grief

He No Longer Sends Me Flowers

Posted by Barbara Techel

It’s been years since John sent me flowers.

Dating and then becoming a young wife I admit I expected them. Isn’t that what one does on occassions such as Valentine’s Day, Birthday’s or Sweetest Day? Isn’t that what we’ve been taught to believe?

Oh, the times I was hurt, angry or sulked when I didn’t get flowers. 

Didn’t John love me?

This is what I thought.

My mind would spiral down the rabbit hole. I took it so. very. personally.

The blessing of growing older is that I’ve learned to laugh at myself.

I’ve also realized that the gift of this life is to love yourself. 

And the interesting and beautiful thing that has happened?

John has loved me even more than I could have ever imagined.

He hears and understands me even in times when I think he doesn’t, yet I continue to be who I am because this is what makes me happy.

And then one day he comes home from work with a big smile on his face.

Digging deep into his pocket he says, “I brought you a surprise.”

Wondering what it could possibly be I say, “You did?”

He walks toward me with his hand open. 

I see he has a handful of black stones.

All shiny except for one that looks more like a rock.

I sense his proudness as he hands them to me.

“They are Apache stones,” he says.

“I’ve never heard of Apache stones.” 

“Look it up,” he says. “They are from Arizona.”

He tells me they are currently installing a fireplace in the house he’s been building.

The inset around the fireplace has many different stones from Arizona embedded in it.

He hands me what is left of the stones that the homeowner gave him.

I look up the meaning of stones. They are referred to as Apache tears and here is what it says:

These stones were left scattered across the desert, where they can now be found.

Their historical meaning is that these stones are powerful to heal you if you are feeling grief and emotional distress.

“I love stones,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“See? I do listen to you,” he says with a grin. “I thought you’d like them.”

Pondering the meaning of the stones it runs through my mind the fact that John’s Dad passed away two weeks ago. 

It’s been a tender time. 

I’ve witnessed a softening of John and sense an expansion of his heart.

I think about that someday should I be the one left.

My warrior. The one who has seen me at my best and also at my very worst.

Yet he has always stood by me.

I don’t need flowers. I never did.

All I ever needed was to be me.

And my warrior has loved me all the more for it.

Tears I hope to never have to shed should John die before me, but if that should be, I will do so with the deepest of love for the man who has walked beside me and loved me as who I am.

xo,

Barbara

Resource: https://meanings.crystalsandjewelry.com/apache-tear/

 

 

In Awe of the Breath of Life and Full Circle of Life

Posted by Barbara Techel

Witnessing the full circle of life recently continues to have my heart opening in expansion.

Saturday, January 18, I sat vigil with my husband John’s family as my father-in-law transitioned from this earthly plane.

As I sat in my father-in-law’s hospice room I was moved to tears at the sacred work of the nurses and the compassion they extended, first and foremost to my father-in-law, and to the family.

Years ago as a volunteer with my therapy dog, Frankie, at the same hospice facility, I experienced this work as an honor and a privilege to be allowed in the rooms of those that would soon be on their way to another dimension. I learned so much about myself during that time.

I wasn’t there for my father-in-law’s last breath at 10:29 pm (he passed twenty minutes after many of the family members headed home for some rest), but I welcomed hearing about the experience from my sister-in-law who was.

I don’t feel afraid of death as I did when I was younger. Being in the room with my father-in-law and being witness as he went through the different phases and moved toward transitioning I found myself feeling like I did when I was a volunteer — I was deeply honored to be a part of the experience.

And then in what felt like a blink of an eye, the following Saturday at 9:50 pm and 9:51 pm my grand-nieces made their way into the world. I’m a great auntie (to twins!) for the first time!

And whoosh! I couldn’t help but really feel at the depth of my core the full circle of life with one who took his last breath and two who came in breathing on their own with strong lungs even though they arrived eight weeks earlier than expected.

All of this has had me pondering the breath of life — it’s all we have — it’s what brings us into this world, it’s what sustains us while we are here, and it’s what guides us as we transition.

Within those breaths of life, I’m also reflecting once again on the importance of the pause—to really be in the space of what is of the utmost importance while I’m here and how to live that.

Times like this of witnessing the full circle of life has deepened my appreciation not only for the breath of life but for the many pauses that are essential to living a life of meaning as we define it for ourselves.  

xo,

Barbara

Self-Reflection: Light and Dark and the Gift in Both

Posted by Barbara Techel

I’m reading a book right now by Stephen Levine called Unattended Sorrow – Recovering from Loss and Reviving the Heart.

In my recent newsletter, I wrote about honoring the void and allowing a new groove to unfold for myself after the passing of Gidget. 

I wrote:

I wonder how often it is we rush to fill a void because of its unknowns and because it feels uncomfortable. This vacillating between a void and finding a new groove, I think, is part of the process of allowing what is next to unfold.

I’ve had to remind myself of what I’ve written a few times now as sometimes I feel the tendency to want to just fill the void for the sake of filling it. While at the same time I also wrote that I’ve been experiencing this: there is a space within grief I’m appreciating and don’t recall feeling before. It’s a softening that feels gentle, graceful and calm, and brings me much peace.

The softening I feel is that I’m at peace that when it became apparent and Gidget’s diagnoses of congestive heart failure that it was her time to move on. Though I initially panicked and cried to my friend, and animal communicator, Dawn that I couldn’t imagine my life without Gidget. But Dawn gently reminded me to think about what it was that Gidget wanted and not my fear.

But yesterday I was in a funk that still lingers a bit today, though I’m feeling a little lighter after sharing my honest feelings with John last night. I realized yesterday that I was feeling lonely. At the same time, I still don’t feel this need to just fill the void of missing Gidget with another dog right now. But what I was feeling was what I was grappling with.

It’s this space of not knowing what’s next I realize at the same time that it’s human to want to know. But another part of me wants to allow what is next to flow to me naturally. And in this in-between space, this is what can feel so uncomfortable and all my fears and doubts come rising to the surface. I’ve also always had an animal in my home for the past thirty-five years. This is the first time without one. When John is at work now, I’m home by myself. It feels odd, but something I’m trying to learn to be with.

But it’s the awareness that this feeling is there and just allowing it to move through me I know is what I need to do – or rather, just be with.

I appreciated what Stephen writes in chapter nine:

“When we love someone, they become a mirror for our heart. They reflect back to us the place within us that is love, the divine principle. When that mirror is shattered through death or separation, we may feel as though love itself has died.

We may not even know where our next breath will come from.”

He goes on to say that what’s important to do is to quietly sit with this and count the breath. What really caught my attention was when he said to inhale mercy and exhale fear.

And that was it. To be merciful with myself and let go of the fear that tries to take over. Stephen also talks about bringing awareness to the belly. He shares that so often when we move into fear our belly tightens. So I’ve been practicing by inhaling and silently saying mercy as I bring my awareness to the softening of my belly and as I exhale letting go of fears that my mind projects.

When I woke this morning I took this photo above of the shadow on my wall of a bird and some flowers I have on the armoire in our bedroom. It caught my eye and I reflected on how this image speaks to how I am vacillating between the light and dark right now – wanting to experience more light, but also trying to honor the dark. But it’s in the shadow that I realize the gift in all of it. 

XO,

Barbara

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