When I was a teenager, I despised psychology, counselors and the like. It was uncool, probably because it was forced on me. Today, I don't know where my children and I would be without "being equipped."
Like most parents, I am proud of my children. They are two very special people, and I see much of Dori in both of them. That is comforting, to say the least, that I know I still have some of her here on earth.
The kids are doing what they can with the tools they have. My role is to make sure all the tools are in the toolbox and that they use them when they need them. Both have kept an open mind to talking through obvious challenges. Through disease and loss, I've seen some families deny completely what has happened to them; those children are not doing well at all.
When a hurricane hits, you better know what to do. And you better be ready to rebuild. That's what Dori wanted us to do, and I'm doing my darned best to honor that. For the first grading period, the kids had all A's with one B on one report card. That's outstanding, given what they're experiencing. Kathryn, who is very musical, is playing the piano and becoming quite the singer. Will loves his friends, who are some of the most funloving kids on this planet.
Days are going well for all three of us. Mornings can be tough, and evenings even tougher. Work and school are very good. We have a long road ahead of us, but I like that we're on the yellow brick road, with a head start on the oil, heart and brainpower we'll continue to need and use.
When you think you've heard it all, you find something special about a favorite, this time on YouTube. Enjoy, sister Anne, from your distant land.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
'Beautiful Day'
Yesterday was a good day, for many reasons.
At 5:15 a.m., I drove in the dark to put out water, power drinks and food along my planned route, which would start and end at Grassland Park. The route that traverses farms, grassland and the Harpeth River follows Moran Road, Old Natchez Road and Del Rio Pike. Runners World magazine has a photo feature called "Rave Run" in each issue; yesterday's route would qualify.
My solo run began at 5:45 in snappy sub-50 air and with a Dire Straits shuffle on my iPod. I ran through patches of mist, which became increasingly enthralling as the sun slowly rose. On Moran Road, I gazed at horses, silhouettes in the misty dawn framed by barns in the distance. A red-tailed hawk chased a small bird, hoping to conclude the dance with a morning meal. Bluebirds chirped from fences, while mating doves watched them from a higher perch. The sky alternated between rose and sky blue before settling on a dominant azure.
A common sight along Moran Road
I stopped for only a minute at miles 3, 6 and 8.5, simulating the race I'll be running next month. Near Mile 6, my good friend Michael rode alongside on his bike, chatting for a few minutes before continuing his 40-miler to Leipers Fork. He was one of hundreds of bikers I would see; I saw only 10 runners the entire morning. Everyone said hello.
Part of the challenge of running 20 miles is the loneliness as the mileage increases. But I was loving the music, the scenery and cool air. After the Mile 10 turnaround, where my average pace was 10:40/mile, my knees began to ache mildly. As the discomfort gradually increased, I struck up conversations with Dori, as well as Chuck, Sigourney and other friends whose lives were cut short by cancer. Their soothing smiles gently nudged me down the road. The pain faded.
I picked up the pace the last three miles, finishing in three hours, 31 minutes, a 10:33/mile average pace.
Feeling good, I cranked up some U2 and drove to the fuel stops to retrieve my trash. When "Beautiful Day" started, I thought of the irony. That was Dori's favorite song. I shed some tears, something I hadn't done since early August. I thought, "Today is indeed a beautiful day, my love." I knew she was there with me yesterday.
This week's 36 total miles went very well. I have one more really long run, 22 miles, in two weeks. I would love for that run and race day to be similar to yesterday. Spirituality cancels the pain.
At 5:15 a.m., I drove in the dark to put out water, power drinks and food along my planned route, which would start and end at Grassland Park. The route that traverses farms, grassland and the Harpeth River follows Moran Road, Old Natchez Road and Del Rio Pike. Runners World magazine has a photo feature called "Rave Run" in each issue; yesterday's route would qualify.
My solo run began at 5:45 in snappy sub-50 air and with a Dire Straits shuffle on my iPod. I ran through patches of mist, which became increasingly enthralling as the sun slowly rose. On Moran Road, I gazed at horses, silhouettes in the misty dawn framed by barns in the distance. A red-tailed hawk chased a small bird, hoping to conclude the dance with a morning meal. Bluebirds chirped from fences, while mating doves watched them from a higher perch. The sky alternated between rose and sky blue before settling on a dominant azure.
