I’ve always been someone who documented my life as I went along – diaries, journals, stories. I have no idea where that comes from, but I’ve been doing in from a very young age. I still have my first diary from 1968 when I was 11. Lately I’ve found myself writing down things I want to remember about Bernie – favorite foods, stuff that made us laugh, shows we watched together, etc. etc. This past Sunday I wrote down, “Shawshank Redemption”. Whenever we came across it on TV (and it’s on all the time!), we would always stop whatever we were doing and watch it again. There was something about that movie that we couldn’t resist.

Later that very same day, I came across it when I was flipping through channels. I hesitated because I knew it would be hard to watch it without him, but then something told me to go ahead. There’s a famous line in the movie where Red (Morgan Freeman), and Jack (Tim Robbins) are leaning up against the prison wall talking. Red tells Jack that his dreams of living in Mexico someday was a silly “pipe dream”. Jack tells him, “It comes down to a simple choice, get busy living or get busy dying.” Even though I’ve seen this same scene a million times, it hit me in a new way. I would give anything to have my life with Bernie back, but I have to accept that I never will. How I want to live the rest of my life is up to me.

Something will happen to bring back the grief as though it were all fresh. Maybe it’s a song, a passage in a book, a scene in a movie. Sometimes part of the poignancy of that moment is how much we miss the one who cannot share it with us.

These sudden flashes back into intense grief will grow farther apart. We’ll get over them more quickly. But we’ll probably never be free of them – and wouldn’t want to be. They preserve for us our connection with the one we love. – from Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman

Even though Bernie’s not with here with me, I take great comfort in remembering all the moments we shared. I’ve read that it’s common to be afraid of forgetting, but today’s reading gave me assurance that I don’t have to be afraid of that. Writing down my memories and the things that Bernie and I shared are a way to treasure our life together and keep him close. And that will never change.

Yesterday was beautiful in the Bay Area, especially after what seems like weeks and months of rain. I walked around Lake Merritt with a good friend. I’d include some photos except I forgot my phone. It was Chica’s and my third walk of the day and it turned out to be a lot longer than I expected (2 hours) so she and I had an 18k step day. She’s quite a trooper. The wildflowers, birds, waterfowl and people gathered made it feel like a wonderful day to be in Oakland. Not something you read about in the news lately!

I have to admit that the previous week was a bit foggy. Sometimes I get weighed down by missing Bernie in a way that makes life seem blurry. Like I’m watching the world go by from the end of a long tunnel and being social or knowing where I put my keys (or phone!) seems almost impossible.

I recently came across an article that described it well.

Exhaustion (and not to mention brain fog) aside, another reason that socializing can become challenging after loss is a newly decreased capacity for small talk. When a loved one dies, at least for a time, this often becomes the focal point of our lives and the realization that the world keeps on turning can feel extremely jarring. It is absolutely “normal” to feel out of the loop on current events in your community or broader world.

Excerpt from “How Grief Impacts Our Social Spheres”, by Alex Mammadyarov, MHC – published on http:..www. intuitivehealingnyc.com 1/24/22

The readings I come across give me solace to know that what that I’m going through is normal. There’s a slogan in AA “This too shall pass” which is also helpful as I know the fog will clear but can also come back without warning. As described beautifully in the closing of the reading.

Do your best to show yourself grace and compassion through it all, over and over again.

I wish there wasn’t a need to do things over and over again, but I’ve learned that this is a bumpy ride and I just need to be present for whatever comes my way. I have many happy moments and for now, the fog has lifted so I’m taking advantage of it and connecting more with the world. I’m grateful to be surrounded by wonderful friends and family, and of course my pups. Tomorrow is Pickleball and I’m on my way out now for walk with friend on this beautiful warm and sunny day.

Bernie and I had a tradition every Easter of invited a group of friends (and whatever extended family happened to be visiting them) and cooking lamb. We worked well as a team whenever we had people over and he always did a wonderful job cooking the lamb (which can be tricky). In honor of that tradition, and one day late, I’m making lamb stew tonight and will think of him and our many happy gatherings we had in this house.

