Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

"Sometimes when one person is missing the whole word seems depopulated." ~ Lamartine

These past six months have been the hardest time of my short life. Its been near impossible at moments to continue on. C. S. Lewis said it best, "The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread all over everything." There is no escaping the darkness and pain that loss can make you feel. BUT I am ready to begin my search for the silver lining (well not really but living in the dark is not how life was meant to be). Wolfelt says in Understanding Your Grief, "Still, you are blessed. Your life has a purpose and meaning without the presence of the person who died. It will take you some time and feel this through for yourself."

I hope within these blogs you begin to see a shimmer of light, I hope you can begin to see the silver lining. I hope we can look back at the pictures and think about those memories and smile, I hope you can remember the good times we had and laugh (and maybe cry a little every now and then). Thank you all for your love and support through this time of heartache. Thank you for the encouragement. I know this is a slow process and for those of you walking with I hope you too can someday see the silver lining. "Usually there is not one great moment of "arrival," but subtle changes and small advancements. It's helpful to have gratitude for even small steps forward. If you are beginning to taste your food again, be thankful. If you mustered the energy to meet your friend for lunch, be grateful. If you finally for a good night's sleep, rejoice," Wolfelt.

"What wound wound did ever heal but by degrees?" ~ William Shakespeare

"There is no sudden , striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight, when you first notice them they have already been going on for some time." ~ C. S. Lewis

"The essence of finding meaning in the future is not to forget my past, as I have been told, but instead to embrace my past. For it is in listening in music of the past that I can sing in the present and dance into the future." ~ Alan Wolfelt

Long Ride Home (Part 2)

I've had some time to think about you

And watch the sun sink like a stone

I've had some time to think about you

On the long ride home

~Patty Griffin

I've found that time alone can be be both haunting and healing, sometimes it helps and sometimes it hinders. Often it seems that most people are too afraid of what alone time can do, I know I was and still am at moments. I found one of the hardest problems I have had throughout these past couple of months is dealing with and distinguishing past memories. What I mean is this; Memories are a blessing, a gift from God, something that should be cherished BUT the questions, the constant staring in the rear-view mirror, the ability the past has to disable present and distort the future, the what-ifs and whys can drive even the most devoted lives to a halt.

(It truly saddens me to say this...) There are nights like tonight when I'll stay up hours blogging and looking through the highlighted portions of books I have read, hours spent flipping through baby pictures, time spent thinking about 'you really never know how much you'll miss them until they're gone', hours spent saying if I could do it over "I would..." reliving the good times and recalling the bad. Sometimes these moments have just been too much for me to handle, days when I literally couldn't function, for awhile if you did see me out of bed I really wasn't there, and then there were the days I just didn't get out bed at all. So what do I do when life is too much? I try to push the memories to the side (and I am so ashamed for it). Its like I'm not sure what else to do with them, and then the guilt sets in. I feel horrible for it, so I open the flood gates and let everything back in. Its seems to be a reoccurring theme. I can't function, so I pretend like nothing ever happened, I begin to feel bad for living again, the memories overtake me, and once again I can't function.

So I guess 'where I'm at' right now in this stage of my life is I'm still not ready to handle it, life is too much for me sometimes... The view in the mirror keeps me from going anywhere and the road over the horizon is always just out reach (kind of like that picture above). There is the bar in Memphis that promises "Free Burgers Tomorrow." That's how I feel. Everyday I wake up and I tell myself "just get through today tomorrow will be better". But tomorrow never comes. I'm coming to understand more and more just how different life will be but I not sure I'll truly ever grasp that this might be as good as life gets?

