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Written Thursday, September 5, 2019 / Day 24 / Early Early Morning Turns out I am a person who attaches meaning to things. We had been on a crusade to rid ourselves of the unnecessary, the out of date. Many of our friends were on the same page - downsizing as they could. In my current world - all of the meaning I have attached with things has come crashing down on me. If you want to talk about triggers - I'm in a vast environment full of mouse traps and I can barely make a move without setting one off. Usually a bunch of them go off together. Now the intensity of this has somewhat decreased so I imagine that there will be a time that the effect will not be as strong. But I had a realization today about what to do with these seemingly meaningful things. That was the thought - they are extremely meaningful to me - but in reality who else would care? I'm sure there are a few items that might interest my son. A few I most likely would insist he take due to their unique historical value. But to the vast array of other items - items that had historical value only to my wife and I - what of those things? It especially took me by surprise that many of the items had meaning to my wife and I but were outside my son's life or involvement - those items have nowhere to go - in the sentimental department. This troubled me because it started to dawn on me - this is another death. Sort of a third party death - one where parts of my life - important moments - will just disappear. It also reminded me of a dear friend of my wife's - one who had worked with her at her very first job - so they went way back before I was a part of the story. Over the years her friend had moved away and they lost touch. But the friend got the inclination at one point to try to find my wife. She spent quite a time on the hunt and eventually found her - by that time we had been married for years. It was a joyous reunion. The friend's husband was a biochemistry PhD conducting research in things we could only begin to understand. They had a daughter who had multiple health and cognitive problems resulting from a childhood illness. They lived in Indiana when we made contact again but we were far enough away that we could never meet. That limitation was always frustrating. When her husband retired he had many plans to fulfill. Unfortunately, he fell into dementia and had a long uncomfortable descent to a sad end to his life. His wife was left with their daughter - now in her 40's with the mind of a 12 year old. They were faithful to her all those years and now the friend was the sole caregiver. They did not have any family in Indiana. The husband had some distant relatives in New York state and the wife was adopted and neither her birth father or mother or adoptive father were still living. The daughter then had a rare inoperable cancer that resulted in a long difficult time as the disease took its course. Upon her death the friend was now totally alone. We stayed in touch. She was such a warm and caring person - someone who you would just love to talk to. My wife and her spent countless hours on the phone. Their shortest calls were multiple hours at a minimum. My wife always had this idea she could move to our area and we would adopt her! But that was never to be. Her friend found out she had cancer. To me - the incredible stress of her entire life must have been a major factor - she had been alone for so many years there with both her failing husband and special-needs daughter. The part that haunted me about the situation was that she had been in the hospital then sent home but the problem was too advanced for her to stay at home. She had the wherewithal to contact a lawyer and set up mechanisms to dispose of their assets because there was no other family left. None at all. We were able to speak with her only a few times before they started to "make her comfortable" which is the medical euphemism for making you unconscious because the pain was too severe. The friend related that she was home and someone from the medical world had come to take her to the facility where she could be cared for. She wasn't prepared for this and had to grab only a few things before she was taken. She never returned. It haunts me to this day. At that moment her house became a monument to their lives. Only there was no one there to know of the situation - or care. Her home frozen in time. Whatever was on her desk, in the fridge or sink - the bills to be paid their daughter's belongings, her husband's things - they were all there. And no one to care. I would look up her home on Google street view - fortunately or unfortunately you can virtually drive to anyone's home and I was able to see their house - a picture of the house now empty with the artifacts of their lives trapped in it. Part of her plan was to have the house remodeled and the proceeds given to their designated charitable institutions. But for me - even though I couldn't see inside - I could envision the empty frozen-in-time home. I could envision people sifting through the artifacts of their lives - some artifacts to the trash, some to auction. The fact there was no one to receive any of the artifacts of their lives was deeply touching to me. And we weren't family. It wasn't like I could drive to Indiana and burst in and say - STOP, let me save some of this because I CARE about them! But no - I couldn't. One day on Zillow (the real estate web service) I saw the remodeled home. Nicely done - totally and irrevocably remodeled from its prior state. There was no evidence of the previous owners there. This would make me cry. And so as I contemplated my own world of artifacts - I was moved to tears. I don't know why these "things" bother me. Most likely is because - to me - they represent life - our life. And the lives of those we touched. And they have nowhere to go. Nowhere to go to honor that life. So I'll have some tough decisions to make - that only are tough for me. And I'll have to do what I can - I wouldn't want to put that on my son - he would have no reason to know about the items - only I have that knowledge. So I'll share what I can and the rest will have to go at some point. Just not today. My wife and I, if you have been reading any of these essays, have a strong belief in God. We believe in 1 Thessalonians chapter 4 and verse 16. As Paul mentions - there is a coming resurrection of those who do now sleep. A resurrection to a new life that our Savior will be bringing with Him when He returns (Read Colossians 3:3). The things of today - those artifacts - really have no meaning in that context. For a sentimental, emotional person like me - those artifacts have the gift of life - I can feel it in them - but there will come a day when we will have the gift of a new life beyond our comprehension. Read Romans chapter 8 and verses 18 to 23 if you'd like to know more. I will deal with the things and as long as I am here - that will be difficult. But the future holds an incredible life that all these artifacts can only hint at. A future that we will all share - someday. Visit our Tribute to the Sine Family to learn more of their story.

