5 tips for Gripping Hope through the Holidays: dealing with Grief + Emotions

She sat there, or was trying to. Even the task of sitting brought discomfort. It required stillness, and stillness allowed for ALL of the emotions to be felt. If only she could just keep doing, moving, planning….

but she was exhausted. All of her attempts at grief escape had left her depleted. Her mind + body needed rest but the physical and mental exhaust had only dropped the defensive walls down to the surface of the grief flood waters, they were brimming, beginning to splash over a little. How might she avoid the onrushing waves that were certain to crash in soon? Oh, please, not now….

She was tired. Too tired for the heavy weep of sorrow. Oh, so tired… but oh so unsettled. Letting the grief flow freely was still so difficult, so painful.

But so was avoiding it, just a different kind of steady pain that she barely recognized was happening. Recognized or not, it was crippling her. It was taking her out, little by little, day by day. She had to find a way…

And so she did, and she still does. Because grief is certain to come and go.

But now, most of the time, she knows when to welcome it, and how she can do that best.

Let’s see if some of the tips in the slide show above help you. I tried to think of some of the biggest issues I have faced coping with grief during the holidays. It’s challenging, I won’t lie. But, we do have options that can help us manage better, help us find our way through it with a little more ease. It isn’t easy but it feels better after we do it. Honest!

I created a mini-book for you to help to move through the holidays. It has more detailed information and access to some of what I use regularly in my Grief Toolbox. You can click the link HERE for my HOPE for the Grieving Heart Mini-Book. It is only $6.95, up for a very limited time at just a fraction of the cost that my physical book will be. So grab it while you can!

A cancer widow's tale: When words fall short but LOVE doesn't.

Lament, sorrow, pain. Sometimes we allow ourselves to go there, sit there, feel it. Other times it presses in like a vice grip on our brains. Yesterday, was a vice grip day as I was standing in the kitchen. My mind uncontrollably reeling, revisiting all kinds of thoughts. Honestly, considering conversations that never were. A new reality of deep grief was forming due to a lack of conversation.

Why didn't Dave talk to me about it?

Why didn't he give me advice, permission, his wishes, and why didn't he give me a goodbye letter. He gave each of our kids one. Why not me? 

And as for me....

Why didn't I scream at cancer in his face?

Why didn't I cry out in front of him that I didn't want him to leave me?

Why didn't I beg for him to tell me everything my ears and heart so badly wanted to hear from him? WHY????? 

I was asking God this yesterday in my extremely vulnerable state. I had been on the verge of tears (or full-out bawling) the entire day. 

As I was standing in the kitchen facing the cupboards, for who knows how long, mind sloshing away in the grief sludge. Why?   … and God, clear as DAY, told me "That was you LOVING HIM WELL. That was you loving him in the most sacrificial form there is."  You see, I needed SO MUCH MORE. I needed words, I needed to hear his heart for me. I needed him to tell me I was going to be okay. I needed him to tell me everything he wanted me to do and to say with the kids from here on out. I got none of it, not one word. What I did get was a simple look of content, over + over again.

Decades of marriage with him proved I could easily have forced him to talk to me.... so why didn't I? Why did I sit there in a state of quiet and calm when in truth I so desperately longed for words. Because I LOVED HIM so DESPERATELY. I didn't press or demand... I sat in his process with him. I allowed him to do it his way. No, WE did it his way together. I followed his lead, and he held tight to his HOPE. 

So many tell me they can't believe the tremendous faith we had through it all. Yes, we did. But I think perhaps they are confusing what they witnessed as faith when in reality a lot of it was Dave’s positive mindset, and perhaps even a touch of denial. They think because we didn't post about the struggle, fears, and appearance of a gloomy outcome that we believed 100% he would be healed. I don't think any of us stood on that ground, but hope was always on the fringes. My husband was few on words but the ones he did choose to speak were full of life, hope, and days to come. Any others were unspoken.

Everything in my nature would have screamed for answers, and real talk, but somehow in the thick of our 14 month long chaos of chemo, radiation and unsuccessful bone marrow transplant, God gave me a supernatural ability to die to self. I am so grateful for that now. We did did it our way, we did our best, we loved well. Sometimes love looks like action, and sometimes love looks like quiet. Real words may have fallen short but love was more than evident in the chosen QUIET. 

When words fall short but LOVE doesn’t.

Trauma Permanently Changes Us

Trauma. It wasn’t a word I would have thought I would be using with such a common type of death as cancer. However, when you sit with your person, and go through the treatments, and watch them suffer, and eventually die… well, it is indeed traumatic.

As the days go by, and some of the memories choose to resurface, you know… the kind where you are back in that room again, with all the sights, sounds and smells. It is then that your heart begins to race, and your eyes leak at the gut punch of reality. Your brain wants to turn it off quickly while clinging to it at the same time. This is because for a brief moment your mind would almost choose to be there (even knowing the outcome) versus sitting in this empty void you have been left with. The uncomfortable space between yes, this is my new reality and no, I don’t want to do this. I am sitting here telling you no one wants to do this.

The gut punch ache never leaves, even though your brain is doing a pretty thorough job of trying to protect your shattered heart. But when the brain is triggered by God to let the walls drop a little… “It’s okay, she can handle that memory, drop that wall, let her remember.” And BAM it unexpectedly slaps you awake… it is right here in this space that you are beyond aware you, no doubt, have experienced trauma.

A lot of times I find myself wondering if I will ever be the same, and I have come to the conclusion that, no, no I won’t. Will I still have joy, yes. Will I continue to have moments where I laugh until I snort at the silliest of things? Yes. Will I be able to go a week without bawling? Maybe? Will life go on and will new life experiences be fulfilling. For sure. But still…

I found a lot of comfort in this article that I found by Catherine Woodiwiss: A New Normal: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Trauma. Here is an excerpt:

This is the big, scary truth about trauma:
there is no such thing as “getting over it.”
The five stages of grief model marks
universal stages in learning to accept loss,
but the reality is in fact much bigger:
a major life disruption leaves a new normal
in its wake. There is no “back to the old me.”
You are different now, full stop.

This is not a wholly negative thing.
Healing from trauma can also mean
finding new strength and joy.
The goal of healing is not a papering-over
of changes in an effort to preserve or
present things as normal. It is to acknowledge
and wear your new life — warts, wisdom and
all — with courage.

– Catherine Woodiwiss

I am different now. If you have experienced trauma, you are different now. It is okay. Don’t try to hurry your way back to an old state of norm to please the people around you. It won’t happen. Give yourself the gift of grace and patience as you discover your new life, day by day.

Cheers my friend, here is to a new life with warts, wisdom and all.

Be Well-