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Written Monday, November 4, 2019 / Day 84 / Afternoon Handling paper does not seem that dangerous. Paper by its very nature seems to be a benign thing. It’s just sitting there. It’s light and certainly not difficult to hold. That is until the paper contacts your hand at just the right - or rather - the wrong angle and you receive a paper cut. A paper cut can be a most difficult injury. While certainly not as severe as an actual physical injury can be - the paper cut has the unique ability to be extremely painful in relation to the actual injury. Some times - at first - you do not even know you have one. But then it comes - a piercing and infinitely painful reaction to this seemingly innocuous injury. How can something so small inflict so much pain? So much discomfort? In the world of grief I now live in, there are “paper cut” type injuries waiting to happen at a moments notice. Today I have had several. One came when I was paying a bill. Actually it was our portion of the second EMS transport bill for the team that came on August 8th to take us to the hospital. I was dutifully getting the check together when it struck. Painful, intense and overwhelming sadness struck. I sobbed. I wept. I wondered what exactly hit me. And then I realized - I just received a “paper cut”. In grief, there are so many situations waiting to attack you. They are unexpected since they are so hidden in the background. Once they surface - - there you go. Another victory for grief. I called out to the room, “STOP! I will not allow this!”. I have been wrestling with these past memories that pop up just to torment me. They serve no purpose, they do not add to any happy memory. They are only there to inflict injury - again. And I will no longer allow that - once I catch them in the act. It is extraordinary how they appear. These days, and this is by no means a definite thing, I seem to have the strength to temper the wave of grief that just would flow over the day and sweep me up. Moments where all I could do was to hold on until the storm would pass. But in recent days, there has been a noticeable reduction in these episodes. That helps at one level. I just miss her so. Even as I write this I have to watch myself because I could send myself down the chute of intense emotions that would not do anything but be sad and leave me depressed. I can still be depressed without all the drama, thank you. But those paper cuts. They can really get to you because they are lurking everywhere. So I will remain vigilant. And keep moving on. Perhaps I should get a pair of gloves.

Written Sunday, November 3, 2019 / Day 83 / Morning My life at this moment has definite boundaries. They exist on several levels. At the grief level there seem to be no boundaries. What I have found though is that while there are not definite boundaries there seem to be places where grief is not that powerful. Take the beach trip. Grief was significantly less intense for that week. It was a noticeable change. Of course, when I returned home, I ventured deeper into grief’s territory and it became much more powerful. As this past month has unfolded, it has been a tumultuous time. There were titanic changes to my world of grief. The lifting of the incredible weight of despair being the most notable. While the trip to Buffalo and all that took place at my return was overwhelmingly overpowering in its intensity and amazingly - in its outcome. In grief there is no joy. Only areas where things are less awful for me at this time. So in the assessment department, I’d have to make an assessment that I have moved from totally intense and consuming to a sense of general emptiness and unsettledness. Underneath all of this, for me, is my task-driven life that keeps me going. Paying bills, shopping, obligations that are presented to me - these have kept the boat floating at least. And occasionally the boat even makes a few quick trips because of the task at hand. So in the midst of this period of less intensity I find myself having definite pockets of “normal”. They are fast, they do not last, but they are noticeable. Noticeable because there have not been collective moments of “normal” for some time. As I navigate through these moments - I seem to forget where I am. It’s at these times where I fall into a new reality. The reality of venturing “out of bounds”. In sports, the playing field is the official area where the game is taking place. While the game is taking place - during “game time” so to speak, all play activity needs to take place on the playing field. Otherwise the player is reminded that they are “out of bounds” and that any game activity outside the playing field is not valid. On my playing field I have been regularly slapped with an out of bound penalty. It happens when I stray into an area that takes me back to my former life - particularly where my wife is concerned. I run into her picture, something significant to us, some artifact of my love for her - and I receive an intense out of bounds penalty. I slip back into the intensity of grief. It is biting, it is beyond sad, it is disarming - and those are only the emotions that can be put into words. There is a transition into the awful place of grief. Call it downtown grief. Right at the city center. Where all the grief action is taking place. Where the worst of the worst is normal. Where despair and forbidding are for breakfast. Followed by a mid-morning snack of anguish. This is where I had my first apartment 83 days ago. This is where I started out. As I look over these