Our bedroom closet was not large yet it housed an amazing amount of possessions. Most of those were Coleen’s. She dominated the closet with her clothes and items she would store in there. Coleen was not the most organized person I have met and she had a propensity for keeping things she should have gotten rid of. I suppose we are all guilty of that to some degree, but she had more stuff in the closet than she ever wore or used. Since her death, the closet has been an almost sacred area to me. One of the places I least want to tread for fear of memories and emotion. Yet each day I am in that closet several times either getting clothes or putting them away. And each time I enter, I focus only on the immediate task and try not to look around very much. And each time I close the closet door behind me, I tell myself that I have to get in there and clean that closet out … someday.
For reasons I am not yet prepared to discuss, I decided to deal with the closet a few days ago. I have written before about the emotional impact I have gotten when I disturb Coleen’s things. By converting “our” closet into “my” closet, I was in effect taking another step in making our house my home. Those are always steps I would prefer not to take, but I’m eventually better as a result. The times when I have cleaned her car, moved her books, rearranged her dresser and put things away have created some of my most emotional moments. I fully expected a healthy dose of that as I began the task of removing Coleen’s belongings from our bedroom closet.
I was most fearful of the clothes she had on hangers. I took them down and transferred them to a closet in a different room so they could be gone through more thoroughly. I was not ready to determine a final disposition for them yet. Wisely, I did not look at each item individually as I grabbed them in bunches of six or so. But I couldn’t help but spot some of my favorites as I removed them from the closet. And I would think of her wearing something and be reminded of the occasion or occasions and of me holding her in it. I touched the fabric of some of them and could almost feel her underneath, my hands holding her and our lips touching. Our eyes closed then opening to look in each others eyes. I saw the tops she wore in regular rotation and those funky scarves she loved for warmth and style. And dresses she was in for only a time or two but always for a special occasion. She had a sexy black cocktail dress that she wore to a wedding and on a cruise we took about 20 years ago. I have a photo of her in that and she was so beautiful and young.
As you might have guessed, that was exactly my fear of the closet and why I waited so long to take it on. So many wonderful memories and reminders of such a beautiful life together. I managed to get all her clothes out of the closet, and cleaned out a shelving unit before I moved to the floor. She had a lot of shoes there and bags of random items, most of which would be thrown away. But there was something leaning against the wall that I didn’t recognize. It was wrapped in brown paper and was rather large. I thought it might have been a sketch or something artsy. Coleen’s friend Sue was an artist and often gave Coleen some of her work and I assumed that was what this was. I removed it and placed it on the bed. It had been wrapped very carefully, almost professionally, and that made me even more curious.
I finally got the paper off and found a beautiful handwritten calligraphy of a poem and realized that I had seen it before. The poem was called “Celebrate the Journey” and was one of Coleen’s favorites. And I remembered seeing this artwork years ago when she brought it home with a big smile on her face. Coleen had a friend named Carol who was an unlikely cancer survivor. Carol had a gift of calligraphy and Coleen asked her to work her magic with this poem. Carol did a remarkable job and Coleen was going to have it framed and hang it somewhere prominently. She never got to that. Instead, she put this beautiful piece of art in the closet, where we seem to put so many of our good intentions. Where we put so many things that we want to get to, but end up soon forgotten. Where so much of Coleen’s life resided for me to rediscover that day.
The artwork was beautiful. But the poem was the message. As I read it, the inevitable tears came to my eyes. Once again, I felt like I was receiving another message from Coleen. A message telling me to celebrate the journey and also telling me to tell others the same thing. That seems to be the constant to these messages I find. They are all directed at me but they always need to be distributed to others as well. Sometimes I think I’m just the messenger, the conduit to receive and redistribute and help others. I don’t know how else to look at the discovery of this poem as anything other than a message. It was meant for me to find, to read, to be inspired by and to share. So here it is:
Celebrate the Journey
Who knows why life unfolds
the way it does; why we chose
one path or another, share the
way for a while or a day, then
say goodbye. There is no
predictability here, and less
control than we might wish.