A common sight along Moran Road
I stopped for only a minute at miles 3, 6 and 8.5, simulating the race I'll be running next month. Near Mile 6, my good friend Michael rode alongside on his bike, chatting for a few minutes before continuing his 40-miler to Leipers Fork. He was one of hundreds of bikers I would see; I saw only 10 runners the entire morning. Everyone said hello.
Part of the challenge of running 20 miles is the loneliness as the mileage increases. But I was loving the music, the scenery and cool air. After the Mile 10 turnaround, where my average pace was 10:40/mile, my knees began to ache mildly. As the discomfort gradually increased, I struck up conversations with Dori, as well as Chuck, Sigourney and other friends whose lives were cut short by cancer. Their soothing smiles gently nudged me down the road. The pain faded.
I picked up the pace the last three miles, finishing in three hours, 31 minutes, a 10:33/mile average pace.
Feeling good, I cranked up some U2 and drove to the fuel stops to retrieve my trash. When "Beautiful Day" started, I thought of the irony. That was Dori's favorite song. I shed some tears, something I hadn't done since early August. I thought, "Today is indeed a beautiful day, my love." I knew she was there with me yesterday.
This week's 36 total miles went very well. I have one more really long run, 22 miles, in two weeks. I would love for that run and race day to be similar to yesterday. Spirituality cancels the pain.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
When It Rains ...
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm asking friends for too much support for cancer research funds. Then, I have a week like this one.
A few days ago, I read about a prominent attorney who died from AML, the same cancer that took Dori's life. Today, one of my co-workers announced he lost his young brother in his early 40s to non-Hodgkins lymphoma. His brother leaves a wife and two boys, ages 12 and 9. This afternoon, a friend told me about a co-worker who lost his three-year-old to stomach cancer.
I thought today about other obvious reasons I'm running, and the ask becomes easy. So here's the link. Some checks are in the mail, putting the effort at $9,000. Your help is most appreciated. I hope the Kanzius Cancer Research folks think this effort is a good one, and I hope more people do something.
One other thing. I spoke with someone who helped me put in perspective when a friend says something awkward or even unintentionally hurtful. He said maybe I could relate to this: "Other than your husband being shot, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"
Don't worry. I'll only think about that and won't ever say it. Our secret.
A few days ago, I read about a prominent attorney who died from AML, the same cancer that took Dori's life. Today, one of my co-workers announced he lost his young brother in his early 40s to non-Hodgkins lymphoma. His brother leaves a wife and two boys, ages 12 and 9. This afternoon, a friend told me about a co-worker who lost his three-year-old to stomach cancer.
I thought today about other obvious reasons I'm running, and the ask becomes easy. So here's the link. Some checks are in the mail, putting the effort at $9,000. Your help is most appreciated. I hope the Kanzius Cancer Research folks think this effort is a good one, and I hope more people do something.
One other thing. I spoke with someone who helped me put in perspective when a friend says something awkward or even unintentionally hurtful. He said maybe I could relate to this: "Other than your husband being shot, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"
Don't worry. I'll only think about that and won't ever say it. Our secret.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Right Again
When Vanderbilt hired football coach James Franklin last December, Dori took notice while I yawned. I had already decided not to renew my two season tickets, frustrated with decades of ineptitude and seeming waste of half my busy weekends. Dori kept chirping all winter, "Jim, I like this coach. You need to support him. He seems a lot like Tim Corbin (Vandy's baseball coach)."
"Give him a chance."
She finally wore me down, and I purchased four tickets, not two.
Yesterday, Vanderbilt smashed Ole Miss, 30-7. After watching the first three games, I see a much better coached, aggressive team. The offense isn't quite there yet, but they are creative and play hard. The defense is amazing. They punish opponents and are trying to score harder than the other team's offense. They've scored at least 23 points the first three games and set up other scores. Special teams? I wouldn't want to return kicks against us.
Yesterday's blowout win was Vandy's largest against an SEC opponent in 40 years. After the game, the coach and players talked about each other, using words like "family," "we," and "each other." The schedule looks daunting, but I'm looking forward to watching these guys play more football.