"Still, there's no denying that in some sense I 'feel better,' and with comes at once a sort of shame, and a feeling that one is under a sort of obligation to cherish and foment and prolong one's unhappiness." ~ C. S. Lewis

"I may try to protect myself from my sadness by not talking about my loss. I may even secretly hope that the person who died will come back if I don't talk about it. Yet, as difficult as it is, I must feel it to heal it." ~ Alan Wolfelt

Lesson 3. The Wilderness

"Truly, it is in the darkness that one finds the light,

so when we are in sorrow then the light is nearest to all of us." -Meister Eckhart

"Think of your grief as a wilderness - a vast, mountainous, inhospitable forest. You are in the wilderness now. You are in the midst of unfamiliar and often brutal surroundings. You are cold and tired. Yet you must journey through this wilderness. To find your way out, you must become acquainted with its terrain and learn to follow the sometimes hard-to-find trail that leads to healing... And even when you've become a master journeyer, and you know well the terrain of your grief, you will at times feel like you are backtracking and being ravaged by the forces around you. This too, is the nature of grief. Complete mastery of grief is not possible. Just as we cannot control the winds and the storms and the beasts in nature, we can never have total dominion over our grief."

Lost, disoriented, bewildered. Caught in the thicket of the wilderness, a good day consists of a glimmer of light passing trough the trees to remind me that hope is still out there. Hope for something good to enter back in this dark forest. Its the little things that help me get by; a child laughing, a phone call from Pops seeing how everything is going, a hug from Jenny. Wilderness is such a incredible analogy for early on in the bereavement. As we walk through the wilderness, I hope you can see the glimmer of light, I hope that you aren't afraid to cry out for help, I hope you can find support and love from God and the people that surround you.

"How do you ever find your way out of the wilderness of your grief? You don't have to dwell there forever, do you? The good is no, you don't have to dwell there forever. But just as any significant experience in your life, the wilderness will always live inside you and be a part of who you are... But you may also be coming to understand one of the fundamental truths of grief: Your journey will never truly end. People so not "get over" grief... we are all forever changed by the experience of grief."

Long Ride Home (Part 1)

It's amazing what 5 hours in the car alone can do to someone. How your thoughts can wander around the world and back while you are stuck behind the wheel of that car. Thinking, I found, has been one of hardest parts of the healing process. The memories are precious, I wouldn't trade the thoughts of the time my sister graced this earth for the world. But I feel torn. If I want to move forward it will have to be without her, therefore I refuse to leave but life can stop here and now. Amber wouldn't want it that way. I know she would blow me a kiss and bid me farewell. She would want to continue on. (I know I will always have the memories. I know that part of her will always be with me. But it’s not enough.)

As I was driving I kept thinking of thinking. Has it helped my healing? Has it hindered? What does it mean to heal? Is there even such a thing? But as I was thinking I recalled a C. S. Lewis quote:

Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he's had his leg off it is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he'll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has 'got over it.' But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.

C.S. Lewis

Life will truly never be the same. Like the amputee there will never be day that I wake up and forget that my leg is no longer there. Those memories will always serve as reminders that she is no longer with us.

I try to find positivity in everyday and every situation that I am blessed with but that’s easier said then done. I would love to greet every morning with a smile, I would like to end everyday with a prayer of thanks, but I will always have that stump to remind me. (I understand that the wound is still fresh and I’m still angry.) The pain is all too familiar. But I hope, I pray that I can learn to appreciate life as a one-legged man; that I can be truly thankful for the beauty that still surrounds me, the loved ones that still call and ask ‘how I’m doing,’ a wife that still laughs at my jokes and appreciates my immaturity.

Be kind to those who are hurting. Be patient with the people you love. Look to God when times get hard. Each day is a little better than the last. Some days bless me with laughter, some with tears. But each day is a blessing. Thank you everyone for your love and support.

Facebook Notes

These are the notes that I posted on facebook:

Notes?

Thursday, August 28, 2008 at 6:22pm

Notes? This is laughable, almost pathetic but I need to say something.... I hope it to be somewhat therapeutic, hope.

I know this note is scattered but so am I right now. I keep rethinking my whole life everytime I slow down. When I close my eyes I see her face. I question everything. Did I say enough, what if, why... But questions get me nowhere.

