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View the blog post as a SlideShare presentation here ---> Lessons of Letting Go on Slideshare Written Sunday May 24, 2020 / Day 286 / Morning It is nearly one week since the latest wave of change hit (Volume 8 - Essay #13 “Lessons of Completeness”). As is the case on this journey - the significance of a moment is often lost or unrecognized until the moment is long past. Last week’s moment was both significant when it occurred as well as continuing to be that way as these past days have unfolded. In the back of my mind there has been a harshness running - it is a small dialog that goes something like this, “You know you really have to just get used to all of this - stop holding on to everything!”. It is a message I have resisted, rejected and have ignored. The reality is that as much as you do want to hold on to something - whether it is a memory, a person or a situation - the truth is that when enough time passes - you have no choice but to let go. You have to. Because it is one of those things we pretend we can do that we really cannot accomplish. Emotions drive that delusion because in the narcotic-like state of emotions comes it’s own reality. A reality that is part fabrication - part fact - part wishful thinking - part resistance. In this past week I have had to face the un-faceable. In the realm of the toxic - where I have navigated situations, memories and artifacts that invoke a strong intense disarming emotional onslaught of negative energy - in this past week there has been a new reality. The toxic has taken a turn to be not so intense. It has been quite a change. And although the exercise has not been easy nor desirable - it has seemed to emerge as something else. Something I have not seen so far. Something necessary. The surprise is that the embracing of the necessary has not been a strictly conscious effort. It is in the background to a degree. It is an after effect of taking one step - which then seems to create its own energy. Energy that allows me to perform unthinkable tasks. In the intensity department then - this is a new level. One in which the intensity is just not that intense. It is certainly a welcome change. There are elements to it - what you would call an “out of body experience”. Nothing dramatic or weird - just a perspective that you see yourself doing something you could not see yourself doing - while you are doing it. For me this has been Joann’s clothes. There are - as there always is - a variety of perspectives on how to address this issue. It is always quite easy for the un-emotionally involved to declare a course of action for you to take which you could summarize by the admonition to: “Just do it!”. While those of us who are deeply immersed in the situation would tell those people to take a hike. In this past week I realized this was a task that seemed to be portrayed as a task to start and take care of quickly. Some people may be wired to take that approach. I on the other hand am not most people. The thought struck me then - “I cannot do this all at once. But I can do this differently.”. Differently to me turns out to be - as you might say - “divide and conquer”. I reached in the closet each day and just grabbed two things. Just two - or a few. Then taking each item and gently folding it and placing it on the spare bed. The same was true for the dresser. Just grab a few things and do the same. By the end of the week I had a rather substantial group of items. And interestingly - there was not an emotional moment going on as I surveyed the items. Yet in the background - I could feel something going on. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Well, actually I did know. I was letting go. Gently. Gradually. Yes, and painfully - but I was. And so it was that when Saturday came - there was a trunk full of items to go. Many clothes as well as others things that emerged during the week. As I drove away from the donation center - a place she frequented quite regularly as a customer - I felt an incredible mixture of emotions that seemed to cancel each other out. A strange moment - one which I may never really come to understand. But what it meant at one level was clear to me. The things I had just donated needed to follow their owner. Their owner has left - kept her appointment with destiny. Now in the hands of the One who has her in His care. Awaiting her future - the future that awaits all of us in Christ. And now, I am helping them join her. To perhaps do some good for others as she so loved to do in every way she could. I am doing my part - for her and for me. It is just not a cleaning exercise. It is so much more. It is letting go of what was - so God can take me to what will be. This part of the journey has now begun.