We often have recurring dreams. One I have periodically is trying to get home. I am struggling to get to the destination - either in a vehicle or on foot. Each time it is the same - I am navigating various routes in order to reach the destination - but never do. Dreams are often like plays - the entire story is not able to be recalled - but certain scenes within that story emerge with a clarity that is often amazing and occasionally profound. Such was the case on July 31, 2020 - the 354th day. Act 1 - Starting the journey I am starting to return to my destination. I am rather determined to take the correct route. I make the turns and proceed through the streets. It is more of an urban setting - streets, traffic lights and different landmarks and structures along the way. It seems that the route is a good one - but as the scene ends the destination has not been reached. Act 2 - Turning Around I am with Joann and as we go down a street I turn around in front of this magnificent multi-story structure. It takes up almost the entire section of the block and I am making a u-turn in order to end up in front of it. The building appears to be a medical building - perhaps a hospital. The outer structure is some type of stone - marble or some light material. The name of the facility stretches across the entire front of the building. Since the name is carved out of the stone - it is the same color and the name is difficult to read. It is a long name - perhaps in French - but it is never clear enough to read. I turn the vehicle around right in front of the building - there is strangely no traffic on the road so the turn is easy. We leave the vehicle and walk down the street in front of the building. As we walk - I am holding her close. I am telling her how I love her and savoring that moment together. We walk and walk it seems for quite a long time. Act 3 - The Basement and the Payment We are in a basement corridor. Actually a series of corridors on our way to somewhere. Everywhere there is construction going on. The walls are cinderblock - as you would find in a basement - and everywhere there is construction where drywall is being attached to the walls - pipes sticking out. Something is being built-out. Every hall has something being built. We turn a corner and there is so much construction that we must turn back and retrace our steps in order to take another route. There are people in these halls which are generally quite wide for a basement. Almost like a crowd attending a convention. They are moving back and forth down the halls as we travel them ourselves. We reach a section of wall where there are various machines having to do with money. ATM’s, change machines - even vending machines of some type. I need to pay $20 for some reason. In my pocket is a very large amount of money but it is not organized. I have to go through the wad of money but cannot easily find a $20 bill. With all of the people going by I try to keep the money hidden as a look. I never find a $20 bill on it’s own but end up finding two $10 bills. There is a receptacle on the wall made of wood - and there are small envelopes. I take one and put the money in then deposit the envelope. I run into several people I know and we exchange pleasantries as they proceed along the hall away from us. I took quite a while to find the money - then there seemed to be another reason for another contribution but the situation is not clear. Act 4 - Recollections In the dream I am with a person I used to work with and we are sorting and arranging something in a room at a large table. I mention to her that I just had this dream about Joann. I tell her I it is difficult to even talk about it because the experience was so real. I struggle to relate what happened to her - stopping to sob as I try to express the situation to her. And then I awoke. Realizations and Themes It is amazing when I see things that I never saw before - in my own life and especially this grief journey. In this month of completion there have been continual revelations about that fact. Moments of resolution that keep snapping up to grab me. Many quite emotional yet - as I can detect - quite necessary in order for my part of this journey to be completed. From the beginning I have stated that my sweetie “completed her race”. I was doing this for months until God reminded me about the number 12 and one of it’s many meanings - completeness. When our relationship started in that traumatic month of January 1973, almost every night I would pick her up after work. We both had our full-time jobs. And every night I would take her home. These were painful days in many ways - but also euphoric because we knew that what had started between us was something precious, unique, wonderful and so much more. I was - even then - just in awe of her. That we were even on this path - as difficult and gut-wrenching as it was. I would often say in the years ahead that we were the two most unlikely people to ever be together. This made our connection even more astounding to me. In late January, 1973 when we were setting up her apartment that she would be moving to beginning February 1st - it was really the establishing of our lives together - our home. During that time we had only a sketchy idea of what life would be - how things would turn out. It was not until that night where she had the weight of all of what had happened and what she was now beginning - on her own - come crashing down upon her - that my decision to never leave her alone - ever - would be the actual moment that our lives officially began. My commitment was absolute and unshakable - from that moment I would never let this most precious, unique and special person ever be by herself in this world to face whatever it threw at her. The story is quite completely told in the essays so it is unnecessary to be repeated here. But in the end - God granted me the supreme privilege to be with Joann as she completed her journey. As painful as this is to write - there is a strange comfort to it all. And as God continually does with me - a poignant and stunning revelation in the moment. I finally got to take her home. And some day - I will find my way to her - and the future God has for all who believe in His Son.