last nearly three months (is that all this is? - seems like 3 years) I find I have other residences in the world of grief. My beach trip was on the outskirts of town. It was really a country apartment. You could hardly see downtown grief from there. But I knew it was there. But being out in the country there was that a definite reality of being away from the core. My current apartment seems to be just at the edge of grief’s urban area. I still can get downtown rather easily - but since I am at the edge of the city - there is noticeably less grief around me. It’s all there at some level - just not the usual portions I had been receiving. So in my current apartment I can look out the window towards the country where it is not particularly sunny and bright, but rather just less cloudy and stormy. But when I look through the wrong window - pow - there is an industrial-strength dose of grief waiting. For now, when I venture out of bounds, I slip back into the worst of grief. I just put away the moment that is taking me there. I declare, “Someday this will strengthen me - but for now it does not. So away it goes.”. At least I can somewhat switch it off. In the past it was like that storm going through where all you could do is hold on and endure while it passes. It’s like forgetting the pan is hot on the stove and quickly touching it. That pain makes you recoil quite quickly. That’s the way my out of bounds moments are for me. I haven’t been at this very long in the grand scheme of things - but one thing is for certain - I am moving somewhere emotionally. I am learning how to play the game. And as long as I stay on the field - I may very well get better at this. Some day - I might even score a point or two.

Written Wednesday, October 30, 2019 / Day 79 / Morning Growing up I was an introverted kid. Not being athletic in any way - that separates you from the “normal” kids. Those kids seemed to have abilities and capabilities that us non-athletic kids just didn’t possess. At least that’s what the school structure taught me in my day. Not being athletic then makes you a target. A target because you appear weaker than those around you. And as the strong are inherently apt to do - prey on the weak. I had glasses in the first grade. Those amber colored ones with the wrap around ear pieces so they wouldn’t fall off easily. So being non-athletic, a little slender kid and wearing glasses made me stand out to those who were stronger. As a result, bullies were always a part of my life. And they weren’t always those stronger kids who were there to torment you. Bullies were everywhere. Now I did not have any brothers or sisters to toughen me up. My parents tried from what I can discern. But my mom had a problem after I was born and the plumbing no longer worked. So I was the only child. We had our neighborhood group of playmates and I became close to our neighbors daughter who became as close to a sister as could be. So close mind you that I never thought of her as a girl as we got older. I had no emotions for her but an attachment. Not being a sister, when I got married I had to leave that relationship behind. I often wish she had been my sister now that I am alone. So I wasn’t totally alone as a child. But emotionally and culturally I was off to the side of the main group. In high school the separation was more apparent. And thankfully I had no ongoing nemesis in the bully department. There were just those you avoided so that there would not be any problems. Then in life, there was always a fear. Lack of confidence as I now see it. Because of that I tried to be like other people - people who were more confident instead of becoming confident myself. There were no guides along the way to help see those issues. Being subservient to the “boss” in my employment. Fearful of doing the wrong thing in our church environment. Always looking over my emotional shoulder for a transgression that might be lurking. Even after baptism and being in the church, there was another level of bulling. Fighting jealously of others positions or successes. And struggling with the lack of abilities that kept me being so fearful and reluctant. These were the bullies that were a part of my life. The love of my dear sweetheart was the golden part of my life. I know God gave me that commitment I have written about in past essays. The bond we had - forged in the fire of how our relationship began, was a constant rock to me in this life. As I know now, God was the author of such a deep commitment. The ship might toss about in the storm, but the anchor firmly can hold it. I had a good foundation. Now in the light of my greatest challenge of my earthly life, I reflect on how I am free of the bullies. All of them. Nothing bothers me right now. Nor do I see anything at all being able to touch me. In fear we are afraid to lose something. Our position, our image, our reputation - it’s always the idea that something will be lost because of our actions or lack of actions. Now, I am above all of that. Actually, I understand the Apostle Paul more than I ever have. His life changed on the road to Damascus when on his way to rid the world of this scourge of this person Jesus - the object of his crusade became something real. Something powerful. Something he could not ignore or resist. Jesus became real to him. And because of that encounter, he came to see what was real and what was not. And in that new reality, everything in his life melted away. There was nothing that mattered. His new mission came from a source outside everything he knew. And that gave him a power and