My life has been a dance with emotion: Love, sadness, joy, heartbreak and everything in between. I live a quiet life. Where once I was planning meals for a family of 5, raising children, driving them to school, sports events, music lessons, school productions, and more all while working my own full time job, I now pull out a frozen dinner and sit alone at my kitchen table. I run my own schedule and live out a new life plot that I had never imagined I would ever face.

What happened?

My husband of almost 40 years made his transition to heaven at the young age of 60. He suffered a heart attack. My son of 38 years made his transition 1 year later on Boxing Day (Dec. 26), 2023 from a heart attack.

Am I okay? I have to be. I choose to be. What are my options?

I have had moments of emotional strength when I was determined that I would not be defined by my grief. And I have had moments where my grief completely debilitated me.

Someone once asked the question “How do difficult circumstances change you?” I ask how have I allowed myself to be changed? An answer does not come easily like it would if someone asked me what is 2 + 2. Who am I I now? Who was I before?

Who was I?

I enjoyed my life with true reckless abandon. My story was full of adventure and excitement. My emotions guided me. If I was happy, I would act happy. If I was sad, I would find a corner somewhere where I could be alone but I was subject to my emotions.

Who am I now?

I am greater than my emoiions as I realize that I do not want to spend the rest of my life in that dark corner alone focused on what I have lost.

What do I have?

I have life. I feel the fullness of a satisfying deep breath and a conscious determination to be happy despite my past experiences. That is easier said than done. Loosing the ever present joy of loved ones can totally destroy a person. I will admit I have felt the close proximity of wondering what it would be like to just step out of this human existence simply to stop the emotional pain. But I am still here. I would equate ducking out on life when it feels unbearable to walking out of a test before it has been completed because it is just too hard. I’ve had a lifetime full of amazing blessings and now as I find myself in the middle of one of life’s toughest exams, I am determined to pass.

The test of Grief

I know the answers to these questions. They come to me as I face each moment. How do I keep going when I just want to die? Keep breathing Lori. Just keep breathing. Then the mind steps in. My reality plays out before me like a 3D movie in a room that has no exits. Harold can no longer be heard making coffee in the morning. Sean can no longer be heard playing the piano. Nobody hears me when I walk through the door after work to say “Hi! I’m home!” Ok. Breathing. I can do that. Mute the thoughts of the mind Lori, like you do during commercials on TV. You won’t miss anything. Sound muted. Here is where the controlled thoughts step up to the mic.

Go to a place that you define as beautiful. Another deep breath and I picture a waterfall framed with trees just before plummeting down a rocky cliff to a pool below. I picture birds enjoying the spray as they fly through the mist it creates, and I smell the fresh air. I see a blue sky and feel the warm sun on my face. This is a scene that I experienced with Harold on a trip to Kauai. It is easy to recall many moments of beauty that I can bring back into my present moment. Harold looked so handsome and we shared that same spirit of adventure.

Back to my present moment. I find myself absent mindedly smiling while I breathe just holding that memory as long as I desire. Something has shifted inside of me. My past holds all the beautiful decorations of my present, each experience becoming a treasured souvenir of my life.

But Sean…

Same process. Debilitating grief flows through me again. Just breathe. My happy place: I am lying in a hospital bed with Harold standing next to me as I hold baby Sean in my arms for the first time. Our son, born at 00:46 in the morning, weighing exactly 7 pounds. That moment from the past and so many more have become happy places to help me find my feet again.

Back to the present

Grief can be compared to the waves of the ocean. Sometimes you experience a tsunami of grief. Other times the tide is out and you can enjoy beach combing in the tidal pools left behind. Yes, sorrow overtakes us. That is part of this whole life and death scenario, but when the tide goes out, you can remember all those beautiful moments that can never be taken away: the memories, the laughter and the joy of just being together. Sharing life and all its magic is the greatest gift.

Is death a payment for love? We all die. Back to the classroom scenario, writing the test of life and death. What has life with Harold and Sean taught me? What does life with Tammy, Kenton and Barrett continue to teach me? (My other children and my grandson). This is my answer: Perhaps it is payment, but I can not imagine my life without them. Love incarnate is absolutely worth it.

I still stand in time. Why am I still here? My mother often asked me that question as she grieved my father who passed almost exactly 12 years before her own journey to heaven. My answer to her has become my own mantra. I still have a purpose for being here. My purpose is to live for this moment, this NOW. My purpose is to keep loving. I can do that.

As Harold and Sean watch from that heavenly dimension, they wait for us all to find our feet again. I believe they are both by my side as I grieve their physical loss, but I also believe that they cheer us on every time we come to the end of another grief tsunami, or even a sneaker wave that catches us off guard. My grief comes as an equivalent marker of my love for them.

“All the world is a stage and all the men and women merely players.” Shakespeare. My backstage crew is strong, as is my own cast that still shares my stage of life. I will complete this test. I’m still writing it, but I have every intention of finishing this exam of life.

What is time anyway?

I believe time is the veil that separates me from Harold and Sean and all our loved ones who have finished their earthly stories. I am immersed in time, but our loved ones are no longer governed by the clock. I believe I am dreaming this life, but soon I will wake up and find myself in that beautiful dimension outside of time and space where Harold and Sean wait for me – (a time reference). For now, I live by its rules but I have adopted a new perspective of life and death. How have I changed over the last few years? I am no longer who I was. I am experiencing life in the moment. It is the only way that works for me as I do my daily dance with grief.

My Perspective

Life is the dream. The afterlife is the reality. Lucid dream this life. Know that all my days are numbered, but still full of purpose nonetheless. My purpose is to know joy again, to breathe, smile as it feels natural and let life happen for me, not to me. I am not a victim. I am a survivor and I have my own story to continue writing.