View this blog post as a SlideShare presentation here ---> Calling - on Slideshare View this blog post as a narrated You Tube video here ---> Calling on You Tube Written Wednesday, November 6, 2019 / Day 86 / Morning Of all the awful elements that are a part of the world of grief, there is one that is particularly difficult. There is no way around the task. It is just as inevitable as the moment that brought you into the world of grief. Calling to report what happened. For me, it is distasteful in so many ways. One of the most distressing is having to talk about the most destructive, gut-wrenching and debilitating event in your life to a rather clerical person. It’s not their fault, I know. They are just doing their job. But the job is rather sterile. Rather clerical. Rather procedural. And there you are trying to compose yourself as you tick through the data that relates to the situation. Getting the courage to make the call is one thing. I am amused at myself that I thought I would be able to do this sooner. In my case, with my unique situation - doing this any earlier than today was just unthinkable. So when the moment finally comes and you are resolved to take action - there is the next hurdle you have to face. Making the actual call. These days your call is received by an automated system. There you have to listen to the options and make your choice. Once there - the next obstacle presents itself. Music on hold. Here you must listen to some generic - often bouncy little pieces of music. Mine was a mix of bouncy music, followed by some stylized classical items most likely to try to keep you awake. In my case, while on hold, I am in full anticipation mode. Awaiting the moment when I have to launch my dialog. Oh good, a pause in the music, here we go. No, the music just shifted to another selection. And there we sit. In a netherworld of pent-up emotions awaiting our moment to step out on the stage to state the reason we are calling. That is the beginning of the difficulty. Finally, a person, here we go. “…I’d like…to report…a death…”. Stinging words at one level, verbalization of the thought that you have been struggling with. There they go. They are out. Then through the details of the call. What I need to do. What they are doing. It all went well. I had not had to make too many of these calls - this was the first. There is an additional call I will have to make. But I think that will be on tomorrows agenda. For all we have to deal with in grief, the majority of it is in our heads. We struggle every day with whatever we are struggling with. At this stage of the timeline - the immediate conversations about the situation have long been over. We are in the “How are you doing” portion of the program. That is a project in itself - to communicate that information. But to have to call, that takes you back to ground zero. When was the date of death - they ask. And there you go - right back to it. But not for long. I refuse to stay there if I’m forced to repeat the date. No I will not allow that to make me sad. There’s enough here in the present date to do that. The only good thing is that I will not have to make too many more calls. I want to leave that time and deal with where I am at the present time. Just a few more calls and then I’ll be done.

View this blog post as a SlideShare presentation here ---> The Banquet - on Slideshare View this blog post as a narrated You Tube video here ---> The Banquet - on You Tube Written Monday, September 30, 2019 / Day 49 / Morning It was a fabulous banquet. Everyone was there. And what a location - elegant, uplifting - it was a joy to be in such an extravagant environment. There was celebrating - rejoicing. Even at the banquet, there were issues though. Nothing major - life is like that - problems for sure - but solutions as well. Enjoying such an occasion with friends and family - there could not be a more incredible time. And sharing it with the one you love more than anyone else in the world - there are not words to describe such joy. In such an environment - even a fabulous banquet needs attention, details to be addressed, elements that remind us of all that it takes to create such an occasion. We embraced the moment - it was special beyond words. The banquet continued longer than anyone could envision. But for you - on that fateful day - you had to leave the banquet. Leave the banquet and all that it meant to you. You were right in the middle of a meal. A sumptuous meal. One that was outstanding in every way. But then you had to go. Actually, they came to inform you that you had to leave. You saw them in the room - those who came for you - but gave them no mind - you thought - they weren’t there for you. But they were. And in the middle of that incredible meal, in that wonderful environment - you had to leave. Right in the very heart of it. Taken to a new location. A location that was not a banquet at all. Certainly it was adequate. Surveying the scene - it was just what you needed. There were elements of the banquet there - but nothing as magnificent. Nothing as grand. Nothing as loving and caring. Yet in this new place, were all the elements you needed. But the crowd was gone. The melodic and soothing music was not present. There was just silence. And emptiness all around you. And the one you love? They were not asked to leave. They had to stay. You had to leave. But you were right in the middle of the meal. You didn’t even finish what you had in front of you. And now, while your needs were totally being met - there was not your love with you to share it. You were alone. A knock on the door. A friend to inquire about how you are doing. Wondering why you weren’t celebrating. And asking when you would resume. You try to tell them - you had to leave the banquet. Right in the middle of it. But they struggle to understand. They were not interrupted. They are not alone. But you are. They leave - and there you are. Longing for the banquet that you never finished. The love that was there that is now only in your heart and memory. A lonely, sad place. A place where you will have to find your way - with God’s help. And find your way you will. When it’s your time. You will always miss where you were - but will embrace the new world at some point. Just not today. The banquet is still too fresh in your mind - and in your heart. Yet the future will be there when you are ready. Only God knows when that will be. And you trust in that as you mourn. And cry. Grief is like that.