strength that was impossible to stop. No matter what came against him. I understand that now. Everything in my life has changed. When my sweetheart left me - my world changed just like Pauls. I was living completely for her. She was everything to me. And I mean everything. So when that was removed - I now had nothing in this world that matters to me. Nothing has a hold on me. I am here for some future that I couldn’t care any less about. It is irrelevant to me at this point. Without her - I have been freed from this world, it’s culture, my opinions and my fears. I have none. It is quite liberating. The most traumatic, deepest breathtaking loss I could have ever imagined has taken place in my life. I know she is at peace and awaiting that day (mentioned in 1 Thessalonians 4:16 - read it if you have not already). And I am here trying to make sense of it and with God’s help that appears to be happening at some background level. But no matter what happens I will never look at bullies in the same way. When you have lost everything that matters in this life - there is nothing that can touch you. And knowing that God has you - and really knowing at the depths of your very being - gives you a peace that is beyond understanding. And that makes all the difference.

Written Tuesday, October 29, 2019 / Day 78 / Evening It seems my relationship with grief has changed. As I regularly mention, I have no idea how I am doing other than how intense or not each day has been. Last week, after the Buffalo trip, the weight of despair I had been continually feeling dramatically left me. I am still sad but in a different way. I have a feeling because I am looking at my situation differently and could not have done that until the continual weight of despair was lessened significantly. Weeks and weeks ago, I don’t remember when, I gave grief a personality - obviously a bad one since this is how it was behaving - and began to talk to it directly. Somehow this seemed to give me a tiny bit of power. Power to tell grief to take a hike. Leave me alone and get out of my life. When grief would start take me down - I would tell it to stop. That I would have no part in the moment. Perhaps this took my mind off the moment - whatever it was it seemed to stop the process at times. Of course the vast emptiness was still in the background. Then when I realized - out loud mind you - that since God was responsible for my plight by taking my sweetie - I was in this new state under His direction. Like it or not. Those declarations were difficult but ones that had been playing in the background of my mind for a while. You took my sweetie. You knew what we were praying for but you said no. Because of that you now want me here. You want me here by myself. You want me to be single. As a result I am now alone. You have some future in mind for me. But I have no interest or desire for any future at the moment and that’s the way it’s going to be - because I don’t want any future without her. These declarations have started to affect me. But what is the most intense struggle at the moment is bringing her back through memories. I have continually prayed that my grief will be turned into strength. That this sadness is not what you want for me. That my love for her is so great I don’t know how to do anything at all. Nor do I want to. I have been recently declaring that I will not allow these memories to make me sad. For now - I may not be strong enough to handle them - actually I KNOW that I am not strong enough to handle them right now. When these memories return some take me back to the last moments - for now I do not want them. They have been lived. The result has been declared. I declare that I am not going back to any of them. But this is the hardest part - since I am resisting any future - resisting because I have no interest in any future and have no concept of what that would look like, these past memories keep bleeding through. They sneak in because they represent my sweetie. And as much as I am still crazy about her in every way - I cannot allow them in right now. So I declare them banished. I will not allow them in. Even though that very act hurts. But it hurts more to let them in. These declarations seem to have a stabilizing effect emotionally. I know I will not be able to forget my sweetie - but this constant replaying of past moments is going to stop. And the memories of us? When I have accidentally seen a picture of her - I am transported to that moment. The picture brings up my pre-grief life - and although I want to jump into that moment and grab her - what happens is that the moment is restored. With all of its issues of the moment, contentions, family dynamics and all the rest of it. I do not want that either. I declare that also banned from my thinking for now. Perhaps there will be a time that my strength will be restored - in fact that is part of the hope I have. But taking charge of my thinking will have a significant effect on my situation. Grief will always be there. The loss is permanent - at least in this life. God’s will is evident to me. And I know He sees me finally seeing it. So I will continue to be firm in my thinking. I miss her so much - but the suffering is doing nothing but making me sad. And I must turn my thoughts to what God is doing with me. I still do not like it. I resist that future without her for now. I’m quite a mess right now. I had two days of obligations and they’ve wiped me out. But I will be ok. I know that the future will be coming. I will be cared for and strengthened. I know He is doing that. I declare it.