But there is the quiet urging
of the heart, the knowing in
the soul, the wisdom that’s
beneath the mind, accessible
if we breathe and turn inside.
When the tide of change rolls
in we can resist or be at peace,
struggle or release. The stuff
of life may not be ours to
understand. It’s enough to
offer love, to receive the best
and worst, to embrace and
say farewell. What matters
most is to celebrate each
moment of the journey.
“Celebrate the Journey” was written by Danna Faulds and was in Coleen’s favorite poetry book, “One Soul.” This book contains over 100 pages of poems from the heart of yoga and Coleen would often read it in bed and at times when she needed peace. I recall her pointing this particular poem out to me on more than one occasion.
It also represents what I think of as a personal failure in caring for Coleen during her final days. I never thought of reading aloud to her from this beautiful book until I saw it the day after she died. Instead of just holding her hand and telling her I loved her, I could have been reading these wonderful poems to her, too. She would have liked that and I will never forgive myself for that oversight. Ironically, after I did find this book, I was trying to recall which of the poems Coleen liked so much. After finding the artwork in the closet, it dawned on me that poem was the one I had been looking for all along. Maybe she was pointing that out to me as well.
I could have cleaned Coleen’s things from the closet earlier than I did. Or I could have procrastinated some more. But whenever it was that I decided to do it, I would have discovered the words and art of Celebrate the Journey. I guess it’s all in the timing of things and I don’t think I needed to hear the whispers of the message earlier. I must have picked the perfect time to clean the closet.
Two days ago I attended my first bereavement support group. It was exactly what I expected and it was nothing like I expected. Is it impossible to be two entirely different things at the same time? Under normal circumstances I would answer yes but we all know that these are far from normal circumstances.
I have been seeing a social worker through Hospice for individual grief counseling for the past four months. She has been very good for me and I enjoy our sessions. I think she would report that I seem to be doing well and have made significant progress since first we met. I would agree with that assessment. I have also attended a Hospice sponsored seminar about grief and the holidays. Of course most of my grief healing so far has happened with my writing and under the influence of my friend Rebecca, her wisdom and reiki. I know those methods are not often employed by victims of loss, but I am not only an advocate for how effective they can be, I am also a success story.
Many of the writings I put here have references to Coleen. Most do, actually. And that is as it should be since I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her and my loss. This story is no different. The support group was held in the offices of the Life Transition Center located at 1140 Delaware Avenue in Buffalo, which was once one of the many mansions along that street. I mention the address for two reasons. Previous to being the home of Life Transitions Center, this building was owned by Gilda’s Club, a non-profit organization that offered various supports and programs to people with cancer and their families. Coleen used the meeting rooms at Gilda’s Club many times to host the educational programs she held in her role of Patient Services Manager for an oncology organization. Yes, in a cruel irony, Coleen was an oncology social worker and spent many of her working hours helping cancer patients get through the stages of their diagnosis and disease.
I had never been inside this building before although I have driven past it many times. I thought of Coleen when I realized where the building was and what it used to be. And I thought of her as I arrived and walked in the front door. Here I was entering this beautiful building, a place where she had been so many times, for the first time. And I was there because of her and, in certain ways, for her. As I entered the meeting room, I took a seat and just looked around at the beauty of the room, the height of the ceilings. I closed my eyes, smiled, and let the presence and the moment take me over. It was only for a minute, but I let the thought of sharing the same space with Coleen again sink in. It was at a different time, but we both were in the same building, the same room, and I once again felt her presence with me. briefly, strongly.
I had been looking forward to being in a group environment since the early days of Coleen’s passing. I felt very strongly that losing a spouse was very a very different loss from any other and because of that, wanted to be in a group specific to widows and widowers. Not to diminish losing a parent or a sibling or even a child, I just wanted to share my time and experiences with others like me. This group contained three women, four men and we had all recently lost our spouse. The time since our losses varied from one month to 86 days to seven months, but in all our cases, we were all very wounded and needy. One of my lessons learned is that I feel better when talking about Coleen, our relationship and my loss. It is good therapy for me to bring her up and discuss those subjects. My trouble with that is in finding people to talk with, people who will let me speak my truths. I know that is why writing is therapeutic for me because it lets me get thoughts, memories and tears out without needing a listener. But there is nothing like talking to people who are interested in what you might have to say, people who are with similar pains to yours. I was excited about being in a room with my brothers and sisters in loss so that I could both hear and be heard. I wasn’t sure what I was more interested in, getting help from them or being helpful to them. Having never been in a group environment before, I guess I didn’t realize that’s pretty much how the whole thing works. You give, you get. You speak, you listen. You comfort, you get comforted.