This is the introduction to the print version of Facing Grief - The Essays. You are holding in your hands a very special set of essays. Each one is a glimpse of my struggle with the grief I experienced in the first 31 days after God answered my prayers that my dear sweet Joann would no longer be suffering. It is a place I sincerely pray you never have to understand. In taking this journey you are doing an amazingly brave thing. You are choosing to enter my world. A world in which words are inadequate to describe. While you are here with me, your sharing of these essays will bring me a bit of comfort since sharing these deepest of deep thoughts and emotions is one of the greatest gifts of support you can give. There are difficult moments in what you are about to read - moments I experience quite regularly. For you, your trip will only be temporary. Yes, you will return to your world. A world where I pray you can then appreciate not only my struggle, but also the struggle of others who face grief on a daily basis. Do not ever fear showing emotion - either privately as you read these essay or whenever the day comes that we may be together in person. And when we are together - please talk about her. Do not be afraid of that. Speaking of my dear Joann will strengthen me in ways we cannot even comprehend. Do not ever be concerned that you may “make me cry”. It will never be you that is the source of that emotion - it will come from the loving thoughts of a lost relationship and all that it means to me. Yet sharing that emotion will be good for both of us. Emotion is a natural extension of the world of grief I now live in. Sharing these moments of emotion is not a sign of weakness but of comfort to the grieving and brings honor to the one we so desperately miss. You may not be able to read all of what is here at one time. I know I can not. I am so grateful that you will be sharing my life as reflected in these essays. That means more to me than you will ever know.

This is Volume 4 of Facing Grief - The Essays. To follow the full journey, reading Volume 1 - The First 30 Days, Volume 2 - One Day at a Time and Volume 3 - Transitions will take you to the point in time in which these essays begin. This fascinating record that I keep writing continues to mystify me. As I have mentioned previously, these messages just come to me. I often have to stop what I am doing to write them down. Often I am profoundly moved when I read them back. I often read them aloud. Ultimately I plan on narrating all of them as a legacy to my family and a tribute to my dear sweet Joann. As I finished compiling previous volumes I was often stunned at what I had written. Now I know that what has been written can never be recreated except at the time it was written. The revelations I have been presented with about myself and the precious relationship I was privileged to have also been overwhelming. I often think - how could this ever get more intense? Well, it does. If you are still reading these I am humbled that you would want to do such a thing. I keep thanking you for your courage and bravery. This is not an endeavor for the casual reader - these are the innermost musings of someone caught in a terrible place. With God’s help - He is leading me through it. Leading me to a future I have no idea of (on this earth at least) but is coming. Thank you for accompanying me on that journey. Your bravery and love are appreciated more than you know.

