Tag: life

A grateful heart

Posted on by Lynne J

Today marks the sixth year that I lost the absolute love of my life and my best friend to the dreaded disease called cancer. I remember it as if it were yesterday, recalling every second of that early fall morning, the change in his breathing, the feeling in our bedroom, and that last troubled breath that took him away from us all. I am grateful to have been with him and to have whispered love into his ear as he succumbed to that last breath. I was all too familiar with this experience having been in the room for both my father and my mother-in-laws’ last breath, but this time I was truly ripped in half in an instant and for the many days, months, years that followed. He was a part of me and we were inseparable. I felt like a large part of me was gone. Grief can rob you of everything in the first moments, days, months, years…but now, six years later, I am proof that you are able to learn to live with your grief. It becomes a part of you and changes you forever. And remember…being grateful for your grief means you understand that the other side of grief is extreme love. I understand that now and am so thankful that I had that love and still carry it with me. I am grateful.

I’ve been on quite a “ride” since Paul’s passing! I have experienced so may changes and shifts in my life. It’s incredible to think that the world keeps on turning without him in it, and yet here I am. Here we are! It has taken everything I have to get where I am right now , even during the times I thought I wouldn’t make it. I didn’t want to. As far as I’ve come, I know I still have a ways to go. I climb that hill every day, and the sun is getting brighter as I secure each step upward…positive sign that I am strong, resilient and very capable on my own. I am not the person I was before, as I was so connected to Paul, but many layers have been peeled away to reveal a new and changed me! Looking back to where I was only six years ago, I can see the new path that I have carved out for myself and how resilient I really am. I am so grateful to be able to say that and for every day forward. I am grateful.

For instance, I haven’t felt the need to write in awhile, which I am seeing as a wonderful sign. Writing has always been the vehicle I use to help me get through to the other side of difficult things, i.e. stress, sadness, turmoil, trauma, pain, inconsistancy, depression, anxiety and insecurity. But mostly, it helps me manage my grief. Finding that I haven’t felt the need to spill out my feelings through this blog for awhile is a true sign that I have broken through the veil to the other side. That’s not to say that I don’t still feel pain, believe me I do, but I have learned to work through all of it by leading my life with a grateful heart. I am grateful.

Listen when I say that leading every day with grateful heart cures a wealth of sadness. In the morning when I rise, I outstretch my arms to the Universe and say thank you to all of the past, present, and future parts of who I am and tell all them “thank you”. Thank you to a higher power. I am grateful for all of the parts of my life, good and bad, but particularly the pain. I am certain, it is within the pain I have felt, that I have grown in ways I never thought possible. I am grateful for the experience because it means I have love. Grief, after all, is love. It is through these experiences we move to a new level of understanding and peace. I am more observant about other people now, more kind, patient and empathetic. That said, I also find times for self care so as to balance my existence and be strong enough to be there for others if they need me. I am working at giving love more outwardly and not worrying so much about myself while not losing myself in the process. It is a delecate balance. I find this to be a much better way to live. I have proof that I am strong and resilent enough to get through even the most difficult of times. I now know that there is an “other side”. I am grateful.

The truth is, nothing is or will ever be the same since my family and I lost Paul six years ago. How could it be? But, I am grateful for the beauty I see in our family, the changes, the happiness, the humor, hard work, love and the togetherness we feel always. I truly believe that Paul is conducting his greatest concert from wherever he may be. We, his choral members, are singing our hearts out with him at the helm. It is he…who is directing us to be the best that we can be. I am grateful for him and always will be.

Paul, I love you and will miss you all of the days of my life. You are my “endless love”

November 12, 2025

Resilience

Posted on by Lynne J

re·sil·ience (noun)

  1. the capacity to withstand or to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.”the remarkable resilience of so many institutions”
  2. the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.”nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience”
  3. Similar: flexibility, pliability, suppleness, plasticity, elasticity, springiness, spring, give, durability, ability to last, strength, sturdiness, toughness, strength of character, hardiness, adaptability, buoyancy, ability to bounce back, bouncebackability
  4. “Lynne showed her resilience by opening a gift shop on Cape Cod with her son, getting a new puppy, getting back into theatre both as actor and director, while making new friends and reacquainting with old ones, traveling to Scotland alone, and keeping in touch with and spending time with the important people in her life.”

Today marks five years (hard to believe) since I lost the love of my life. For the last five years, I have been urged by my own will to be an example of resilience both to myself first, and then to my family and friends. How do I do this? Well, what choice do I have? All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and use the inner strength I have to keep going. Turns out I am much stronger than I ever thought I was.

What I can honestly say is that I am definitely not the same person I was just five years ago. Losing Paul was absolutely devistating and shook me to the core and crumbled the very ground I stood on. Everything I knew, and aspired to be was taken out from under me, leaving me a mere shell of the human being I was finally beginning to be comfortable with. I’ve had to rebuild myself at every turn. From the small things, like having a cup of coffee alone in the morning in silence, to walking in the neighborhood alone, and then the larger things like, sleeping in my bed alone, taking care of the house , buying a car, traveling and so on and so on.

