Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Good Grief!

My clients teach me more about life and human relationships than I ever teach them. It’s been a week with some very moving sessions. The first one was a woman who is confused and upset about loving and hating her former husband at the same time. And why miss someone who hurts you terribly? I saw myself in her. I was only with Jay four months and I am still regularly tortured by the same thoughts she has. I can’t believe how difficult it is to move forward and how deep the pain still is. This woman had ten years invested and had children with him. Trying to reassure her, I realized I am usually much too hard on myself. Loss is complicated and difficult, but it is what it is. No way around it, only through it.

Yesterday, I had a session with Natalie. Natalie is only in her early twenties, but she has one of the oldest souls I’ve ever met. She lives her life outside the box, yet has a simplicity about her that is soothing and refreshing. A couple of months ago, she found herself with an unexpected pregnancy. Talk about mixed emotions. She and her significant other did a tremendous job of managing the complexity of the excitement with the difficulties of an experience they weren’t quite prepared for.

They got through the first trimester only to have a frustrating week of sickness and illness that had no apparent explanation. And unfortunately, a team of doctors that you could make a case for being nothing short of negligent. This turned into one of the most difficult and traumatic miscarriages I have heard about.

Natalie and her partner took this new experience on with the same grace and maturity that people twice their age find hard to accomplish. She talked about trying to cope with this loss that seemed to be hanging in the air. Having had a miscarriage myself, I could understand. It is incredible that these tiny not-fully-formed lives completely capture our hearts and devastate us with their loss when we haven’t even laid eyes on them.

Yesterday she came in for session, and had just had access to the pathology report. Turns out she had an infection that is relatively rare which caused preterm labor. The baby was a perfectly formed boy.

Suddenly, her grief had a shape, a face, a gender. There was great comfort in knowing that he was healthy and perfect.

And yet… doesn’t that make it even more tragic? And maddening that earlier intervention from the medical system might have prevented this. She understands that maybe not, but maybe it would have.

Again, the bitter and sweet complexity of human emotion and connection. Such happiness and relief from knowing, mingling with gut wrenching grief.

At the end of session, I stood up and said, “Good grief, Natalie!” which I realized was a bit of a pun. Natalie said it was ironic that I said that because of being a grief counselor. Then it hit me. My God, Nat. There it is. The perfect description of it all. Good…Grief. I watched her face as she caught it too. It was one of those sacred therapeutic moments that don’t come all that often in a career.

I hugged her goodbye, but I couldn’t hold her tightly enough to let her know how incredibly grateful I am that she trusts me to share in her journey. What a privilege to share in someone’s pain and joy.

Thank you my dear Natalie. You are my teacher.

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Endings

If you want to read the precursor to this story, check out “Shut Out.” The end of the story is not a good one and I wish I could say it isn’t so.

One of the days that Ed had texted and asked me to visit him and his daughters asked me not to come, I reached out to someone at Roswell that I had met who worked with “family engagement.” While I wasn’t sure what that is exactly, I wondered if my situation would fit in. I forgot that I called him, but a few days later he got back to me.

I told him that I had decided not to go to the hospital, but I said I would be interested in knowing what his opinion on the situation would have been. He went around a few times, but actually called me back later and said that the bottom line is really about the patient’s wishes being respected. While we both understood that accepting death is difficult and some families just refuse to go there, it wasn’t about that. It was about Ed. He suggested that he talk directly to him and find out what his wishes were. If he indeed wanted me to visit, then perhaps the social work department could get involved to help the family shift their thinking about how best to support their father.

I cautioned him by reminding him that the family believes they are doing the right thing for him so this would be an extremely delicate situation. It would have to be handled ever so carefully. He agreed and said he would get back to me.

He didn’t. Instead, I got a scathing text from one of the daughters that was addressed to me, and copied to the other siblings. It spoke of how disappointed she was when a social worker approached her because her dad’s counselor and called to complain that his family was keeping her from seeing him. She told the worker that I was not his counselor, etc.. She also went on to talk about my creating nonsense at a time when they are focusing on his well-being.