Written Thursday, December 26, 2019 / Day 136 / Late Afternoon I have found that I relate quite a bit to my three and a half year old granddaughter - Hannah. We both seem to have our moments for different reasons, of course. But in watching her behavior I am strangely drawn to the fact that she is acting in exactly the way I am acting. Even though our ages are dramatically different I find she suffers from a lot of the same things I see myself suffering. She can’t have something she wants. Right, check. Got you on that one. Although her issue is the cookie, mine is my dear sweetie. But we have the same reaction. We fuss, We cry. We carry on and on. Hmmmmm. There are times her father tells her to sit in the chair for dinner if she would like to be a “big girl” and not have to sit in the high chair. It often works for a while….a little while really. Then over he comes to swoop her off the bench and into the high chair. In my world I don’t care at all for the present. The present is not desirable because the most important part of my every day is no longer present in my every day. So I wander off into the past. A past where my sweetie is. There I can enjoy her and what we did in those times. It is what I really want. But then my Father has to come and swoop me back to the present. That happens with the tears come that sweep me out of the delightful past I long to reclaim and deposit me back here - where I am forced to stomach the cold hard reality of the present. Wah. Sometimes as the over-active analyst that I am - I find I am over thinking a few things. I know I can have a problem in this area. That’s the first step I have heard. But if I really boil down my situation on a truly emotional level - pure emotion - it would seem that I am experiencing a prolonged, intense temper tantrum. I lost something that was really valuable to me. It was a part of me I cultivated and embraced for 47 years. It was taken away from me. And I want it back. Wah. I walk through our relationship and all that it meant - all that we shared. And all that we loved about each other. I’m also practical enough to remember everything wasn’t always sunshine, lollipops and rainbows all the time. Life is like that. But what we shared - the special, the unique, all that made up what we were - is now gone. I even acknowledge that God was a part of the end. We prayed. We had a genuine miracle in our lives in 2015. That was real. And we celebrated it. Then when another miracle did not come along and God’s answer was no. That relationship ended. And I want it back. Wah. So is this the net of what this experience is all about about? Is this what the prevailing “get over it” thinking is that seems to fly all over the place when people are talking about death situations? “Well, time will help him 'get over' it…”. Really? Is that what we are talking about here? Is it disrespectful to look at the situation this way? Well, I still have love in my heart for her - and always will. I cannot reclaim what has been taken away. I can reminisce about the past but not relive it. I must live in this cold hard reality without her. But I don’t want to. Really I don’t. Wah.

Written Friday May 15, 2020 / Day 277 / Morning It is interesting how many of us do not get to choose the careers we end up with. For most, “work” is something we have to do. We need to exist in some form and work gives us the way to do that. When “work” is approached as an obligation - it is not all that fulfilling. Then there are those whose work seems to fit them. Some in a big way - others in smaller ways. Caregiving is “a job” for sure. Unfortunately we have seen that from our experiences when we have come into contact with those who really go through the motions of the job. You could say it is the letter of the law - not the spirit. The work for them is just not really “in them”. For those of us called to that work outside a professional capacity - the scope and implications of the job turn out to be more than you could have ever anticipated. I know that was true for me. When my wife reached that crossroads in her life - where her life (and as a side-effect the relationship we shared) met the irresistible force of debilitating illness - it was I who was enrolled in the most consuming, challenging and all-encompassing work I could have ever imagined. Work that forever changed me as I learned what true caregiving was all about. Going into it - I never had a clue as to what was ahead. My wife was always the strong one - her very personality had a resilience that was always captivating to me. Perhaps because my strength was loyalty and dependability - coupled with her strength we were quite a team. But on that terrible night of April 15, 2015 - when we both encountered something that neither of us could deal with - not only this emerging illness but also the beginning of the end of the lives we knew. The pain she was facing was more than any words I can summon can attempt to explain. We were totally helpless - literally screaming out to God at 1 o’clock in the morning. My first 911 call - a pathetic mess of a person trying to be coherent in the midst of the incoherence of the moment. The amazing EMT’s who came to sweep us out of that moment and lead us to all the moments we could never foresee that were ahead of us. Caregiving on the surface - at the beginning of it - just meant taking care of her. Helping her in every way. Little did I know that the caregiving path I was now on - would take me to places I could never had dreamt of - mainly because the “work” took me to places in myself I really never knew were there. Readers of these Essays know of our relationship. It was not typical. It was beyond special. It had a rock-solid foundation that could not be broken. Even in this. So when I was called to serve - my first thought was “I am going to take care of her - no matter what.” It really did not matter - any longer - about my life, even my profession - or anything about me. I remember thinking - I am staying with her - I don’t care if I lose my house, my job - or anything I have at all. All that mattered was being with her as she faced this most awful time anyone could face. Men want to fix things. I am no different. I wanted to fix this. I knew that couldn’t - but as long as she was in trauma I knew one thing. I would also be in trauma. The hardest thing of all the hardest things that were a part of that time - was knowing she was in pain. It was a continual knife in my heart. It was constant in me - because it was constant in her. Underneath all of that was life. The operational life. Just enduring the moments to live. This was my new job. The lesson was - my thoughts and needs no longer mattered. I had no capacity for that anyway - but neither did I have the desire for me. It was all about her. She could no longer lay down because - of what we