I had so much to say. The group environment allows for everyone to talk and have an equal amount of time but selfishly, I wanted more than my share. All of the survivors in that room had stories of their husband or wife and their loss. Each of those stories was a sad one and by listening to the survivors tell them, I learned more. I wanted to tell more of what I have discovered in my journey, speak of some the lessons I have learned since Coleen’s death. I thought by sharing some of those lessons I could offer some help and comfort to others. I also knew that it would make me feel better by talking about my discoveries. By speaking my truths to people in my situation, I would be able to heal and be healed.
So when will I stop learning about loss? When will I stop healing? I had a friend in high school named Paul who was a very accomplished pianist. Paul took lessons twice a week and one day I asked him how long he planned on taking piano lessons. Paul looked at me like I had two heads and replied, “I’ll always take piano lessons. There’s always more to learn. My teacher is 82 years old and he takes lessons.” All through my life I have remembered that conversation with my friend Paul. I have pulled it out a few times before when the lesson seemed appropriate, but it has never been more appropriate than right now. Just like Paul, I will never stop learning of loss and healing. And perhaps, just like Paul’s teacher, I can somehow teach and learn at the same time. All of us in the support group are there for help. But by just being there and telling the stories of our loss, we are helping everyone else in the room. We are helping to heal each other as we heal ourselves.
At the end of the session, I read a quote called “Letting Go” that I discovered last week at yoga class. Everyone there seemed to like it and I liked sharing it with them. I want to share more but I don’t want to become one of those overbearing people who act like they know so much. Since the beginning of my process and through all the messages I’ve been sent, I have always believed that I have been given an assignment. Coleen was a healer. She spent much of her time helping and comforting people and I believe she left me the gifts of her enthusiasm and passion. I want to use those gifts to bring comfort and peace to others. Without being a pain in their ass.
This week we are supposed to bring a photo of our spouse to support group and a memento of some sort. I haven’t decided which ones to bring yet, but they will come with stories to tell. This week I will also make sure that my fellow surviving spouses get one of my cards with the website listed on it. I didn’t want to hand them out right away last week because I thought that would be a little too pushy. I’m ready to do it this week, though. It’s a good way for me to communicate with others. A good way for me be healed so I can help heal.
I have been influenced by the “Letting Go” reflection that was read during yoga class last week. Apparently it has had some impact on people I have shared it with and I am encouraged to share it with others. It has had significant impact on me as I have taken some steps toward dealing with Coleen’s death that I have been putting off. They haven’t been huge steps but anything I do these days that feels like closure seems like a sign of progress. I believe that by reinforcing my truths, that passage has also allowed me to develop a little further in becoming my new self.
Coleen’s nightstand was a constant collection of random thoughts. It was usually littered with books she was reading and notes she was making and various medications. Since her passing, I cleaned that up along with the top of her dresser and removed all signs of sickness. I kept some special items on her nightstand and it had a kind of shrine quality to it that reminded me of her. In a way I wanted to preserve things as she had them so I could prolong her life instead of letting go. That was obviously not a reality but it became my way of holding on to her. Four days ago, I put all of those things away.
On the third floor of my house there is a family room that used to be an attic. It has had many different uses over the years, most recently a bedroom for Patrick during the months before and after Coleen’s death. When he left for New York City in November, the room was a mess and I had transferred some of the more unpleasant reminders of Coleen’s final days up there to get them out of sight. When I decided last week to recreate that room into something usable, it forced me to deal with those unpleasantries. There were two wicker baskets with items she had used when she was sleeping downstairs during her last weeks. There was also a shopping bag from the funeral home which I had placed all the sympathy cards in along with the sign-in book and mementos from her wake. And of course the three poster boards with all those photos on them. I emptied the wicker baskets, put the funeral home bag in a box in a closet for safekeeping and disassembled the photo boards. The room on the third level of my house will now be used for yoga, learning to play piano, and hosting my granddaughters as a playroom when they come over to visit.
