Tag: fairytale

returning home

On Being Strong…Returning Home

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

strength and courageSo I was home. Not the way I thought it would be. Ever. It would never be home again. Not without Gregger. It would be a house. But never a home. Too much was missing. But again, I had to be strong. Too much ahead of me. Too much to do. People to see. Emotions. Tears. Plans. Could I do it? I had no choice. So I moved. Robotically. One foot in front of the other. I had to go into our bedroom. Our closet. See his clothes. Every shirt, tie, jacket that reminded me of him. A day. A night. A memory. His toothbrush. Standing erect in its holder. He would never use it again. Everything I touched reminded me of his absence. And the fact that he was never coming back.

strength and gratitudePeople came. To pay respects. Platters of food. Flowers. So nice. So grateful. And my role? To tell the story. Again. And again. And again. How did it happen? What did you do? How are you feeling? The questions were overwhelming. But I had to answer. I had to smile. I had to keep standing. And so I did. Strength. Somehow. It was there. You never know where it comes from. But somehow it shows up. Just when you need it most. 

Time to plan. A memorial. Really? Was that word even in my vocabulary? That’s for sick people. Old people. Not for Gregger. Not for us. But this was real. This was happening. And I had to be present. I had to make this beautiful. For him. He deserved it. More than anyone I’d ever known. The support of community, family and friends was overwhelming. I couldn’t have done it without them. I was blessed. Forever grateful. But in the between time people scattered. Went back to their lives. And I was alone.

gratitude and strength 1One night I collapsed. To the ground. On my knees. Sobbing. Endless tears. I went outside. I wailed to the stars. The moon. “Are you out there? Can you hear me?” I uttered those words. I needed to feel him. I never felt as alone as I did at that moment. My sister-in-law called.  I wanted to let it ring. Don’t let her hear my agony. My breakdown. But I answered. Choking tears. And she saved me. She talked me through. Told me it was okay. Break down. Cry. Let it out. So I did. And as we talked, I felt the strength return. Slowly.  I knew at that moment that I would be okay. I just had to learn to ride the waves. 

To be continued…

On Being Strong…The Long Ride

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

“When times get tough, the key is not to stay strong…the key is to stay grateful.”

courage 4In a moment, gratitude was my only choice. I focused on the blessings. The life we had together. Almost 40 years. Our kids. Our true blessings. It was time to go. Time to say goodbye. I didn’t know if I could do it. I wanted to stay forever. To be with him. We went to the beach. One last time. We wrote letters. Buried them in the deep blue water. He would see them. Feel them.  We held hands. Hugged. Embraced in strength. A powerful force. We watched the sunset. We watched the sunrise. One last time. I’d be back. Someday. But Gregger was with me. Giving me courage. Strength.

courageNow came the test. Fly home as a widow. No one to hold my hand when the air got choppy. No one to lean on when my eyes got weary. Or not the one I thought would always be there. I leaned against the glass. I opened and closed my fist. I reached for his hand. I never slept. A single tear slipped down my face. I wiped it quickly. I did not want my kids to see. No fear. Be strong. Courageous. I could do this. Gregger was with me. He would guide me. Six hours later we were home. A new chapter had begun.

First step. Getting into Gregger’s car. His smell. His things. Sunglass case. Suit rack. Meticulous. He should be driving. He should be taking us home. But he wasn’t there. We were going alone. We could do this. It would be okay. And as we drove up to the house, my heart was pounding. Out of my chest. And then I saw. My brother. Standing by the garage. I was so grateful. Another blessing. Family. Love. Strength. He was my pillar. He would take us home. Into our home. We would not have to be alone. We would be okay.

I buried my head in his shoulders. I sobbed. But, in that moment, I felt strong. He was there to comfort. Support. And guide me. Forever grateful.

To be continued…

gratitude and strength

strength

On Being Strong…It’s a Journey

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

“When life changes to be harder, change yourself to be stronger. What hurts you today, makes you stronger tomorrow.”

being strong 4So life changed. In the blink of an eye. I didn’t have time to think. Everything was coming at me so fast. STOP! Let me breathe. Absorb. Understand. So we stayed. In the house. In Wailea. The house that was supposed to bring so much joy. The beach. Relax. Rejoice. Remember. But in this space, we found peace. And in the peace I found strength. Strength to deal. With my tears. My childrens’ tears. The loss. I felt Gregger all around me. I knew he was there. And it comforted me. I knew he was okay. And I knew that in time, I’d be okay too. For three days we sat. Silent. Hours upon hours. Chairs in the sand. We stared at the blue sky. Wispy clouds drifting in the distance. Waves slapping at the shore. Others snorkeling. Paddleboarding. Swimming. Splashing. Having fun. We were oblivious to the noise. We felt alone. But it was okay. When late afternoon came, we hated leaving. We wanted to sit by the water. All day. All night. We felt closer. To Gregger.  being strong

