blog description

Old women talk about old things: history, myth, magic and their
checkered pasts, about what changes and what does not.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Grief, The Great Yearning

From fellow Second Wind Author, Pat Bertram, a personal and beautiful meditation upon one of the toughest things about the Crone-Age, which is that Death becomes our constant companion. We open a newspaper and read the Obits, perhaps for the first time in our lives, and see the names of friends, family, and our own husbands and wives who have fallen into the past.


Connect with Pat at   http://www.secondwindpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=94







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Death came in the spring.
At the beginning of March 2010, the doctors said that Jeff, my life mate—my soul mate—had inoperable kidney cancer and that he had six months to live. He had only three weeks. We’d spent thirty-four years together, and suddenly I was alone, unprepared, and totally devastated. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the wreckage of my life. It wasn’t just he who died but “we.” There was no more “us,” no more shared plans and dreams and private jokes. There was only me.
Other losses compounded the misery. I had to sort through the accumulation of decades, dismantle what was left of our life, move from our home. We bereft are counseled not to make major changes during the first year after a significant loss—one’s thinking processes become muddled, leaving one prey to faulty logic and rash decisions—but I needed to go stay with my father for a while. Although he was doing well by himself, he was 93 years old, and it wasn’t wise for him to continue living alone.
I relocated from cool mountain climes to the heat of a southwestern community. Lost, heartbroken, awash in tears, I walked for hours every day beneath the cloudless sky, finding what comfort I could in the simple activity. During one such walk, I turned down an unfamiliar city street, and followed it . . . into the desert.
I was stunned to find myself in a vast wilderness of rocky knolls, creosote bushes, cacti, rabbits, lizards, and snakes. I’d been to the area several times during my mother’s last few months, but I’d spent little time outside. I hated the heat, the constant glare of the sun, the harsh winds. After Jeff died, however, that bleak weather, that bleak terrain seemed to mirror my inner landscape. Wandering in the desert, crying in the wilderness, I tried to find meaning in all that had happened. I didn’t find it, of course. How can there be meaning in the painful, horrific death of a 63-year-old man? I didn’t find myself, either. It was too soon for me to move on, to abandon my grief. I felt as if I’d be negating him and the life we led.
What I did find was the peace of the moment.
Children, most of whom know little of death and the horrors of life, live in the moment because they can—it’s all they have. The bereft, who know too much about death and the horrors of life, live in the moment because they must—it’s the only way they can survive.
During the first year after Jeff’s death, I lived as a child—moment to moment, embracing my grief, trying not to think about the future because such thoughts brought panic about growing old alone, trying not to think about the past because such thoughts reminded me of all I had lost.
And so went the seasons of my soul. The spring of death gave way to the summer of grief, and grief flowed into the fall and winter of renewal.
As I struggled to get through that first year of grief, I wrote blog posts, letters to Jeff, journal entries, anything to help me stay in the moment, and afterward, I compiled the best of my grief writings into a book called Grief, The Great Yearning, which has been released by Second Wind Publishing. Our society seems to value cheerfulness at all costs, and I wanted to let people know that sometimes those costs are too high. It’s important to grieve but it’s also important to know you are not alone in your grief. Whatever you feel, others have felt. Whatever seemingly crazy thing you do to bring yourself comfort, others have done. And, as impossible as it is to imagine now, you will survive.
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Great Yearning and four novels --- Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. All Bertram’s books are available both in print and in ebook format. You can get them online at Second Wind Publishing, Amazon, B&N and Smashwords.  At Smashwords, the books are available in all ebook formats including palm reading devices, and you can download the first 20-30% free!

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for having me as a guest, Juliet. It's a priviledge to be here. As you say, death seems to be a constant companion, now. Within three years, I lost a brother, my mother, and my life mate, so I've had a crash course in grieving.

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