Lessons in Love and Grief

“Wisdom is nothing more than healed pain.” Robert Gary Lee

What he Taught Me

Today marks the 32nd anniversary of my fiance’s death, after a brave and valiant seven month fight with cancer.  In 1994 when he passed away, he was just 27 years old, and I was 26.  He taught me so much during his illness, and thankfully continued to teach me after his death. While I wish he never had to experience such horror as cancer, I am grateful for his life lessons.  In his honor and memory, I do my best to remember these lessons in my daily life.

1. He taught me that there is no “I” in T-E-A-M.  This was one of Scott’s many mottos before he got sick.  He was never one to seek attention or praise, and he believed in the value of working together, whether it be out on the ice playing hockey, or on the job.  This motto came to the forefront as he fought cancer.  He often thanked his medical team, family and friends support team, and communicate that he felt that we were all in it together.  We WERE all in it together.  We were his team.

2. He taught me to find humor.  Even on the darkest of days, there is humor to be found.  Humor can make the darkness more tolerable.  I will never forget when the doctors said that Scott’s death imminent, and he surprised us all by improving for a few days.  During one of his more lucid moments, he said to his oncologist, “I guess I gave you all a scare.  I was at death’s door.”  The doctor replied, “We don’t like to use that word around here.”  Scott said back playfully, “What?  Door?”  He died a week later. I am grateful for this moment of humor during a time of pure despair.  I still remember how everyone in that room laughed.

3. He taught me to have faith.  Now this is a strange one, as Scott did not believe in God during our engagement.  As I wanted to be married in the Catholic Church, we were required to have pre-marriage sessions with the priest, just the two of us.  I will never forget when I kicked him under the table for confessing that he did not believe in God. I thought for sure that the priest would not marry us!  Thankfully, the priest agreed to proceed.  But it was truly miraculous that just days before his death, Scott turned to me and said in a most uncharacteristically serious tone, “I changed my mind.  There is a God.” He said that he could not explain the change in belief, but that he knew in his heart that there is a God, and that this knowledge provided him with comfort as his death was imminent.

4. He taught me to trust that there is more to this life than we know.  One morning, on one of the few nights that I did not sleep next to him in a lounge chair or on the hard floor at the hospital, he called me at 6:00AM and woke me up.  He asked me to make a list of everyone I knew who died, and to bring the list with me.  I asked him why.  He said that he met all of my deceased relatives and they knew him, but he did not know who they were, and he wanted to know who they were.  I was too terrified of the looming reality of losing him that I did not make the list.  I fantasized that I could prevent his death if I didn’t make the list.  I am grateful that he had this experience of welcoming from them, and that he was able to share some of the “other side” with me. 

5. He taught me that I do not always need to follow the rules. My father spoke at Scott’s funeral.  He talked about one night that he kept Scott company. My father said that Scott woke up at 5AM and said to my father, “What do you want for breakfast?  We’re going downstairs for breakfast”.  My dad said during his speech, “The nurses and myself had to deal with his persistence until 7AM when the coffee shop opened. Sure enough, at 7AM, he looks at his watch, puts on his slippers, and heads for the door. The nurse tells him that he will need a wheelchair.  Suddenly, he takes off down the hall and I say, ‘Scott, didn’t you hear?  We need to get you a wheelchair first.’ He commented back, ‘Yes, I am looking for one.’  And we had breakfast.” This memory of a special moment that my father had with Scott taught me that sometimes, if a rule simply does not apply to you, and it does not hurt anyone to break it, just break it!

6. He taught me that gratitude for the smallest, seemingly insignificant things makes a difference, especially during difficult times. I became so grateful for hazelnut coffee while he was sick and at the hospital the last 42 days of his life. I never knew what condition he was going to be in each day – whether he would be able to talk or even open his eyes and look at me.

But one thing was consistent and predictable, and that was my cup of hazelnut coffee. The aroma permeated his hospital room and made it less sterile.  I was comforted by the warmth from the cup.  It gave me simple pleasure through its taste, but even more so its predictable availability, in those days that were so full of the anxiety-provoking unpredictable.

He knew how much that cup of coffee meant to me, and he encouraged me to stretch my legs and go down the several flights to the cafeteria to get it, or to ask someone to get it for me when he did not want me to leave his side.  We were both grateful for the simple pleasure of that predictable hazelnut coffee that kept me company when I was feeling so alone and scared. Now, 32 years later, gratitude sustains me. It’s how I’ve been able to turn posttraumatic pain into posttraumatic growth, and support others in doing the same.

7. He taught me not to complain. If anyone had a reason to complain, it was him.  But he never did. Just one time he said to my father while at the hospital, “You know, I really don’t want to be here.” That was his biggest complaint. This was a man who before I met him, survived after being in a coma for three weeks after a horrific car accident, and survived after being struck by lightning. After he was diagnosed with cancer, he never asked, “Why me?” As he lost his hair and his diagnosis became visible to others, he mentioned that he had cancer in a matter-of-fact tone. I suppose that not complaining nor seeking sympathy was his way of coping. It was also so very characteristic of the man he was. So when I feel like complaining about small annoyances, I am able to quickly snap out of it and put things in perspective.

