I am grieving. The love of my life, Don Whiteley, died on June 2, 2014 of aggressive Lymphoma. He had had Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL) since 2004, but it was well-controlled through periodic chemo. When those treatments began to falter, he had a bone marrow transplant. He was doing well after the transplant when fate threw us a curve ball. The CLL transformed into aggressive Lymphoma. Don went downhill so fast that we could barely comprehend what was happening. Then he was gone.
I was on my own after so many truly wonderful years of marriage. Shock, confusion, disbelief. Those were my initial reactions. A sense that he really could not be gone came over me frequently. I would say to myself, "How can you be gone?" My emotions were a jumble. I didn't know what I was feeling. With the help and support of my friend, Janet, I focused on arrangements for the celebration of Don's life. Thanks to Janet, Stanton, Ana, Tom, Jill and many, many other friends and relatives, the celebration was wonderful.
At the gathering after the formal celebration, I was already trying to figure out what my life would be now. I felt there was a gaping hole in it. I said to Clea, "Now I have to figure out what my life will be." She looked me in the eye and said, "Think of it as a process of discovery." Out of the mouths of friends comes true wisdom. I like the idea of discovery. To me it had a positive connotation with notes of curiosity and adventure and hints of learning new things, meeting new people and exploring my own potential. I have taken it as my watchword.
With the celebration over, the jumble of emotions began to sort themselves out.
Sadness:
I knew I had been blessed in life. I tried to focus on that, on the positive aspects of my life. But I missed him so much! Some days when I was alone, I cried and cried. I was pretty sure it was good to let the emotions out.
I missed the day-to-day sharing and companionship. I would notice something amusing that Don would enjoy hearing about and turn to tell him. For example, there was the encounter with the credit union teller who took me to my safety deposit box because I needed to access it. She was a bit on the heavy side. As she walked in front of me to the safety deposit room, there seemed to be only one place to look. She wore a very short, very, very tight black pencil skirt. My eyes followed her tush into the room. Now, the last time Don and I had met with a financial advisor at this particular credit union, we burst into laughter as we left the place. She, too, had a generous body. She, too, wore a short, skin-tight pencil skirt. It had been impossible not to notice her tush as we followed her to her office. I smiled and wondered if it was a 'uniform' that all female credit union employees were encouraged to wear. I wanted to share the moment with Don.
Fear:
Many friends told me they knew I was a strong person and that I would be fine. One said she knew I would find a "new groove." I liked the phrase and have kept it in mind. But I didn't feel strong. I felt incompetent. There were so many things that Don always took care of, which I had no idea how to do. Seemingly simple things like backing the Volkswagon Eurovan out of the garage and getting it back in loomed as huge challenges. Don always "threaded the needle" when parking the van in the garage. I was sure I'd rip off the side mirror when I backed it out and would never be able to get it back in. How embarrassing would it be to have to ask a neighbor to park my car?
I was worried about finances too. Less than a month after Don passed away, I met with my financial advisor. I thought it was going to a brief, introductory meeting where I would meet him (my previous advisor had recently resigned) and give him a copy of the death certificate. Instead, I was greeted by the new advisor, Mark, and his boss, John. Mark and John peppered me with questions. How much did I get from each of my pensions? What was my annual income from my part-time project work? What was my total annual income now? What were my investment objectives? On and on. I was completely unprepared for this and felt like a fool. I went home exhausted.
I signed up for sunrise yoga in the Cove with Heather, a yoga teacher whom I knew and liked a lot from classes taken a few years ago. She knew Don as well. After the first class I told her about Don and she hugged me and asked me how I was doing. I started to tell her about my worries about the van. "Oh," she said, looking a bit puzzled. "So, using the van for camping is something you and Don shared and enjoyed." After this conversation the light dawned. What was the fear really about? I needed to deal with the emotions underlying my fears. Indeed, the van had been our "home away from home." There were so many wonderful memories tied up with that van. We loved our van trips to the Rockies, Tofino, Oregon etc.