Written Wednesday, November 13, 2019 / Day 93 / Morning Finding your way through the world of grief can be a day to day, moment to moment experience. There is no telling how things can go at any one time. In my world, it’s not that the situation is really that unstable. The real issue is that a disruption can come at any time. Sometimes you know - other times you just don’t. So in my daily attempt to figure out how I am - the process is quite scattered - especially for the over-active systems analyst that I am. Even though I have retired, the systems analyst mind-set is still a part of me. I believe that is because it always was me. The profession just grew up around the ability. So in the area of assessment - there is quite a regular struggle. What actually are the indicators? Well, am I sad right now? Do things feel “heavy”? Are there some thoughts that are just nagging at me? How do I feel? Ahh, the questions. And for all of them not all that same answers. I frequently focus on my blessings. Physically and financially I am in a good situation. All my needs have been taken care of. I have a respectful set of friends and acquaintances that I am connected to. My family has reached out and included me in a way that has been one of the foundations of strength during the storm that is currently my life. So on the basis of blessings, there are so many! At least there is a good foundation. And my continual connection to God through what He built through my sweetie and I over all of those years we studied and built each other up - that is the solid rock I rest upon. But then we are back to how am I doing - today? This past weekend was some kind of turning point. The last two essays in Volume 3 explain those amazing days. Sad days that marked what would have been our 46th wedding anniversary. But they were not as devastating as they could have been - or I thought they would have been. Seems like that is a good thing. My continual prayer is that God turns my grief into strength. If there is going to be a new underlying element of loss I must live with each day - let that reality send me to a place where all that is directed to me for grief - empowers me forward to wherever it is I am suppose to go in the rest of my life. I still do not have any focus apart from the daily obligations and other commitments that arise. I regularly marvel that in my pre-grief, pre-retirement world I led a pretty complex life. Navigating all the issues in my career in IT, taking care of Joann in every way I could and administering the operations of the house. In addition to having a constant and unyielding stream of activities that supported all of those elements. Now, however I neither seem to have the ability to do anything at that level nor do I have the desire to do any of it - or anything in particular. Writing these essays and now the launch of writing Joann’s Story (and really our family story) is the only thing I do on purpose. Really the essays, I do not do on purpose. This one I am writing just came to me during breakfast - so now I am writing it. The process of the essays mystifies and intrigues me. Perhaps my subconscious has got that one. This morning - after a somewhat restless night which has actually been a rarer occurrence lately - things seemed a little “normal” in whatever “normal” is these days. Let’s just say it was peaceful. I did start to think about my sweetie - most likely because I am deep into our initial story - and all that went along with it - so she is obviously on my mind in a greater way - in a different way than in my world of loss. That brought some tears. But the tears of recent days seem to be different. I wrote about that in a previous essay. My past tears seemed heavy with sadness, despair and hopelessness. The tears of today are still decidedly sad - but they have no despair in them. They are not heavy. If your sprit can be washed - they seem to be cleaning as the sadness brings them out. Who knows what that is - there is no telling along this journey. So if I am pressed for a status, an indication of how I am doing, I’d have to say I feel a bit more stable. It seems like there is a sense of order amidst the chaos - if that is possible. My journey has made a change in direction in some way. The deep despair that I had for so long has been away now for several weeks. I cry regularly but in a different way. So I’d have to say things seem to be better in many ways. Still the same in others. We are in no way like a functioning human as of yet - but the mood is definitely not as intense, not as extreme - not as hopeless as it used to be. In that way then things are not as bad. Not as much of a struggle. Not as awful as they were. And that is something to rejoice about.

This is a moment that I could never have anticipated. In fact, it is a moment that I kept thinking had arrived. But every time I did - that moment was not the moment I thought it was. This one apparently is. How do I know? Because the frequency of the essays arriving has decreased. And while the frequency has diminished - the impact of what is written has not. The last two have been essays that I am having a problem reading out-loud because they touch my very soul. Verbalizing the essays has been quite a tool in attempting to reconcile the unreconcilable. In reading them out-loud, I often run into a brick wall of emotion that I was not aware existed. I would then work on reading the essay until I could complete it without an issue. That seems to be a part of my journey. So to still have essays that stop me in my tracks tells me - that part of the journey will continue. And while that part of the journey will continue - writing about the journey will not. This being the twelfth month signals the end of a cycle. Certainly the first year - but more importantly the end of the need to be expressing the aspects of the life that have been a part of that cycle. I never have written these essays on purpose. They have come on their own - in a way - not something I have planned but rather moments that have built up that needed to be expressed. Those moments that have been captured and could never be recreated since