I was stunned. And angry. I texted them all and said that it was not true and that I had their father’s well-being in mind at all times. I told them I would like to sit down and talk with them and straighten things out because it’s much too important to text about.

I never heard from any of them again. I texted. I called. I left messages. I texted and called Ed but never got responses. I didn’t know if his phone was being monitored or if his family had told them I lied to the hospital and they all hated me.

I thought and thought about how to let him know I cared. I have several cards he’s sent me over the last few years where he called me his best friend. I would dare say I might have been his only friend. This was horrible. I decided to send a card to the hospital.

Only he wasn’t there anymore. I started looking for him in various rehabs that we had talked about as possibilities for him to go to. I peppered the search in between the calls to him and his daughters.

This weekend I found out the truth. I found his obituary. He was gone. And his wake and funeral were over as well. I reached out again to the family to ask where he was buried. No response.

To say I was devastated doesn’t really describe it. It was such a complex ball of emotions. Of course there is the loss of a very, very dear friend. There was shock that this family despised me this much that they wouldn’t even let me know about the wake. I know in my heart I absolutely did not one tiny thing wrong to deserve their hatred. Not one. And now I’m also experiencing a great deal of anger. I’ve had boatloads of loss in my life and I absolutely did not need to have a loss that was the result of a bad ending.

And then there is the anger at myself. Because I have been so depressed lately, I chose not to go to the hospital because I just didn’t have the strength it would have taken to stand up to the family and honor his wishes. If I wasn’t so depressed, I would have taken my strong patient-advocate self. But instead, a wonderful man asked me to come and he died thinking I ignored him.

I have always said beginnings and endings are crucial in life. You can’t have one without the other either. I was thinking about how sometimes people behave badly and then at the end of their life, they make peace or say they are sorry. The ending changes everything. Maybe it shouldn’t, but there has been lots of forgiveness that happens at the end. And I say hurray for that.

I realized that I assumed the reverse is true. If the ending is bad, it negates any good that happens before that. Darren reminded me that is not the case. He said the months and years before this ending, I was a good friend to Ed, and he was a good friend to me. Good enough for him to call me his best friend. The ending was only a small space in comparison. When he was lonely and sad when his wife was in the nursing home and then eventually died, that is when I was there for him. I mattered to him.

Thank you, Darren. You are so right. The reverse is absolutely not true. While the ending was sad and unfair, his daughters can’t take away the years of our friendship. All of the walks, talks, hugs, fires, and pool parties meant something. I love you, my dear friend. I am just sorry I wasn’t able to tell you one more time.


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At 50?

I can’t believe at age 50 I feel like I’m back to square one. I know I’m not alone in this. Who would have ever believed that the big questions like career and partners would still be up in the air and a struggle when your life is more than half over?

I did a presentation this week about two hours away. A whole group of us participated in a death/dying conference like the ones we had done in Buffalo. It went great. Almost every speaker was dynamite and the audience seemed receptive and even enthusiastic.

I was the last speaker of the day which was tough because I knew everyone was tired. It went over extremely well though and I knew I had reached people by the feedback. The problem was, I didn’t make a penny.

So frustrating. I know I possess a good skill set. I can speak and I can write. I can do them both very well. The other panelists all came from companies or hospitals they represent. They are getting “paid” because it is part of their salary. I’m the only lone ranger in that sense so if there isn’t a speaking stipend (which 90% of the time there is not) then I can only hope I sell books.

I didn’t sell one book. I watched the woman next to me sell about 10 books. Same topic, different angle. Both of us good speakers. WTF?

This is not new. This is the scenario 99% of the time. I am well past the point of being able to write/speak simply because it is helpful to others. My heart is there, but my pocketbook is not. I am the sole breadwinner in my house. I have a family to provide for. And my social security is being cut in half in less than a year. Holy crap that is scary.

I’m going to have to reinvent my career and I have no idea what to do. Well, actually I have tons of ideas, but knowing which path to follow is confusing at best. Add coping with severe depression on almost a daily basis now, and it is beyond overwhelming.