I remember thinking, I can’t eat. I’m not hungry. I don’t need food. But then I realized, I must. I had to be strong. I couldn’t let my kids down by giving up. I had to be better. Better than I’d ever been. Stronger than I’d ever been. I had to take care of myself. Because if I didn’t do it now, who would? My rock was gone. Now it was only me. But that strength was there. I could do it. I just had to believe.

And then it was time to go. Another test. Would I pass? I wasn’t sure. This was a journey I never wanted to take. Or one I never imagined…

To be continued…

being strong 3

Strength…The Beginning

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

strength 3They say “you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” As much I did not want to learn this lesson, I have. From the moment I saw Gregger’s lifeless body floating in the water I realized my only choice was strength. Despite the odds. I panicked. Screamed. Stopped breathing. Sunk to the sand. But a force greater than me took over. I don’t remember how. Or when. I just remember feeling embraced with courage. An aura. I knew I had to be something “bigger” than I’d ever been before. In my life. Maybe for my kids. Maybe for everyone else. Maybe just for me. Whatever the reason. It happened.

strength 2 (1)I remember talking to the chaplain that day. I felt at peace. I was probably in shock. Disbelief. But, I believed him. I kept questioning. But, in reality, I knew what he spoke was the truth. I knew it was out of our control. I knew it was Gregger’s time. None of us wanted to believe. He was too young. Too vibrant. This couldn’t happen to such a “good” person. But it did. A “higher power” wanted him that day. And I knew it. I cried. I felt broken. I ached. I felt pain like I never felt in my entire life. But I knew. I knew what I had to do. I knew it would never be easy. I knew life would never be the same. But I knew there was a strength in me that had never been there before.

strength 1I remember waking in the middle of the night. The first night. I sobbed. Uncontrollably. I felt such a loss. A void. An emptiness. A deep, dark hole. I kept reaching, searching. But I couldn’t find my way out. I allowed myself to sob. Silently. My kids were next to me. Breathing softly. Lost in sleep. Hush my sounds. But I needed to cry. And then as the sun rose I wiped my tears and began a new day. I could carry a little more weight on my shoulders. The weight of two people. It was just me now. But I had no choice. Again, “you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” Well, I was learning.

I remember talking to people. Through the airwaves. Easier. I didn’t have to see their faces. Their tears. I could hear the emotion. The choking sounds. But I could speak. I couldn’t say the “D” word. I said he was “gone.” I talked about what happened. But the “D” word was not in my vocabulary. I wasn’t there yet. It was too final. If he was “gone,” maybe he was coming back. Gone is when you go somewhere. On a trip. To the store. Not somewhere that you don’t return. So gone was okay. I could be strong with “gone.” Death was too final. Death did not exist in my world. Not yet.

To be continued…

strength 4

Just One of Those Days

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

Dear Gregger,

anger 2Today was tough. I thought I was over the hump. I thought I had hurdled the toughest of toughs. But today got me. It wasn’t a birthday. An anniversary. Or anything special. It was just a tough day. And I’ve had some tough ones. Coming home to an empty house. The firsts. Just missing you. But today, I simply needed you. I needed you to help me fix things. I needed you to be my better half. My #1. So I could fall back as #2. I liked it better that way. I kept asking myself, “What would you do? How would you handle things when life gets a little crazy?” I was crumbling. So I walked. Looked at the clouds. Got angry. Yelled at you. Why did you have to leave me? Not fair. I needed you to help me figure it out. Sometimes I think I know the answers. And other times, UGH! It just seems to fall apart. Who do I talk to? Lucy? She looks at me with those sweet eyes. Tongue dangling from her little mouth. Innocent as her little puppy self. But she gives me nothing. My insides are brewing. I feel a burning rage of frustration. Torment. I NEED YOU HERE. You have better answers than me. I thought I could do this. Maybe I can’t. I wrote a blog today about strength. Now I feel like I’m lying. I thought I was strong. Today I feel so weak. Honestly, it just sucks.

angerOkay. So you’re not here. What would you do? What would you tell me to do? I think you would tell me to stick to my guns. I think you would say be tough, but be fair. Identify the source of my anger. Don’t allow it to control me. You’d say, count to 10. Take a time out. Stop talking. Walk away. Breathe. I’m listening. I’m trying. You’d ask me why I’m really angry. Am I afraid of something or someone? Maybe. Possibly a fear of failure. Fear of failing you. Not doing things the way you would do them. Or the way that would make you proud. I know that’s silly. I know most days I’m doing the best I can. But, days like today. Well, they just don’t feel good. So I guess anger is the outlet. Sorry. I wish it was something else. Yes, I’m angry at you for leaving me. For leaving us. But it’s not your fault. I’m angry at me for getting angry. I will try to do better at that. It’s just those mixed up emotions going all wacky inside.