those moments are now history. In writing the essays I have written my life. More of a diary of sorts - each essay has reflected several things. First is the indescribable pain of the moment. Attempts to put into words what can really not be put into words. We struggle to label those situations - those moments, often scraping together some semblance of a story about what is at its core that indescribable reality. Next they have been observations of the journey. Realizations about what has taken place. A third-person look at a first-person experience. Lessons along the way in reality. Some of them emerging as studies of the absurdity of what has taken place. Others, lessons hidden amidst the anguish. Still others expositions of topics that are even educational since they are originating at the very scene of where the lessons have been learned. And then there are the most precious essays. The ones that have arrived throughout the journey. The essays of the special relationship I had with the most extraordinary person I could have ever been blessed to be with. They talk about our love, our relationship - how it started and how it took shape not only during our pre-grief lives - but during the lives we lived and had to face together which brought us to this place. Few will perhaps ever read the essays as they occurred. That would take someone driven with a desire that would be as powerful as the forces that were instrumental in their creation. Many essays have been organized into topical threads. Each thread addressing a particular topic the essay was conveying. There are insights into the journey. There are essays expressing and examining grief directly. There are essays that specifically mention God’s role in my journey. And then there are the most precious ones - those that relate to my dear Joann. As the essays come to their logical conclusion - I reflect on how much they have been a part of my life. In a way I will miss their comfort. Because even though their stories are often so difficult - writing about that difficulty brought with it a comfort that is equally as difficult to explain. Establishing the web site for them in December, 2019, was a fitting tribute. A body of knowledge now available to anyone led and inspired to experience the journey in whatever way is necessary for them. As a person who analyzes and summarizes - I am reluctant to do that in this situation. I will let the enterprise that is completing make it’s own statements. Statements to whomever God leads to share this more terrible of times a person could live through. And for you - someone who is at least reading this final essay - my prayer is that you are blessed because of your visit. That you may be blessed by what you choose to explore here - what you are led to and what your broken heart needs to hear to help it on its journey. There is no way to address the intangible in the state of grief. It is an emotional battle of the highest magnitude. A battle that we have already won because of the One who has made it possible to partake in salvation from this broken place. The lessons I take away from these essays - as I close the symbolic page on this volume and the essays as a group are many. Perhaps too many to really express fully because each one - each essay - on its own has been a lesson. A lesson of dealing with the pain. Lessons of what has been lived. Lessons from a relationship that is beyond description. For your journey the lessons you learn - and if I am blessed that you may receive any from what you read here - will be those God is directing you to learn. My privilege of sharing my lessons with you - will be one of the greatest gifts of my new life. A gift I and God have freely given to you. Be blessed by them.

Written Monday May 18, 2020 / Day 280 / Wee Hours of the Morning Death is messy. It just is. So much is left undone - unsaid - unresolved. It is the nature of the beast. Part of this broken world. At one level or another we have learned in this life that we can ignore reality. Realities of relationships that have not turned out the way we wanted. Deficiencies within ourselves that manifest themselves in so many ways - deficiencies that we would rather not acknowledge. Situations that are not optimal for us that we choose to minimize and explain away - so we do not have to face them. And we are good at it. Denial is perhaps one of the least understood aspects of our human condition. There seems to be infinite flavors and aspects of denial - of which we embrace either consciously or unconsciously. So along comes death. And death - unlike anything else that can come against us brings along with it this ultimate truth. You will have to deal with me. No games. No hiding from me. When I show up - I show up. And when I do - you will never be the same - whether you want to accept that or not. So this grief journey then - mine in particular - as I look back at it over these past 280 days - it has been a study in coming to grips with all that death injects into our world. And until the disruption to your world is direct and destructive - you float around in this state of ignorance. Ignorance of the fact that this death is something you will actually have to acknowledge at some point. You just will. Have to acknowledge it. But you won’t. Because that is how we are. We just will not face it. Not for the reasons you may think - even if you think you are dealing with death you really cannot acknowledge it Because at our core we are incapable of dealing with death. Death is too final, too real - too absolute for our natures that have been trained to ignore it along with all those other topics from which we are hiding. And the farther away death is from you directly - the easier the ignorance can be. But when you have a direct hit into your life - your day to day life - your pattern of living - the one you cannot ignore - the one that changes every waking moment of your life - you then face the devastation that death brings in its full fury. It is bitter. It is harsh. It is unrelenting. Because it cannot be ignored. It will always be in the background - even if you do not want to accept the fact