I had started writing a daily journal. I realized I needed to write about my emotions, not my daily activities. It was an invaluable revelation. Writing about my emotions led to increased reflection about my life. I knew from my readings in philosophy and, more recently, on meditation and Buddhism that change is constant and inevitable. I began to reflect on change and decided that life-altering changes like this one really were opportunities for growth. I had an opportunity to improve as a person. I hearkened back to my watchword. Discovery it would be! I thought about my friends and how caring and compassionate they were - such exemplars for me to learn from. In time, I'd find my new, hopefully improved, groove!
Self-reliance:
In August I took the van on a 3 week camping trip to the Rockies. My relatives thought I was a bit loopy heading off on my own. "Surely you're not going to hike alone. What if the bears get you!" I told them one of the weeks was a group camping/hiking trip with the Skyline Hikers of the Canadian Rockies. That placated them - somewhat. Fortunately, I do like my own company and have always valued having some time to myself. I had learned in recent weeks, however, that too much time alone is not good. So, I wasn't sure how the two weeks on my own would be.
Prior to the trip I had some helpful tips (and lots of encouragement) from friend and fellow van owner, Jill, on maneuvering and roof lifting/lowering techniques for the van. Jeremy at Central Motors got the van road ready. It was time to go!
Another fear was how far I'd be capable of driving in a day. Don and I had always shared the driving. Each of us doing 2 to 3 hours at a time. The first day I got a later-than-planned start. I headed out just before noon and had an idea that I'd stop after 4 or 5 hours, somewhere near Kamloops. I think the adrenalin was flowing. I got to Kamloops feeling full of energy. That was fortunate because the air was thick with smoke from forest fires further north. I have asthma and knew I had to move on.
I arrived at Sandy Point campground just outside of Salmon Arm shortly before the supper hour. It's a lovely campground on Shuswap Lake. I asked my campsite neighbour to help me move the picnic table into a suitable spot and then I set up the van. I had time for a swim before supper. After supper a couple showed up and asked to look at the van. This happens often. People love these vans. We got to talking, and I told them I was probably going to sell the van because Don had passed away, and I didn't need two cars. The woman said that she and her partner were facing a similar fate. He had a degenerative condition that would only get worse. Then she urged me to keep the van. "Look at you. It's perfect for you!" she said. She invited me to water ski with them in the morning, but I declined because I wanted to get an early start. They wished me well and took my email address. She said she might want to rent the van from me in the winter for a trip to California that they were planning.
Everywhere I went I had similar experiences. At Monarch campground in Yoho National Park a couple approached and asked to borrow some tools to fix their daughter's bike. We got talking, and it turned out the woman had lost both her parents in a house fire that spring. She said she would be thinking of me on the rest of their trip.
On the Skyline Hikers camping/hiking week there was a fellow with tons of hiking and climbing experience. We talked a lot about our experiences and love of hiking. At the end of the week, as we were saying good-bye, he said he understood how I was feeling and then revealed to me that he had recently lost his 21 year old son. There was no opportunity to talk to him about it, but perhaps the timing of his revelation was deliberate. I had the sense that it was still too painful for him to speak about it. And so it went.
I realized I was not alone. Complete strangers gave me big hugs. They showed me so much compassion! I realized that we are all touched by awful loss at some point in our lives. It's intrinsic to being human. And, it's important to share in that humanity by expressing our compassion when someone needs it. It felt good to receive their compassion, like being wrapped in a warm blanket and cared for - no questions asked. I plan to remember and do the same for others. I read that some people do not understand compassion until they are in need of it themselves. I think I am one of those people. Now I understand. I am ready to give as well as receive.
When I got home I drove the van into the garage and placed it precisely where I wanted it. I unloaded my stuff and looked around the empty house. My first thought was "What now?" Of course there was no immediate answer. Discovery continues. The next day I pulled the kitchen faucet out to use the spray feature. I guess I pulled it out too far because I couldn't push it back in. Before I knew it I was on my hands and knees peering under the sink with my flashlight. Inspection and then a tug in the right spot solved the problem. I stood up and thought, "My god, I'm becoming self-reliant!"
The moral of the story:
I have always been a doer. Life is made up of experiences, and I want to experience as much as possible. I've always been in a hurry to get on to the next experience. When I'm in the middle of one experience I'm often planning the next one. Well, one thing I've discovered is that I haven't fully and truly appreciated the people I've met along the road of my experiences. Friends, relatives, acquaintances, teachers, strangers. Lucky for me that they have appreciated me in my time of need. I have learned the lesson of a lifetime from them. There's still more to discover, but the big discovery has been made!