I cry. I cry a lot. I'm not a crier, yet I can't stop. I've always prided myself in being someone strong, but in one phone call I was brought to my knees. I couldn't breath, I walked around dry heaving, my legs weak, my heart felt like it had ripped out. I had no idea what to do. The next week was a blur. Every picture I see when, any memory, I can't turn on the radio or watch TV without something reminded me of her.

I don't know if irony is the right word but the last 3 years of my life have been spent preparing myself to be a Christian counselor; my senior seminar project was on how human suffering cannot disprove the existence of God. Yet I can't concentrate long enough to think of how any of this can be of any use.

I do know that I couldn't have asked for a better sister and comfortable in that I have always strove to be the best big brother that I could always be and know that she appreciated it. I knew my little sister well. I wish I had known her better. Amber taught me so much throughout life. She took care of me more than I have deserved.

I know how awkward it can be walking up and not knowing what to say, but I wanted to thank all of you mustered the courage to do it. There are so many faces that I haven't seen since high school that showed up to pay respect and it means so much. I've never seen or met someone who has touched as many of lives as my sister did and she did it all in 23 years...

Thank you all for everything.....

Too Short

Saturday, August 30, 2008 at 6:33pm

You can't help yourself to think of all the what ifs. The 'what might have beens' slap you in the face every waking moment. The inability to control the world around mocks just how weak we truly are. The Thanksgiving plans you were trying to make, the Christmas vacations, the thoughts of our children running around the living room together make you realize how precious time is. We pretend like we have all the time in the world. Like we do control our destiny, HA.

If I was given a second chance how would I do everything differently? The questions will have to remain unanswered for now, as much I can't stand it. But if there is anything I hope everyone can take for this; "Carpe diem! Seize the day, boys! Make your lives extraordinary!" (That's a quote from the Dead Poet's Society). Start living. We can only hope to make it to 90, there are no guarantees.

Life is too short to be walking around mad at the world, too short to hold grudges, too short not to tell someone you love them... Life is just too short. It wasn't long ago me and Amber sat there talking about how crazy it was that we were growing old. All our friends were getting married, starting families, and getting real jobs. I guess what I'm getting at in cliche note #2 is that life is too short and maybe it's time that we start acting it.

Smile. Tell those close to you that you love them. Hug someone you love when you see them it don't if it will be the last time.

I guess I just miss my friend

Wednesday, September 10, 2008 at 2:34am

"I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend." ~ Red

Again I can't sleep. I feel like the narrator in Fight Club,"For six months I couldn't sleep. With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy … of a copy … of a copy." I keep telling myself that this will all get easier, but it doesn't. I watch movies, read books, stare into the darkness, but every morning I wake up thinking I need to call her.

I have nightmares every night replaying old moments in my tormenting myself on whether or not I did enough. I want the nightmares to go away, I want to stop thinking about her but these memories are all I have anymore. So I'm scared to lose them. I hold on, the pain is almost self -nflicted.

I'm not sure what to do anymore. I try to put on a happy face and walk through my life like a normal person, I'm still not sure if people can tell when they look at me whether or not I'm ready to cry at any given moment. I read a grief counseling book that has helped some, it's encouraged me to talk about everything which doesn't seem to help but I reluctantly oblige. I figured I would try to get back into writing my cliché notes, this being number 3.

Before I end this note I have to mention the quote from the beginning, for all those movie buffs out there it is from the Shawshank Redemption. I heard it and couldn't help but to think of Amber (I'm still not too particularly comfortable using her name?). But I guess that’s all there is to it; "I guess I just miss my friend." I miss having that person to call when you can't tell something else. I need that little sister to go shopping with me because I'm not capable of picking out a skirt for my wife. I need her to come visit me and bring that crazy dog with her. She was that person. She was the person I could call whenever, that laughed at my stupid jokes, that would tell me that they weren't funny afterwards, that would make Thanksgiving bearable by feeding the over salted food to the dogs. I miss my friend.

