I have ever seen.  No look of pain or torment.  Just Peace.  I am so glad I looked back.  It is a memory I will not forget. 

~Susan Stevenson Lee~