I left the house yesterday morning at 5:30 to run 13 miles. Armed only with an ipod, yogurt pretzels and water, I ran downtown, around Vandy's campus and back home. The beginning and end of the run weren't easy, but overall I ran fine, a 10:26/mile pace. This week, I ramp up the mileage considerably, running 20 on Saturday.
"Give him a chance."
She finally wore me down, and I purchased four tickets, not two.
Yesterday, Vanderbilt smashed Ole Miss, 30-7. After watching the first three games, I see a much better coached, aggressive team. The offense isn't quite there yet, but they are creative and play hard. The defense is amazing. They punish opponents and are trying to score harder than the other team's offense. They've scored at least 23 points the first three games and set up other scores. Special teams? I wouldn't want to return kicks against us.
Yesterday's blowout win was Vandy's largest against an SEC opponent in 40 years. After the game, the coach and players talked about each other, using words like "family," "we," and "each other." The schedule looks daunting, but I'm looking forward to watching these guys play more football.
I left the house yesterday morning at 5:30 to run 13 miles. Armed only with an ipod, yogurt pretzels and water, I ran downtown, around Vandy's campus and back home. The beginning and end of the run weren't easy, but overall I ran fine, a 10:26/mile pace. This week, I ramp up the mileage considerably, running 20 on Saturday.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Got Your Back
My friends are doing everything they can to help. This weekend was no exception.
Yesterday morning, my friend and Team in Training Coach Jim organized a reunion of TNT alumni. He spoke about Dori in a very special way, then presented me a card and heavy envelope, which I didn't open until later. Then he asked everyone to honor Dori by running silently for the first minute of our run. No one spoke for about five minutes. I was deeply moved and motivated to have a great run.
After six miles, I surged ahead, covering 10 miles alone, with only Sammi the Sweeper pulling up in her SUV every 30 minutes to see how I was. At the last water stop at Mile 14, she pulled away. My legs were heavy from Thursday speed work, but I knew I was going to maintain my pace. At Mile 16, a car pulled up, Sammi jumped out, and asked, "Can I run with you?" Heck yea, I said, thrilled to have the company. I finshed 17 miles in three hours, one minute. Later, I opened the card and envelope, which had many generous contributions to the kids' education fund.
After some rest, the kids and I joined my friend Al for some tailgating, then some Vanderbilt football. The Dores upset UConn, 24-21. Last night, I slept like a nursed newborn.
This morning, I hit the road with my friends Caroline and Joe, Julie, Debra, Henry, and three dogs, including Pepper. We hiked Virgin Falls Pocket Wilderness, a fairly strenuous nine-miler. I've known Caroline and Julie since high school, and the car ride went by quickly with great conversation, as did the hike. I feel great, after two days of 26 miles of exercise.
I know people are trying to pick me up. They know right now is tough. They know I would do anything to make my kids feel a little better. They are contributing to my fundraising and praying for comfort and peace. I know Dori is watching all this, including her weepy husband yesterday when I read the card that said, "Sorrow isn't forever. Love is."
All of this just makes me want to train harder.
Yesterday morning, my friend and Team in Training Coach Jim organized a reunion of TNT alumni. He spoke about Dori in a very special way, then presented me a card and heavy envelope, which I didn't open until later. Then he asked everyone to honor Dori by running silently for the first minute of our run. No one spoke for about five minutes. I was deeply moved and motivated to have a great run.
After six miles, I surged ahead, covering 10 miles alone, with only Sammi the Sweeper pulling up in her SUV every 30 minutes to see how I was. At the last water stop at Mile 14, she pulled away. My legs were heavy from Thursday speed work, but I knew I was going to maintain my pace. At Mile 16, a car pulled up, Sammi jumped out, and asked, "Can I run with you?" Heck yea, I said, thrilled to have the company. I finshed 17 miles in three hours, one minute. Later, I opened the card and envelope, which had many generous contributions to the kids' education fund.
After some rest, the kids and I joined my friend Al for some tailgating, then some Vanderbilt football. The Dores upset UConn, 24-21. Last night, I slept like a nursed newborn.
This morning, I hit the road with my friends Caroline and Joe, Julie, Debra, Henry, and three dogs, including Pepper. We hiked Virgin Falls Pocket Wilderness, a fairly strenuous nine-miler. I've known Caroline and Julie since high school, and the car ride went by quickly with great conversation, as did the hike. I feel great, after two days of 26 miles of exercise.