So today was one of those days. It’s over. Gone. I saw the anger. I felt it. I raged. And now I can bid adieu. Gladly. Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll greet it with a smile. A warm heart. Just the way you would. Thank you Gregger for being there. You always know how to make it right. I love you. And I wish you were here. I miss you. 

anger 1

Grief Journey

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

truthI heard an interesting term the other day. “Grief work.” Apparently it is the response to grief. Makes sense. It’s a lot of work. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Simply draining at times. But, I’d rather think in terms of “Grief Journey.” The act of traveling from one place to another. From heartache to harmony. Mourning to tranquility. Whether “work” or “journey” you still have the same bumps. Hurdles. Peaks and valleys. But a journey is a passage to a different place. Something new. A journey requires an open mind. An open heart. The most predictable part of grief. It’s unpredictable. It comes on like a raging storm. Or rolls in with slow brewing irritability. For days, weeks, the ride is steady. Serene. And then thunder strikes. Lightning is not far behind. Wham. So the journey begins. I realize now it’s a long road. So I might as well enjoy the ride. Learn. Live. And just be. But for others on this journey, find your path. Follow it. You may get lost. There may be detours. But hop back on. It’s the only way to make it through. Grief Journey. Year Two.

journey 1

  1. Reality sucks. But acceptance is strength. I know Gregger is gone. I accept the loss. But I can feel his presence. I recognize the signs. Openness of mind, heart, body and soul equal strength.
  2. I talk. I feel. I cry. I scream. Feel the pain. The anger. The sadness. It frees me to feel at peace.
  3. Be okay by myself. It doesn’t mean I miss Gregger any less. It doesn’t mean I love him any less. He is gone. I must be okay. I must move on. I must be okay. He would want that for me. I want that for myself. It is the only way to continue my “journey.”
  4. Have faith. Just because the worst happened doesn’t mean I can’t believe good won’t come to me. I have to believe.
  5. Build new relationships. I can’t stay stuck. It is part of the journey. This is the hardest part for me. I must find the strength. To open myself. My heart. My soul.
  6. This is just a small part of the journey. A work in progress. Daily lessons. One step forward. One day at a time. Patience. Understanding. Compassion. I can do it. I know I can. If you believe. Have faith. And hope. You can too.

journey

 

 

 

my best advice

My Best Advice

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

grief (1)Year two. I’ve had a lot of time to think. Process. Grieve. But with all of that comes all of the B.S. All the crap I just want to brush under the rug. Make it go away. Make “them” go away. Attorneys. Planners. Accountants. Signature after signature. What the heck am I signing? What the heck am I doing? My brain isn’t even functioning properly. I don’t understand the lingo. H-E-L-P!

So now it’s time to get real. To give you my best advice. Just in case. I know you don’t want to hear it. I know you don’t want to think about it. Neither did I. But, luckily Gregger was smart. He put his ducks in a row. He MADE me pay attention. MADE me learn. Where things were located. Trusts. Wills. Passwords. Names. Numbers. How to write checks. How to balance the books. I know it sounds so simple. So trivial. But if you don’t have a clue, watch out.

Being prepared is a gift. Gregger wrapped things up with a beautiful bow, and, even so, I have had my share of aggravation. Unnecessary distress. Avoidable stress. I promise you, you want to know. So what can you do? Some of you may close this now. Others may be strong enough to read on. Good for you!  if-not-now-when-in-the-noe-picture-quotes