that it is there. Looking back on my journey, I see specific moments where reality was able to get to me. To make me see what was really happening - and for as much as I am aware - face that reality and deal with it. However, it is not until you reach a certain part of the journey that you realize you have not accepted what you think you have accepted. Even though there are elements of reality that you have accepted. Because there are rather significant aspects of the new reality that cry out to be addressed that you have not yet addressed. And until you do - you will never reach the full acceptance of the reality of which you despise. That reality which is now your new environment. Your new life. The life that is missing what made it your life. Call it completeness. That time in which not only the gravity of the situation has been recognized - but also the peripheral aspects of that situation that have been ignored or denied. Denied because that is what we do. That is our nature. In one way or another - the denial that is just part of this human life. And death makes you have to face that reality. And you must in order to live fully again. So it was on a day, just like any other day in grief - yesterday, the 279th day - that my reckoning came. The incomplete taking a step towards the elusive reality of grasping all that death had brought to my life. Now I had a string of what I would call “successes” as I look into the rear-view mirror. Dates and situations that were truly steps in facing death. To me, with my analytical nature, seeing patterns and events fall into an orderly display of pure precision. A precision that makes me see that I have been guided along this journey in a powerful way. Yet none of the revelations of the past providing the “completeness” that was necessary. A completeness that cannot be seen by those struggling to face all the ramifications of a destroyed life. But when that completeness arrives in it’s full measure - a moment that cannot be ignored for all that it means. Since March 1st - when everything changed (Volume 7 - Essay #9 “The Answer”) - miraculous events have been taking place in my life (Volume 8 - Essay #3 “Lessons from March, 2020”). “Progress” - whatever that means - had been taking place. The environment of grief had been changing dramatically. The early morning of day 279 was contentious. The struggle was against the feeling that something was blocking me. My prayer was to receive help to let me see what that impediment was. To help me past whatever was really behind this struggle. So the time had come. A breakthrough was ahead. As has been the case in my journey, I went through my day as I have every day - it was Sunday and time to go to “virtual church” due to the current lockdown of society that was being gradually released. I had awakened with a sort of resolve I had not experienced before. Nothing I could really identify other than things felt “different”. Little did I know how different the day would turn out. Throughout the house - there have been things of Joann’s that I had just not addressed. Most of them because I would have a toxic reaction to attempting to deal with them in the past. Over the months they just became the background elements of my life. Everywhere I went they were there. Piles of her clothes in the bedroom next to her dresser. Shoes, and her pillows on the couch among other things. After ending a phone call in the late afternoon - I was just sitting there when it hit. Nothing dramatic. But a force none the less. I played a song that was particularly meaningful to me that I have been listening to for the past month - I walked over to the couch - and slowly as the music played in the background - I took each of her pillows off the couch. Pillows that had been there since we left on that early August evening - her last time on that couch. I embraced each pillow as the music played. Tears falling on each one until all of them were now off the couch and in my embrace. The stack I lovingly placed on the swivel chair that has been my home all these past months. Looking at the empty section of the couch now - I felt a strange type of calm amidst the trauma of what I had just done. I then went to every place where there were visible remnants of her - and made the choices that needed to be made. What could be given away - what had to go. Then organized all of the items based on their disposition. Interestingly it was trash night - so their flights were booked. After that initial time with the couch pillows - those other items did not create intense emotions as I dealt with them. Something was going on here. Something big. Something of significance. Something of completeness. Denial was being challenged. And it could no longer have it’s place in my life. It was going to the trash bin as well. In God’s realm of significance - numbers play a prominent role. Particularly meaningful in my journey has been the number 12. 12 is a number that has many meanings - one is that it is a perfect number. Another of its many meanings is - one of completeness. Consider the message then that I received when I lined all these 12’s up. My life ended on a 12 - August 12. It signaled my wife’s race was complete. Something we had actually talked about. She was born on a 12 - June 12th. And each month as I lived through another 12 - each one - marked a step I was taking. And on this day - on this 279th day since my life ended - it has been 12 weeks since God intervened to change my life beginning on March 1st. All of what had been unnoticed - or unacknowledged by me for all those days was finally acknowledged. Finally addressed. Finally settled. It was a day of relief. And at that moment - the moment in which I reached out and faced what I had not been previously able to address - now providing the opportunity for me to step through the doorway to the future. The doorway that has been waiting for me to go through it. Now I could - because completeness had now entered my life. And as that completeness continues to unfold in the days and weeks ahead - the lessons it will teach me will become the foundation for the journey that lies ahead.