later found out - were the compromised vertebrae in her back. So she could only sit upright on our swivel chair in the living room. That would be where she lived for the next 5 month. So I camped out on the couch. It did not matter about my comfort. I no longer had any concept of my comfort - since she was compromised I no longer mattered. Caregiving in such intensity is something you cannot perform on your own strength. Because we do not have enough of our own. But every waking moment - as well as those moments that attempted to be sleep - were focused on her. She was all that mattered. There was nothing else. Caregiving by its very nature demands that you focus on another person - their issues. Their comfort. Their needs. At first - in the adrenaline rush of the cataclysm - you are propelled by all that the situation is driving you to deal with. The needs of the person drive everything. No actually - everything - really everything you could imagine. Because the situation is crying out for what it needs. It needs someone else to step in. To be the strength the hurting person needs but can no longer supply for themselves. I remember in the midst of this initial crisis - thinking that she was going to die as a result of what was occurring. Later she would tell me that was never on her mind. A tribute to her strength and resilience - those qualities that had hopelessly captivated me and never stopped doing that. Beginning my career as a caregiver then - started in the crucible of fire. Of pain. Of anguish. And of total ignorance of how to be a caregiver. Those lessons would come. And never stop coming. As a caregiver - you strive to provide comfort. Most of the time the dream in your heart - to remove the affliction from the one you care so deeply for is not achieved. You have no power to do that. But you have the power to keep them from being alone in their affliction. I can speak volumes to that fact. Having spent the past months in the worst place imaginable - alone - drives home that fact. As a caregiver - no matter how helpless you may feel - you are not leaving them in their time of affliction. There’s no relief to that in one sense - but in another it is everything to have that dedicated person focusing everything they are on the one they are caring for. At times I would muse - at least the sick person gets tended to - us caregivers rarely have time off. When the needs are intense - so becomes the caregiving. It is your job - and you are on the clock 24/7. During my time, embracing my sweet precious wife as she endured the trial of our lives - the appearance of my flesh was quite distasteful. Negative thoughts, cries to be satisfied, to have some relief. Constant pulling at my soul to just escape. But there would be no escape for me. In my heart of hearts there could never be. This was a person who meant more to me than these words can convey. There would be none of me while she was in distress. As the months and really years rolled on - my role became less consuming. Although emerging from the miracle of her cancer disappearing from her CT scans four months after that terrible April night - we were left joyful. And with a new reality. Our lives forever changed from the experience. Her capacity diminished from the ordeal but her spirit and faith in God never altered in even the slightest way. Her focus rock-solid - because her life - at its core - was grounded on the Rock. As far a I was concerned - my job was awaiting my return. Now resuming full time work as we navigated how we would operate - our new life emerged as a new phase of caregiving. One in which I was responsible for more than before. I had to assist her in dressing. She thankfully - for both of us - never lost her drive to cook. Something for which I am grateful beyond words. Cooking was her joy. It is odd that right now I cannot even think of cooking. A remnant of the conflict I am sure. But the unrelenting need to constantly be occupied in some task - be it work or caregiving - or helping her in every way and tending to life in general kept me from me. I had been trained to ignore myself. No matter how the self protested and complained - that conversation was fruitless - the self was no longer part of this new life I had. And through it all - I know that it was God’s strength that took me though this. If you are a caregiver - know that His strength is available to you as well. I seriously do not know how I was able to make it though our ordeal other than His power was making that way - where there was no human way. And on the awful day in August, 2019 - when her race was over - so was my caregiving. A bitter release from the task I had willingly taken on. Had immersed myself in and had surrounded her with all that a human could provide - while God provided the rest. In this life, as it has unfolded - as much as I want her here - God ruled on our requests to Him. We were the joyful recipients of a miracle in 2015. And with as much faith as we had for this life - His decision was now clear. Her race was over. My caregiving was over. He would now take over - for both of us. Her to await the reward that awaits all who now sleep (1 Thessalonians 4:16) - me to await a new life that I can not grasp without her. The lessons everywhere. The love of God enables us to do these things. To endure the afflictions, rejoice in the blessings that we receive in the midst of the affliction and rely on the only One who can enable us to survive. To await the next steps for us - that are a part of His plan. Listen to the words of Paul the apostle. He understood suffering - both as an instigator of suffering on so many and as a messenger of the hope that Christ offers to all of us as His free gift to free us from our: 18 Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later. 19 For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are. 20 Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, 21 the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. 22 For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23 And we believers also groan, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, for we long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering. We, too, wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us.” Romans 8:18-23 (NLT) In your caregiving - whether it has been in the past or is currently your life - remember the one you serve here - that precious one who needs you and appreciates you more than their affliction can allow them to express. And remember the One who can give you the strength to meet anything that the affliction can throw at you - so you and your loved one can emerge as victorious. Victorious as our Savior’s sacrifice - willingly given for you - has conquered this world and it's afflictions. The sacrifice that is available to you if you will only embrace and believe in it.

