My 2 cents to anyone grieving would be to “Change your Mind”. Change how you SEE losing someone you love by radically flipping your thinking about how you see loss via death. Don’t choose to suffer so hard for so long. It isn’t brave and strong. Rather, consider thinking differently.

Sure I’ve only been grieving about a week but I’ve grieved before and did it wrong. Once I let myself become a basket case which resulted in physical illness which stole time from my life and learning. I could have harvested the lessons from it. Instead, I made it hard work and caused unnecessary trauma to my body.

. . . . . . .

Consider for a minute the trauma we impose upon our bodies simply by the way we view an event and respond to it emotionally. This one thing causes untold pain, suffering, and loss in our lives. And the saddest fact is that we had a choice all along…but refused to receive it.

So, when Hunny exited life, I knew I had to grieve differently or I wouldn’t survive it. I had to choose a different way to perceive it, live it, and learn from it. Not because I’m selfish and cold-hearted, but because I’m not done living myself. And I don’t know how I know that, but I do. There is…something…just out there…that I must reach.

This is school for me, and an experiment in human behavior. I’m doing grief differently and I don’t know if it’s a better way until I’m finished. But so far it’s a helluva lot better than I’ve ever done before.

. . . . . . .

I asked Father as I drove home from the ER, “Help me do this better. Make this almost too easy. To Love and NOT die.” And it seems to be happening.

I’ve listened to some grief therapy videos and often heard the words, “Everyone does grieving differently”. Yet, as I scan memories, grieving people have some similarity’s.

Often it’s desperation, fear, or sadness, and one more thing you’re not going to like, probably. A very basic joy in the whole business of death. Yep, I said what I said. It’s the kind you see when watching someone enjoy their own pity party. Mostly with death, we project it to the ultimate extreme.

Death is like a free license to fall apart. It’s even applauded if I do. People expect it. It’s normal. And to have a most gargantuan tantrum about lost wishes or regrets. But in truth, it’s the righteous epitome of refusing meaningful introspection and ignoring the massive teaching packed into those moments of pain.

Life is definitely a school and pain is its vehicle for every important lesson. But emotional chaos is the detour of learning and the open door for total emersion in narcissism. I can block every pearl of Truth when slathered in sloppy emotion.

. . . . . .

For example this afternoon I tried on a small piece of emotional self by letting this thought sit with me for a while. It was; “I never got to say goodbye”.

Then I said it out loud to Hunny. And his response was, “We never said goodbye to each other so, why would you do it now?” I had to consider what he’d said, and when I did I discovered that he was right. We said everything but goodbye. Not because it was something we discussed and agreed to do. Rather, it simply didn’t apply to us…ever. We said, “Be careful. Have fun. Try to enjoy the journey. Eat well. Take care of yourself. See you ____. I love you. You’re my sweetheart. I’ll miss you.” But never goodbye. How odd that I’d never noticed this before and that he’d pointed it out now. I’ve said goodbye to lots of people. Like when friends and relatives leave after a visit. But I don’t remember saying it to Hunny, or him to me.

So why would we say it now? And why would I think it was significant now? Because it sounds like such a marvelously sad and theatrical thing to think? Well, yes. That would be the only reason.

. . . . . .

We always parted ways knowing that we’d come together again because there is no other vibration for us. This time is no exception.

Emotionalism isn’t our style. We’re straightforward and basic, honest on a blatant level. He is my sweetheart. Not gooey pretty words. Just plain Truth. I adore him…with all his faults and perfections. I think he’s wildly amazing and shockingly even more so now.

There’s a warm, quiet humming in the atmosphere here. That’s him and me. It’s what we do together. And we haven’t stopped.

And that’s my 2 cents on grief.

I think I may continue to share this experimental adventure with you. I hope it is helpful.

Faith