What do I want to be when I grow up?

I thought that was settled years ago. I even had a brave moment this week and attempted to go on a date. I got stood up. I know it isn’t personal because we hadn’t even met yet, but cripes. Stick your toe back in and find out the water is frigid.

That’s was scary about being so depressed. You have to take risks in life and be proactive if you want to meet your goals. But if you are already down and out, you can’t afford to fail. At anything. What a freaking catch-22.

For the moment then, I will just stay stuck. Not sure what the heck to do with myself. I know I can’t stay this way, but I’m terrified to do anything else, with any of these areas of my life.

Maybe 80 is the new 50. Maybe I just have to wait another 30 years and things will fall into place. One can only hope :).


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Bonnie Raitt Strikes Again

If you want to follow the Bonnie Raitt reference, check out last week’s blog entitled “Love.”

This is going to be a very long blog. It’s a love story. It’s going to take me all day to write it, I can tell. I want it to be as perfect as it can be and I want to do it justice.

We all have core issues, whether we are aware of them or not. I have several. One of them is abandonment. I assume eventually I will be abandoned. I know love won’t last forever. And the reason is generally my other core issue. Underneath all that strength and self-esteem, I think I am not loveable, not desirable, not wantable. Of course I will be abandoned.

I’m no stranger to loss. Loss isn’t distributed evenly in life, but almost everyone has experienced loss. I have a pretty good size measure of it in my life. I don’t fear it, I just keep dealing with it. But I always worry about the loss that will be the straw that breaks this camel’s back.

When it comes to relationships, I try hard not to be jaded. I don’t want to be naive, but I don’t want to be pessimistic or create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Strangely enough, I see my fears most when I am in a healthy relationship. I guess it’s because there is something worth losing so I battle my inner panic that I’m going to be left any second.

I met Jay playing cards. I didn’t start playing cards to meet men, but there he was. I instantly liked him. I found out later, he instantly liked me too. It took a few weeks, but eventually we had our first date. In the parking lot, he asked me for a second date. And that was it, we just spent almost every day together after that. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

I tried to keep a reign on my heart initially. I even went on other dates. Whenever we would talk, Jay was always in tune to me. He knew my fears and worries. He would say things like, “I’m just talking here. I’m not going anywhere.”  Or, “I feel bad that you worried even for a minute.” When life was busy and we were in the middle of something, he would stop and say, “But Darcy, there is nothing more important than us.” And we would stop whatever we were doing and just be with each other for as long as we needed. He was amazing.

Six days after meeting me, Jay told me he loved me. He knew it was probably crazy to say, but he couldn’t help himself. I told him it was ok because I knew I loved him too, crazy or not. Sometimes, it just happens.

We are 50 though, and know that the future is precarious and unsettled. I stopped believing in forever a long, long time ago. Jay doesn’t even process time or future. We talked many times about all of this and finally came up with: We love what we are together. We have no intention of stopping it. That was it, the definition of what our love meant. I loved it. It was brilliant. Love means millions of things, but this was ours.

One of my favorite things, was how we called each other by our names. I would say, “My Jay” and he would say, “My Darcy.” He would often say things like, “What would my Darcy want?” or “I got that because it is my Darcy’s favorite.”

I quickly began to trust us because I had never felt like this before. All the evidence was there. Because Jay was there. I mean, he was really there. Shortly after we started dating, I had to attend a funeral for someone my age. I knew it was going to be really rough. Without hesitation, he came. My dad was in the hospital for a procedure. Without hesitation, he was there. He came with my favorite Starbucks and then sat there until my dad was released just so I could escort my dad while he went and brought my car around for us. I never had to ask. He always offered because he wanted to be there. He likes taking care of people. I’ve never met a male version of me before.

Jay would sometimes say to me, “I feel two feet taller now, just walking down the street.” I totally got what he meant. I was surprised at what a surprise one person could make in your life. Mine was definitely changed for the better.