Written Sunday, October 27, 2019 / Day 76 / Late Morning I found it interesting on that first terrible night home that I had to sleep with a light on. We have a small bath off our bedroom with an attached stand-up shower and it has it’s own light. I switched it on. I found that odd. I wasn’t particularly afraid of anything that I could discern but still I needed that light. Generally I have found that I have more lights on at night. I flip on the one in the bedroom and over my computer desk. Although there are two main lights on timers, I recently dug up an additional new timer and hooked it up so that the light in the “desk room’ as we call it - has a light on after dusk. When I return home after being at my son’s - which is most evenings, I go through my lights on process. There are already those two on, but I dutifully go through the house and turn on those extra lights. Perhaps light is my companion for the time being. I can’t see where I feel any better with the lights on - but it is a definite element that I seem to need. I feel unsettled when they are off. When I temporarily moved to the guest room before I left for Buffalo on the 15th - I had a small wall light on in the room. When I returned I left a light on in the main bedroom. I’m not sure if this has contributed to my sleep struggles - it is really difficult to have any concept of how I am doing. At my first coping with the loss of a spouse grief class they had a form to fill out - the “grief scale”. Analytics of my condition seem to get me going lately. I really don’t want to be bothered with measuring this awfulness. Quite a statement coming from the over-active systems analyst that I am. But since it was the class I took a shot at it. There were 18 topics - a short description of each - then a scale from 1 to 10 to rate your perception of that item. 1 as nothing and 10 as severe. I was amazed at how many areas there were that did not bother me at all. I am eating, I am not nervous, I am not anxious nor fearful or guilty. Actually for 10 of the 18 items I scored myself a 1. The rest were in the low to mid range with only sadness and sleep being extreme for me. On their scale. This is my contention - those analytically minded people some who have no real experience with grief try to put us in a box. Their goal I’m sure is to try to help. Right now - for me though - I’ll just muddle through what I am muddling through without the play-by-play analytical commentary on my condition. If I had a mind to - I’d make up my own. But that’s not how I’m operating right now. For me, writing has been a blessing. It is not like taking an aspirin - this headache of my life right now is not going to go away. Nor, at its core will it ever be eliminated. For me I see signs though. I moved back to the main bedroom last night. After these past few days I have been experiencing titanic emotional moments since my return from the Buffalo trip. Perhaps they are a transition to the next step. Instead of studying my state to find out how I am on some analytical scale, I might instead fill out some forms to assess my state. Or I could notice what’s right around me. Notice the subtle changes that have more meaning that I will ever know, nor will any pundit ever be able to express. I moved last night to the main bedroom. And I turned the light off.