I must admit, I have managed pretty well pulling up my bootstraps and moving forward. Not moving on, but forward. Again, what choice do I have? Resiliency is explained above in so many words, and I see it in my every day life. I’ve managed to “bounce” back to the life of the living and with my newfound path, set my sites on happiness in the moment. Recently I start my mornings raising my arms to God and the Universe and thanking them for all that I am grateful for in my life. I thank the universe for putting Paul in my path, building such a beautiful family with him, our experiences together and the life we had. Although he is gone, he is still everywhere in my life. He is in the faces of our children and grandchildren, in the piano in our mudroom, in our family photos, the humor we all share, and in the home we dreamed of having someday and were lucky enought to share for a time.

For anyone who has lost a loved one, the journey you are on now is absolutely a different one and not what you may have dreamt of. Through this phase of my life, my resiliency puts me on a mission to live my new life to the fullest, stepping off of the very foundation I had built with my person. I’m rebuilding that crumbled ground to forge a new path and get to higher ground. Paul may not be with me in the physical sense, but his incredible presence and love still drive me forward with positivity and strength, and no one can take that from me. Ever. Building upon that foundation is such a gift in the next chapters of my life. My strength comes from love and the determination to keep up the momentum I’ve built over the years with Paul and to reach the heights I am meant to reach. We all have potential for bigger and better things in life. Whatever those things are to each one of us, we can keep building upwards and use our resiliency to get to the next level. Keep building towards the sun. It will warm you and help you see just how resilient you can by.

Going Through It

Posted on by Lynne J

“You can’t go over it. You can’t got under it. You can’t go around it. You have to go through it” stated the grief counselor knowingly. It’s sage advice, I suppose. I’ve been better able to understand and deal with my grief process because of these simple words. I am definitely going through it. Over and over and over and over again. Letting the grief wash over me as if bathing in sadness will be the force which heals me. I accept it. I wear it for a time like a new pair of jeans that don’t fit quite comfortably, but they are mine so I must make them work. Then, just when I think I’m feeling pretty good and finding that I am surviving, it hits me again. Those damn jeans, feeling tight and restrictive, making me feel uncomfortable with every step. Too tight! Too rigid! Too unfamiliar! I want to return them, but there are no returns from this.

Some mornings I wake up innocently. I open my eyes and look beside me. I am alone, except for the breathing of my furry companion at the bottom of the bed. I am alerted, once again, to the reality and the permanency of it all. “There is no coming back from this” I told a friend the other day. “I am not going to every see Paul again. How do I pick up and move on from here? I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

I know that I’m in here somewhere, but I can’t seem to find myself. This is not because I was in a life that consumed me and I lost myself in him, but because I was in a life that was beautiful and I found myself with him. We discovered love together. Real unconditional love. I loved our life together. We were extremely happy and we were living a life which we built together with our hearts and our love. We had a connection that some people never get to experience. We cared deeply for each other and we synced perfectly. Now…like vapor…all of that is gone. Poof! The memories are amazing, but the absence of Paul/Dad/Papa/Skip has left an empty space where happy once lived. I miss happy.

Somewhere inside of this body in pain, is a human being who has a lot to contribute to the world, but right now I just can’t seem to find her. She is stifled, stymied, hidden and numb. She wants so much to hit her stride again, find ways to be creative, get on with living, but she is still broken and has no energy to start anew.

I mean, honestly, who would choose this ending to their fairytale? I wasn’t ready to change my life and lose the one person who has made me feel complete and happy. The partner I dreamed of in my girlhood and the person who I could talk to about everything and anything. The one person who I felt truly comfortable with. The only person I felt truly comfortable with.

I am missing that special part of me which we developed together as a pair. I miss the very air we breathed together. I miss the patterns we formed, the methods we used, and the rhythm and tempo we made. I miss the playful banter, the smiles we shared and the talk of the kids and grandkids. I miss our whole family unit…the most eclectic and beautiful dozen! I miss the extended family holiday desserts. I miss the familiar scents, the comforting hugs, and the shoulders we offered each other. The hands we held. The tender kisses. I miss the food we grew to love, the friends we had together and the music we shared. I miss the familiar. I miss the comfort. I miss everything we shared together for such a long time. What I am doing is forging ahead with the pace of a snail and that is the part the plagues me the most. I can’t seem to ignite any fires inside or pick up any speed. The pandemic only adds more stress, fear and confusion to the journey.