I know people are trying to pick me up. They know right now is tough. They know I would do anything to make my kids feel a little better. They are contributing to my fundraising and praying for comfort and peace. I know Dori is watching all this, including her weepy husband yesterday when I read the card that said, "Sorrow isn't forever. Love is."
All of this just makes me want to train harder.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Red Bandanna
People want to help, and many are.
Nearly 50 friends have already given or pledged about $4,000 for the Kanzius fundraising. This isn't the best economy, so I appreciate any contribution. As much as the money for the research, this effort is about locking arms against cancer. Thank you, each and all.
Yesterday's run was hot. My schedule said 17 miles, which I may have been able to do if I had started at 4:30. But I decided to run with the same group as last week, and they start "late" at 6:30. So I ran 12. By the end of the run, it was 85 degrees. I was happy with the 10:30/mile pace. A cold front moves through soon, and I couldn't be more ready for the change. When I retire, I plan to get the hell out of the Deep South for much of the summer.
Other positives include the hummingbird who has graced our backyard feeder the last few weeks and the good return to school and work for the children and me, respectively. I am managing to keep up with lunches, dinners, housework, laundry, bills and other tasks. I hired an afternoon nanny, who is helping me manage the transition from school to dinner. I also traded in one of our vans for a used Nissan Xterra, which the kids are really enjoying. So is their dad.
Sounds great, right? I'm sleeping about five to six hours a night, but waking up fairly often. Apparently, that's enough sleep, because I'm making it through the day. I won't do pills, if you're wondering. I saw enough medication, and their side effects, the last four years. No way.
The hardest thing right now, for me and the kids, is being in the house without her. I'm alone right now, while the kids shop with my sister. The break is nice, but the silence can be deafening. I have music playing to fill some of the gargantuan void. I'm always doing something; today, it was cleaning the gutters, vaccuuming and more laundry. None of it will bring her back, and I know it. So I stay on the move, knowing any extended period of down time would just be too much right now.
A few have said some awkward things in recent weeks. I know they mean well or they're just saying something before they catch themselves. A few asked, "How was your summer?" Some others have said, "I know you'll remarry," which almost made me cry. One of my greatest fears at the moment is being in the presence of another woman at a restaurant or somewhere public. With three or more at a table, I'm cool. Business breakfasts are OK, too. But one-on-one at lunch or dinner, no way. I had an experience earlier this summer, unintentional when a few buddies showed up late, and I was left alone with someone, a very nice person and friend in fact. It didn't matter. I was a mess.
I'm investing all of my energy in a few places - my children, work and running. At some point, I'll have to deal with the rest of my life and pick up the pieces, but now is definitely not the time.
Will and I saw a beautiful story this morning about a young leader, selfless and giving, who saved a dozen people on 9/11. It might make you want to purchase a red bandanna, like one my son is wearing this afternoon.
Nearly 50 friends have already given or pledged about $4,000 for the Kanzius fundraising. This isn't the best economy, so I appreciate any contribution. As much as the money for the research, this effort is about locking arms against cancer. Thank you, each and all.
Yesterday's run was hot. My schedule said 17 miles, which I may have been able to do if I had started at 4:30. But I decided to run with the same group as last week, and they start "late" at 6:30. So I ran 12. By the end of the run, it was 85 degrees. I was happy with the 10:30/mile pace. A cold front moves through soon, and I couldn't be more ready for the change. When I retire, I plan to get the hell out of the Deep South for much of the summer.
Other positives include the hummingbird who has graced our backyard feeder the last few weeks and the good return to school and work for the children and me, respectively. I am managing to keep up with lunches, dinners, housework, laundry, bills and other tasks. I hired an afternoon nanny, who is helping me manage the transition from school to dinner. I also traded in one of our vans for a used Nissan Xterra, which the kids are really enjoying. So is their dad.
Sounds great, right? I'm sleeping about five to six hours a night, but waking up fairly often. Apparently, that's enough sleep, because I'm making it through the day. I won't do pills, if you're wondering. I saw enough medication, and their side effects, the last four years. No way.