30 (in memory of Don)
I was on my own after so many truly wonderful years of marriage. Shock, confusion, disbelief. Those were my initial reactions. A sense that he really could not be gone came over me frequently. I would say to myself, "How can you be gone?" My emotions were a jumble. I didn't know what I was feeling. With the help and support of my friend, Janet, I focused on arrangements for the celebration of Don's life. Thanks to Janet, Stanton, Ana, Tom, Jill and many, many other friends and relatives, the celebration was wonderful.
At the gathering after the formal celebration, I was already trying to figure out what my life would be now. I felt there was a gaping hole in it. I said to Clea, "Now I have to figure out what my life will be." She looked me in the eye and said, "Think of it as a process of discovery." Out of the mouths of friends comes true wisdom. I like the idea of discovery. To me it had a positive connotation with notes of curiosity and adventure and hints of learning new things, meeting new people and exploring my own potential. I have taken it as my watchword.
With the celebration over, the jumble of emotions began to sort themselves out.
Sadness:
I knew I had been blessed in life. I tried to focus on that, on the positive aspects of my life. But I missed him so much! Some days when I was alone, I cried and cried. I was pretty sure it was good to let the emotions out.
I missed the day-to-day sharing and companionship. I would notice something amusing that Don would enjoy hearing about and turn to tell him. For example, there was the encounter with the credit union teller who took me to my safety deposit box because I needed to access it. She was a bit on the heavy side. As she walked in front of me to the safety deposit room, there seemed to be only one place to look. She wore a very short, very, very tight black pencil skirt. My eyes followed her tush into the room. Now, the last time Don and I had met with a financial advisor at this particular credit union, we burst into laughter as we left the place. She, too, had a generous body. She, too, wore a short, skin-tight pencil skirt. It had been impossible not to notice her tush as we followed her to her office. I smiled and wondered if it was a 'uniform' that all female credit union employees were encouraged to wear. I wanted to share the moment with Don.
Fear:
Many friends told me they knew I was a strong person and that I would be fine. One said she knew I would find a "new groove." I liked the phrase and have kept it in mind. But I didn't feel strong. I felt incompetent. There were so many things that Don always took care of, which I had no idea how to do. Seemingly simple things like backing the Volkswagon Eurovan out of the garage and getting it back in loomed as huge challenges. Don always "threaded the needle" when parking the van in the garage. I was sure I'd rip off the side mirror when I backed it out and would never be able to get it back in. How embarrassing would it be to have to ask a neighbor to park my car?
I was worried about finances too. Less than a month after Don passed away, I met with my financial advisor. I thought it was going to a brief, introductory meeting where I would meet him (my previous advisor had recently resigned) and give him a copy of the death certificate. Instead, I was greeted by the new advisor, Mark, and his boss, John. Mark and John peppered me with questions. How much did I get from each of my pensions? What was my annual income from my part-time project work? What was my total annual income now? What were my investment objectives? On and on. I was completely unprepared for this and felt like a fool. I went home exhausted.
I signed up for sunrise yoga in the Cove with Heather, a yoga teacher whom I knew and liked a lot from classes taken a few years ago. She knew Don as well. After the first class I told her about Don and she hugged me and asked me how I was doing. I started to tell her about my worries about the van. "Oh," she said, looking a bit puzzled. "So, using the van for camping is something you and Don shared and enjoyed." After this conversation the light dawned. What was the fear really about? I needed to deal with the emotions underlying my fears. Indeed, the van had been our "home away from home." There were so many wonderful memories tied up with that van. We loved our van trips to the Rockies, Tofino, Oregon etc.
I had started writing a daily journal. I realized I needed to write about my emotions, not my daily activities. It was an invaluable revelation. Writing about my emotions led to increased reflection about my life. I knew from my readings in philosophy and, more recently, on meditation and Buddhism that change is constant and inevitable. I began to reflect on change and decided that life-altering changes like this one really were opportunities for growth. I had an opportunity to improve as a person. I hearkened back to my watchword. Discovery it would be! I thought about my friends and how caring and compassionate they were - such exemplars for me to learn from. In time, I'd find my new, hopefully improved, groove!
