I’m using another quote from the book “Healing After Loss”. Today’s entry talks about the passage of time, how there is now a very distinct “before” and “after” – not only of the loss but also before the onset of illness.

The coloration of the past shifts – all that has gone before is now sealed with a fixative, the sign of an era ended. The time that spins out ahead into the future is, for awhile, an empty space, a projected perpetual reminder of loss.

I recently joined a private Facebook group of people who have lost spouses and many of their posts resonate with me. When to take off a wedding ring, give away clothes, be able to grocery shop or cook a favorite meal or watch a formerly shared TV show without breaking down.

I’m experiencing some of the same things and realize that there is no timeline for grief. No requirements, rules or suggestions that fit everyone. The experience of grief is unique to the relationship one has with the person they lost. Listening to these folks is giving me permission to go easy on myself, to be patient and to have compassion not only for myself, but for others going through the same thing.

Some people in the group are crippled by anxiety, depression and hopelessness and that is not what I’m experiencing. I’m sad and I miss Bernie every day, and some days the sadness overtakes me at unexpected moments, but I can still experience moments of joy, happiness and laughter despite the pain of loss. Last Saturday night I met up with Jerry and Louie (Jerry was the Banjo player in the band) and we saw High Country play some bluegrass music at the Back Room in Berkeley. I started playing Pickleball again and I write almost daily. Sunny and Chica are a constant sourse of love and affection – and laughter.

The last part of today’s entry gives me hope for the future.

As we begin to reweave our lives with the strands now available to us, the lines of demarcation soften a bit. We begin to look back, not always with the pain of what we have lost, but with joy and appreciation for that life we have shared…we savor the ways in which our loved one still is, and will continue to be, a presence in our lives. As I begin to see beyond the pain, I sense how both sadness and joy are part of the tapestry of my life.

I know that there will come a time when I can look ahead, not at what I have lost but perhaps toward a hopeful future. I trust in a higher power to keep me safe on my journey, wherever that may lead.