Loss

What word should you use when the word loss isn’t strong enough? I don’t think there is one. You know how you feel when you can’t find something dear to you? And then how you feel when you come to terms with the fact that it’s lost and you will never see it again? You get kind of sick feeling in your stomach. The loss of a spouse is perhaps the greatest loss any of us will ever feel. I can’t imagine anything quite as difficult as never again seeing the closest person in your life. The one who knows you better than anybody. The one you love and the one who loves you. Of all the many difficult things I have encountered in losing Coleen, the fact that I can’t talk to her about it might be the hardest of all. We were always there for each other to listen to and comfort in times of doubt and need. Who else can I tell the things that were so natural to tell her? She would have been able to help me with such a loss. She would have been the one to make it better or at least, make it not as bad.

My loss of Coleen came in stages. Over the course of the past year, little pieces of her were taken from me along the way. I didn’t just suddenly lose her that September evening. Much of her had already gone in the weeks and months leading to that. It was almost as if she figured out a way to ween herself from me so that the eventuality would not come as such a shock. Her chemotherapy treatments were punishing and left her tired and sick. Subsequent oral chemo medications were not much better. She had a weakness in her left femur that required the surgical implant of a titanium rod inside the bone or strength and support. That procedure greatly reduced her mobility for several weeks. The worst part of that was her inability to do yoga which was a very important piece of her life. Coleen had done yoga for longer than I knew her and she had become very committed to it the last 20 years or so. Yoga was a great relief and comfort for her and the loss of that was very difficult for her. She missed the physical and spiritual value of yoga very much. Coleen also enjoyed the friendships and camaraderie of her yoga classes and could not partake in that.

As her cancer progressed, Coleen was challenged in many ways. She lost interest in activities always dear to her like reading and cooking. Other things like exercise were also difficult for her. It seemed like I lost Coleen a little more every day. We didn’t eat together or enjoy food and wine like before. Eventually we stopped sleeping together because our bed became uncomfortable for her and she slept on the couch. It even became hard for me to hug her because of her pain and discomfort. About six weeks before her passing, Coleen lost her voice. I was on my home from a family reunion in Ohio and she called me. Her voice had become raspy and soft literally overnight. It never returned to normal. Eventually it was almost a whisper as she tried to communicate. She was very frustrated by that. Coleen was one of the great communicators and she had so many interesting things to say. It was a cruel blow when she was unable to speak loudly enough to be heard on the telephone or from across the room. Many people called her but she couldn’t be heard on the phone so she was robbed of that compassion and those friendships. And at the end, I couldn’t ever hold her. I could barely touch her. She was so fragile and vulnerable. But I could kiss her and hold her hand and tell her how much I loved her. I didn’t know what else to say that would be truer than that so I just kept saying it over and over. I was already speaking a truth before I even knew what that was.

Coleen prepared herself for her death. She was physically compromised but she did everything in her power to prepare herself spiritually to prepare for her next journey. I remember when she was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. When she would tell people about her condition, she would frequently say, “I have this feeling that’s it going to be okay. I don’t know exactly how, but I just think everything’s going to work out okay.” She wasn’t just making that up, either. She sincerely thought it. I never thought she meant that she was going to be healed of her cancer. I think what she meant was that, whatever happened, everybody was going to be alright. She would be alright in her next world. We would somehow learn to be alright here without her. She would make sure of that.

During her last year of life, Coleen was very active in alternative and spiritual development. She had regular reiki therapies, massages, did as much yoga as possible, received acupuncture, meditated, prayed, journaled, read books and poetry, and met with her friend and spiritual confidant, Jillian. Even at the end she was interested in music therapy, prayer and massage. She was excited that Rebecca, her reiki practitioner, had made an appointment for a house call. Coleen never let go of her spiritual side and I know that helped her.

After we called Hospice and Coleen was in their home care program, a doctor came for a visit. She asked Coleen if she was afraid. “I’m not afraid of dying. But I’m afraid of leaving my family.” Wow. The perfect answer to describe Coleen. She was brave when facing death but worried about her family dealing with her death and dealing with life after her. And in her own way, just as she was preparing herself for death, she prepared the rest of us too. Especially me. Knowing that I would be the one hardest hit by her loss, I believe she worked hardest to make me strong. Her way of thinking would have been if I was strong then I could be strong for everyone else. And she prepared me so I could take care of our family. She put me in the right place. She knew that I would struggle but would also be able to figure out how to do things without her. Even though I also think she figured out a way to always be with me to help.

I have many stories about the wonder that was Coleen. This one has to do with her making sure I was going to heal from losing her and be able to help others. Earlier I mentioned that Coleen’s reiki practitioner, Rebecca, was to make a house call for reiki. Unfortunately, that appointment never happened because Coleen passed away two days before. I contacted Rebecca telling her of our loss and canceling the reiki. Rebecca replied that she would be contacting me in a week to discuss reiki for me. I was pretty busy then and kind of forgot about what she said. A week later I got a text from her saying I should call her so we could discuss reiki. I was curious so I called. Rebecca told me that Coleen was very worried about how I would take her loss. She knew I would have a very hard time losing her. So she asked Rebecca to contact me after she died and set-up some reiki and counseling sessions. Coleen told Rebecca, “He’ll listen to you and you’ll be able to help him.” Coleen paid for me to see Rebecca eight times. As Rebecca told me this story, I was crying. I could not believe what Coleen had done for me, the gift she had given. I didn’t know much about reiki or Rebecca other than Coleen loved them both. And if Coleen thought they were good for me, I was going to do it. As you can read in various entries of my Healing blog and Discovery posts, Coleen was right about everything.

That’s a perfect example of Coleen preparing for death. She made arrangements for me to get help so I could help others. We all can take comfort in how Coleen set things up before she died. She knew what the end was and she was sad and mad about it. But she knew she couldn’t change it. She was strong and that made us strong. She wanted us to be protected and would not want anyone to be upset because of her. She was brave and that made us brave.

Writing about loss is almost as painful as the loss itself. Nobody wants to think about it or revisit the memories of it. For me, the occasional look back is therapy. It’s something I have to do in order to move on. In order for the healing process to take hold. There are lessons there in the loss. Lessons of love and family and compassion and bravery. Lessons I will always be learning.