Written Thursday, October 31, 2019 / Day 80 / Morning Language translators will tell you that there are times in the process of translating where the concepts in the one language are so vast that there can be a problem boiling the concept down to a word in the other language. Because of that, language translations do not always take you to their intended place. Such has been my world of grief. The emotions here are of such a nature that there is a struggle to boil the emotion down to just one word. Sometimes I have to qualify the feeling in many words. Other times there are not words. Only expressions. Tears are the default for when this conflict is beyond resolution. Tears are the universal way that the emotion finds its way out of grief and into the world. The forces here in the world of grief are hard to define but I will give it a try. First of all - it is a dark place. Devoid of joy or happiness. When grief is in play - there is a vast emptiness that is all consuming. There really is no escape from that in its pure state. If there were a core to grief it is quite obviously that at its core is the loss. It is the center of everything that is wrong. Everything that is in turmoil. And depending upon the closeness of the loss, the amount you were attached to the loss, the magnitude of how what was lost was a part of you - that core - at its extreme - can be like the grand canyon. Breathtaking in its scope and from your perspective as vast as anything could be. It is this backdrop that immobilizes us. That has stopped us in our tracks. It is easy to see why there are not enough words to describe grief. What I have described is only a part of it. The part I can attach words to. The rest of it is beyond words. That is where the tears come in. They are the expression of this sadness, this emptiness, the futility that is now a part of our life. Culture and the oblivious observers in our lives pressing on us to deal with this conflict. When there is nothing that can be done to help us as we normally define help. Because you see, the world and our friends who are not in the world of grief, see our situation as broken. And in that sense they are correct. Although unlike an actual broken element of our life that could conceivably be repaired through fixing what has been broken - in grief there is no repair for a loss of this magnitude. That is why we cry, and those outside of grief do not know what to do with us. Our tears make them uncomfortable. We are always perhaps a bit depressing since there’s not much new in our lives since we last saw them. We are still suffering. And they are not. In this past week since my return from my trip home I have had a watershed week. Intensely difficult on so many levels. Amidst the prayers and declarations there has been an ever so slight change in the undefinable world of grief. Even a slight change in the world of grief is significant. Significant because, as I have said, there’s nothing physically that you can do. Talking with others, especially those who are in the same world provides a welcome outlet if nothing else. The extreme weight of despair that I have been facing has been dramatically lifted. The change has been noticeable. I no longer am dragging that along at this point. It has been such a relief. And relief and grief do not go together. I have decided to intentionally be thankful for what I have. I have not been ungrateful - but it seemed like an expression of that gratitude would be good. So I have been expressing thanks - for my home, finances - everything I can think of. And the most sensitive and delicate topic of thanks is thanking God for my dear sweet wife who I still love with all of my heart. That He gave her to me for 47 years and for the strength He gave me and the bond we had. I try to thank Him every day for that. In the past few days I have noticed a difference in something. I’m not sure how to define this - but my tears seem different. The only attribute I can grasp is that my recent tears are somehow comforting while the tears of the past have been dark and empty. Perhaps they are coming from a different place. I did make a major effort to declare that I will no longer allow myself to be sad for my wife’s memory - that I only want joy from her memory. I reserve the right to be sad - but not because I dredge up the past or reenact signifiant moments that result in nothing but sadness and pain. I have kept saying that. So at some undefinable level there has been a change. I can’t figure it out - and as you know - that is my nature to quantify and put everything in context. But the tears, I believe are trying to tell me something. And you know, I think I’m going to listen to them. I’ll let them lead me - because they seem to know a way that I do not know. Sometimes God sends you a message in different ways. Who knew He would use tears to tell me He cares.

