Tag: grief recovery

Ten Years Ago My Father’s Heart Stopped

Ten years ago, my father’s heart stopped beating while I held him. And yesterday, he reminded me that he’s always with me.

Dad’s message came in a giant contrail spread across the bright, blue sky.

Why I associate my father with a contrail

My dad was a very active 85-year-old, but his heart valve replacement was failing. His movements were restricted, as he was tethered to a constant oxygen supply inside their cabin on the 8,000-foot edge of the San Luis Valley in Colorado. Yes, breathing at a lower elevation would have been easier, but Dad loved where he lived. He sat in front of one of the picture windows with the sun’s warmth on his back.

He often turned to look at the huge expanse of blue sky, marveling at the contrails.

What is a contrail?

The white streaks left behind by jet airplanes are called contrails, short for condensation trails, and form when hot, humid exhaust mixes with cold, low-pressure air at high altitudes, causing water vapor to condense and freeze into ice crystals.

The skies in Colorado are expansive, while in North Carolina, the trees limit my view of the sky.

I walked out to the front porch to take this photo, and the sun was integral, too. There was so much glare from the sun that I couldn’t see the image I was taking.

It’s also no surprise that I have begun to understand why I’m here, why my parents named me Dawn, and what I offer you, my readers.

It became clear two days ago.

My name is Dawn. Why? My mother could never explain why they named me Dawn, but now I know.

I am the dawn

We are one.

I cherish mornings, often waking before sunrise. It’s been a long time since I had trouble getting to sleep. Is it because of my name that sleep comes easily? That seems unlikely.

My life has been filled with unexpected difficulties, especially in relationships – divorce, suicide, and the death of my father.

Yet, I have come through all of it with a smile. How?

Rather than dwell on the difficulties of the past, I look to the possibilities of the future while embracing the now.

Living in the moment helps me move through grief.

Living in the moment helps me find joy.

No matter the depth of the darkest night, dawn always shines its light upon the world.

You can count on the dawn because the Creator has bestowed this gift to everyone.

One Final Thought

Ten years ago, my father’s heart stopped beating. I treasure those last moments, but they were my life’s most difficult twenty minutes. I wanted to record my memory of it and wrote a personal essay. My Father’s Love: You’re One of the Good Ones, which The Mindful Word published in August 2017. This story recounts my father’s last moments and how they affected my life.

Yes, I’ve cried numerous times today. I’ve also smiled and laughed. That’s what life is: sadness and joy intertwined.

I’ll Bet You Didn’t Know

I’ll bet you didn’t know that I’m a suicide survivor.

But first, I want to share a happy memory of my husband, Pablo. It’s fall, my favorite season. We lived in Metro Denver, CO, and often planned trips to visit some national parks nearby. This trip was to see the Grand Canyon during Thanksgiving week. But first, we stopped at Zion National Park.

The flaming red maples along the Riverside walk at Zion National Park in Utah stirred my desire to remember this day, 11/22/2007. I stopped to take this photo as Pablo continued walking. I wonder now what was going through his mind. What emotions were stirring? Did he enjoy the quiet grandeur as much as I did?

What prompted me to do this now?

Although my Substack publication is about grief, I don’t mention that suicide is a part of my grief. I’ve never written publicly about being a suicide survivor.

My husband, Pablo, took his own life a little over ten years ago in September 2014. I thought the different therapists I saw after his life ended, the suicide survivor group, and the more recent grief recovery coaching would have worked some miracle healing.

It didn’t.

There are no miracles in grief healing.

The healing process has been slow, often hindered by my choices of avoidance, stuffing down emotions, and allowing guilt to invade my thoughts.

But a few painful realizations and aha moments mark my journey stepping up the staircase of grief toward joy.

One of the aha moments was realizing that writing about my relationship with my husband and his suicide might help someone alter the course of their lives positively.

The synchronicities continue

I’m reading these two books because I am also on Substack. Paul Crenshaw’s book, This One Will Hurt You,  is for a Book Club with Jeannie Ewing, and I was led to buy A Year to Clear.

I’m reading Stephanie Bennett Vogt’s book because I’m starting another home decluttering. I didn’t realize how much clutter was still in my home and my heart. Today, I start Day 9 in A Year to Clear.

suicide survivorAs I start each essay in This One Will Hurt You, I experience an element of fear. Will this one hurt me the most? Or will it make me laugh, like Of Little Faith did? Fear or not, I move forward. Life can be challenging, but we choose how to meet those challenges.

And Pablo still reaches out

Today, he feels nearby.

As I was writing this post, I looked up at the clock on my computer and saw 10:23 a.m. Pablo was born on October 23rd, and this time catches my attention multiple times each week. Today, it feels like a message from the other side: Pablo is with me, telling me it’s okay to share our story.

Does your loved one reach out to you beyond the veil?

I’d love to hear your tender experiences in the comments.

How Keeping a Diary Helps Both You and Your Loved Ones

Journaling is beneficial for airing your feelings. It is a private musing where you can write anything your heart desires. I highly recommend it, but diaries are helpful, too.

How keeping a diary helps your grieving process.

The photo above shows three of the forty-five diaries my mother kept. Although they have been in my possession for almost two years, I began reading them yesterday, Saturday. On Friday, I started feeling extra sad about the ninth anniversary of my father’s death, and I wanted to read what Mom wrote in her diary on that day.

The three of us were together at the dinner table when Dad experienced extremely labored breathing. As he sought relief, he experienced dizziness and difficulty standing and walking. I physically supported him as well as I could while Mom called 911.

Each year at this time, I read my story of his death and the aftermath, My Father’s Love: You’re One of the Good Ones, remembering how grief has its ups and downs.

What did Mom’s diary reveal about her grief?

Mom was a very private person who kept her feelings close. Her diaries are filled with minutia about what she ate, who called, or who she saw at the local cafe in The Trading Post. Mom never spoke about that day, but her life was irreparably changed as she wrote, “Swede started gasping and died at 5:45 pm.”

Perhaps writing this helped her organize her life in an orderly fashion she could manage, just as the daily recitation of meals helped her close each day before heading up the stairs to bed.

She read her entries occasionally after finishing the last book she borrowed weekly from the library. She noted the book’s title in her diary when she finished it. In addition, she kept a running list of all the books she read to avoid re-reading one.

Mom was a voracious reader, finishing six a week.

When she noted something each day, it was important to her. That is how I saw that her loneliness and grief were gnawing away at her personal security. She recorded how many mice she had caught in traps or if she had seen a mouse. Finally, in desperation, she got some rat poison, and the mouse problem was resolved.

Next came plumbing problems, with a stopped-up upstairs bathroom sink and a toilet that quit functioning. The final blow was her inability to lift up the heavy cattle gate at the driveway entrance. She was good about asking local friends to help her, but she began to feel like a burden. Swede would have taken care of all those problems when he was alive, so it was no wonder that she called out to me for help.

“I can’t live alone anymore, Dawn!”

I responded as quickly as I could, coming to help with everyday problems and then bringing her home with me, where she remained until she fell six years later.

How could it have been easier for Mom?

Communication was almost nonexistent in my family. We talked about lightweight subjects unless it was current events or the bonehead play in the latest college football game.

It might have been different if I asked simple questions.

“What was the highlight of your week in your diary, Mom?”

She might have tried to avoid answering, but I could have creatively pursued a fuller reply. Of course, I can’t relive the past, but I can act differently in my other relationships.

I’ll continue reading Mom’s diary entries, remembering events, and feeling her spirit around me. I know she loves me and enjoys hearing my voice when I comment on a new discovery of her love.

Now, her diaries are helping me in my grief.