I have a closet full of Coleen’s clothes. Before Christmas I washed her winter coats and donated them to my friend’s clothing drive for needy children but I have done nothing with her clothes. That closet is still an uncomfortable place for me. Whenever I walk in I try not to look at her clothes hanging there for fear that I will see a dress or top that will rain memories upon me. Coleen had eclectic tastes in clothes and she owned some pretty funky things which she wore very well. Lots of scarves and lots of colors and prints. My daughter and Coleen’s sister have both told me they would help me go through her things and decide what they wanted to keep. The rest I want to let go of. Hopefully I can get everyone here this week and we can sort that out.
The bedroom Coleen and I shared for so many years is getting a little bit of a makeover. Besides the removal of some of Coleen’s items, I have traded the comforter and pillows from our guest bed for the ones on my bed. It is a more masculine appearance but more than that, it is a different appearance and I like that. I have also decided to start sleeping on her side of the bed and did that last night. That side was mine for a long time until Coleen decided we should occasionally rotate sides. We did that once. Today I will be moving some of the furniture around in there, too. At a Hospice grief seminar I attended in December, the speaker told of how he rearranged his father’s bedroom after his mother passed away. He removed her clothes and belongings and changed the layout of the room for which his father was very appreciative. Apparently, it helped his father in his healing process. I have been delaying that action for quite some time but now feel it’s another way of letting go.
I had another grief counseling session with my Hospice counselor three days ago. Before I went, I printed a copy of the “Letting Go” reading I got from yoga. I thought she might already be aware of it, but I wanted to show her just in case she wasn’t. I ended up reading it to her because I thought it was the best way to present that message. It took me a little longer to get through than I thought it would and I had to pause a few times for composure, but I read it out loud to her and she just loved it. She asked for a copy and I gave her the one I brought. I was so happy to share that message with her because I know she will pass it on to others, just as I have been doing. It will be heard tomorrow for the first time by a group of Coleen’s fellow metastatic survivors. I sent it to my friend Barb who in turn passed it on to several people. Tomorrow she will read it at the metastatic breast cancer support group she attends which is the same one Coleen attended, too. It will have very special meaning there because although the words will come from Barb’s mouth, they will come from Coleen. Just as I first heard Coleen deliver them to me through the voice of my yoga instructor, I know Barb will let those women in on the secret of “Letting Go.”
Sometimes I wonder why I do some of the things I do. And then I do them and something happens as a result and I say, “Oh, that’s why I did that.” It doesn’t always have to be a big thing like retiring or buying a new car. Sometimes it’s just deciding to go out for some music or to meet someone. Or today when I went to a yoga class at the last minute.
It wasn’t quite the last minute. I have actually been planning to go since Christmas when my daughter gave me a gift certificate to Healing Waters, the studio where Coleen attended so many classes. I also attended two separate six-week Intro to Yoga classes there and I was anxious to continue with yoga. Yesterday I had an epiphany telling me that I needed a lot more yoga in my life so I decided to attend the 9:30 AM class this morning. It was “Gentle and Restorative Yoga” and was one of Coleen’s favorite classes there. She attended it often. I will admit to procrastinating about yoga since Christmas and I was pleased with myself when I left the house a few minutes early this morning even though the temperature was below zero. I could have easily used the “it’s too cold to go anywhere” excuse, but I didn’t.
As I drove this morning, the sky was clear and the sun was shining brightly in my driver-side front window. There was a song playing in my car that I was hearing for the first time called “Until the Colours Run.” I didn’t know what it meant but I liked it. I drove past a patch of tall trees and the sunlight flickered through them and pulsed through my window onto my face, winking at me. The song hit the chorus, the sunlight perfect, open road ahead and a sudden surge of goosebumps made its way up and down my spine and through my crown. I was very peaceful just then, content, on my way to one of Coleen’s favorite places. Knowing I wasn’t alone.