  1. Listen. Carefully. I closed my ears every time Gregger mentioned the “D” word. “STOP. Don’t talk about it. I don’t want to hear it. No need to discuss.” WRONG! Listening is power. Listening is learning.
  2. Keep things up to date. Trusts. Wills. Estates. Lists. Passwords. Passcodes. Make life easy for those left behind. Trying to recover passwords is a nearly impossible task. Write them down!
  3. Clearly state power of attorney and others who may have to make important decisions.
  4. Make sure credit cards are in BOTH of your names! Not just in both names, but both people as primaries. It matters. Most of ours were, but the ones that weren’t, OMG! That’s all I can say. Nightmare! Paperwork. Headaches. And endless hours of stupid computer phone calls. It’s impossible to get to the right person. And just when you think you do, you DON’T!
  5. If you need to hire an estate attorney, interview carefully. I thought I did a great job. Maybe not. It would have helped if we had one BGD (before Gregger died).
  6. Talk about financial planning/planners early on so the one left behind knows where, what, and how to do things. I was LOST! This was Gregger’s area of expertise. I tuned out. WRONG! Now I’m quickly tuning in, turning on, and taking it seriously.
  7. Here’s the one you don’t want to hear. Talk about the BIG what if. And what each of you “want” to do “if.” We brushed the surface, but when “what if” happened, I completely forgot. I had tuned out too many times. I just wasn’t sure. And here we were. Miles away from home. But a decision had to be made. ASAP. If only I had listened more. If only we had said for sure. If only. But now, it was just up to me. I had to make decisions I never wanted to make. And I wanted to make the right ones. I was brain dead. But I had to think. Those two things just don’t go together. But if the “what if” were clear, things would have been easier. Think about it. Talk about it. It sucks. But it’s real.
  8. Last but not least. Don’t take one moment for granted. Life is short. Every moment is precious. Don’t look back and say, “I wish I had.” I’m lucky. I can say, “We were blessed we did.” All the yucky stuff doesn’t matter. In the end, it’s the love. So take the time. Be together. Say “I love you.” And really live. It will be the greatest gift you give to yourself. Each other. I promise.

grief 2

Lucky 13

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

Dear Gregger –

miss youThis is my first letter to you in Year Two. But it is significant. 13 months. Your lucky number. You. A “triskaidekaphilopheliac.” One who loves “13.” Most people cringe at the thought of 13. Not you. You picked the unlikeliest of numbers and made it the BEST. So you. I believe it is OUR lucky number. This is going to be OUR month. The month of lucky. Good things to come. We’ve hit a few bumps. That’s to be expected. You’re not here. Life is different. We’re still adjusting. Every day.

Here’s my reality.

  1. I wake up every morning and face the challenges before me. I smile. I laugh. And I keep moving on. What other choice do I have?
  2. I’ve paid all bills regularly. On time. You taught me well. Thank you. 
  3. I’ve actually kept a balanced checkbook. Are you surprised? I am. I knew that would make you smile. Again, you taught me well. 
  4. I’ve handled B.S. I don’t have your patience. I wish I did. I’m trying.
  5. I still hate Sundays. They are so lonely without you. I miss our walks. I miss sitting at Starbucks. I miss talking to you. Bottom line. I MISS YOU.
  6. Nighttime. Quiet. Dark. Lonely. I want to see your smiling face. Hear you chuckle. Hear you snore. You’re not here.
  7. Songs on the radio. They remind me of you. Love. And what we had. Together. I want to hold your hand. Have you hold mine.
  8. Another new season of TV shows started. Some you would hate. Others we would watch together. I miss that. I want you here to tell me how much you hate reality shows. I would love to hear you complain. I’d still watch them. With or without you. But now it’s just without you. And it sucks.
  9. I’m learning to be me. I think you would be happy. And even a little proud.
  10. I’ve had to go with the flow. Learn to adapt. I had to give up my “planning ways.” They don’t work. You’d be impressed. We learned that the hard way. Right?
  11. Losing you hasn’t gotten any easier. I don’t think it ever will. It just gets different.
  12. Life goes on with or without me. With or without you. So I might as well keep going with it. It goes too fast. And I don’t want to miss the rest of the ride. I just wish we were still riding together.

miss you 2

So 13 months. Our lucky time. Good things to come. I hope you are happy. At peace. I’m getting there. But I miss you. I always will. Keep smiling down on us. We see your shining light and feel the love. Thank you. I love you Gregger.

the fight is on

The Second Year…The Fight is On!

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

moving on 3Year Two. Just as I hit the road running, I crashed. Head on. I didn’t see it coming. But it hit me like a ton of bricks. Smack in the face. Wham! Not even sure what provoked it. Out of left field. But the tears. Trickle, trickle, stre-a-m, DOWNPOUR! STOP! I’m not supposed to feel this way. This is year two! I’m past this! What the heck. But here we were. The fight was on.