One of the biggest events, was my annual fourth of July party. It’s quite a thing. Lots of people, 12-13 hours. Jay, on his own, offered to help with everything. In fact, he wanted to share the expenses. He set things up the day before. He waited on everyone the whole day. He was a better host than I was. I got phone calls and texts and comments after that day about Jay and what an incredible pair we made. It was a day to be remembered.

He also volunteered his life, his history. We told stories a lot about growing up. He has pictures all over the place. His walls, his phone, his computer. He was always showing me something. He took me to the house his family lived in when he was very small. He took me to the house where he brought up his children. He wanted to know about mine. We watched a video of my mom so he could see who she was. We had long lists of things we wanted to talk about because the only thing stopping us was the time to do it all.

Jay told me that he read once that the relationships that last, are the ones where both parties think they are the lucky ones. I thought that was an excellent thought. We would banter over and over with each other saying, “No, I’M the lucky one…” And he would tell the world if he could. He talked to everyone in my life. One night at a fire, he had a very lengthy conversation with one of my friends. She shared things with him, and he did with her. He told her that he had to pinch himself because he couldn’t believe he went to lunch and fell head over heels. When he met my sisters, he told both of them that he was in love with me. I would love to hear about the conversations he had with his friends, telling them how happy and lucky he was. He would expect people to tell him to slow down or imply that he wasn’t seeing everything clearly, but no one did. Not even his therapist. Everyone was just thrilled for him and for us.

Then there was all the fun stuff. The compatibility stuff where we just plain enjoyed the same things. My friend told me how happy she was to see me doing so many things. Finally, she said, finally someone who is active and doing things. You’ve waited a long time for that, Darcy. You guys are always doing something cool together. So happy you and Jay found each other.

Picnics were amazing. Walking hand in hand, just about anywhere. Concerts where we laughed and danced all night. Dinners, lunches, breakfasts. Movies, drive-ins. Festivals, camping, parties. Fires, comedy clubs.

The laughter was so healing. It may seem like a small thing to share the same sense of humor, but trust me when I tell you it is not. We could have gone on the road the way we could roll off each other’s lines. He would repeatedly tell me how fun it was that we always got each other’s references. Growing up at the same time lends itself to knowing the same SNL skits, movies, songs, and so on. Jay would do these facial expressions and voices that would have me rolling. One night we had been packing boxes, and the next morning he asked me if we had been drinking and he forgot. We were laughing so hard while we working that our stomachs had hurt. It just was so natural for us. So much joy.

And then there was the music. Music is part of my soul and always has been. But Jay loved music in a way that I have rarely encountered. I found myself reconnecting with music because of him. The radio was on more. I found my playlists and found myself reaching for it. Whenever we were together (which was all the time) Jay would have a playlist ready for us. He came to Karaoke one night where I have been going for a long time. He had never done it before, but he walked right up and sang, “I can’t help falling in love with you” in a romantic Elvis voice. He made it crystal clear that he was unashamedly singing to me. As soon as he hit the last note he walked over and hugged me in one of our embraces. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I know almost every person in that bar. And most of them told me I was glowing and they were thrilled to meet him because he obviously adored me.

How could I not mention the chocolate? We both love dark chocolate and Jay made sure there was always a supply. He preferred 65% cocoa, so I adjusted from my usual 85% because it was a small sacrifice to make. After a couple of weeks, somehow we discovered that he thought I preferred 65% so we were both trying to accommodate the other one. We laughed over our misunderstanding, both wanting to please the other. Now THAT is what relationships are supposed to be like.

But my favorite? It was the dancing. That touched my heart and set me on fire. A girl considers herself lucky if she can find a guy that will dance at all. Most guys don’t. Period. I will never forget the first time Jay took me dancing. We got out on the floor and I had tingles from head to toe. I knew he liked to dance, but I had no idea he was an amazing dancer. He is skilled but also fun. He is incredibly handsome but he is never so sexy as when he is on the dance floor. We danced and danced. Fast, slow, didn’t matter. We could be silly or serious. During a slow song, during that first dance date, he told me he knows it isn’t the proper protocol, but he could see us dancing to that song as our wedding dance.

