Gifts Of Grief: Chapter One Orange Sunset

Discussion of the first chapter of my book, Gifts of Grief. The first Gift of Grief: Kristine accompanied me to the loving embrace of my family on the day that she died. The gifts continued that day, which ended with an orange sunset, and as I returned home to Maine without her.

Transcript

Hello,

This is Jacob Watson.

This is from my book,

Gifts of Grief,

Chapter one,

Orange Sunset.

The very first gift of grief was that Christine came with me to the annual family reunion in Marion,

Massachusetts.

It wasn't even sure that she was going to come because we had family issues back in Maine,

But eventually she came with me.

Just having her with me was a gift.

We arrived after lunch and immediately went for a sail in the family Harrishoff 12 1⁄2 foot sloop named Vireo.

We sailed in Marion Harbor among the boats and into the cove,

And then back into the harbor past the.

.

.

The four of us children had our own homes in different states and did not want the house.

We had the house to myself.

No doubt,

Many memories came to mind for her as she looked ashore.

That evening,

We had a big welcoming dinner for everybody and Christine was unusually exuberant and made contact with many family members,

Young and old.

It was a joy to me to see her interacting with everyone.

The next morning,

She went into the bathroom and didn't come out.

I eventually went in and found her collapsed on the floor.

In shock,

I tried to revive her,

But could not.

I looked at her and knew she was gone.

But of course,

I had my sister call the ambulance and they came quickly.

While the EMTs were trying to revive Christine,

My niece showed up.

She didn't say a word,

But she showed up,

She was there.

She just stood there watching.

Eventually,

The ambulance took off for the hospital and my sister drove me there and I waited in a room seemingly for a long time.

Eventually,

The doctor came in,

Serious,

Moved his chair close to mine,

Looked into my eyes and said,

We couldn't do anything to revive her,

She's gone.

My tears came immediately and lasted for a while and the doctor stayed with me for which I was grateful.

Finally,

He left and I walked down the hallway confused,

Sad,

In shock for sure and eventually entered a large room where I found Christine's body laid out,

Resting,

Period.

Not alive,

But at peace and I could see that.

I sat down beside her and held her hand.

It was cold,

Not responsive and warm like it used to be.

I sat there for a long time.

Seemingly,

Suddenly,

My two sisters and my niece appeared on the other side of the bed and started singing Amazing Grace.

The sweet sounds echoed,

More tears came and when the three women finished singing,

They left and I was alone with Christine,

Alone.

Eventually,

I looked around the room and I saw over in the corner,

The medical stands and the gurney which told me,

As Elizabeth Kubler-Ross,

Had mentioned years ago,

That every effort was made to keep Christine alive.

That was a small comfort to me.

I sat there for a long time.

Eventually,

I got up from my chair and tried to find my way out of the room,

But I couldn't.

Soon,

I found a doorway and walked out into the hall.

There,

My two sisters were waiting for me.

We went outside and I knew that I had to make four phone calls to our children,

The hardest calls I ever made in my life.

I knew that I would be disrupting their lives forever.

I found my way out of the hospital into a little garden by the front door.

I sat down and made the first call.

I could see over about 20 feet or so,

My sisters watching me,

Seeing that I was okay.

But of course,

I wasn't okay.

But it was comforting and a gift to see that they were there keeping an eye on me.

I made the other calls.

My sisters watched me as I finished and then shepherded me across the street into the car.

We drove back to the house that we had rented for the reunion and eventually had supper.

A somber time when people didn't know what to say and so they didn't say anything.

Afterwards,

I sat out on the front lawn in a chair by myself,

Newly by myself.

A brown hummingbird came from my right-hand side and fluttered in front of me,

Looking me directly in the eye.

To me,

It was Christine in spirit form,

In hummingbird form,

And she just stayed there looking at me,

Making sure I was okay.

I wasn't okay,

Of course,

But the hummingbird gave its blessing to me and then flew away off to my left.

Soon,

I went around to the back steps and watched as the sun slowly went down,

Filling the cove with an orange light.

Thankfully,

My sisters joined me,

Though they didn't say a word.

Soon,

My sister's grandson,

A gangly 13-year-old,

Appeared and just sat nearby without saying anything.

His presence,

Especially from the younger generation,

Was reassuring to me.

When I went to bed,

I went to bed alone and slept fitfully in the big bed by myself.

The next day,

I woke up earlier than usual and soon,

My sister drove me all the way back to Maine.

Alone.

On the long drive through Boston,

I knew that I had lots of things to do,

But I wasn't going to make a list.

I was through with making lists.

I knew that if something was important,

It would come up and surface in my mind and I would take care of it then and there.

The long drive also gave me time to reflect on something that Christine and I had done that spring,

Talked about our dying.

We had made a joint decision to use the local small funeral home.

It was reassuring to me that we had had that conversation.

I also knew what to use to cover Christine's body,

A beautiful quilt made by the hospice staff and volunteers where she used to work.

It was full of squares that individuals had made about Christine and it captured her essence.

It was a gift to have some place to come back to,

A home.

Yet,

I was newly alone and the home was just mine,

Not ours,

Mine and Christine's.

Yet,

It was a gift to be back in my own house.

I walked around downstairs and upstairs and Christine was everywhere,

But she wasn't there physically.

I was comforted to remember the orange sunset,

The cove that night,

Just the night before,

Sitting on the back steps,

The beauty and the power and the eloquence of that orange light in the sky and reflected in the water below.

Here is some quiet meditation time for you to reflect on what I have been sharing with you.

Gently and slowly come out of this meditation time into your full consciousness.

Allow yourself to regain what you were thinking about and remember what came up during the reflection time.

Was it something physical,

An ache or a pain?

Was it something emotional,

A feeling?

Was it something intellectual,

A thought?

Or possibly,

Was it something spiritual?

What we're looking for here long-term is balance,

The four quadrants in balance.

No matter what it was that came up during this reflection time,

This meditation time for you,

It was important.

It gave you information about what was going on in yourself,

Your whole self,

Your balanced self.

This brings up for me the gift of meditation.

You can't fail at meditation.

Whatever it is,

Is what's going on for you in the moment,

In the present time,

And that is valuable.

Whatever it was,

Something,

And whatever it was,

It was seeking two things,

Acknowledgement and expression.

Acknowledgement and expression.

Primarily an emotional feeling.

Whatever it was wants to be acknowledged and expressed out loud.

Out loud,

That is moving from the inside,

You,

To the outside,

The world.

It helps to have a safe person to facilitate this process,

But that's not necessary.

What is necessary is safety itself,

The quality of you feeling safe.

For me,

What comes up often in this kind of meditation time is the image I carry about the orange sunset.

That is part of me now.

I see the colors reflecting in the sky,

The clouds,

And the water below,

The cove,

The quiet cove,

But the colors are brilliant,

The orange sunset.

The orange sunset.

As I learned to live in my home without Christine,

I realized that some of the events that I experienced after Christine died,

With time,

Became gifts.

That is with time,

Meaning not days and weeks,

But months and even years.

Some event that had been a challenge over time,

Much time,

Became a gift.

I couldn't and didn't expect that it would change,

But it might.

The possibility was there.

And just the possibility was helpful,

Was enervating for me.

That is,

It gave me energy.

A gift might appear.

And as I settled into my new routine in my house without Christine,

This energy was important,

For grief is tiring.

I learned that right away.

Grief saps energy,

And it sapped energy from me.

I didn't feel like doing anything,

And grief was there in its own time and it's in its own way.

I found that I could rely on that itself,

Meaning that grief had its own time and its own way,

Separate from me,

And that was a relief.