The hardest thing right now, for me and the kids, is being in the house without her. I'm alone right now, while the kids shop with my sister. The break is nice, but the silence can be deafening. I have music playing to fill some of the gargantuan void. I'm always doing something; today, it was cleaning the gutters, vaccuuming and more laundry. None of it will bring her back, and I know it. So I stay on the move, knowing any extended period of down time would just be too much right now.
A few have said some awkward things in recent weeks. I know they mean well or they're just saying something before they catch themselves. A few asked, "How was your summer?" Some others have said, "I know you'll remarry," which almost made me cry. One of my greatest fears at the moment is being in the presence of another woman at a restaurant or somewhere public. With three or more at a table, I'm cool. Business breakfasts are OK, too. But one-on-one at lunch or dinner, no way. I had an experience earlier this summer, unintentional when a few buddies showed up late, and I was left alone with someone, a very nice person and friend in fact. It didn't matter. I was a mess.
I'm investing all of my energy in a few places - my children, work and running. At some point, I'll have to deal with the rest of my life and pick up the pieces, but now is definitely not the time.
Will and I saw a beautiful story this morning about a young leader, selfless and giving, who saved a dozen people on 9/11. It might make you want to purchase a red bandanna, like one my son is wearing this afternoon.
Monday, August 29, 2011
My Run Against Cancer
It's time to rumble.
The fine folks at Kanzius Cancer Research Foundation have set up an avenue for people like me to raise money for their breakthrough non-invasive treatment of cancer. KCRF has been featured several times on 60 Minutes. If you've followed this blog for awhile, you know I'm jazzed about what they're doing. It's a big reason I've decided to run the Cape Cod Marathon and raise money for this special effort.
When Dori relapsed this spring, one of the first calls I made was to KCRF to see where human trials are. They're a few years away, and they need funds. They've had great success with their technology on rats, frying cancer cells while leaving the non-cancerous cells intact.
I'm an optimist, but I'm also a realist. I haven't swallowed the kool-aid, but I'm wanting to make some, for everyone. It's one of the ways I can honor Dori, along with raising our children the right way.
You can help with the former. I'd be honored to have your support.
The fine folks at Kanzius Cancer Research Foundation have set up an avenue for people like me to raise money for their breakthrough non-invasive treatment of cancer. KCRF has been featured several times on 60 Minutes. If you've followed this blog for awhile, you know I'm jazzed about what they're doing. It's a big reason I've decided to run the Cape Cod Marathon and raise money for this special effort.
When Dori relapsed this spring, one of the first calls I made was to KCRF to see where human trials are. They're a few years away, and they need funds. They've had great success with their technology on rats, frying cancer cells while leaving the non-cancerous cells intact.
I'm an optimist, but I'm also a realist. I haven't swallowed the kool-aid, but I'm wanting to make some, for everyone. It's one of the ways I can honor Dori, along with raising our children the right way.
You can help with the former. I'd be honored to have your support.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Training
Yesterday morning, I ran 14 miles with a team of 10 who are dedicated to doing something about cancer. The run went very well, six of the 14 in the hills of Percy Warner Park. The air was perfect. Fall is around the corner.
My friend Jim, a lymphoma survivor who loved Dori, invited me to join his group, most of whom were with Team in Training. Jim is kind, unselfish and just a champion individual. I also ran with Sammie, who is there every Saturday to set up water stations and encourage new runners.
I met a lot of nice people yesterday, including Erica, a mother of three, who is running her first half marathon; Teri Ann, who fights through asthma during her training; Emmitt, who organizes area races that help support causes in our community; and other cool folks. That's the thing about running ... You meet a lot of nice people when the sun rises. Glass half full, smiles, can-do ... you know the type.
After 10 miles, I ran solo, adding some mileage to reach my 14. Only at Mile 13 did I feel some discomfort. That's where I talked to Dori, feeling her presence and smile. It was one of the nicest moments I've had with her since her death. It's the same conversation I will have with her on the other long runs and marathon later this fall.
My fundraising page is up, and I'll post it after one final kink is fixed. I'll be inviting you all to join me for the ride. It would be an honor to have you along.
My friend Jim, a lymphoma survivor who loved Dori, invited me to join his group, most of whom were with Team in Training. Jim is kind, unselfish and just a champion individual. I also ran with Sammie, who is there every Saturday to set up water stations and encourage new runners.
