Tag: Healing

A Becoming Me Without You Blog
By Jeanie Stirling

Both Rachael and I have experienced the recent anniversary dates of the deaths of Larry and  Al. I think most people expect that it is the big anniversary dates that are the hardest for a  grieving person to handle. But, I suggest that it’s not those big days, it’s all the little everyday  moments that continue to creep up on us and knock us off our feet that remain difficult to  handle.  

One of mine is breakfast. We always ate breakfast together, talked about what was ahead of us  for the day, prayed together. Unless I set up a breakfast date with someone, I eat alone now.  Another one is driving home from someplace, any place and knowing that when I pull into the  garage, there isn’t anyone there waiting for me. There isn’t anyone to share with about where  I’ve been or what I’ve done.There’s no one to process with about what happened, to access  wisdom or a different viewpoint or just join in the joy of a special time. Being in a department  store and passing the men’s department will bring fleeting thoughts that I don’t need to stop off there anymore. But with that comes accompanying sadness that I can’t pick out something for  him or look for a replacement for that sweater he wore all the time.  

I think it’s this ebb and flow of grief that is unexpected. Grief is rarely predictable or linear as  those who list the “stages” of grief purport. It’s not a sadness to push through and arrive on the  other side. Knowing that it does continually ebb and flow is both good and bad. It’s good to  know that it will become less intense with time and less frequent, but it’s difficult to realize that  it will continue to arrive, often without warning, so you won’t feel completely untouched by it  for the rest of your life. It simply becomes part of who you are. You and your world are forever  changed. Molly Matlock wrote:  

 I am only just now understanding.  

 The difference between your death and your absence.   Your death was a singular event.  

 But your absence will go on forever.”  

So for those of you who are grieving, be gentle with yourself. Give yourself time and space. And for those of you walking alongside someone who is grieving, be patient. Your grieving  friend is most definitely feeling cut off from the life they once knew. They are trying hard to  adapt to a new reality. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to navigate this new life without  

the very person who would have normally been there to help. The many secondary losses of  friendships, identity, companionship, plans, finances, intimacy, health . . . can feel  overwhelming. You don’t have to try to fix it. You don’t have to say a lot or do a lot. Tell them  you care and then invite them to do something with you. If they say no, that’s okay. Don’t take  it personally. But do ask them again later.

A Becoming Me Without You Blog
By Patti Smith

This month’s contributor to Becoming Me, Without You is Patti Smith.  We’ve had widows, widowers, mothers, and now a child to share a grief experience.  Each contributor has had similar, yet different processings of “Becoming Me” without a loved one.  But I think I’m accurate in saying for all the contributors: Grief is the price of love.

Patti came into my life in a most unexpected but very pleasant way: Sonya, Diana, and I were working on writing Listen In when Patti, who had attended a School of Spiritual Direction, emailed and said that she was prompted to write and offer her editorial skills for anything we needed.  We moved from that offer to the acknowledgments for Listen In, where we wrote, “Patti Smith, editor.  It’s been a many-year journey! Thank you for really taking us across the finish line.”

Patti is a wife, mother, grandmother, a licensed professional counselor with a private practice in Athens, GA, and my very good friend. (The last three listed since editing Listen In.) I knew how extremely close Patti was with her daddy and asked her to tell me when she was ready to write about her grief experience and give a title.  She said, “Now” for two reasons: her daddy’s 1st birthday with Jesus and the 3rd anniversary of Larry’s homegoing (two very influential men in her life). 

Becoming Me, Without Larry,

Rachael Crabb

Seven months ago, a flag-draped coffin was lowered into the ground, taking the body of my Daddy, who had always been my earthly protector.  As taps played, I said a silent goodbye to my anchor.  My heart was broken into so many pieces that I doubted I would ever truly feel fully alive again.

But for Abba, I will not.

Daddy died on July 22, 2023 after battling a rare bone marrow disorder. He was 91.  During the last months of his life, I spent as much time as I could with him and Mom.  We talked, laughed, and reminisced.  I did projects around the house that he could no longer do.  We binge watched old westerns, which I still cannot watch.  At one point, tiny cracks in my armored heart appeared.  Maybe he wouldn’t beat this.  My last conversation with him was on the Wednesday before the Saturday he died.  I had planned to go up on Saturday for a normal weekend visit, and said: “I will see you soon.” His reply that day was: “I hope not too soon,” and the cracks in my heart got larger.  He knew.  I never heard his voice again.

For the first several months after his death, I functioned on autopilot.  I did what was needed and expected from me, but many days I could not function, so I didn’t.  As a mental health counselor, I am skilled at compartmentalizing, so I was able to meet people in my office, teach classes and help my private practice get off the ground, and say I was “fine” without missing a step and no one the wiser.  My authentic self and my duty self were easily separated.  Days of feeling truly happy were rare.  Exhaustion, the kind you cannot sleep away, was my constant companion.  My internal music was gone, and external music tended to make me angry, reminding me of loss.

But Abba….