Written Saturday, October 26, 2019 / Day 75 / Afternoon Dawn is an interesting moment. Night with all of its darkness - only tempered by the light of the moon, when it is there to supply that light, is ending. Prior to the end of the darkness the very slight glimmers of the light of the new day appear. Very slight at first, but just enough to begin to displace the complete darkness that has been there all night. So it is with my grief journey. The tumultuous return from Buffalo has unleashed several days of powerful emotional episodes for me. Not that any of my past ones have been any less intense, but the moments in the last few days have taken on a power that has been breathtaking in their intensity. Many elements that have surfaced in the past weeks, glimmers of ideas that I was beginning to see have come together to create a reference point. The point has elicited some of my most intense prayer times. And these are not quiet prayer times in a closet - no these are conversations taking place out loud from my trusty swivel chair where I seem to have these sessions with God and Jesus. They are loud and heartfelt and tearful. Usually just another day in my world of grief. But today there is something else. Many of these separate point have linked and created something new. New realizations and new understandings. Some of it I have already known - yet now with a new clarity. The anchor of my grief logic routine - as I have called it - has been one of my mainstays. She was good with this. She is no longer suffering. God has her. And my “argument with God” that my suffering at this time is His responsibility because He made the decision to take her. That has been an ongoing contention and in the many times I have evoked it - the next day there has been a measurable change - in a good way. Now the argument has revealed a new element. One that had been there but difficult for me to see, embrace or accept. He wants me here. He wants me single. He has plans for me. And it’s time for me to really see that. And He did something else. He lifted the weight of despair that has been crushing me. And I have noticed. And I know that it was His doing. Nothing could have made that go away. It has been a constant unyielding aspect of my existence for these past months. It is like that lead blanket the dental assistant puts on you before the dental x-ray. It’s been like that. Along with it the echos of my past life were amplified - the shared dreams we had that would never be haunting my thoughts, the artifacts that would trigger times of tears and pleadings. All gone. Perhaps there will be a remnant - but He took the blanket of despair off of me. It is noticeable. It is real. And I am so grateful. Now I’m crying for a different reason. I’m crying as I write this. Could it be just less grief - or perhaps a ray of joy. A tiny one. Just like that first light. That tiny ray that comes just before the dawn. Yes, I think it is that one. I’m still a mess - all the wreckage is still around me. I’m in no shape for anything at all. But that tiny little ray of light is shining on me right now. It has made all the difference. And tells me that the hope that I have seen in the distance, that hope that is now buried under the wreckage of my life - has moved just a little bit closer to me. And along with it - the future He has in store for me.

Written Friday, October 25, 2019 / Day 74 / Morning After a quite intense session with myself, grief and God the previous evening, I awoke today after a period of actual sleep. It was 5 hours in a row but for me - that was quite an accomplishment these days. Sleep during my trip and the first few nights home was quite a struggle. Today, the feeling of an actual period of sleep was quite welcome. Dealing with the aftermath of the trip and all that it represented as well as my first session of the coping with the loss of a spouse support group had been a lot to process. One of the themes that struck me during the session was how we hold on to the tangible in the face of death. The biggest indicator from those in the group was the need to hold on to the ashes of the lost spouse. My sensibilities do not include that type of thinking. Having the relationship with God that my wife and I experienced taught us more of the spiritual side as opposed to the tangible. As I have learned everyone has their perspective so I never feel I am the one that is responsible to change that. But for me - it was quite stunning what a grip the idea of somehow still having your dear one with you via the physical remnants of their body was more common than I had known. This made me realize something today - in the light of the new day and my tumultuous session the previous night about the sadness and despair I am facing and so want to end. I no longer am going to give life to the things and memories that make me sad. I realize that I am giving permission to these elements to make me sad, recall the past and all of its pain and issues and then take me to a hopeless place of emptiness and despair. I am done with that. Because when you really think about it - we are giving permission for things to affect us. Oh we might think that we are helpless in that regard - perhaps some times that might be slightly true - but generally we are allowing the problem to occur. I just never realized I might be able to stop it. I had been dealing with parts of this when I realized I did not want to relive past situations that are now resolved. Reliving those situations is unproductive and actually destructive to a degree. The old adage, “crying over spilled milk”, applies here. The milk is spilled. What’s crying going to do? Make it go back into the glass? In the same way - things that evoke sadness are only good for - evoking sadness. And what does that do for you? It just makes you sad. So as I see parts of this idea in the past weeks - they have seemed to now have come together as I understand more. I do have a hand in this. I have seen shadows of this idea - now I see the actual idea. So I am not going to allow things or memories to take me to a sad place. Now there will always be sadness for the loss - that will never change. What has been dragging