I met a lot of nice people yesterday, including Erica, a mother of three, who is running her first half marathon; Teri Ann, who fights through asthma during her training; Emmitt, who organizes area races that help support causes in our community; and other cool folks. That's the thing about running ... You meet a lot of nice people when the sun rises. Glass half full, smiles, can-do ... you know the type.
After 10 miles, I ran solo, adding some mileage to reach my 14. Only at Mile 13 did I feel some discomfort. That's where I talked to Dori, feeling her presence and smile. It was one of the nicest moments I've had with her since her death. It's the same conversation I will have with her on the other long runs and marathon later this fall.
My fundraising page is up, and I'll post it after one final kink is fixed. I'll be inviting you all to join me for the ride. It would be an honor to have you along.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Moved to Action
After a full day of cleaning the house, doing the laundry and running errands, tonight's choice was either to watch pre-season NFL football or blog. Here I am, folks.
Work is good, and the kids are back in school. Routine has returned, and my running is ramping up. Dori is still on my mind constantly, very much so on my training runs for the Cape Cod Marathon. I have completed nearly two months of training for this race, the same one I completed in 2009. Dori adored the Cape, and the kids and I love it, too. We'll honor her in many ways while we are there.
The first break from the heat arrived midweek, and I took full advantage. After a wobbly 10-miler last Saturday, I ran five in mid-60 temps, then another six Friday morning. It was so much easier after suffering through the July-early August oven. Once it cools off more, I'll be running 15s and a few 20s. I'll be fundraising, too. More on that later.
One of Dori's best friends e-mailed me this week to share she has been notified by the Be the Match folks. She may be called soon to donate marrow and save a life. Through mostly Dori's efforts, hundreds of new donors are on the registry. It's not too late to register, just click. If you're into saving a life, I encourage it. Some of you may remember Hans, Dori's donor. Without him, we wouldn't have had her with us for four precious years. Go ahead, click.
Something else moved me this week. A woman I dated seriously before I met Dori shared she's running her first half marathon and will be doing so with Team in Training to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. She'll be running for Dori. So many care. It is inspiring, even comforting, to learn what good people are planning to do.
I saw a cartoon earlier this week that hit home about the times we're in. Whatever your political bent, it will make you think and maybe move you to do more for someone who needs you. Someone you may or may not know. The world needs more charity and sacrifice, more than ever, if we're gonna get out of this mess.
Work is good, and the kids are back in school. Routine has returned, and my running is ramping up. Dori is still on my mind constantly, very much so on my training runs for the Cape Cod Marathon. I have completed nearly two months of training for this race, the same one I completed in 2009. Dori adored the Cape, and the kids and I love it, too. We'll honor her in many ways while we are there.
The first break from the heat arrived midweek, and I took full advantage. After a wobbly 10-miler last Saturday, I ran five in mid-60 temps, then another six Friday morning. It was so much easier after suffering through the July-early August oven. Once it cools off more, I'll be running 15s and a few 20s. I'll be fundraising, too. More on that later.
One of Dori's best friends e-mailed me this week to share she has been notified by the Be the Match folks. She may be called soon to donate marrow and save a life. Through mostly Dori's efforts, hundreds of new donors are on the registry. It's not too late to register, just click. If you're into saving a life, I encourage it. Some of you may remember Hans, Dori's donor. Without him, we wouldn't have had her with us for four precious years. Go ahead, click.
Something else moved me this week. A woman I dated seriously before I met Dori shared she's running her first half marathon and will be doing so with Team in Training to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. She'll be running for Dori. So many care. It is inspiring, even comforting, to learn what good people are planning to do.
I saw a cartoon earlier this week that hit home about the times we're in. Whatever your political bent, it will make you think and maybe move you to do more for someone who needs you. Someone you may or may not know. The world needs more charity and sacrifice, more than ever, if we're gonna get out of this mess.
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Writings of Lewis
It's hard to blog these days. I don't have much time and often don't know what to say. When I do, it's not worth repeating what the kids and I have experienced that day or week. We've had some very hard days.
How often can one blog about boundless emptiness? We appreciate people consoling us. But their pity, or our seeking it, is not good for the soul.