8. He taught me not to be afraid to ask for help. I have always been a giver – in my personal life and in my chosen profession. Every job that I have ever had since I was 14 has involved giving of myself emotionally. It has historically been difficult for me to receive.  Not only to receive, but particularly to ask for help.

But this rocked my world, and I knew that there was no way I could get through his illness and death without help. So I asked for it in every way I could think of. Before the age of email and social media, I wrote letters, addressed envelopes, and mailed updates to his “team”, asking others to continue to send him cards and letters, and to visit at the hospital or at home when he felt up to it. I asked the nurses if we could reserve the lounge to have a little party with music for 20 or so friends and family because I knew that would make him happy. I asked my employer for a leave of absence. I asked someone to spend the night with him when I passed out on the hospital floor in his room as I approached physical and emotional exhaustion. I asked for prayers. I asked old elementary school friends to sing our wedding song at his funeral.  I asked my family and friends for company. I asked my family and friends for understanding of my unpredictable emotions and behavior. I asked people to keep saying his name out loud and keep sharing memories. I asked, asked, and asked, and I received.

9. He taught me that I am stronger than I ever imagined. Until then, I had been blessed to live a life without experiencing trauma or the profound grief that comes with losing someone you love. When I finally did, it was the loss of the person who meant more to me than anyone in the world at the time, my fiancé. His death introduced me to a depth of pain I had never imagined possible, the kind that cuts straight to your heart and forever changes you. I had a wonderful childhood, was raised by two loving parents, and was fortunate to have a great circle of friends. I think because of this, others thought that maybe I would fall apart, as I had never had to cope with any major problems. But it was the very strong foundation of love and stability that my parents created that fostered my resilience. I just did not know that I was strong and resilient under I was forced to know it. And just when I thought I could not bear any more pain, my worst fear came true. 

I remember a particular Sunday six weeks after Scott died, walking with Megan up Rolling Hill Drive during one of our therapeutic walks when her presence simply helped comfort my grief.  I told her how fearful I was of my father dying, and that I simply could not bear another death.  Although my father wasn’t sick, he had experienced heart problems in the past. Still, nothing prepared me for the shock of losing him suddenly and unexpectedly to a heart attack the very next day after talking about my fear of him dying. Even now, looking back on that period of my life makes me sick to my stomach. The pain and fear of those days are difficult to revisit. But when I reflect on what I endured, I also recognize something powerful: I am stronger than I ever knew, and even when my worst fears become reality, I can find a way to survive.

10. He taught me that it is not a betrayal to experience joy and happiness after a loved one dies. For what seemed like forever, I did not experience any joy after his death. I was either completely numb, or in excruciating grief. The day before my dad died, I sat with him in my bedroom having a deep conversation about our loss of Scott.  I talked with my father about the overwhelming sadness, how I was scared that it would never end, and my fear that I would never be happy again.  I distinctly remember my father telling me that what helped him was that he knew in his heart that Scott would not want him to be sad, and he would not want me to be sad. 

Over the course of time, I slowly noticed glimpses of joy and laughter. At first, I felt guilty.  Very guilty. I was harshly judging myself, thinking, “How could I possibly laugh and enjoy a moment of joy after my fiancé just died? And my father just died?”  Then I remember what my father told me that day, and I felt like his message to me was a message from not just my father, but a message from Scott through my father, to help me experience joy again after both of their deaths. Scott did not want me to be sad. He loved me and only wanted the best for me.

So I turned it around and instead thought and really believed that NOT experiencing joy when it came to me naturally would be a betrayal. And so began my journey toward allowing joy to find its way back into my life, a little more each day. Now, 32 years later, I experience a depth of joy I never could have imagined before. A joy made richer, more profound, and more precious because I have known the depths of grief.

11. He taught me that whoever I would marry would be a man of compassion, depth, courage, strength, and bravery. I believe in love. I believe in soul mates. What I did not believe in when I was younger was that I would be blessed enough to have not just one soul mate, but two. After losing Scott, I remember truly believing that I would be single for the rest of my life, thinking I could not possibly be lucky enough to find that kind of love again. And after experiencing it, I knew I could not settle for anything less. But I also knew that I did not want to be alone. I had too much love in me that I wanted to share with someone. Some days I thought I would burst. Then when I even considered dating again, I knew that my life partner would simply have to be a man of compassion, depth, courage, bravery, and self-confidence. After all, I believe it truly does take these beautiful characteristics in a person to be with a young widow. (Yes, I saw myself as a widow, even though we were not married.  We had been through so much as an engaged couple, and shared so much love. It was only a date that would have made it official, and he did not survive until that date. And there is no word in the English language for what I was – that’s weird and lonely in itself).

It takes compassion to be with someone whose heart has been hurt. It takes depth to have conversations about love and profound loss, and the never-ending fear of loss.  It takes courage to even ask out a 28-year-old widow, just 19 months after her loss.  It takes bravery to stay with her. It takes self-confidence to know you can make her happy. 

I simply could not settle for anything less, and I prayed that someone with these characteristics would enter my life….And then I met John. And I knew from the day that I met him that he was all of these characteristics, and more.  Kinda crazy that in 1995, a medium I visited told me that I would marry a teacher named John!!

Thank you, John, for 28 years of being my husband of compassion, depth, courage, bravery, and self-confidence. It is you who taught me the valuable lesson that I could love again.