I decided to give in. Let it go. Free myself of sadness. Despair. Longing. It was my only choice. I wouldn’t let it get the best of me.  moving on 2

  1. Slow down. Maybe I’m trying to move too fast. Don’t try to rush the process.
  2. Don’t overthink. Overthinking never ends well.
  3. Stop trying to be superwoman. I can’t be all, do all, for all. Draining. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.
  4. Face the feelings. Don’t stuff. Eventually, it comes to the surface. Let the tears flow.
  5. Laugh. Have fun. It’s really okay.
  6. Realize it’s okay not to be okay. Sometimes I just have those days.
  7. Stop being so hard on myself. I am my biggest critic. Give myself credit for how far I’ve come.
  8. Make friends with time. It’s not always my friend. It softens the pain, but it also makes me realize what I’m missing. It goes too fast. I don’t want it to slip through my fingers. I want it to stop. Slow down. But it just keeps going. Without me.
  9. Make friends with me. I have to be my best friend. I’m the one who’s here.
  10. Get rid of the guilt. It’s just weighing me down. I can’t change the past. I can only begin again.
  11. Realize every day is a new beginning. It’s my choice how I use it!

Okay, year two…bring it on!

moving on (1)

starting over

The Second Year…Starting Over

Mikki Eveloff Leave a comment

death year 2 2As I roll into year two, I wonder, what will be different? Instead of climbing upward, I seem to be spiraling down. Not a great feeling. I thought I had a handle. Thought I was in control. Two hands on the wheel. Steering straight ahead. But there’s a fork in the road. And I’m not sure which way to turn. Right? Left? Ugh! No one gave me a road map for this. No directions on how to get through. So I close my eyes, turn and see where I land.

So here’s the deal. The first year I was cruising. I kind of knew what to expect. All the grieving process. They tell you about it. Whatever you feel, it’s okay. Denial. Check. Anger. Check. Bargaining. Check. Depression. Never got there. Acceptance. Check. And now I’ve graduated. Second year. A milestone in my grief journey. But here’s reality. It’s harder. It’s real.  

Year one. In some ways, that was the easy year. I had excuses. Greg had just died. I was dealing. One month. Three months. Six months. Whatever the time. I was dealing. And everyone was okay with that. Right away people were there. Lots of people. And slowly they disappeared. They had their own lives. Life goes on. And so did they. I got it. Some people stayed. But I needed to find my way. Discover me. I started the journey. Writing. My road to discovery. I wrote about our love. Our past. Our memories. Gregger. It kept everything alive. But now what? I want to keep writing. It’s my way of talking. When there’s no one here, I can “tap, tap, tap” away. I can erase, rewrite, over and over again. No one answers back. But I get to empty out my brain. I lovingly call this my “drug of choice.” Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

SAMSUNG
SAMSUNG

I survived the first year. Yeah me! But now I’m faced with a whole new set of circumstances. Suddenly things are very real. Undeniable. I know he’s gone, but I still keep expecting him to show up. My head knows he won’t. But my heart wishes he will. I don’t want to believe. But I know I must. And that’s the real truth. Battle of brain and heart. And not a damn thing I can do about it.

I passed all the tests. I’ve taken care of things all year. “B.S.” crap. Things I never thought I’d be able to handle. But I did. Yeah me! I’m proud of myself, but I never wanted the job. Still don’t.

So the part that still sucks. Every morning I get in my car. I’m okay. And then some “mushy” song comes on. And there’s Gregger. All around me. My heart beats. Fast. I see him in the clouds. I hear him in my head. And I fight back the tears. It still happens. Year two.

I feel uncertain. I made decisions. I made changes. But now what? Where do I go from here? I made it through year one. Now, what do I do in year two? What’s the game plan? All of a sudden I feel lost again. Gregger, I need you back to tell me what to do. But you’re not coming. I must figure this out alone. And that’s the part that sucks. Reality.

I’ve lost time. What happened to the past year? Where did it go? Did I just lose it? What will happen to the next year? And the one after that? I don’t just want them to fly away with grief. I want to live. I know the sadness will creep in. I know I will cry. I know I will be angry. But in between those moments there has to be life. I don’t want to lose any more time. It’s far too precious.  death year 2

My patience is waning. With people, things, myself. Little things. Stupid things. I need to breathe. Take a moment. Realize that it will be okay. I don’t like this side of me. But I need to accept. It’s all part of the process. Grief.

I need a plan. Something to look forward to. A future. Something with promise. Anything but just “being.” I’m not sure what that is. When I know, it will be exciting.

This is a beginning. Facing the truth. Reality. Watch out year 2. I’m coming.

death year 2 3