Written March 22 to July 20, 2020 Directory from the printed version. There is a narrated version of this volume - click the link to visit that page - Volume 8 - Narrated Go to the Essays. 1. Lessons of Peace 2. Lessons of Gratitude 3. Lessons of March, 2020 4. Lessons of Liberation 5. Lessons from my Father 6. Lessons About Me - Part 1 7. Lessons from my Mother 8. Lessons from Day 245 9. Lessons from My Last Day in Grief 10. Lessons from Being Ill 11. Lessons from Joann 12. Lessons from Caregiving 13. Lessons of Completeness 14. Lessons from Letting Go 15. Lessons About Me - Part 2 16. Lessons from the Clothes 17. Lessons from the Struggle 18. Lessons from the Essays 19. Reflections #8

(As the eleventh month of this journey comes to a close - I am posting this message that appeared on July 8th. I have only recently been able to completely read it out loud. It is a fitting tribute to what this day represents and pray it will be a blessing to you.) In all of us we have this special place inside. It is deep within us - a place where no one can go. A place where we keep something rather important - rather critical to our very existence. It is where we keep what is absolutely precious to us. This precious thing - or things - they are very private. Their power is quite strong - for what we hold precious - what really means something - or everything to us - drives our activities. Drives them often without our even being consciously aware of them. What is the most precious to you will drive you like nothing else. Where some things - most things really - can be excused, minimized or ignored - those most precious things will propel you on with a dedication and energy that is stunning when you really see what is at work. You know the precious by your actions. What will you do without question? What do you do no matter how tired you are? How inconvenienced? How impossible? Those things drive you beyond your normal qualifications and restraints. Why? Because these things matter to you like nothing else. They can be as mighty as a respected person. Someone you would literally do anything for. At any hour. At any time. You do not matter - they are so precious to you that responding to them is really all that matters. They can be as mundane as a sport team. One you will travel to the farthest game to see - to wait in the longest line for a ticket - brave extreme conditions to be a part of the activity. Whatever that thing - or things - is, or are - you will be driven like nothing else when they appear on your radar. Why? Because these are the things that mean something to you - mean something to you at the very core of your being. They are precious to you. And what is precious to us - is really what drives us. We all have something. If you do not consciously recognize yours - do not worry. It is there. You can tell by looking at what motivates you to action. Then you will find a clue or two. In grief - our response to our loss is one of proximity and emotional connection. Losses that are distant - losses for which you do not have a deep emotional connection - are not as powerful. The power that grief has over us is in direct relation to what is most precious to you. And how that precious thing - or things - has been affected by the loss. I know that these essays are a result of my incredible loss. A loss of something so precious to me I can barely describe it. Something so close to me that I was joined emotionally at a level few achieve. Losing then - something of that magnitude explains to me why my struggle has been and continues to be so great. Preferences and superficial choices can be altered rather easily. But connect those preferences and choices to the most precious thing at the very core of your being - the impact of the loss of that connection is a cataclysm of titanic proportions. I know. I have lived it. Writing about the loss has been essential to my survival. Conversations in a sense to myself - my inner self. Like a telephone party line - the written essays a way for others to “tap” into those dialogs. Whether there is meaning to the casual listener is up to the listener. Whether there are lessons to be learned through another’s suffering is also in the eye of the beholder. Our deep and heartfelt emotions - at any level in our lives - if not observed by the empathetic are just the material that fiction stories are made of. Stories of another’s life that the reader vicariously is able to partake of - and be entertained by the revelations. But for those of us at our personal ground zero - the place where “the bomb” has been dropped - that place of utter devastation where our former life once stood - we grapple with the implications of dealing with the loss of the precious. This is the element that those grief observers will tell you, “takes time”. Yes it does - because re-writing the emotional script in your very core is something that does not happen on any timetable. There is no schedule - no checklist - no “bullet points”. There is just the trauma of losing your core - and there is nothing comparable that can really replace that loss. Our struggle then is to find ourselves at a new equilibrium. That place where we have lived with the loss, mopped up some of the devastation. Cleared a path to even survey the now empty core of our lives. That place where we can finally see outside ourselves. See outside ourselves to what our life now looks like. It is surreal - empty for sure - devoid of the joy and love and rhythm of what our life was. Yet it is where we ultimately land. And what we find then - is the reference point to a new life. A new life that is waiting for us to join it. What is that new life? Who knows? Those of us in grief who have God with us - have a source of strength like no other. It is that strength that helps us cope. Helps us see. And when the time is right - helps us to act. And until that time comes - we may not know very much, may not want to acknowledge much - but what we do have - and what we will always have is something that is special beyond words. Underneath that new life - whenever it will appear - that new life will have a new core - a new core built upon an old foundation - a foundation which will be its starting point going forward. This foundation will represent everything that was in us - everything that drove us - everything that was us - those most special elements that even though they have left this earthly realm - are still a part of our very being. Our new foundation - and the coming new life then, will have an amazing starting point. We may not perceive that this is the case - we do not have to. What is at our core - that core that still brings us to tears because of its loss - knows what is valuable - what is precious. It knows because it has a model. And you know as well. You know how your precious one thought - acted - loved. Certainly we are human and nothing is perfect in many ways - but what takes the imperfections of our lives and blends those imperfections with another - when built upon a foundation of love - that connection is undefinable by any words we can find. And yet it was - and we lived it. And you know what it was. And that will be the base of what will become new. You are not going to “replace”” the precious. No you cannot - but you can build upon the rock - not only the Rock that gives us strength amidst our afflictions and losses - but also the rock of what was most important in your former life - all that made your life your life. You will always know that they are there. They will ground you - reassure you - and strengthen you. Because they will always be a part of you. Those remnants of the precious.