One time, we were out dancing to a band he had found online. There were four to five different women who couldn’t wait to talk to us during band breaks because they said we had made their evening. They just thought we were the most amazing couple- fun, sexy, making everyone smile. Hell, the band even came up and introduced themselves to us. One woman took a bunch of pictures and texted them to me. I am never that girl. Never. I am never the one on the floor that everyone envies. I am always the one watching with envy.

We danced all the time at home. We would dance in the shower full of soap. We would dance down the hall to get to a room. We would dance naked sometimes. We loved dancing. And it was beautiful.

But life isn’t all fun and games. Especially for 50-year-old adults. There is life to be lived. We would be there as best we could for each other, helping with tasks and errands. He had to close on the house that he raised his kids in so we would meet there. We would spend hours in the hot weather, no air conditioning, and work on the garage and basement. It was dirty, hot, smelly work but we did it. There would be a bump in the road every here and there, but overall it was mostly amazing. We would get tons of stuff done.

We started swapping cars because it was easier for him to move things in my vehicle. I loved sharing each other’s cars and helping each other. He had to move his apartment too so we also spent hours packing boxes, rifling through things, purging stuff. There were movers to call, apartments to visit, etc.. Again, some minor bumps in the road, but I loved accomplishing stuff with him. We have different skill sets and I would think about what an amazing team we were. Between the two of us, we could do just about anything I think.

And then it suddenly broke down.

Jay apologized for starting something that he couldn’t finish. He realized that he has too many things to work on in his life. In fact, he feels he can only do one thing at a time, which is obviously a huge problem because no one gets to do only one thing at a time. We all have to work, take care of our health, our homes, our families. Life requires multi-tasking. For Jay, a relationship is the dispensable item on the list. For me, it is the foundation for anything else. Love is never a bad investment. Never.

His perspective is very, very different from mine. I saw hours of working together under tough conditions but laughing while doing it. He saw the few moments of stress as overshadowing the rest. He sees that he was making picnics for us when he should have been working on other things. I see a picnic that he thoroughly enjoyed with someone he loved. That same person then helped him with hours of labor packing and cleaning. Surely there was so much more benefit than cost. But that is my view.

I told him that accepting his decision has been very, very hard. I saw us as gifts to each other. We were both clearly starving for what we offered to each other (and both verbalized exactly that). I know without a doubt that my life with Jay was far, far better than my life without him. And from everything he said, everything he showed, his life was far better with his Darcy too. But that’s my opinion.

I know when you truly love someone, you have to want what is best for them. Sometimes that means giving up what you want. I love Jay that way. So I want to be able to say that as much as it hurts me, as much as he is what is best for me, if I’m not good for him I need to walk away. The problem is, in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe walking away is what is best for him. I know it’s not my place to say, but I don’t believe it. I can’t make myself believe it. I do have to accept it though.

I had been processing this with my counselor Scott as it was starting to happen. In psychology, we call it sabotage. No one can say for sure, but to us it sure looks like a classic textbook case. A man struggles to make progress, meets someone who he loves deeply, she happens to have a lot of skills and experience that directly correlate to the things he struggles with. He walks away instead of trying to make it work. His brain tells him he doesn’t feel love from me. Why? Because I make a joke while we are cleaning that directly relates to an activity we did the day before that I thought he would think was funny. Instead, he feels like I am jabbing him. So the hours I spent on my hands and knees cleaning for him didn’t feel like love to him. It didn’t feel like I cared when I kissed and hugged him every few minutes just because I like to touch him. He misunderstood a joke. Sometimes it felt like he had to work hard to misread me.

Now I am going through the embarrassment of telling people. They all react the same. No one can believe it. Everyone is shocked. Two of my friends actually cried. One person said, “No Darcy, this isn’t just a loss you have to face. This was different. He was different. I would have opened up  my heart to him too.” I never for one second thought either one of us was perfect. But when you look at the big picture? I knew we were lucky that the issues were so small in comparison to the very large great things. And everyone else saw it too. They thought we were lucky, just like I do. Just like Jay used to.