Yesterday would have been Bernie’s 67th birthday. They say that the “firsts” are the hardest and this was one of those hard days for me, but I also was able to celebrate his life with other people who loved him and miss him. I had dinner with dear friends Jess and Gwen last night it was wonderful to share stories about him.

I know that people are often unsure of what to say to me. They worry that if they mention Bernie’s name that it will make me sad. Bernie’s absence is always on my mind so talking about him brings me a great deal of joy, and maybe sometimes tears, but that’s okay. I love hearing his name and having people mention him and share their stories.

Last weekend I flew to Boston and attended a Celebration of Life event with Bernie’s siblings and extended family at a lovely restaurant in Quincy that overlooked the harbor. There were 40 plus people in attendance – many cousins and other family members. I was very touched by the love and affection that permeated the room. Many people mentioned that Bernie had a sweet, giving nature, even as a boy. I realized that it was important for his family, who couldn’t travel to California, to mark his passing and acknowledge his life. It meant a lot to me to be with them. We showed the slide show and people mentioned that it was nice to get a glimpse of Bernie’s life since he had moved to California.

It was wonderful to spend time with Bernie’s immediate family, who I consider my family too. We gathered at Julie and Jim’s for meals and also an Oscars party, complete with four different kinds of ice cream (my favorite dessert). My pup Chica was a big hit and enjoyed wrestling with Uncle Jim. It was comforting to be amongst family and to share in the great love and loss of someone so special and dear to all of us.

Bernie on his birthday in 2022

On Priscilla Beach last Sunday in Plymouth with my two brothers-in-law (and Chica in a pouch).

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.

February is a busy month – Ash Wednesday, Valentine’s Day, my birthday. As I’ve been learning from the reading materials and the class I’m taking about grief, special dates can make things a little harder. The experience of the loss of a loved one is unique to each person, and it helps to know that there is no “one way” to do it. My experience is my own.

I always appreciate it when people reach out and ask how I’m doing although it is a bit hard to explain. “Fine” doesn’t really cut it yet I’m not sad all the time. The following entry is from a book called “Healing After Loss – Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief” by Martha Whitmore Hickman. This entry is from February 14th. If you wonder how I’m doing right now, this explains it exactly.

If there is one thing grievers know, it is how changeable our moods can be. One moment we are relatively calm, in control, keeping our grief at bay. The next moment we are overwhelmed, our equilibrium shattered.

Anything can send us off – a fragrance, the words of a song, an article in a newspaper that reminds us of our loss, the first sign of spring – and our loved one not here to share it. Even minor holidays – like Valentine’s Day – can send us reeling.

Other times we are carefree, relishing the moment – the beauty of snow, the warmth of fire, the comfort of hot cocoa, the presence of friends. And we wonder why we are so susceptible to such mood swings. We may even wonder about our sanity – when will my moods be more measured so I am not always in danger of being swept away, of falling through the trapdoor of despair?

Our lives have been shattered by loss. Of course it will take time for the pieces to come together in any coherent pattern.

Bernie always loved it when I included photos with my BLOG posts and I’m adding a memory from Valentine’s Day 2018. It was also Ash Wednesday. Bernie came into SF to meet me after work and we went to a church to get our ashes. As you can see, they followed a theme and we took a selfie on BART to send to our niece Lauren, thinking she would get a kick out of it.

The other photo is of Sting at a concert I went to this past Wednesday night. He played with the San Francisco Symphony at Davies Symphony Hall. My friend Kate treated me to the show. We were in the third-row orchestra and it was one of the most amazing concerts I’ve ever been to. There were moments of sadness when I remembered being there the last time with Bernie, he loved the Symphony, but I was also able to savor the joy of the moment. May you savor the joy of the moments of your life, as each one is a blessing and a gift.