Today was the first time I attended an official, open yoga class. Today I wasn’t just another beginner trying to learn yoga without pulling a muscle or making loud noises. I was in a class with people (women) who were experienced and I was expected to have a working knowledge of yoga. I was very comfortable with that and kind of proud actually when the instructor said “table position” or “downward-facing dog” and I knew what to do. I am still very much a beginner, but I didn’t feel out of place today. The Gentle and Restorative class is just that. It has a lot of stretching and restoration of the body using assorted yoga postures. What I especially liked about it was that it also stretches and restores the mind and the spirit through those same yoga postures. I was very receptive today and able to cleanse my mind of thoughts that didn’t belong in that room. I was very able to be present. I heard things differently today than before.
At one point our instructor Sue, had us in mountain posture which is basically just standing straight, still and strong. She was encouraging us in that posture and said “… like a mountain. Tremendous strength, incredible beauty.” Tremendous strength, incredible beauty. What a beautiful thing to hear. I have heard all those words before although never strung together in that sequence. And in hearing them spoken so confidently that way, I took confidence and comfort from them . I can be that. Everything can be that. Coleen epitomized that. I heard those words like it was the first time I had heard the English language. They sounded so inspiring to me.
I heard other things clearly today too. I heard my body talk to me, telling me it was okay to challenge it more. That it could absorb a little more stretching, it could go little further. And I heard my mind tell me the same things. It was ready to be cleansed of some emotional debris to make room for new creations and thoughts. And of course, I heard Coleen very clearly. It made sense that she was there. That was when I realized why I decided yesterday, after postponing for over a month, to attend yoga class today. It was when we were relaxing in meditative postures toward the end of the class. Sue was reading a beautiful reflection about letting go and behind my closed eyes, I was seeing the most brilliant shades of fuchsia I have seen. They were swimming in and out of clouds, playfully, changing shades from light to dark, tempting me to give chase. It was the same vision I have had during reikis and massages. The same vision I always get when Coleen visits. The colors were fitting of the message Sue was reading about letting go:
“…The energy will be a part of you forever. It has made you what you are today. What will be, will be what you create. If you move forward hopefully, happily, expectantly and joyfully, then that will be your new experience. We can drag the past with us as heavy baggage, or we can carry the blessings and memories of the past as a beautiful memento. We can face the future with apprehension or with faith. One thing is certain, there will always be a past we must make peace with. There will always be a future we must live. The way we let go can make all the difference.”
With the vision of fuchsias floating around those wonderful words spoken about letting go, I couldn’t help a few tears leaking from my eyes. I guess that was probably the point where the “Oh, that’s why I did that,” realization kicked in. That’s when I knew for certain why I did what I did today and why I was at Healing Waters. I had a date to be there. A date to learn about having Tremendous Strength and Incredible Beauty from the strongest, most beautiful person I’ll ever know.
This is the entire reflection that Sue read today. I think it’s beautiful and am so happy she shared it with me. You know, if I had waited until tomorrow or next week to attend a yoga class, I wouldn’t have heard this.
“Letting it go – it is a rite of passage. We all face those moments throughout our lives. Time and circumstance repeatedly require that we let go of what we know – the old, the familiar, the comfortable – and embrace the “next”. There are people who spend their whole lives resisting those moments. They hold on, physically or energetically to the past, and they never really find peace in the present. Whether we must move beyond a person, a property, an employment, a location, an activity or something else, we have only two choices. We can go gently and easily – or not. We can go confidently – or fearfully. We can go looking forward – or looking back. We can hold on, or we can let go. What has been, whether you judge it good or bad, has been filled with lessons, and blessings, and experiences. Honor them all. Take the time to remember with gratitude and appreciation. Understand that nothing you have ever done will ever be lost. The energy will be a part of you forever. It has made you what you are today. What will be, will be what you create. If you move forward hopefully, happily, expectantly and joyfully, then that will be your new experience. We can drag the past with us as heavy baggage, or we can carry the blessings and memories of the past as a beautiful momento. We can face the future with apprehension or with faith. One thing is certain. there will always be a past we must make peace with. There will always be a future we must live. The way we let go can make all the difference.”