me down has been this terrible despair that I wrote about a few essays ago. That is going to end. I am not giving life to the things that make me sad. I have been doing this. And as I have looked at God’s decision to not heal my sweetie and have viewed that as an anchor but then have gone to a place of suffering for my situation - I have to accept that in God’s decision I am now here because there is something for me to do. Doing it without her has been infinitely unbearable - but as He is revealing to me - it is His decision that my future here on earth will be without her. And I have to be good with that. This seems to be a small step forward in that way. I will not look at her things and be transported to a place of despair and foreboding. I will no longer allow that. These “things” no longer have that power over me. And those memories - the ones that try to relive the worst of times - they are no longer allowed. If they show up - they are out of here. I will give life to the love we shared. The best of the times. And if some of the sadness comes - it can come - but it will not be allowed to immobilize me. To beat me up. That is no longer an option. I’m sure I will have to work at this for a while - but the path forward in this area at least is now clear. I will be giving life to the love we had - that I still have for her. I will rejoice in the good times - knowing that in God’s plan - we have our real lives coming (Colossians 3:3 NLT). I will be sad for what has been lost - but confident that God has me here for His purpose. Right now - I do not have all the answers. But today He has given life to me. And that hope for the future is just a little bit closer than it was yesterday. 1 Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. 2 Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. 3 For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. 4 And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory. Colossians 3:1-3 (NLT)

Written Thursday, October 24, 2019 / Day 73 / Evening I am marveling at how I am having a difficult time evaluating the recent Buffalo trip. Feelings are quite unreliable in my state of grief - but the lack of my ability to assess the situation is intriguing and curious. Apart from that first day when I was being buffeted by the realizations as to why I was really there and the shock of the room and the starkness of the experience since I was alone - led to a somewhat benign remainder of the time. Now it was infinitely awkward and I would regularly lash out at the absurdity of my aloneness and the situation in general. But during the time, as I focused on figuring out what my mother-in-law needed and then lining up times to meet everyone I was there to meet - those activities took the focus away from myself. Navigating through all of this required a high-level of energy and focus - two things that have been non-existent in my life these days. So I was pushing the boundaries of my limited capabilities. I know prayers and God were behind that remarkable ability. Mainly because I knew I did not posses any strength of my own. Yet one of the astounding things of the trip was how much of a spectator I was to my own activities. This is difficult to explain but it was a part of each day there. As the plans formed themselves into obligations - my engine seemed to activate. I do obligations quite well - but up until now - I could not achieve too many in a row. Now I was batting them out of the park like a major league player. All the time being in a strange bubble. One from which I could see the activities but not really feel all that involved with them at the same time. Such is the upside-down world of the state of grief. As the days ticked off and I went through the dinners, meetings and obligations one thing was a constant - talking about my dear sweet wife. I was forced to relive those memories I had vowed to minimize. Since everyone was new to the details of the past - I was forced to relive them. Of course - those memories are somewhat toxic - I am drawn to them but then they bring up the issues of those times - issues which now have been resolved by God’s decision. Reliving them only brings back the pain of the moments - moments with her of course - but not the moments that bring comfort. Now all this was playing out in the background since my encounters with everyone were warm, loving and caring. Many trying to reach into my world to bring comfort. But as I am painfully aware from my pre-grief life - so impossible to provide any real comfort. It was just as much for them to embrace me as I to embrace them. As the week unfolded and progressed to that last day - I dutifully tidied up my temporary world in preparations for departure. The trip being during the exact timeframe of the Feast of Tabernacles was not lost on me. God likes to send me little reminders of His presence within my affliction and this irony was not lost on me. The Feast - a time for living in temporary dwellings to signify our temporal state. Seven days to look forward to the millennium when Christ will have returned and we will be reigning with Him as kings and priests (Revelation 5:10, 20:6). And there I was in my temporary dwelling. The Feast time was one of the most significant times of the year for us based on all this meaning. Picturing a time when Christ will have returned and we will be together again. The irony was stunning. . As the time ended I felt like I was watching myself the entire time. Going through the motions without any emotions except for those that came through the encounters with all of those we loved. Then my tours to the significant places in our lives. I was like a tourist to my own past. But as it seemed these were tours I had to take. The past needed to be put in its place. Apparently to make room for some kind of future I really do not want or cannot comprehend living. The goodbyes were tearful and like all the tears that now fill my life - necessary. Boarding the plane I was not only leaving my home but returning to my new one. Alone. With only memories in my luggage. I looked over at myself - and I was crying. It was sad to see - but necessary. Another step to whatever is ahead.

