TALES FROM THE BOBBI LAMA

So many people advised me about “that first year of widowhood.” They’d say, “Don’t make any major decisions that first year.” And others privately shared that the second year was harder. Well, now that I’ve been through both, I can agree that, for me, the second was harder, which didn’t make sense, so I had to look back and dig deep to figure out why it was that way for me. Having worked with people suffering from loss in my career, I knew all grieving is unique. I discovered there are as many ways and timelines as there are people mouring the loss of a loved one. It depends on how deeply connected people are, the roles they filled , how much time they shared together every day, and what routines, traditions, and dependencies they established. And then there is the fact that people react and process in ways that are also unique to them.

For me the first year was all about notifying others, celebrating his life, closing or changing accounts, credit cards, etc. all while holding it together and trying not to make the people around me feel uncomfortable. And many people reached out to offer a helping hand or a listening ear. I took the best advice out there making sure I stayed connected with others and created the new normal. I tried to exercise every day, eat and sleep right. Over time, though, it was emotionally exhausting. The part of my brain that processes emotion, my poor little amygdala, worked overtime and mostly in waves throughout the day and night. It made complete sense that after that first year, my limbic system worked overtime and wore out my body. It makes sense now that the second year would be a real push. Emotional depletion, I found, made it harder especially when things went wrong in areas we had always assigned to him. Emergencies in his areas of expertise included all house systems, car issues, and technological devices so my learning curve felt overwhelmingly high at times. It made complete sense that reality setting in on a worn-out body made for a challenging second year. Sleep had become my best friend.

Fortunately, I was beyond lucky to have been able to connect with my late husband with his signs that whole first year as I journaled the joy each time. So, during my second year, I was immersed in my perfect cathartic process by writing a book about him based on all my first year’s worth of journaling. Describing our “new connection” from the other side felt like small love energy replacements. I poured my heart into sharing that connection with anyone who wanted to know what I discovered… that consciousness is forever. As the year went by, and the published book (You Don’t Know Jack!) began to reward me with a new purpose, I began to find that new normal…one that I liked and one that began to fill me again. Speaking to book clubs by Zooming fed me more energy than it took, and the third year had begun. I still miss him to tears most every day, but my energy level has increased, so I can rally to the problems and life’s to-do list so much more easily.

Missing a loved one, as you all know, isn’t a matter of “getting over it in a year.” Waves of grief do lessen in intensity and regularity like the tide going out. It does get better, but there is no prescription or timeline. Each of you will find your way after your losses in life, without guilt, and without pressure. I can say my late husband’s Spirit has taught me that our loved ones are just over on the other side, like in another room…but another dimension. Their love never ends, and I found that discovery to be immeasurably comforting. Most of all, I found that the second year provided me with precious healing time…time to learn to be patient with myself. It gave me the time I needed for learning how to take care of myself. The second year actually ended up being my gift.