499.

Luther Vandross said it best when he sang, "... There's nothing better than love..."

I agree.

And I pray that no matter what happens in my life, my heart remains open to giving and receiving love.

Because in the end, love is the most important thing we can share with each other.

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498.

Sometimes it seems our lives are as full as they can be, with not an inch of room to possibly squeeze in anything else.

But I believe there is always room for Love.

And in gratitude, I say 

Amen.

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497.

Dear God,

Thank you for this life.

It has been happy, sad, intriguing, busy, dangerous, relaxing, satisfying, anger-inducing, painful, overwhelming, hysterical, hilarious, astounding...

Sometimes all in the same day.

But it has never been boring.

Amen.

Thanksgiving was a medley of food, emotion, sunshine, and television.

I cried off and on throughout the day. My daughter and I ate until we were stuffed while watching the Macy's parade. I passed out on the floor after, full as the proverbial tick.

I've been talking to my daddy a lot. I wish we lived closer because I wish I could see him more often.

Maybe we'll drive up soon and stay overnight. It would be cool if we could stay at his place but it's not big enough and they already have a house full.

Friends back home keep asking when we're coming home again. We'll be going at our usual time, unless (God forbid) there's an emergency that requires us to go home sooner.

A lot of folk thought we would be moving back home after Mr. Bliss died. But no. This place is home  for now. We have family and friends here. Ties... Binds... Life is good here. Affordable, picturesque, life-affirming, relaxing.

My daughter and I were blessed to be able to take a trip to the beach in October. It was a wonderful week of sand, sun, and surf. Great accommodations, good food, and a visit with a good friend.

We sprinkled my husband's ashes in the ocean during our visit. It was sad but I felt it helped me release him a little more. Moving forward is a long process, one that may continue for the rest of my life. But it's necessary. The living should not stagnate because of the dead.

Mr. Bliss will live forever in our hearts and a part of my heart belongs to him. But I can't pretend I don't want to experience romantic love again.

I do and I will.

It's also what he wanted for me. His best friend told me.

In the meantime, life is what it is: ongoing.

Today, I am thankful that it is so.

Amen.

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496.

Ordinarily mornings seem to be saddest but for the past week or so I've been crying at random moments.

Maybe it's because Thanksgiving is coming. He loved holidays that focus on family and food.

I used to.

My daughter and I have decided to have dinner here at home, alone. We might visit family and/or friends after but it's not likely. A lot of people get drunk during the holidays. I don't want to be driving in the dark with those folk.

It will probably be a movie weekend for us. I have several reserved at the library. I'll pick them up by next Wednesday, latest.

It won't be strange to eat dinner without Mr. Bliss. He worked on Thanksgiving Day many times. It will be strange that I won't have to save a plate for him because he's not coming home this time.

I miss him.

495.

Life... goes on.

Slowly, painfully, joyously, tearfully, abundantly...

Days pass. Weeks. Months.

I've learned that measuring in moments is easier. It helps me know that whatever sadness I feel is temporary.

I miss him more than I could have imagined. In the first days and weeks, I wanted to die, to be with him. Yet in the midst of great pain, my life continued. I went to sleep and woke up every day. I ate and drank and breathed...

I eat. I drink. I breathe.

The world doesn't stop when someone dies. For those not directly affected, it doesn't even pause.

Even when the decedent is world-famous, after all the hoopla ends, the others eventually go back to their own lives.

As is the case with the death of Mr. Bliss.

There are a few who still call to check on my daughter and I, many more who probably keep us in their prayers. But at their core, mourning and grieving are solitary endeavors. This is what I'm learning.

Everyone doesn't understand what it's like to lose a spouse or a parent and it can be hard to relate to something  never experienced.

Folk will try and in their attempts, some say things inappropriate and insensitive.

Depending on who said it and how, I either let it go or I let the person go.

No one can put a timeline on someone else's journey, whether it's to do with grieving or some other aspect of another's life. Our society teaches much but sadly, few seem to understand this.

My daughter and I continue to make strides toward health and healing. I hope and pray for our wholeness daily but I know we will never be the same.

That which changes us makes us... different. Sometimes better, sometimes stronger. Definitely unlike we were before.

I have learned so much more about myself, my humanity, my resilience.

I have also learned a lot about other people, family and friends; strangers. Some have surprised me with their actions; some have acted as expected.

More importantly to me, I am still in awe of how much there has been to be thankful for since Mr. Bliss died.

God has sent many angels my way and some days my tears fall in overwhelming gratitude.

Ultimately, I know I must remain open to living every minute of the wonderful amazing life that lies before me.

And so I persevere because I absolutely believe in the power of Good and Right and most of all, Love and Blessings.

Amen.

494.

Mr. Bliss died on March 31, at 6 p.m.

Thank you God for allowing us to spend his last night with him.

We were also there when he took his last breaths.

It was peaceful.

Amen.

...

493.

This post has no title because I don't know what to call it.

It's a difficult one to write but I'll do it because I need to.

I'm sitting here wrapped in a blanket, in hospice, at my husband's bedside.

He is dying slowly but faster than most of us.

And I'm watching him because I love him and if possible, I want to be here with him when he takes his last breath.

Our children and my sister are here in this room with us. I am definitely awake. I don't know that the others are really sleeping. Probably the children because they are tired. It's been a long ordeal for them, though the calendar would say otherwise.

My husband has been here for less than a week. Before this, he spent 10 days in hospital.

He was in the poorest health when he arrived here and his condition continues to decline.

It's all surreal right now.

I know I'm here with my husband, my children, my sister. But I can also step outside of my mind somehow and think about things non-related, as if this is not my reality. I can also look at my husband, as ill as he now is, and think that he just needs a long rest to get him back to being up and about again.

Except the no-nonsense me keeps kicking in. She keeps telling me what's real and what's not. She keeps interjecting at moments I don't want to hear from her, with words like "cremation" and "memorial service".

Yes, I know these are the things we civilized people do for our dead. I have also accepted that I will have to do these things for my husband very soon. However, the closer we get, the more I wish someone else could take the reigns on this buggy.

I am exhausted. Running on fumes. Existing on the wings of supportive family and friends as well as their prayers.

My husband is exhausted too. Lymphoma that has metastasized is eating his body from top to bottom. He has already told us he's tired and ready to go home. We all know which home he means.

It's okay with me because it has to be. If he's ready to meet God face to face, I love him enough to support his journey in any way I can.

We're all expressing varying degrees of sadness but there is laughter as well, which I know is what my husband wants. He likes to laugh.

The nurse said it appears we're hearing the last strains of his song now, as we see his physical body  undergoing signs of finality.

He is being kept comfortable with morphine for pain and small doses of other medications if needed.

He hasn't eaten or drunk anything for at least a day. It seems he may have forgotten how to swallow.

His eyes are open half way; he hasn't closed them for over 12 hours. He appears to be able to blink one eye. It looks like he's even crying from it. With all that's happening I'm concerned that he has dry eye and I want to soothe his eyes with a saline rinse, something he rarely let me do even on days when he returned from work knowing his eyes were filthy.

The waiting truly is the hardest part...

Not because we're waiting for the inevitable.

Maybe it's because we know the outcome is inevitable.

I'm also waiting for the full impact of the situation to hit me. I'm sure it will, when I have time to let it. Right now, I'm otherwise engaged.

I will miss my husband probably more than I can imagine. But even in the depths of the sadness I feel and will feel, I must be grateful for sharing this life experience with Mr. Bliss.

For all involved, there are powerful lessons to be learned from this segment of the journey. I hope we are able to embrace them, and perhaps use them to help others some day.

Namaste.

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