peace and gratitude

I had a really sweet day today, sad and lonely at first, the mind busy with thoughts about what could be better. I cried some and took a long nap, and that was nourishing. Then I talked with a friend who is in The Work, and I got to see how if I will treat myself like a dear loved one, there is peace, and gratitude. I like my company, I'm easy (for me) to get along with, we like all the same music and food! So the rest of the day was delightful, I walked by the river, cooked some yummy food, and enjoyed the peace that was so deeply and readily available.

I am continually amazed by the transformations that are available with the simple process of questioning stressful thinking. I say it's simple. It is that, and lasting change is also a long process in my experience. It is the undoing of generations of thought. I started this process in 2003, and often wish it was moving along faster with it's evolution in me, but hey, that's just another stressful thought!! I am grateful for this tool that rocks my world.

What I know is when I'm hurting, I'm believing something that isn't true for me. It can be a puzzle to figure out what it is, but once I get to it, always peace, space, aliveness returns, and I am so grateful.

Happy Solstice and Merry Christmas!

Tara

over and out

I just want to let you all know that I am not writing much these days. I'm struggling with feeling sad, lonely, overwhelmed much of the time. I am working, caring for Cameron, our home, spending time with friends. All that goes pretty well, the sadness comes and goes but isn't everpresent anymore. Sometimes I'm just a person for a while and I'm grateful for that. But home alone, I'm not doing so well. I have experienced depression before, and feel close to that at times. People say this is grieving.

I am doing what I know to do, or as much of it as I can muster. Some of the simple things, like walking every day seem too hard, or too exposed, vulnerable. I've always gotten through times like this before and I know I will get through this too. I am planning to do more of The Work with a skilled facilitator beginning in the new year. In the past that has bouyed me, freed me of the oppressiveness of overwhelm and sadness.

I also know lots of people are struggling, this time of year with the holidays and lack of sunlight can be hard of many of us. And I have so much to be grateful for, I feel sad that I'm not more aware of it, but then that's just more sadness! Uggh. It does feel circular, and tough to reverse the downward trend. I am doing what I can, and holding some trust that the next thing will indeed come and I will be here for it.

I also decided to write privately now when I do write, as much of it involves other people and that isn't fair to post on the internet.

So, much love. Thank you for your support during the last months of David's life, it was an amazing time of heart-cracked-open and I love that kind of availability to one another. Thanks too for your love for him, or me, always, and for being yourself in the world. We really are all in this together.

If you want to reach me at some point, my email is tarademere@gmail.com. Phone is 207-338-9999.

Over and out.

Tara

A pain like that

I am aware that I want to keep writing so I decided to begin a new blog. I will complete David's after the service this weekend, and carry on here for myself and anyone else who wants to come along. This entry feels too intense to share with people who may be on their way to celebrate the life of this wonderful man, so I'm putting it here.

Welcome to the next adventure.

I just finished up the most intense crying I've experienced since David died.

This morning I had a plan to do some Byron Katie inquiry work with a person in my facilitator training group, and I struggled to figure out what thought was upsetting me, even though it was clear I'd been upset about something for days. Finally my worksheet read "I'm angry at . . . David because he left. I want . . . David to come back, to not leave me alone here, to keep showing up and loving me the way he always did. David shouldn't . . . have died, shouldn't have run out of options. I need . . . David to come back here, to keep me safe, to be here when I need him. David is . . . trustworthy, kind, thoughtful, available, self-centered, other-centered, amazing, hard to live with, loving, funny, wonderful." When I read this I laughed out loud and said "I notice I didn't include dead. David is . . . dead." The end of the worksheet begins "I don't ever want to" and I filled in "wake up lonely without David again."

This was an intense worksheet to read to my partner. To see all that pain on paper and read it out loud was a lot to take in, but at the same time good to share with someone. The suggestions is to be completely raw and honest in writing in order to see what's there. After that, one thought at a time can be questioned to see what's really true, at a deeper level, and the results can be surprising and freeing. But it's important to do The Work without a motive, just to ask the questions and see what is revealed. It takes some time to get the hang of it, and I have found it shocking, beautiful, and even life saving at times.

My partner asked me "David left, is it true?" I breathed, and again, and found "Yes."

"Can you absolutely know that it's true that David left?" More breathing, fleeting images and sensations of awareness of him now, of something being true for me about still having connection with him, a photo of him on the table nearby, the feeling of him in my heart and mind . . . "No."