Written Sunday, March 29, 2020 / Day 230 / Evening A most unusual lesson came this morning - one I had not seen coming. Yet this lesson had wide implications as to how I had been living my life in the state of grief. It also has a revelation as to how life will be lived going forward. I find it amazing that we often know of the information that we might deem “a revelation”. In a sense we actually know more than we think we do. It is the influence of our “feelings” and our accompanying human nature that cloud the foundational knowledge many of us posses but have lost touch with. I woke up this morning as I always have on the journey with the assessment of “Where I am?”. Well, I know where I am, but the gravity of the new day comes and along with it the lesson that it knows best how to deliver. You are alone again today. Your life that you knew and loved has disappeared. Here you are yet again to face the emptiness and hollowness that is your life. What a depressing wake up call! Yet, one that has consistently played each day of my journey. Yes those are true facts. Often, an obligation of the day or other duty will appear to redirect my attention to their needs and then motivate me to get along with the day and address them. So after a rough start - many days creak along. And so this burden becomes a part of every day. Now however, with a complete reversal of my pathetic life, to one where hope and it’s friends, calm and peace, have arrived to take their place at the table of my life - there is a new outlook. The new outlook bringing a refreshing new direction and a new atmosphere that was previously dominated by the bullies of grief and its miserable group of associates. Within this new atmosphere though - the echos of that miserable perspective still lingering in the background. Waking up now there is a revelation that so many new, wonderful, encouraging things are taking place. The blessing of conversation. The realization that there are those truly interested in my situation…and me. The absence of the heavy and foreboding background that permeated each waking moment unless there was some activity that had to be addressed that would drown out the static. And yet with this kicker, “Sure, but what is going to happen next? Will it continue? Will you be abandoned? Will this be as far as you go?” Ouch! Here I have so much good going on, why does it have to be spoiled with such thoughts? Well, it doesn’t. That’s the lesson of today. Basically I have been trained in being miserable. Each day of the state of grief cementing the spirit of desperation, foreboding and loss deep into my heart. I had never really noticed since that was all I had to work with. Now that the new direction has arrived, there needs to be some changes. And here they are: I will focus on gratitude. I will not focus any longer on what I do not have. Actually, I have a pretty good idea of what I do not have. So why drag that up each day as if to check to see that something has changed. Nothing has changed in that department. What has changed is that God has performed several astounding miracles that have disarmed the darkness and have given me incomprehensible (to me at least) blessings and new opportunities. Why not focus on that? I do not have to worry about what is ahead. If anything, the last 29 days have taught me that my deliverance has come and a new direction is going to be in my future. I do not need to micro-manage that. From what I am seeing, I am moving to some place that will become apparent when I am ready. As I actually always thought - even in my darkest days of grief - I did know that there would be hope. It just wasn’t coming until I was ready. Looks like I am ready. So each morning going forward will be a celebration of what has been accomplished beginning March 1, 2020. That pivotal day when God sent his extraordinary representative to forever change my life. I will celebrate what has taken place. Relish the victory. And not give a moments thought to what is ahead. Because if I have learned anything for the past 29 days is that I am in good hands. I always was. And always will be.