Lesson 2. Griefbursts

"Grief comes in unexpected surges... mysterious cues that set off a remainder of grief. It comes crashing like a wave, sweeping me in its crest, twisting me inside out... the recedes."

Tony Talbot

Griefbursts - "Sometimes heightened periods of sadness overwhelm us when we're in grief - even years after the death. These times can seem to come out of nowhere and can be frightening and painful. Something as simple as a sound, smell or phrase can bring on what I call "griefbursts"

The world around you probably will never know see the difference, they will never see through that iron facade you have put up. They might recognize that you mood seems to be dampened but he/she has been getting better as of late. They know nothing of the hurt in your eyes, the struggle it is to get out of bed each morning. That protective wall that keeps them at an arms length. But for those closest to us, they have seen the difference, the know the difference, for they have felt the difference with us. Griefbursts are the Achilles Heel for those who are in the process of mourning. When you think you have everyone fooled into you being 'alright' better yet when you have yourself fooled, that's when they hit. You are driving along in your car and that song comes on, you hear the phone and you think it's them, you drive past the restaurant where both of you ate. Greifbursts remind you that you aren't fooling anyone.

Wolfelt describes one father saying, "I was just sailing along feeling pretty good, when out of nowhere came this overwhelming feeling of grief!" Instead of long periods of depression the grieving period for most people consists with people trying maintain a life of normalcy when they encounter random "spasms" of grief. "During a griefburst, you may feel an overwhelming sense of missing the person you loved and find yourself openly crying, or perhaps even sobbing. As one women told me, "I'll be busy for a awhile, and sometimes ever forget he has died. Then I'll see his picture or smell his favorite food, and I'll just feel like I can't even move.""

Its hard to imagine there is light at the end of the tunnel when grief comes upon like this, you feel like you can't go on. You feel bad for trying to continue on with your life but it's important to try not to deny these griefbursts. We can't pretend like they aren't there, or that was the last one. We have to accept griefbursts as past of the healing process. As Wolfelt puts it, "Griefbursts may feel like "crazybursts," but they are normal." Be compassionate with yourself, love yourself, and never stop loving those who have passed from this earth. Go somewhere quiet, cry, scream, sob, talk it out, do whatever necessary. But trying to ignore something so powerful won't help anyone. It's always important that we never give up on ourselves and those around us.

Lesson 1. You Aren't Crazy

"Do not try to determine where you "should" be.

Just allow yourself to be naturally where you are in the process."

-Wolfelt

There was a Matchbox20 song (I know that most of you all out there are huge fans) that came out a couple of years back that's chorus went, "I'm not crazy I'm just a little unwell." I have repeated that line in my head so many times in the past several months that one might actually call Matchbox fan... I am continually reminding myself that everything is alright and that I'm not crazy. Honestly its the only way I get through the day most of the time.

I feel so unwell. I can't sleep, then when I finally fall asleep I can't up. My mind wonders, conversations are hard to follow. The emotions that I used to have complete control over rule over me; I find it hard to laugh, cry to much, lack feelings. I have feelings of complete helpless followed but surging anger. My mood is consistent with that of a premenstrual women, look at me the wrong way and prepare for the unexpected. I withdraw, retreat, give up, send up the white flag. I want to alone and then get lonely when I get there. I often times wonder how much people can tell how crazy I feel. If they can see through the masks I put on in the morning.

"You're not crazy, you're grieving. Never forget that your journey through the wilderness of your grief may bring you through all kinds of strange and unfamiliar terrain.... Your experiences may seem so alien that you feel more like you're on the moon! When it seems like you're going crazy, remind yourself to look for the trail marker that assures you you're not going crazy. You're grieving. The two can feel remarkably similar sometimes."

These are a series of lessons derived from "Understanding Your Grief" by Alan Wolfelt. I highly recommend this book to anyone how has experienced a loss or as a gift to someone you know who is grieving.