Why?

Why?

Why might be either the most useful or the most heartrending word in the English language. Depending on when it's uttered it can lead to discoveries or it can be the sound of absolute despair.

My purpose in writing this blog will hopefully be the former. You have found this blog because you have lost someone dear to you - spouse, parent, sibling, relative, friend, perhaps even your pet - and you are sad in ways you never experienced before. We mourn those losses and we wonder how we can pick up the shattered remnants of our life without them and go on. Despite our loss - which has affected every aspect of our life - the world continues to turn. People are going on about their lives around us while we are standing in a landscape we no longer recognize. We have been dropped into a battlefield where the mines are everywhere and we have no map.  

We hear words like grief and sadness and even those words don't begin to describe how we feel. And then we start to get bombarded by platitudes:

"Everything happens for a reason"

"He's in a better place"

"God wanted another angel"

"At least she lived a long life" 

"It's time to move on - sell the house, get rid of his clothes, just adopt another pet"

"They wouldn't want you to be sad"

 

You've probably heard them all - and worse. I know I did. After losing my husband suddenly, one woman had the gall to tell me she knew "exactly" how I felt because her dog had died a while ago. I'm not discounting the death of her beloved dog. I'm sure she was grieving. But it was heartless on her part to tell me that mere weeks after losing John. The truth is no matter how similar our loss is, no one knows how we feel. Every relationship is different and every loss is different because of that. So, I am not going to tell you how to feel. I am going to say I know you are sad and grieving and I want to help.

 

Why can I presume to do that? Because I too have lost and I have been at this grief thing for a while and I hope that by sharing what I have learned and experienced it might help you, too.

 

So first, a little about me:

 

My name is Joy Collins. I am at this writing, 78 years old (wow, I can hardly believe that myself). My husband John and I were together for 32 years and married for almost 29 years when he passed suddenly in May 2010. 

We had been on vacation visiting relatives in New York. It was Sunday night and we were looking forward to getting on the plane on Monday morning and heading home to Arizona. We missed our home and our pets. We said good night and went to sleep. When I woke up in the middle of the night, John had passed, apparently from either a massive heart attack or stroke. I'll never know. I didn't want an autopsy. I had gone to sleep a happy wife and I woke up a grieving widow.

 It's  been sixteen years now and I can honestly say it's been the hardest time of my life. There were days I did not want to go on. I cried as I have never cried before. Over time, I will share stories from those sixteen and counting years. But for now, know that I know what grief feels like - at least for me, anyway. And I know you will be able to relate to things that I will share.

 

But the big takeaway that I want to give you today is that - as the title of this blog states - You're Still Here. And that has to mean something. It can't just be an accident.  At least, that is my belief. I believe we all have purpose. Whether it's mothering, or developing something new, or making beautiful art - the reasons are as endless as we all are. I love to write, take beautiful photos, paint abstracts, and I want to help others. I have been on this grief road for many years now and while it's not something that you do and get over, I think my experience and how I have navigated this journey might just be helpful here and there to others. I hope so. That's my goal, anyway.

 

That's why I chose this particular photo of the butterfly as my blog header. It's a beautiful butterfly but if you look closely, you will see she has a damaged wing. Yet, she's still beautiful. She can still fly. She can still do her butterfly things. She's us.

 

So, I am asking you to join me. Share your experiences. Hopefully, find something that helps you. I can't promise you will be happy. Being happy means something different to each one of us. But I hope my words and my example will give you hope - hope that you can survive, hope that you still have something to offer, hope that your loved one is still with you and proud of you, and finally hope that you can face another day.

 

Until next time - Namaste.