The day of Val's funeral

Ashes to Ashes

2010-09-19T23:58:31Z

Friday 17 Sept 2010 was a pivotal moment in my grieving process for my beloved Val, as I had to collect her ashes from the undertakes. It brought home just how final her death was and the fact I would never ever see her smiling face again.

Since the beginning of recorded time, Hindu and Buddhist faiths have mandated the use of cremation. The underlying belief of these faiths is that the life force that is basic to our human existence is not confined to this one life, but undergoes much transmigration throughout many lives. The Eastern belief of karma, which is the idea that merit is accrued during the extent of one’s life and the actions one takes during that life will carry on to the next, is a common belief of the Hindu and Buddhist religions. These religions also carry the belief that the body is but a vehicle that contains the “self” or soul while it exists in this life. Once the soul leaves the body it is returned to the gods. Cremation serves as a method of freeing the soul, separating flesh from bones, and presenting the body as a last sacrifice to the gods. In essence cremation becomes a fitting vehicle for expressing the temporary existence of bodily life, and the eternal reality of spiritual life.

Eric Lindemann, a noted grief psychologist, said: "Death is a psychological amputation." Regardless of the chosen procedure in dealing with the remains of a loved one, the survivors experience the process of grief. Feelings of shock, denial, anger, and depression surface in life as the healing process takes place. There is no short cut. Just as you cleanse a wound to make it ready for healing , so also what you do after death concerning the funeral and commitment of the body will determine your ability to cope and adjust to this reality. Death may be just around the corner. Although we don’t like to think about it, each of us has a terminal condition. The meter runs. Some have weeks, others decades. But every one of us has only so much time to live.

I believe each of us has a dream that burns brighter than all the rest. Sometimes we know this as a “passion.” Those who have the courage to follow their heart live significantly healthier, richer lives

Imagine that six months from now, your outward life – the work you do, the place you live, the way you spend your time – can be exactly the way you want it. Describe what your ideal, outward life is like.

Think about your ideal inner life. Six months from now, what attitudes, gifts and abilities would you like to have acquired, developed or strengthened?

Consider your responses to these two items. What efforts have you made recently to realize these things? What elements of your personality make such changes difficult? How might you overcome these internal obstacles?

Properly understood, death of a loved one becomes an exquisite teacher, throwing life into sharp perspective and encouraging us to achieve our fullest potential. Death reminds us our time is limited, that it’s important not to put off those things we value most, those things we want to tell someone close to us and that each moment is a fresh and precious opportunity. Unfortunately preaching is one thing but the reality of the practice is very different.

The Deamon Of Despair

2010-09-08T19:55:30Z

Soon after the death of a loved one, in come many visitors to the bereaved. Some arrive early, bearing gifts of food, flowers and speaking words of consolation and comfort. Others appear late in the day, unable to say anything, but still comforting by their very presence. But when the comforters have gone away and we sit through the lonely watches of the night, pondering our loss, the final visitor arrives. He comes uninvited and not to bring consolation; his words are empty of that. No, his purpose is to smother any desire we may still have for life, to snuff out the smallest spark of hope that may yet gleam within our soul. He is the black-winged demon of despair, sent to bring us swiftly to the realm of everlasting pain and to bring the pain of Hell to us while we are still alive. I think we all know Despair to be the utter absence of hope. Hope have flown away and Despair has taken up its abode in a place of desolate hope.

Acceptance of the death of our loved one is never easy. Though St. Paul cautions us to "sorrow not, even as others which have no hope" (Thess. 4:13), when our world has collapsed around us, heaven seems a dim, far point of light in a vast universe of darkness. The effort to hold out our hands, that Christ might bring us up from the depths, seems too great. His Church was built that "...the gates of hell shall not prevail against it" (Matt. 17:18). But when we do not seek refuge in the Church, these same gates can swallow us alive.

The demon of despair attempts to keep us fixed on the idea that today's fresh grief will renew itself throughout an eternity of tomorrows. I am sure that anyone who has passed through this shadowed valley and out into the sunlight again, will tell that those very memories that cause the most pain do become the sweetest with the passage of time.

To dwell in darkness of the heart as a lost and fallen person is a choice we all have to make. The heart is not uncharted territory. Christ descended into these depths of Despair too, so that we could all be brought forth, out of ourselves, and out from under the shadow of Despair. Within the heart are unfathomable depths. It is but a small vessel, and yet dragons and lions are there, poisonous creatures and all the treasures of wickedness; rough, uneven paths are there, and gaping chasms. However likewise there is also God, there are the angels, there life and the eternal kingdom exist, there light and the treasures of grace; all things abide there. What is born must die; what is given over to Christ will transcend even death. My Val is in the glorious kindom of the Lord preparing a place for me.

