I was extremely reluctant to accept help. Frankly, I didn't know how to accept it because up to that time I hadn't needed to, I had been the one helping others. It has been quite a lesson in humility, service, love, charity, and gratitude.
As our circumstances changed so did the help that was offered and my attitude towards it. Selling our house, moving to a new town, starting a new job, meeting and getting to know new neighbors and coworkers, and settling in to a new routine. Again it was a bit like drinking from a fire-hose with all of the changes. Then came the real acknowledgement in our hearts that Karen wasn't going to make it. It came slowly at first and then in a rush on a winter trip to the oncologist.
A little later I spoke to her about that and she said she always knew she wasn't going to make it, that she was holding on for me and her kids, to have as much time as possible with us, that she didn't want to leave. The strange part was her strength gave me hope that she could somehow be healed. In the end all of our prayers and hopes were answered in the form of her being a light to those around her, of being given the strength to overcome her feelings of despair, of her ability to foster hope in others, of her developing an ability to live each day to the fullest.
As it became clear the time was getting closer I became afraid, afraid of living life without her, afraid of suddenly losing all of the help that people were giving us, afraid of almost everything. I told myself people wouldn't want to help me anymore, that the only reason they had helped was because of Karen. In my mind I wasn't really worth helping and because of my fear I started to withdraw mentally and emotionally.
I looked more to family for help and made plans for James and Becca to be cared for by them while I continued to work. To justify it I told myself since I was paying some of my family to watch my kids that I was really helping them. As part of that justification I said I needed to stand on my own to do it all by myself.
I didn't dare take much time off of work for fear that the grief would overwhelm me, or that I would lose skills, or there would no longer be a place for me. I was afraid of losing the friendships and connections I had developed at work over the previous 9 months. I needed to feel connected to the world around me, like I mattered to someone or anyone. My boss let me work remotely for a a day or two as Karen's passing came near.
I didn't dare take much time off of work for fear that the grief would overwhelm me, or that I would lose skills, or there would no longer be a place for me. I was afraid of losing the friendships and connections I had developed at work over the previous 9 months. I needed to feel connected to the world around me, like I mattered to someone or anyone. My boss let me work remotely for a a day or two as Karen's passing came near.
Then Karen passed and funeral planning, getting the death certificate and straightening out social security, insurance, banks accounts, and other accounts dominated my life for a few days. The plans I had made for my kids went into effect. Because I didn't think anyone wanted to help me, that I didn't really matter I took a total of 4 days off of work.
Everyone has heard the stories of how there are lines of people who stop by to offer comfort. The funeral was like that but outside of kind words of sympathy at the funeral and cards received there weren't many who stopped by. My bishop was great and had helped with the funeral planning. His door was always open but I didn't want to be a burden. For a while I felt like I could do it all, I could feel the love and support of everyone around me and that it would continue forever. My boss stopped by to drop off some gifts and cards and offer his condolences and those of my coworkers. In a way I was disappointed that others hadn't stopped by but I didn't say anything.
I later learned people had asked my parents how I was doing yet very few talked to me personally. It was a hard time and I was trying so hard to hold on, to do everything on my own and that's when the loneliness started knocking at the door - the soul crushing, oppressive variety of loneliness. There are few that understand what it's like to have the person who means everything to you pass away. I put on a happy face and kept doing my job. I smiled and told people everything was fine and asked for help to get out and socialize and to start dating. After all Karen had told me to remarry and that if I didn't she would come back and haunt me!
In my mind I wanted new connections as a distraction or a way to heal from the loneliness and emptiness I could feel creeping into my life. My purpose for the last couple of years had to been to get Karen to the next chemo treatment and suddenly it was gone. I didn't have the person next to me who knew my strengths and weaknesses, my faults and virtues, and loved me because of them all. I didn't have my person next to me, the one I loved and wanted to protect and provide for, the one I wanted to have a family with, the one who had chosen me and who I had chosen, the one I had built my world and life around.