God provided trusted friends who invited me to go off autopilot, affording healing tears from the core of my heart.  Soft healing prayers and scriptures were offered, and “I am fine” was not accepted.  One friend has studied scripture with me every day via text for several months, retraining my mind toward spiritual discipline.  I knew very early in my grief process that I had to connect deeply with Abba, or I would not survive emotionally or spiritually.  I trusted Jesus to be my Savior at the age of 5, but this was going to have to be a whole new level of connection.

But Abba….

God knew I would need more tangible proof of His love.  Three months after the funeral, I flew to Washington State to visit my daughter.  My husband would follow me several days later, but I deliberately flew out by myself, needing time alone with God and creation.  Driving across Washington from Seattle, I drank in God’s love.  Viewing majestic pines, rock formations that made me gasp, and a turquoise river that took my breath, God whispered to my broken heart: “I am here; I have you.”  Trail rides into the mountains further confirmed, “I love you.”  The cracks in my heart began to mend.

My daddy taught me so many things: to walk, ride a bike, jump in waves, and to love Jesus.  He was laughter, deep conversations, adventures, crazy ideas, wisdom, advice, my confidant, my anchor.  He was someone I could always trust.  Toward the end of his journey, he said: “My ending is my new beginning.”  I didn’t know how to have a new beginning at his ending, and it is still a painful process.

But for Abba….

I would have despaired unless I had believed I would see the goodness of God in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13-14).  When my heart checks out, and my “duty self” must take over, I know I am loved and held by Abba.  He promised me in His Word He would be close to the brokenhearted and save me when I am crushed in spirit.  There were times that I did not think I would ever feel happy again, ever feel joy or peace again.  There are many times even now, seven months later, I don’t.

But I am held by my Abba.

A Becoming Me Without You Blog
By Jeanie Stirling

Although widowhood is often invisible, it is all around us. Widows are the fastest growing  demographic in the United States. 70% of all married women will become widowed,  experiencing the physical, mental, emotional, and social impact of such a huge loss. During the  time Rachael and I have been producing this blog, we’ve talked about the many ways we and  other contributors have been processing loss. It is our hope that the various articles have been  informative, helping each of you gain more understanding about the many facets of grief.  

Despite the fact that so many (in fact all of us) will experience loss and grief, as people of our  culture, we know little about it, find it very uncomfortable to talk about, and are generally  hesitant to enter into the grief of another. We, who are in the middle of it, are often met with  platitudes, unsolicited advice about how to get over it, or avoidance.  

As widows, we often feel very isolated while we grieve the loss of many things – big things and  small, everyday things that once included someone else. These unwitnessed moments of grief  that no one else thinks about can knock us off our feet. The other day I was listening to some  

new music and realized that Al would never hear it or enjoy it with me. Bam! A new wave of  grief came over me. Or the book I read that I would have told him all about, but will never have  the opportunity to share it with him. Small things you say, but when all piled together with the  major aspects of our loss, it can feel overwhelming.  

It was several years after Al died before I found Modern Widows Club online. I immediately saw  that the topics being discussed were addressing many of the things I was experiencing. As the  months went by I continued to be encouraged by what I was reading and felt much less alone,  knowing that my experience was actually shared by so many others who were also making  their way through the maze of loss and grief. I attended one of their national events in 2022 and  felt very seen. Each of us could look with admiration and respect at the other widows in the  room knowing what it cost for each of us to be there. Knowing that every one of us was  experiencing similar things produced an acceptance that I hadn’t felt before in my widowhood  journey. I walked away from that event with hope, purpose, and several very good new friends.  

Ashley Nelson has written that: “In grief we are constantly rewriting the story of our lives. The  death of your person is having a main character die. The entire story changes, and the ending  you planned, the one you believed to have known, is no longer a viable option. Pages of the life  you knew were ripped out, and reimagining a new story isn’t easy.” But that’s where friends  who have the courage to come close and organizations like Modern Widows Club can help us  begin writing the new chapters of our story. 

Modern Widows Club is an international, all faiths organization committed to helping widows  transform their grief into a positive, purposeful future while embracing their strength and  courage to move forward with life. Friends and even family members from those first chapters  of our life tend to fall away as the weeks, months, and years of widowhood progress. Having  opportunities to make new friends and experience new things is life-giving. 

I commented after  the national MWC event that others there in the hotel would never have thought to identify us  as widows. There was a vibrancy and aliveness to the group, along with the average age being  52, that completely broke down the stereotypical image of a widow. Was it a false vibrancy and  aliveness? No. It was there because we could relax in our common experience and realize that  there was still much good ahead for us in the still-to-be-written chapters of our lives.  

We have called this blog “Becoming Me, Without You.” It is a process. Never linear, as in “checking off the boxes and now we’re done with grief,” but a convoluted route of many ups and downs, ins and outs. We will never be done with it. It becomes part of who we are as we move forward.  Both Al and Larry would be proud of who Rachael and I are becoming as we embrace new  possibilities. With a little help from our friends, old and new, we can keep moving ahead and  hopefully help you become more comfortable with grief. 

Modern Widows Club is a valuable resource to share with others.