Gratitude Amidst the Grief

As the year turned over, I began reading a lot about choosing a word of the year to concentrate on.  So many words came to mind, but Gratitude was the recurring word I wanted to claim as my own this year.  There are so many negative words to define my last year, heartbreak, loss, deconstruction of my life, disagreements, misunderstandings....Cancer.  Why does gratitude continue to force its way into my soul??

Last year when Sam was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, I went into survival mode.  I tried to explain to family and friends how I felt about losing our livelihood, businesses we built while we were just kids, young parents, 30-somethings, but I am confident it can't be understood.  Even I have trouble grasping what has happened to me.  The depth of loss is just now seeping into the hollows of my heart where so much has been stripped away already with the loss of Sam.  I realize now that losing Sam was so much more than losing my partner, the guy I met in Chicago through a newspaper ad in the Chicago Tribune (yes, it's true!).  As a lark, a girlfriend and I responded to an ad from he and his roommate and over 4 years, we built this amazing friendship.  We took Melissa to the museums in Chicago -- we went to the Brookfield zoo, near where he did his chiropractic internship, we laughed and ate dinner together.  He, a struggling student, and I, with a good job enjoyed feeding him and even buying him a suit for his chiropractic graduation. 

When we moved to BC, we had a few rough years getting our bearings, starting a chiropractic practice and made so many memories building our family.  Sam morphed into this even funnier, confident, always loving chiropractor, husband, friend.  He was truly everything to me.  When I lost Sam, I lost my dearest friend, the one who met me at home every night, my dinner partner,  the one who opened jars for me, put gas in my car, flipped burgers for the amazing get togethers with friends, shared our passion for wines together.  But not only that, no more holding hands as we drove, no more talking into the night with whispered voices about the choices our kids make and praying they would all turn out well.  We had this natural chemistry -- Sam, the shy, dry sense of humour guy and me, the sassy, pushy American girl that adored him.  No more walks together, no more dreams of lovemaking on a deserted beach somewhere on a future vacation, no more embraces in the kitchen by the sink of dishes.  All of the memories remind me of the magnitude of what I have lost forever. 

And then gratitude appears:  It isn't a coincidence that grief and gratitude both begin with the same letter.  Grief is about trying to forget about memories that cause pain.  Gratitude is remembering the times with love and thankfulness that they happened.  Grief says:  I was cheated.  Gratitude reminds me that I was blessed.  Grief comes in waves; and yet at the lowest time, gratitude chimes in and declares God is the God of Comfort:  He comforts us so that we may comfort others.  Maybe the secret to choosing gratitude is knowing there is a Creator who controls it all.  I need only to rest in His goodness and each day choose gratitude over pain; gratitude over loss; gratitude over self-pity. Maybe God is answering my prayer by strengthening me through loss, granting me empathy, confidence, dependence on Him, and patience to wait for the next road to walk down.

So, tonight I choose gratitude.  Lord, continue to give me wisdom and grace...sprinkled with lots of gratitude... as you put the pieces together of my shattered life. 

They say it only takes a little faith To move a mountain
Well good thing A little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing...It is well with my soul
I know You're able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt Would all go away if You'd just say the word
But even if You don't... My hope is You alone











Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

This Fragile Grief Journey Continues

Image
It's been almost a month since I packed up and moved from our home to my new home.   The beginning of my story is much happier... Sam and I were married 32 years ago in a small restaurant by the Fox River in Geneva, Illinois.  All my friends were there and Sam's parents came.  I was terrified!  Sam was calm, as always, and I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one! We worked through immigration and lived  the first seven months of our marriage apart:  he in Vancouver, Melissa and I in Geneva, Illinois.  Eventually we packed a moving van and our new family moved to North Vancouver where Sam's mom, dad, sister and cousins helped us unpack and settle into a small co-op apartment.  It was beyond frightening moving away from my job, friends and familiar surroundings.  It's almost as if history is repeating itself with moving away from our home to this new place I plan to call home.  Fast forward to today... I've been asked by friends how things are going and
Read more

A Year Since the Crash...

Image
  Exactly one year ago tomorrow....life crashed.   How can two perfectly fine adults, one in pain, of course, but holding hands, walking upright into the medical clinic at 1:15 on December 15, 2016, possibly be prepared for the kind of news we were about to hear.  I picked Sam up at work and we went to the doctor's office to hear the results of his CT scan.  We knew it could be serious -- our daughter was recently in remission for lymphoma, and having lived through her chemotherapy treatments, we were prepared to hear that this pain Sam was feeling was something serious.  We were not prepared to hear the words that came tumbling out of the doctor's mouth without emotion:  "You have cancer .  It's pancreatic and it has spread to the lungs, bone," (other places I can't even remember due to my fogging out), and the worst -- "it has collapsed several vertebrae and that's where the pain is coming from.  It's the worst of the worst that I'
Read more

Beginning Our Fight With Faith, Courage and Love

When circumstances toss you something you don't expect, you either sink or swim. Our diagnosis of stage 4 pancreatic cancer hit us out of left field on December 15, 2016. The "ocean" of a terminal illness can toss you and pull you under or you can fight to the surface and breathe. To some extent, and on some days it is a choice. Other days it is a fight -- the pain pulls you under, but your mind fights to keep normalcy in life. Complaining becomes boring and uncomfortable to those around you and often you feel no one understands. People feel awkward around you and you become hermit-like going from home to work. Even doing grocery shopping causes angst. The ocean calms eventually and the fog somewhat lifts but there is a always a sense of worry around you.   What does a serious illness teach a person? The list must be endless: patience, empathy, compassion...Those are just a few of how my rough edges are being softened and circumstances are challenging me to rise up
Read more