I am confident that this new week will be much better than the one I just had. Last week was full of challenging situations that I got sucker punched by. A couple old wounds got reopened but I managed to stop the bleeding pretty quickly.
Things started with a road trip to NYC to see Patrick and meet my new daughter-in-law. Then I attended a wellness seminar and listened to a brilliant man say stupid things. Two days after that, I was a guest in a Catholic church for a memorial service in Coleen’s honor and I heard a woman who I didn’t know talk about the departed and say Coleen’s name. I heard the same thing the next day at my church when our priest listed the names of people who had died last year. Not only did she say “Coleen M. Jones” but she also said my mom’s name. At both services I heard several references to “the light” which was always Coleen’s driving force and at my church, there was much mention of change, which I have been doing a lot of. I had dinner with family and friends where Coleen was remembered and toasted and I talked about her and some of my memories. There was even an episode on a show I am watching where a man loses his girlfriend to an overdose and keeps dialing her number so he can hear her voice mail recording. I’ve never done that but I still have Coleen in my phone.
So it was a weird week in that I kept coming in contact with Coleen. Driving to NYC, I was on the same road we traveled many times and was reminded of conversations and eating apples and just being with her. We made many road trips over the years and Coleen’s conversations and observations made them all more fun. Last week on the way to NYC I kept looking over at the empty seat next to me. She never rode in my car, never met her daughter-in-law. Everything now is new.
At the wellness seminar, the main speaker was a guy from the Hippocrates Health Institute which is where Coleen went for alternative healing last year. She was there for two weeks and was very dedicated to their program although she hated the raw food diet and got sick from the wheat-grass juice. Many people have better results there than Coleen did but she brought home a lot of good habits and enjoyed her time there. She did not however, experience the same success as others and I left the seminar that night saddened by that fact. Why not her? Why not us, our family? Call me naive, but I didn’t see that sadness coming. I was annoyed with the speaker who spent most of his time pontificating about the merits of his logic and that we have control of our own health. At first I was annoyed, then I was mad.
Hearing Coleen’s name spoken with reference to death like I did in those church services is unsettling to me. I know she died but I guess I don’t want to hear about it or acknowledge it. Or admit it? I don’t know, it is pretty silly. Maybe that’s why I haven’t selected a gravestone yet. Truth is, I just now paused before typing “gravestone” wondering if that was the right thing to call it and summoning the nerve to type it. To admit that we need to buy that thing, whatever it’s called. To need a gravestone, there has to be a grave. To need a grave, someone had to die. Did that really happen? Sometimes, even now, it’s hard to face that reality.
When talking to friends after dinner two nights ago, we spoke of how our memories are not as clear as they once were. We all agreed that something has happened to us that has diminished our ability to remember as well as we once did. Some blamed it on age and some of us thought it had to do with medications. One guy once told me he thought it was the vodka. The whole conversation reminded me of one my greatest fears and that is me forgetting some of the memories Coleen and I made together. Without her around to remember things I had forgotten, it’s all on me to preserve them. She was much better at remembering than I was.
Not everything that happened last week made me think of Coleen, it just seemed that way to me. This week is already starting better. I decided to learn a lesson from that speaker at the wellness seminar. He said that most of our ailments are self-controllable and can be managed or reversed by our eating and health habits. I don’t believe all of his theory but I’m man enough to meet him halfway on some of it. I decided that maybe I can control some of my emotions about Coleen if I better prepare myself spiritually. In other words, if I work harder on things like yoga, meditation and self-healing, I can put myself in a better place to accept some of the surprise reminders that I am bound to encounter. I can’t just count on reiki and massage for my healing, I have to contribute on my own, too. I am going to jump-start myself with daily yoga and meditation activities. I have been doing them sporadically but need to get more consistent. I did them today along with a gym workout and feel pretty great right now. And tomorrow morning there is yoga class I will be attending. There is no reason I can’t make myself healthier in body and spirit. There’s no reason for bad weeks.