Written Thursday, October 10, 2019 / Day 59 / Late Morning Grief is such a paradox - empty yet not empty, conflicted then calm, strange yet familiar - all these states existing, as they can in the moment. The moment can get taxing. In grief, I have found, my energy level - or capacity - is severely limited. I find the energy to take care of the obligations as they need tending - but to purpose in my heart to have a plan, well, the chances that the plan will happen are unpredictable. It depends upon the moment. At night the moments are a struggle. Sleep is elusive in a way I had never experienced before. As I try to identify the problem - I can’t. The usual models don’t seem to work - no matter what I have been doing, getting to a sleep state seems to be a daily - or rather nightly struggle. Even QVC doesn’t help me sleep. Now my pre-grief sleep was anything but restful. My wife had issues sleeping as we all do and those issues would wake me up - the interrupted sleep then continued in another room. Now I am not interrupted - I am unable to get to sleep at all. My sleep at least had a little predictability even within the struggles of those days. Now think of a carbonated drink that you try to save for later. Once the bubbles are gone - really, what’s the point? So my nights are flat. Then in the morning conditions seem to change. Perhaps from exhaustion - then I actually do seem to sleep. Most mornings then become late sleep-ins unless I have a lunch or other obligation to force me into task mode - where some of the old systems still seem to work to a degree. In this midst of all this struggle - the moment is always with me. When we live our lives with all of their duties and responsibilities we just operate through them on to the next one and then the next. But in the grief state I am in - the loss of my closest companion - the moment is just there. And often it has to be dealt with and cannot be ignored. Whether it is interrupted sleep or some other situation that invokes a moment - this reality is a new one. When I am busy, the moment seems to fade into the background because the focus is on the task at hand. There may be a moment trying to happen - but being occupied takes that focus away - at least for a time. Being immersed in a busy day, week or month - can take you away from what is waiting for you until the activities dissipate and the moment returns to be dealt with. At that point the moment is in charge of me. And I have come to realize that I have a hand in making some of them more difficult than they could be. In that way I have become aware and try to do what I can to minimize those moments. Think of working on a tall ladder. You may be perfectly fine being up there doing what you are there to do. But take one look down, realize where you are and the implications of that - well now we might have a problem. A problem you had not really been aware of had not the moment come and taken you to it. So in this world of moments - the only way forward is day by day. It’s what my wife taught me as she struggled with hers. She was such a great example of that. Now it was not easy, or pleasant in any way. That’s the way moments can be. But she turned to the One who was in charge of all her moments and put her trust in Him. Yes there were fears, there were apprehensions. He helped her and gave me the strength to be her cheerleader. And I know it helped her. Just as He will help me. Day by day. Moment by moment.

Written Wednesday, December 4, 2019 / Day 114 / Morning Ahhh the morning. First light of a new day. A new day filled with opportunities, potential…accomplishments waiting to be fulfilled. Those are the mornings most experience. But not me. No my mornings are not like that right now. My mornings are broken. Of course, my pre-grief mornings were not all that great either. I was still working. Managing the household operations that my wife could not take care of. Trying to keep up with the endless stream of tasks and responsibilities that relentlessly came my way. Although stressful there was a purpose running through it all. In retrospect I know I was receiving help because I cannot understand how I was capable of all that. But God did. Now, there is no longer work outside of the home. There is no endless stream of tasks and responsibilities. There is no reason for them now. And without the focal point, the core of my existence on this earth missing - there is no purpose to my life at the moment. So when morning comes it is just one of the new realities that I must face. A new day alone. Without a direction. Without the very foundation of my life that I stood upon. No there is none of that now. My mornings are broken. Until very recently I do not think I wanted to face the mornings at all. Being taxed emotionally I’m sure was a factor. And the coping that was taking place was off the charts. So the thought of a new day alone and upset really was not all that appealing. So I slept in. I don’t know - thinking that morning would move on without me? Hardly. It was still there. Taunting me. Well, that’s the way I took it. But the morning was just there - being the morning. Although my inclination was to try to stay in the darkness of grief, morning would always come around with a gentle nudge and say, “Here I am…come on…”. To which I would say, “Go away…!”. After the insanely overwhelming pressure of my pre-grief life one of my current mission statements now is that I will not be pushed - at all. For anything. Nope, and you can’t make me. Because I won’t. So there. This no doubt has contributed to my resistance to the morning. Recently though there has been a subtle change that I am noticing. I seem to be waking up earlier than I have been. I mean significantly earlier. Many times closer to when I used to get up for work. I see what time it is and then dive the submarine back under the water. No - I am not ready to get up, thank you. But it seems to be happening on a more regular basis. And it doesn’t seem to be tied to how early or late I am going to bed. It is more or less the around the same time. So that is interesting. I often think of a sailboat. It can be all set to go - but unless there is some wind - nothing is really going to happen. So now, it seems I am in a situation where I am more ready to sail. There just is no wind to take me anywhere. In reality - I do not want to go anywhere anyway. Where would I go? For why? And with Who exactly? Now obligations are another thing - the only thing that gets the boat sailing. When an obligation comes along it makes the boat sail. But the course is more of a circle than a real excursion. These are all short trips - they end rather quickly and at the same place they started. For now the logic problem I have is still in place. The most amazing and extraordinary person I could have ever been privileged to share my life with is no longer with me. I know to those outside an ultimate loss such as mine only see my life as broken and in need of repair. I’m sure they do not know any more than I do, about what that repair should be. That’s the problem with supporting someone in grief. They ask - “So how are you doing?”, I reply - “Terrible.”, that doesn’t really give them a lot to work with. So I am polite and talk around the really awful contentions I have. Because there is not a knowledge-based solution to all of this. For regular people it is uncomfortable to go to such a dark place so they don’t. I know - I was there in my pre-grief life and I could not go there. So I understand. For the mornings that now come - they are a little less biting. A lot less intense. Perhaps that is progress. At least the very idea of morning is not so distasteful as it has been. But what to do with the morning? In my day-to-day mode I have things around the house to settle. Things to sort through. As curator of the museum that I now live in - my new job is to put together what needs to be passed on - throw out the irrelevant and find elements to add to the family history I am now in the process of writing. Leaving a legacy is now my job. It’s not the future by any means. Remember, for now I do not do the future. But it is the day. One day. A day to see where it - in its own limited way can take me. So when the morning comes it is a lot more focused. The future can wait. The day has arrived. And the morning comes to take me there.

