Edge on the loss of her husband Jerry, 260724
Yes, July 26 marks the tenth year.
Courage? No.
As with many who've experienced similar losses, I had great difficulty concentrating, just functioning rationally was difficult.
I began by trying to create new memories, starting with going to places we had traveled to together. Crying in solitude in those places (in the early stages of grief, there is a lot of crying--brought on, often unexpectedly, at the slightest provocation of thought, sight, sound--all the senses), remembering the times we'd shared at places.
Then determinedly building new memories by watching, listening, smelling--working to appreciate the place for all it had to offer, and thinking about all the good things life offers if we just pay attention and actively appreciate them.
I stepped up my time birding, both at home and in travel. One of the marvelous things about birding is that to do it well one must concentrate, for the full experience, to put all of one's being into the moment, the seeking, the observation, the learning, the appreciation. Mundane thoughts, even grief are driven out while birding. Well, that's ideally. Sometimes, even now, when seeing something special or a repeat of something we shared, I catch myself turning to share...
I took on additional volunteer duties with ASM (now MBS), selfishly to have obligations that required a mental focus beyond me--to require thinking beyond the personal realm, and to continue some of the work Jerry initiated.
And, yes, I still cry within.
As I've tried to comfort others with similar losses, who ask if it ever gets better, I respond with the comment attributed to Elizabeth, the mother of Elizabeth II, after the death of her husband when asked if "it" ever gets better. "No," she replied, "you just get better at it."
I'm a lot better at it. The birding and the many cherished friends I've met along the way have made that possible.
Thank you for your friendship,
Edge
Courage? No.
As with many who've experienced similar losses, I had great difficulty concentrating, just functioning rationally was difficult.
I began by trying to create new memories, starting with going to places we had traveled to together. Crying in solitude in those places (in the early stages of grief, there is a lot of crying--brought on, often unexpectedly, at the slightest provocation of thought, sight, sound--all the senses), remembering the times we'd shared at places.
Then determinedly building new memories by watching, listening, smelling--working to appreciate the place for all it had to offer, and thinking about all the good things life offers if we just pay attention and actively appreciate them.
I stepped up my time birding, both at home and in travel. One of the marvelous things about birding is that to do it well one must concentrate, for the full experience, to put all of one's being into the moment, the seeking, the observation, the learning, the appreciation. Mundane thoughts, even grief are driven out while birding. Well, that's ideally. Sometimes, even now, when seeing something special or a repeat of something we shared, I catch myself turning to share...
I took on additional volunteer duties with ASM (now MBS), selfishly to have obligations that required a mental focus beyond me--to require thinking beyond the personal realm, and to continue some of the work Jerry initiated.
And, yes, I still cry within.
As I've tried to comfort others with similar losses, who ask if it ever gets better, I respond with the comment attributed to Elizabeth, the mother of Elizabeth II, after the death of her husband when asked if "it" ever gets better. "No," she replied, "you just get better at it."
I'm a lot better at it. The birding and the many cherished friends I've met along the way have made that possible.
Thank you for your friendship,
Edge