Right in the middle of all this upheaval I found out I needed knee surgery. Not a quick in and out scope but what turned out to be a partial knee replacement. A conversation with a neighbor and a few phone calls later connected me with a piano teacher so I would have something to focus my mind on while recovering from knee surgery. I once again pushed myself and scheduled my surgery so I would only have to take two days off of work. In spite of the willingness of others to help me I still told myself people didn't care and that I was on my own.
In reality I had cut myself off from real and potential connections. My thought that nobody cared enough about me had led me to take actions that created the circumstances which reinforced it. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I reached out to support groups online and Facebook friends yet the virtual world is no substitute for the kind of in person connection people don't just crave but need. We need people physically present in our lives to talk to, commiserate with, share our pains, celebrate our joys, and support in turn.
Looking at the number of blog posts it's easy to see a pattern; 2014 had 96, 2015 had 28, 2016 had 22 (15 in the first four months), 2017 had 6, 2018 had 12 and 2019 had 3. I do better when I talk to people and engage them and it's much better when I do that in person than over a computer screen.
It has been an interesting journey these last few years, one of self discovery, one of gaining and losing, one of loving and learning, one of grieving and healing, and one of growing and changing. The next time you talk to someone who is going through a hard time and they say they don't need help take a step back and observe. Perhaps you will see something that needs to be done. You might have the thought to offer to help in a specific way or you could anonymously fulfill a need or want for them. Most people are either too proud or think they are being a burden by admitting they need help.
From my own experience that leads to isolation. It's a trap and it will pull you down slowly but surely until you have nobody left around you. Luckily I had my parents and family to help me even when I didn't want or think I needed help. More importantly God was and still is there for me because He loves and cares for me. Just like he loves and cares for each and every one of His children.
In my mind I wanted new connections as a distraction or a way to heal from the loneliness and emptiness I could feel creeping into my life. My purpose for the last couple of years had to been to get Karen to the next chemo treatment and suddenly it was gone. I didn't have the person next to me who knew my strengths and weaknesses, my faults and virtues, and loved me because of them all. I didn't have my person next to me, the one I loved and wanted to protect and provide for, the one I wanted to have a family with, the one who had chosen me and who I had chosen, the one I had built my world and life around.
Right in the middle of all this upheaval I found out I needed knee surgery. Not a quick in and out scope but what turned out to be a partial knee replacement. A conversation with a neighbor and a few phone calls later connected me with a piano teacher so I would have something to focus my mind on while recovering from knee surgery. I once again pushed myself and scheduled my surgery so I would only have to take two days off of work. In spite of the willingness of others to help me I still told myself people didn't care and that I was on my own.
In reality I had cut myself off from real and potential connections. My thought that nobody cared enough about me had led me to take actions that created the circumstances which reinforced it. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I reached out to support groups online and Facebook friends yet the virtual world is no substitute for the kind of in person connection people don't just crave but need. We need people physically present in our lives to talk to, commiserate with, share our pains, celebrate our joys, and support in turn.
Looking at the number of blog posts it's easy to see a pattern; 2014 had 96, 2015 had 28, 2016 had 22 (15 in the first four months), 2017 had 6, 2018 had 12 and 2019 had 3. I do better when I talk to people and engage them and it's much better when I do that in person than over a computer screen.
It has been an interesting journey these last few years, one of self discovery, one of gaining and losing, one of loving and learning, one of grieving and healing, and one of growing and changing. The next time you talk to someone who is going through a hard time and they say they don't need help take a step back and observe. Perhaps you will see something that needs to be done. You might have the thought to offer to help in a specific way or you could anonymously fulfill a need or want for them. Most people are either too proud or think they are being a burden by admitting they need help.
From my own experience that leads to isolation. It's a trap and it will pull you down slowly but surely until you have nobody left around you. Luckily I had my parents and family to help me even when I didn't want or think I needed help. More importantly God was and still is there for me because He loves and cares for me. Just like he loves and cares for each and every one of His children.