Written Saturday, January 11, 2020 / Day 152 / Morning Now is an interesting concept. It is amazing how we do not really understand the idea - nor do we fully embrace the moment it represents. Now is right in front of us yet we resist it - or worse yet, ignore it and instead focus on what does not matter. Now actually matters more than we thought. Now is now. It is right in front of you - yet now is only a platform from which we do so much to resist it. I know in my recent pre-grief life - I had little luxury for now. My life was a constant stream of obligations that could not be ignored in order to drink in now. I did have my now moments and I am eternally grateful that I focused on the one who made my now what it was. The one who was everything to me even though we could not embrace everything we dreamed of embracing. No those moments were just triggers to deal with the next moment, what needed to be addressed - what had to be done. In that continual evaluation mode - sorting out the stream of obligations was a constant. Yes this needs to be done, yes, well that would be nice but I’ll have to wait and no - that is just something that can not be addressed. Of course then there was executing those obligations - whatever they were. Certainly there were gaps in all of the stream - there were momentary lulls in the action - a respite of sorts and then there were those times where I embraced my sweetie. I made those moments happen no matter what I was doing. Sometimes I would just stop what I was doing - go over to her and just tell her I loved her. Remind her of the good and hopefully make her smile. Sometimes try to come up with an expression of my love to try to reassure her especially when she was feeling ignored or neglected. Grief is actually very good at now. It unfortunately takes now and shoves it in your face. Here, take a good helping of now - pretty awful, isn’t it. You’re welcome. No I'm not welcome, thank you - your helping of now is not welcome or wanted or appreciated. Grief takes now and slaps you around with it until there’s not much of you left. Perhaps that is why these writings or the family history I am writing separately are comforting. They have nothing to do with now. For grief has taken now and turned it into everything that represents awful. And it is very good at what it does. So in living in the past - there is a bit of insulation. But unfortunately - the return trip to now is inevitable. Now is always waiting to get you back. There are things to do in the now. Time to eat, make the bed, take care of the now. And oh, by the way - here’s a slap across the face about how lonely and empty your life is right now. Don’t mention it, says grief, it’s the least I can do for you. When I gave grief a personality early on and began to address it directly - I seem to have taken a step to release it’s hold on the now. It can do all it wants to try to make my nows terrible which to that I say, “Go away! Get out of here - I’ll take over for you - your kind is not wanted here.”. I instead focus on hope. Hope is actually a future now. One in which the issues of the present now have to step aside for something better. The present awful now will always be in the background - but the now of the future will have some kind of new reality. One that I cannot fully grasp as yet - but one I know is sure and true. A better now. The mornings seem to be the most now moments I have. Occasionally those first moments of the day are deceptively like the past. They do not last long at all. They cascade to the painful present. The stark reminder of the stark reality that is the core of the present now. To which I say, “What am I doing here? What am I doing?”. For the moment - existing. What happened yesterday? That was a now that has turned into a then. A now that has become a memory. My sweetie and I would look back at our lives and reflect on events and those who we so miss. She would say “where did all that go?” - to which I would say, “We lived those moments.”. The nows that had come and gone. All who were a part of them now relegated to history. Without an earthly future for the moment - my nows are presently a bit of a tennis match. Me batting away the now that grief wants to pitch to me. A now I understand and reject. When I can get a grip on now I take it and try to mold it into something better. I cling to the hope that my Savior has for me - I relish the best of the past nows - those that remind me of the unfathomable love I was blessed to share with the most amazing person I could have ever been blessed to be with. I let those nows out of their box and let them flow into my present now. I am thankful that I have been led to write these essays. Each one a glimpse of a now that I had embraced. I look at many of them and am amazed. They could not be recreated. They could not since those nows are gone. Each essay like a butterfly that was captured. Each one a step. Each one a comfort in its own way. I pray they are a comfort to you in your now. As they have been in mine.