"How do you react when you think the thought 'David left?'" "Anguish, headache, contraction in my body, intense sensation, loneliness, I want to drink, want to fill the space with someone else. What images do you see? "I see him when he was here, amazing, available, and I see the future fearful of what will come, or won't come. I think I'll never connect with someone like that again. I think I can't do this without him, how can I live without him?" "What do you get, what's the payoff for believing this thought?" "I get to feel alone, separate, fearful, I get to stay small, I get to be so caught up in my own grief that I dont' have energy or space for anything else, for connecting, for giving."

"Who would you be without the thought?" "I'm breathing, there's space, I can feel my body, I feel hopeful, I'm open to seeing how I can stay close with David even now."

And it went on from there.*

Later I was sitting with a friend sorting through David's old paperwork and mine, trying to make some order in the chaos. I came upon shopping lists, to-do lists, stuff to file, stuff to throw away, and love notes.

I was reminded of how amazingly David showed up for his life, and for me. I'm grieving the loss of that partnership. For all of my life I felt mostly alone. I had friends, I've had boyfriends too, but rarely could I share my spiritual life with any ease. And in terms of dancing, fun, a sense of adventure, commonality about creating a life, and showing up deeply in the midst of all of it, only with David did I find a partner for life. I ended many relationships before David because I couldn't connect deeply enough with that person.

We sat and sorted; old check stubs, envelopes with past wives names and my address. "How does this crap find it's way here, and how long will I have to look at it?!" Mortgage info, poems, more love notes. Overwhelming items like old journals. What to do with those?

Finally it seemed I wasn't thinking clearly and needed a break. Friends are great at times like this, noticing what is occuring when I can not. As soon as I stood up I started to cry. I asked my friend to sit with me on the couch, and sobbed and sobbed. "I miss you David", she said. "Yes", and I cried some more. I feel so lonely now, like 1/2 of a beautiful puzzle, missing it's completion. It was easy to be with David, I could just be myself and that was enough. It was also hard to be with David. He was hard to live with; critical of himself and others, and held tension in his body. Often I'd separate myself because of the intensity of that criticism and tension. And I am hard to live with; disorganized, chaotic in my planning or lack of, quick to anger if pushed or offended. So we were quite a pair, deeply connected and in love, and often struggling with the difficulties of daily life. It was always worth it to me, the sweetness outweighed the hardship. It was amazing and worth it even in its difficulty.

Yesterday I was choosing photos from all the ones we've taken and have stored on the computer over the last 2 1/2 years, for a slide show at the service Saturday. I was amazed by how many photos are of David during treatment. There he is in a hospital room in Illinois, hospital gown on, IV line with chemo in his arm, riding a stationary bike with a big smile on his face. The chemo bags get covered with a dark shield so they don't harm anyone else, and here is my husband willingly accepting this liquid into his veins, and keeping his body strong, hoping for more life. I remember that he didn't smile the whole time in treatment, but I was amazed looking at those photos that he could have been smiling at all.

Today I thought about how when we first got together I really thought he'd live. I thought this was why we were together. I have witnessed miraculous things, I've prayed about situations and received guidance and acted on that guidance, and watched the situation transform. I am still praying today, asking for help, asking to be strong, asking to know what to do. And with David, I figured I was there to partner with him and figure out what was needed so he could live. The alternative healers David has worked with since I've known him have all said he was going to live. They all saw health and vibrant life force in him.

So did I fail? Does this prayer/guidance business not work? Were the healers tuned into a life that has a broader definition than we generally think of? Was I here to help David live well and him to help me love well, while we could? That I know for sure is true. And today a big wave of grief about thinking something like failing because I didn't help him figure out how to live a long time here like he wanted to. And because I finally found a man I could share a life with, and he's gone. I don't understand the brevity of it. I know it's for good somehow, for me, but I don't understand it yet. And I don't understand his being sick since 44 and dying at 51, where his kids are concerned. They will be grieving for their whole lives I imagine, all the times they'd wish to have their Dad there for them and he won't be. I don't understand that at all.

And then I remember that I haven't had a mother since I was 8. Not really. She asked my Dad to come get me then, that she had raised me enough, had other things she wanted to do, thought my Dad could provide a better life for me. And so he did. After that she lived at a funky yoga foundation that didn't take kids. I rarely saw her. She was there about 14 years until she had a nervous breakdown, spent some time in a psychiatric facility, needed medication and they didn't want her back. I feel badly for David's kids, for the pain they will feel missing their Dad, and I am aware that I know something about a pain like that.

*If you want to learn more about The Work, go to www.thework.org. There, you can see Katie doing The Work live with people, and it may make more sense. I have found it to be mind-blowing in the best of ways! You can also see davidslastadventure.blogspot.com, an entry dated Oct 16 "tears" to hear a bit of how it worked for David and I.