Sometimes, it hurts so much that my throat closes off and I can’t breathe. I can’t even imagine hearing music now that isn’t attached to him. We had a special playlist for the bedroom. We would sing lyrics to each other while intimate. Who does that? Jay and Darcy did.

This camel’s back is broken. Shattered.

I feel so dumb. I am 50, not 15. How did I not know to not let a man into every corner of my life? Now I have nowhere to go or be without the touch of his memory. Then I go back to my friend’s comment and I feel a little less dumb. Everyone around us admired our love and connection. I wasn’t a fool.

I told Frankie, my son, about him. It has been years since I told him that someone was going to be around. I told him that I wouldn’t even involve him if I didn’t think that this guy was going to be around. He just said, “they always leave anyway, Mom.” I haven’t had the courage yet to tell him he was right again. Once again, I fucked it up with my kid. I thought I had it right this time.

I don’t want anyone to tell me I will get through this. I hate hearing that. I don’t want to. Getting through it, leaves me where I was. I don’t want my life back before I met Jay. I am sick of the existential crisis I live in. No one to love. Lots of friends and support that I am blessed to have but feel terribly guilty because it doesn’t make me happy. I am grateful, but it isn’t what fills the hole in my heart. Then I feel like shit because I know I’m lucky to have so many people in my life. I hate that existence. I want the life I had with Jay.

Bottom line? Bonnie Raitt wins again. I can’t make him love me. I can’t convince him, even though I tried. I even begged him.  I know his heart, and if he knew exactly how much this has hurt me, it would devastate him. But his answer is that he should have broken up with me sooner. I told him he should have never taken to me lunch. Never started. But that is not the answer I want him to come to. I want him to finish what he started. I want him to not walk away. I want him to realize what we had and how damn lucky we were to have it. I want him to realize that working on us would open up a whole word of opportunity to work on all the other things he wants to work on. A loving, supportive partner who works equally hard on herself would be a gift, not a deterrent.

I want him to come home to his Darcy.


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Soul mates

I recently had two referrals for grief counseling. One was male, one female. Both lost their spouses recently (three months or less). And both told me their spouse was their soul mate.

I think the older I get, the less I know what that means. I used to think it meant that person that could finish your sentences because they think pretty much the same way you do. Sometimes now I wonder if your soul mate is that person that just never goes away. If you know someone’s dark side/sides, all of their imperfections, and you just love the heck out of them anyway, maybe that is your soul mate.

Anyhow, I don’t think I’ve ever met mine. Tim and I loved each other. We worked very hard at becoming excellent partners to each other. I think we definitely achieved that. But I wouldn’t have called us soul mates. I don’t think he would have either, not that I ever remember talking about it.

I digressed. The point is being an observer of grief, I found these two people who approached their losses very differently. I honestly think part of it is due to gender. I’m not sure all of it comes down to that one factor though. The guy came in and expressed his grief verbally, but outwardly seemed incredibly together. He didn’t cry, although he said he did often. He felt he mostly came because his kids and doctor worry about him. He said he understood grief and seemed to be able to articulate his emotions and the whole painful process. After a few days I got a polite text that said he would not be returning to therapy. I found myself torn between knowing that people express grief differently and we yell all the time about how there is no formula to grieve the “right” way. But part of me wondered if he was keeping it all on the head level. You can talk about grief without letting it into your depths. I suspect that is why Dr. Grace referred him, that maybe she was wondering if there was more beneath the surface. But it looks like I won’t find out.

The woman was entirely different. She continues to come in every week and wonders if she has lost herself. She has panic attacks at times, and usually cries through most of session. She thinks she is doing terribly. I keep reassuring her she is just fine. She is simply in great pain. Tremendous, horrific pain. It may never leave her, but it will change. It will lessen, it will morph. She has already seen some shifts in herself and credits that to the new medication Dr. Grace put her on and the sessions she has had with me. In particular, she has found breathing techniques immeasurably helpful. She can’t believe something so simple can be so powerful.