Written Thursday January 30, 2020 / Day 171 / Morning A noted celebrity died an unexpected death several days ago. Although death is around us every day - we do not see it directly. Or feel it at all. Those it affects are not in our circle. Those explosions do not touch us. This one touched me. The man and his daughter died. Unexpectedly. My heart sank - I know. My loss was gradual this one was immediate. That does not matter - it is a loss. Then I found out that they had three other daughters. My heart sank again - if it could sink any more. I read the wife’s comments and cried out to God to give her strength. Being a celebrity she has circles and circles of contacts and support. That helps - to a point. But this morning when I woke up I lamented - I know exactly how she woke up today. The way I do each day. There is a moment - a split second when I awake that reality has not yet appeared. In that tiny moment it is like the past. The past I long for. Then just as quickly reality appears. And so does the emptiness. I manage as she will though the obligations of the day. Reasons to get up and fulfill some task or activity that needs to be addressed. Now she is in the immediate several weeks of intense activity. Intense contact. Intense recollections about what happened. Those are activities that surround us in our shock and numbness we are feeling. The surreal quality of our life - now missing what made it our life. Something she will navigate as I did and we all do who enter the state of grief. Then at some point - the order, the cycles of whatever life she will have will begin. With children she will have a purpose - a part of him still with her. They will be her focus - whatever family she has the other. But the reality of what has taken place will not come for some time. I know. Mine is only now just starting to appear. I do not like it at all. The future that is outside in the car waiting for me to come out and join it - unwanted. I ignore it right now. I ignore it because it is missing what makes my life what it is. If I could share anything I would share two things with her. Two things that drive me right now in my tiny little world I am in. The first thing would be for her to tell their story. In grief we are missing everything that matters to us. Others try to empathize with us - and unless they share a similar loss - cannot really comfort us the way we need comfort. I would tell her to write their story. How they met - how they came to love each other. I have been doing that and I have found a strength in that continuing exercise that has brought comfort and actual revelations on aspects of our relationship I never had known. I would tell her - put into words what he was to you - what you were to him. Reveal the deepest aspects of your relationship. You need this. You need to put into words the incredible, precious, extraordinary relationship that you are now missing. I would tell her you need to do this - for you. Then when she was done with her story I would tell her to read it out loud to herself. She would never be the same afterwards. I know I am not. Next, I would tell her to write the story for her children. They need to know about their father and mother. They need to know why you are so sad - why you are so devastated - so lost. They need to have the story - one they should not be given until they are adults. Only then will they be introduced to your amazing relationship and understand a love that is so precious. A love they should seek and not settle for anything less in their lives. I would tell this to anyone who is grieving. And I don’t want to hear that you do not know how to write. You do. About this topic you are the authority - the expert. Don’t worry about technical things - worry about the story. And then write it. Write it to tell the story of your precious loss. What it was - how it came to be so precious to you. Why you struggle to go on without it. Write that story. Your family deserves to know about your sorrow. They need to know about it from more than a sympathetic observers perspective - they need to know about it from your perspective. Tell them what you have lost. Tell them so they can feel it - only then can they understand what you have been facing. And only then can you leave a legacy fitting to the precious relationship that has been temporarily interrupted by death. I would then tell her of the assurance of what we have in Christ. His sacrifice for us - the sacrifice she has heard about and accepted but now is going to understand at a new level. God has us. I quote 1 Thessalonians 4:16 all of the time. We have a hope that others do not have. We will see them again. And God has a plan that is beyond our understanding. A plan that is even beyond what our churches have grasped. It’s all there in the Bible. If you seek it - God will enable you to find it. But it is sure. It is real. And in that amazing Kingdom - we will be reunited with our precious ones. And will continue God’s plan which He is working out. My wife and I learned about this plan for decades. It is our real future and it is coming. I navigate each day with these two objectives right now. I cannot conceive of a life without her - you cannot without him. But God will use us in a new way. A way I do not have the stomach for right now - but one that will come in His time. One of the most important things we can do in our grief is to honor what we have lost and hang on to what is ahead. To live for Christ - and leave a legacy to those around us who can be strengthen by that legacy and the love it represents.