I didn’t ask for this life change and sometimes I am so angry with the way life is playing out. I feel like I’ve been a good girl and yet I’m suffering with a loss that I cannot fathom. I worry about my children and grandchildren. How are they navigating this change in their lives? I can only relate by scaring up my past and the loss of my father. It devastated me at the time. It shifts your compass and everything seems to have a pall over it for a long, long time. Then it becomes part of living. Dying is part of living. I learned the most beautiful thing when my father died in 1984. It taught me the most valuable lesson of all…that life is short and you have to live it fully and beautifully. I have done that. My eyes were opened to my worth. That’s why and how I met Paul.

Oh, what a play this is! A drama, no… a romantic comedy, no… a tragedy, no all three rolled into one with a surprise ending! I never saw this coming! I never even thought it possible that our love story would end this way. Not like this. It’s not how it played out in my head. It’s not how it played out at all. What a lot to I have to learn when I wasn’t even looking to be educated.

Maybe I have to embrace the lesson that I am needing to learn here, as I did when my father passed. I will peel back the layers until I figure out what it is that I am supposed to learn, that has me enduring one of the greatest tragedies of my life.

So, I will move forward, following the path, and seeking the positives to this short life we are allowed to live. I will learn the big lesson. Again. I will not figure it out for awhile, this I know is true. It will move into my body in a subtle manner, and slowly and steadily become part of who I am. Suddenly, one day, I’ll look back in hindsight and realize that all that has gone before has led me to who I am in that moment. I will look back with a nod, and turn to go ahead, moving through the rest of my journey. What else can I do? I will go through it with strength and wonder. I will pay attention to how I feel and what I want moving forward. I will take care of myself, my family and all of people that I care about. I will keep my eyes open for the signs of new life and change. I will willingly search for the person I need to become, thanking Paul for giving me a love that has brought me to now. I will jump off of that love and raise myself even higher. I will be educated and I will educate. I will allow the grief to wash over me, but along with it will be a cleansing of epic proportions. Bathing in sadness will be the force that will heal me. There is nowhere to go but up now. I will move up. I will.

Life on Loan

Posted on by Lynne J

“None of us are getting out of here alive, so please stop treating yourself like an afterthought. Eat the delicious food. Walk in the sunshine. Jump in the ocean. Say the truth you’re carrying in your heart like hidden treasure. Be silly. Be kind. Be weird. There’s no time for anything else.”
― Anthony Hopkins

Tonight I return from a overnight theater trip into Boston with my sister. As I reflect on the wonderful time we spent together, I am reminded why I chose this special experience as a gift for her 70th birthday. It had to do with time. We have so little of it in life and I wanted to share some precious time with her experiencing something we’d always remember. Time is inestimable and should be treated with respect.

When my amazing father died in a tragic accident in 1984, I was 24 years old and my adult life had really just begun. I was still figuring things out for myself. His sudden death was a completely overwhelming and sobering experience. One day we were laughing together about some joke he heard on t.v. and the next he was gone. I learned then that life was short and something we have on loan.

When my husband received his cancer diagnosis, I was reminded once again that we come into this world with no guarantees are only allowed to exist on this earth for just so long. We come with an invisible expiration date and it’s only a matter of how and when we will move on. So, when Paul first received the dire news about his cancer, I figured his time had come. After all, the Radiation Oncologist said “You should get your affairs in order. Take care of the business of dying so you can go on living.”

Although we understood she was trying to be helpful, the words wrapped around us like a shroud in a tomb. That once familiar overwhelming and sobering feeling simmering on low for all of those years, had returned with familiar force. I knew it was only a matter of time before it would rear its ugly head. Here it was staring us both in the face. I say both, because when you love someone as completely as I do my husband, it is happening to me as well as to him.

Here’s the upside, if there is one. All of those years ago when my father died so suddenly, I learned a grand lesson. “Life is short and you have to live it to the fullest.” Fortunately, in the thirty-four years Paul and I have been together, we’ve done just that. We have loved each other unconditionally, raised a wonderful and loving family, traveled a little bit here and there, made a living doing what we love in the arts, met some wonderful and talented people, have close family and friends whom we cherish, and we moved into our dream house on Cape Cod. We’ve enjoyed each other tremendously and learned a lot of invaluable lessons along the way. We may have even taught some valuable lessons to many along the road as well. Oh, don’t get me wrong. No life comes without some darkness. We’ve had our share of trials and tribulations, but we have been together and have loved each other through every curve in the road.

Tomorrow marks one complete year since we walked into the doors of that Urgent Care facility so Paul could have an X-Ray. As we sat in one of the doctor’s offices and heard those words “get your affairs in order” a few weeks later, we thought Paul’s expiration date had arrived. Although Cancer has come to us like a thief and robbed of us the life we worked so hard for, still, one full year had passed. We didn’t think we’d be where we are right now. Every day for Paul, and for us as a couple is a blessing. Make no mistake about it, I am by his side through every detail of this disease but Cancer hasn’t taken everything away from us.

As I say to Paul, “it’s not over ’til the fat lady sings”. Since he is a voice teacher and a music director, I believe he as the power within himself to decide when that performance or concert will take place.