Obviously, life is very different than it was a few months ago. No one can or ever will replace Dori. Everyone gets that. Most also get it's best just to say something sweet and consoling, listen a little, and then move on to some mundane topic. Most do. A few don't, but no need to rant right now. I've done that with a few friends, and this blog is PG-13.
We're each grieving in different ways. Rather than go into what we're specifically experiencing, I'll share some excerpts I read recently in A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. The book was a gift from the mother of one the kids' friends at school who lost a husband tragically years ago. It was accompanied with a very nice note about her own grieving experience. I brought it on our recent trip to Florida, and I'm glad I did.
Lewis' account of the loss of his wife to cancer is about losing and regaining bearings. In the foreword, Lewis' stepson notes "the greater the love, the greater the grief, and the stronger the faith, the more savagely will Satan storm its fortress." That seized my attention, even before reading the author.
Lewis said, "The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." OK, he understands.
Then more, "Who thinks there is some device ... that makes pain not pain? It doesn't really matter if you grip the arms of the dentist's chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on."
"What grounds has [her death] given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew that these things, and worse, happened daily. ... I had been warned - I had warned myself - not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. ... The case is too plain. If my house had collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which 'took these things into account' was not faith but imagination.
"[A person] has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover himself."
That's as blunt as it gets. No candyman here. I'll share something personal now. I am still going to church, praying, all those things. But I'm not really praising God very well right now. Singing hymns is especially hard. I shared this with a friend, who said something that made sense: "God knows that, Jim. He knows you're hurting." Give yourself a break.
Back to Lewis, who a little further along in his grief, notes "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. ... Then comes the tragic figure of the dance in which we must learn to be still taken out of ourselves though the bodily presence is withdrawn, to love the very Her, and not fall back to loving our past, or our memory, or our sorrow, or our relief from sorrow, or our own love."
Simple writing, deep thinking. I wonder if Lewis felt the first two months of grieving was more like 10 years. It does to me. I'm back at work, and school starts soon. The return of the routine has helped some. Time is the other answer, as hundreds have already shared. If that's the case, maybe someone can make it go faster.
How often can one blog about boundless emptiness? We appreciate people consoling us. But their pity, or our seeking it, is not good for the soul.
Obviously, life is very different than it was a few months ago. No one can or ever will replace Dori. Everyone gets that. Most also get it's best just to say something sweet and consoling, listen a little, and then move on to some mundane topic. Most do. A few don't, but no need to rant right now. I've done that with a few friends, and this blog is PG-13.
We're each grieving in different ways. Rather than go into what we're specifically experiencing, I'll share some excerpts I read recently in A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. The book was a gift from the mother of one the kids' friends at school who lost a husband tragically years ago. It was accompanied with a very nice note about her own grieving experience. I brought it on our recent trip to Florida, and I'm glad I did.
Lewis' account of the loss of his wife to cancer is about losing and regaining bearings. In the foreword, Lewis' stepson notes "the greater the love, the greater the grief, and the stronger the faith, the more savagely will Satan storm its fortress." That seized my attention, even before reading the author.
Lewis said, "The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." OK, he understands.
Then more, "Who thinks there is some device ... that makes pain not pain? It doesn't really matter if you grip the arms of the dentist's chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on."
"What grounds has [her death] given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew that these things, and worse, happened daily. ... I had been warned - I had warned myself - not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. ... The case is too plain. If my house had collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which 'took these things into account' was not faith but imagination.
"[A person] has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring out the truth. Only under torture does he discover himself."
That's as blunt as it gets. No candyman here. I'll share something personal now. I am still going to church, praying, all those things. But I'm not really praising God very well right now. Singing hymns is especially hard. I shared this with a friend, who said something that made sense: "God knows that, Jim. He knows you're hurting." Give yourself a break.
Back to Lewis, who a little further along in his grief, notes "bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love. ... Then comes the tragic figure of the dance in which we must learn to be still taken out of ourselves though the bodily presence is withdrawn, to love the very Her, and not fall back to loving our past, or our memory, or our sorrow, or our relief from sorrow, or our own love."
Simple writing, deep thinking. I wonder if Lewis felt the first two months of grieving was more like 10 years. It does to me. I'm back at work, and school starts soon. The return of the routine has helped some. Time is the other answer, as hundreds have already shared. If that's the case, maybe someone can make it go faster.
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