Again, perhaps this is just the difference between male and female grief. Perhaps this is grief embraced and grief denied. But it doesn’t matter. I know it sounds corny, but I truly mean this: I count it an honor and sacred responsibility when anyone walks in my office and allows me to see their grief, in whatever form it is. It heals little pieces of me as well. So thanks to both of you, and all those clients over the last 20 years that have enriched my life!


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Collateral Beauty

I didn’t blog last week because I just didn’t feel inspired. Now I am snowed in and I just don’t have the energy… Excuses, excuses. Anyhow, I am going to cheat. I can because it is my blog so who is going to tell me I can’t? LOL!

I went to see “Collateral Beauty” this week with my friend Summer. I heard it got smashed down in the reviews. I can’t imagine why. I think it is one of the most brilliant, poignant, and profound movies about grief/loss and death/dying that I have ever seen. If you have the depth to see it, the lives and plots intertwine cleverly and many types of loss are addressed. Ok, not one of the most, THE most.

Will Smith gives you some visuals of grief that you will never forget. There are some lines in there that entire books could be written about. Summer cried several times throughout the movie. Me? I couldn’t cry. I was beyond tears. I was moved and riveted with my stomach squarely stuck in my mouth.

A perfect example of bittersweet. It was gut wrenching but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. If every person could watch it and grasp its meaning, I would never write another book or blog, produce a webinar, give a lecture. It just wouldn’t be necessary.

Personally, I couldn’t have watched it at a better time. Or a worse time. My dreams have been tormenting me by night, even though my conscious days have been fine. The movie was smack in the middle of the torture and I’m sure has inspired the last set of horrendous dreams.

Nevertheless, this blog is a blatant commercial. I can’t say much else about the movie because I would not want to give any of it away. Take your tissues and go. If you have experienced a significant loss firsthand, I would bet money that you will resonate with it very deeply.

Bravo. Sometimes the critics are spot on, and sometimes they have no idea what they are talking about.


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Losing

The older you get, the more you lose stuff. Am I right? A couple of weeks ago, my friend Catya lost a 20 dollar bill she needed to pay for her ticket. She found it a few days later. Then last week she lost her debit card. Bad streak. What was worse was the time and frustration it cost to get it replaced.

We were walking in the woods this week and ran into Glo. She had lost her dog. Her dog is also a border collie mix life Taffy. Taffy and she have gone on many romps chasing deer or other critters. They always come back. This time though, she had been gone almost an hour. We divided up and eventually she came prancing down the lane looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. Taffy has that one mastered too.

I started rehearsals this week for this Christmas show I am super, duper excited to be part of. I printed out my music and I faithfully practice every day. That is nothing compared to what it’s like to be with this ginormous group of talented women singing in person. I held my own, but had to mark up my music here and there with proper notes, rests, pronunciation of words, etc.. I was feeling pretty proud of myself and competent until I got home and realized I lost my music. Good one. Sure, I can print out another set but it won’t have all my valuable notes (no pun intended) and reminders.

Things can lose things. Take my car battery for instance. This week it lost its charge. Lost its power. Got “drained” they say. Now the dealership has the car because we don’t know WHY it lost the charge. Not having your car start is always a pleasant, unexpected addition to your day.

Then there are losses that can surprise a nation. One word: Hilary.

I lose my patience a lot lately. I don’t know why, but crisis, or just plain people needing me for something doesn’t usually happen at convenient times when I have nothing else to do but be altruistic. So I lose my patience and say things in my head like, “Really? Can’t I just do such and such without having to do such and such?”

I have lost my mind too many times to count.

I have lost my sanity equally as often. Some would say I haven’t gotten it back yet. Hell, some might say I never had it to begin with.

What I really want to know is, WHY THE HECK CAN’T I LOSE A FEW POUNDS???

More proof that life isn’t fair :).