Written Wednesday, October 23, 2019 / Day 72 / Evening I regularly struggle with defining the world of grief that I now live in. Part of that I know, is because it is inherently undefinable. The best I can do is capture a moment when the grief surfaces. It is deceptive in that you can operate for a while. I have my moments where things are just as they were. Those moments do not really last too long - but they happen. More often than not - there is a recollection I have, a remembrance that takes place, a significant aspect of my lost relationship that just swoops in and grabs me. And in those moments there is this gripping, gasping element. It seems like the magnitude of the loss is just outside waiting - and when there is an opening it makes its presence known. And when it does - the experience is stunning. Stunning in its intensity and emotion. I think of the science fiction movies where the hero is in the space craft. The story unfolds where there is a need to leave the ship. In that moment where the escape airlock is depressurized and all of the oxygen in the compartment is evacuated there is an incredible transition between the oxygen environment and the transfer to the void of space. That’s about it. It seems like my current state is completely sucked out of the room. Facing me then is the magnitude of the loss. All that it means for the future - all that has been lost and the context of my life which is now a dark void. I gasp at the intensity of the moment. Cry out to God for His relief. I see my dear sweetie and then I don’t. I sob and cry but it is not like normal crying. It’s like a labored breathing - not that it’s difficult to breath at all - but the moment is so intense that it takes a moment to gather myself. It is grief at its worst. And there is no remedy. There is nothing that could be said. Nothing that could be done physically. Like that oncoming storm system, you need to just find a protected place and ride out the storm until it passes. I feel blessed that I do not want to turn to medications which I’m sure I could easily get. Or other crutches that may be available. Not that I even want anything myself. In the midst of these times though I surprise myself that I have hope. I have this idea that it is going to change for the better. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. I just know that it will. This seems a little schizo to me. Now I know that I am decompressing from the past week. It was so overloaded with people and recollections of things I am trying to minimize - I’m sure that has not helped on the surface. But I pray that it is helping at some deeper level. So as I continue on day by day, these moments will continue to be a part of the journey. Awful parts, for sure - but parts of the journey that seem to need to be taken. I cling to the love I have for my sweetie. How I know she is safe in God’s care. And how He will take care of me when He sees the time is right for that to happen. It’s a future breathless moment - a moment that I long for - a moment that I know is closer every day.

Written Wednesday, October 23, 2019 / Day 72 / Afternoon As I process what has taken place in this past week I am stunned on several levels. First is how incredibly difficult this day and the previous night have been. No doubt the continual flow of conversation of what took place 72 days ago and all that surrounds it has been quite a bit for me to take. There, I marveled at a relative stability. After that first day of shock about why I was there and dealing with the hotel and being alone - I settled into a routine of sorts. As humans we do adapt to anything and this situation is no different. Focusing on my mother-in-law was perhaps the strongest diversion I had. She could not do all that much so spending time with her was important. I showed her the photos in my iPad mini - I had begun a project 4 years ago to put our photos in a digital format to preserve what I could and share what was sharable with others. We spent a lot of our time doing that over the week. She knew I had others to see and in a sense I knew I was not her daughter. Family is family and I was something but obviously not the same as her daughter would be. So I know there was some of that. The focus though - on her and then trying to line up times to meet others was a bit of a job. Especially for me the way my capabilities have been so limited these days. Everything worked - despite the continual awkwardness, emptiness and irrationality of the situation (to me) quite well. The weight of the moment though was always there. As I was flying home yesterday, it was also still quite odd. I have a definite problem assessing the trip, my mood and “how I am”. That’s quite challenging for the analyst when he can not analyze his own situation. But such is life at the moment. The laundry is now done. In the midst of the awful moments the end of the day has arrived. Tomorrow will begin the 5 weeks of the support group for coping with the loss of a spouse. Before I had left for the trip I thought that the group would be interesting and helpful to have something to do. Having returned I am finding that these sessions seem essential. God’s timing is always elegant and correct.