Self-reliance:
In August I took the van on a 3 week camping trip to the Rockies. My relatives thought I was a bit loopy heading off on my own. "Surely you're not going to hike alone. What if the bears get you!" I told them one of the weeks was a group camping/hiking trip with the Skyline Hikers of the Canadian Rockies. That placated them - somewhat. Fortunately, I do like my own company and have always valued having some time to myself. I had learned in recent weeks, however, that too much time alone is not good. So, I wasn't sure how the two weeks on my own would be.
Prior to the trip I had some helpful tips (and lots of encouragement) from friend and fellow van owner, Jill, on maneuvering and roof lifting/lowering techniques for the van. Jeremy at Central Motors got the van road ready. It was time to go!
Another fear was how far I'd be capable of driving in a day. Don and I had always shared the driving. Each of us doing 2 to 3 hours at a time. The first day I got a later-than-planned start. I headed out just before noon and had an idea that I'd stop after 4 or 5 hours, somewhere near Kamloops. I think the adrenalin was flowing. I got to Kamloops feeling full of energy. That was fortunate because the air was thick with smoke from forest fires further north. I have asthma and knew I had to move on.
I arrived at Sandy Point campground just outside of Salmon Arm shortly before the supper hour. It's a lovely campground on Shuswap Lake. I asked my campsite neighbour to help me move the picnic table into a suitable spot and then I set up the van. I had time for a swim before supper. After supper a couple showed up and asked to look at the van. This happens often. People love these vans. We got to talking, and I told them I was probably going to sell the van because Don had passed away, and I didn't need two cars. The woman said that she and her partner were facing a similar fate. He had a degenerative condition that would only get worse. Then she urged me to keep the van. "Look at you. It's perfect for you!" she said. She invited me to water ski with them in the morning, but I declined because I wanted to get an early start. They wished me well and took my email address. She said she might want to rent the van from me in the winter for a trip to California that they were planning.
Everywhere I went I had similar experiences. At Monarch campground in Yoho National Park a couple approached and asked to borrow some tools to fix their daughter's bike. We got talking, and it turned out the woman had lost both her parents in a house fire that spring. She said she would be thinking of me on the rest of their trip.
On the Skyline Hikers camping/hiking week there was a fellow with tons of hiking and climbing experience. We talked a lot about our experiences and love of hiking. At the end of the week, as we were saying good-bye, he said he understood how I was feeling and then revealed to me that he had recently lost his 21 year old son. There was no opportunity to talk to him about it, but perhaps the timing of his revelation was deliberate. I had the sense that it was still too painful for him to speak about it. And so it went.
I realized I was not alone. Complete strangers gave me big hugs. They showed me so much compassion! I realized that we are all touched by awful loss at some point in our lives. It's intrinsic to being human. And, it's important to share in that humanity by expressing our compassion when someone needs it. It felt good to receive their compassion, like being wrapped in a warm blanket and cared for - no questions asked. I plan to remember and do the same for others. I read that some people do not understand compassion until they are in need of it themselves. I think I am one of those people. Now I understand. I am ready to give as well as receive.
When I got home I drove the van into the garage and placed it precisely where I wanted it. I unloaded my stuff and looked around the empty house. My first thought was "What now?" Of course there was no immediate answer. Discovery continues. The next day I pulled the kitchen faucet out to use the spray feature. I guess I pulled it out too far because I couldn't push it back in. Before I knew it I was on my hands and knees peering under the sink with my flashlight. Inspection and then a tug in the right spot solved the problem. I stood up and thought, "My god, I'm becoming self-reliant!"
The moral of the story:
I have always been a doer. Life is made up of experiences, and I want to experience as much as possible. I've always been in a hurry to get on to the next experience. When I'm in the middle of one experience I'm often planning the next one. Well, one thing I've discovered is that I haven't fully and truly appreciated the people I've met along the road of my experiences. Friends, relatives, acquaintances, teachers, strangers. Lucky for me that they have appreciated me in my time of need. I have learned the lesson of a lifetime from them. There's still more to discover, but the big discovery has been made!
30 (in memory of Don)
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