A Strange New World

2010-09-07T09:42:17Z

When my wife died very suddenly and unexpectedly from cancer the world looked different the next morning. Nothing had changed but the world and everything in it looked different to me. I remember looking up at the sky and the sky looked different. It looked enormous and I felt lost as though I was the only person left on the earth.

The world is lovely, but most things mean little to me now. I feel like I'm sitting behind a glass wall, looking at the world but feeling nothing
Colours, trees, buses all the things I took for granted seem strange in a new way, as if they are objects, obtruding on me, out of place and unwanted. I am hoping this does not last, though my grief will.
I feel she didn't die, we just can never be together. But it feels like I have died inside, if that makes any sense. Now I try to go on. Not much choice I guess !

Anyone have a similar experience they could make comments about?

It was Val’s birthday Saturday

2010-09-06T02:04:19Z

Some reminders of our loved ones are almost inevitable, especially during the first period after a death. That's when we all face a lot of "firsts" — those first special days that'll pass without our very special loved one.

As the weeks and months go by, I’m sure that I will have to face other significant days or celebrations without my beloved Val and that will trigger my grief again. Some of these "firsts" and other special occasions that I sure will reawaken that grief will probably include:

§ Reminder of the first holiday we had together

§ Her birthday

§ Our wedding anniversary

§ Anniversaries of special days — when we met, when we became engaged, when you took our last trip to Spain together and also that moment when she quietly slipped away from me forever.

My reaction to one of these firsts – her Birthday, has been very intense and almost overwhelming as I spent it alone and without any support from our friends or her family. But as the years pass, I hope I will find it easier to cope — but never forget.

Reminders can be anywhere, and unexpected
Reminders aren't just tied to the calendar, though. They can be anywhere — in sights, sounds and smells, in the news or on television programs and they can ambush you, suddenly flooding the emotions as I have found when seeing a restaurant Val loved or when I hear a song she liked so much, or see a TV program like ‘Causality’ that she loved to watch

I guess that even years after my loss, I will continue to feel sadness and pain when confronted with such reminders. Although some people may tell me that grieving should last a year or less, I will grieve at my own pace — not on someone else's expected timeline.

Maybe time itself can lessen the intensity of my grief but maybe I can also take measures to cope with anniversaries, special days and other reminders so that I can continue the healing process. I have been given some pointers to try and overcome these feelings of desperate sadness and here they are:

§ Prepare for episodes of grief.

Knowing that I am going to experience anniversary reactions may help me to understand them and even turn them into opportunities for healing. This was not the case on Saturday but hopefully I can work on this and improve with time.

§ Look for healing opportunities.

I am sure I will find myself dreading upcoming special days, fearful of being overwhelmed by painful memories and emotions. Maybe it will be that the anticipation will prove to be worse than the reality. Hopefully I may find that I can work through some of my grief as I cope with the stress and anxiety of approaching reminders. Only time will tell if the rawness will ever dull

§ Reminiscing with others about the relationship I had with Val.

I have tried to focus on the many good things about the relationship and the times we had together, rather than her sad passing, however it has been very difficult to keep composure sometimes, and the tears still well up during certain topics.

§ Plan a distraction.

I want to take a week away from the local environment once the final matters of attending to the estate have been completed. I plan a visit with friends and relatives.

§ Tune out.

I have limited my exposure to news reports about tragic events so as not to become more anxious, sad or distressed.

§ Connect with others.

I have tried where possible to draw family members and friend’s closer, rather than avoiding them. Being on this site allows me to stay connected to one of my usual support systems and later I may consider joining a bereavement support group like ‘Cruse’.

§ Allow myself to feel sadness and a sense of loss.

I have certainly done my fair share of this, but on occasions have also allowed myself to experience laughter, although I found it was both laughing and crying.

Grief is a universal human experience. Our individual response to grief however may be very different. I personally have found crying to be an important part of the grieving process, but for many people lack of tears doesn't necessarily indicate that the grieving process has gone awry.

The grieving process commands respect by one and all and requires time. Unresolved grief however, can lead to depression and other mental health problems and I am constantly monitoring if I am reaching a healthy resolution to my grief, in case I need to seek professional help that I deserve

How to Talk to the Broken Hearted

2010-09-02T09:03:56Z

After losing my Valarie, my world has completely fallen apart. As I gingerly attempted to reintegrate my new, raw reality with the life I used to know, I often find it jarring. Friendships that used to just work feel awkward. Sometimes words that are meant to comfort feel like sandpaper to my soul, and surprisingly, people I barely used to know became life-long friends.

My loss has made me an outsider to many. While friends and family want to support me, they didn’t know how. How do you help someone whose world has fallen apart? What do you say when your friend has just said goodbye to their beloved wife? How do you come alongside someone as they try to make their way back?

I know it’s awkward being around someone who’s grieving. It is awkward for me too. This is what I wish I could tell my friends when the pain is raw and new. I wish that no one else would ever know what pain like this feels like, but sadly I know that someone somewhere is probably feeling it right now. If you know someone who is grieving, I hope this can help you as you try to help them.

Please don’t say that…

My heart has been shattered, my world forever changed. The me you knew is gone, and I am still discovering the new and very different me. I know I am not easy to be around right now, and I find it hard to express what I need and how I feel.

Please don’t tell me how “So-and-so” coped with grief.
Don’t tell me you understand, or suggest how my grief journey should be. My pain is unique, and my journey will be also. It may not look anything like what yours would look like.
Please do not judge.
Don’t compare my loss to the loss of your grandmother, your pet dog, or even your favourite teacher. It is different … each loss is. Comparing only makes me feel alienated from you.

Do not tell me “All things work for the good …” or “Everything has a purpose …” or “God let this happen for a reason…” Although all these things may be true, I am not in a place where hearing them is helpful right now. When life falls apart, well-intentioned people use these words to try to right the world again. My world is completely upside-down. Words cannot put it back the way it used to be. I have not turned my back on God; church just is a tough place to be right now. When sitting at church I feel very alone with my pain.

Please don’t try to make me feel better by “looking on the bright side”. I would give anything to be able to sleep.

These things help

Talking about my Valarie is always a good thing. Don’t feel that you are “reminding me of pain” – I will never forget. Talking about her validates that she existed; it brings back all the positive memories. When you talk about her, it gives me the freedom to talk back and I need that.

I need to laugh – sometimes at the same time as needing to cry. Please let me do both.

I am excited for you when you are happy. Even when that might involve an aspect that is sensitive to me – like birthdays or anniversaries. There are days when I won’t be able to articulate this well, but it is always true. I will always be excited for you, although sometimes my excitement might be overshadowed by my pain. Please don’t hold back your excitement because of me; it doesn’t make me feel better.

I need you right now. I don’t always say it, and find it tough to reach out, but more than ever I need to know I am loved and prayed for. Please don’t stop calling me, even when I don’t call you back. Sometimes dialling the numbers is just too much for me, but I always appreciate the thought. Do tangible things for me … do not just offer to help. Normally an offer would be enough, but right now getting up in the morning, taking care of basic tasks, and somehow making it through each day takes every bit of energy that I have. Even if I desperately need help, asking might be more than I can bear.

My grief will not disappear, I will not “get better”. It will change, it will morph, but it will not go away. Sometimes the grief is a raging monster, obvious to all, making it difficult to do even the simplest things like breathe. At other times grief silently sits in the corner, biding his time. Others can’t see it, but I still know it's there – leaving a quiet dull ache in my soul. As time goes on, there are more quiet days than not, but grief is always there, even when you can’t see it.

I have been forever changed by grief. The “me” that used to exist is now changed. There are a few more rough edges; I am not as tidy as a package. But I am still me … and I need you to accept this new version. I did not choose this path that I am on; I would not have ever chosen it. The only choice I have left is what to do with it – and I am in the process of figuring that out. I am on a journey and need you to support me on my path.

Val's funeral was today

2010-08-24T23:11:35Z

Today was again a very difficult day for me and Val's family as we attended her funeral at the local crematorium. The reality has finally begun to sink in that this is no longer a bad dream from which I and all concerned will awake to find beloved Val there by my side and still laughing at life as she always did.

Having spent the dark days since her death on Monday 16th 2010, mostly in tears and wishing that I too could pass over, so I could be by her side in heaven, I inwardly made a resolution not to crack up at the service but instead kept my composure offering up a tribute to her, imploring the attendees not to leave the crem in tears, but rather rejoicing in the fact that they had all been so privilege to meet a truly brave and remarkable woman, who never gave her condition a second thought, even when faced with the facts that death was imminent.

How do you come to terms with a pain so intense in one's heart that your own demise seems preferable to carrying on without your soul mate and beloved partner. The answer to this and many questions have yet to be answered, but apparently this reaction is quite normal in the early stages of grief. It may be seen as normal but I hate this feeling of desperation, not knowing what the future holds and how I will cope once all the family members go home and the moral support is no longer there.

Tonight I am in a very reflective mood knowing that in a few days time I will be presented with the remains of my dearly beloved wife, who almost three weeks ago was laying beside me. The question still races though my head and screams.

WHY, WHY, WHY, did it have to be my Val?

Life seems so cruel, but then I see how others on this site are going through very similar, painful experiences and feel that at least I am not isolated in my grief. I hope tomorrow will be a sunny day, as this may cheer my spirit and hopefully give me new hope.