The Fog

I wake early and hear the low moaning sound of a freighters horn, crying out in the fog.  I realize that I am that freighter.  I’ve spent most of the summer laying on the couch, crying in the fog of grief that I am feeling over the loss of my Raymond.

I’ve started talking to him.  Asking him for help and guidance.  That help, came in the form of a letter I recently received from hospice, stating that I was entitled to grief counseling.  Although I am seeing a therapist, I called hospice.  I saw Latessa this past week, and she was wonderful.  She taught me that grieving isn’t a linear process like the stages of death: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and finally acceptance.  I observed Raymond go through all of these stages.  She told me that a grieving person goes through all of these stages in any moment on any day.

I’m not in denial, I was here when Raymond passed.  I know he is gone.  I’ve never been angry, he was very sick and it was his time to transcend this world.  There is nothing to bargain for.  I know God isn’t going to bring him back to me.  I accept the fact that he is gone.  I wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer for one more moment.  It is the sadness and depression that I am struggling with.

My spiritual teacher told me to “Try to see the distinction between grieving and depression.  One is not allowing yourself to feel, the other is allowing the true feelings to have a place to be expressed.”  That place has been in my little trailer, on the couch.  I’ve literally spent the whole summer feeling such a deep sadness.  Some days I am totally immobilized, other days I can do a few things around here.  I do have a wonderful support system.  My friends and family come out 2-3 days a week, just to get me out of the house or just come for a visit and keep me company as I lie on the couch.

My, 83-year-old father, was recently diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus.  I immediately called Ray’s doctor from Karmano’s Cancer Center in Detroit.  He is now my father’s doctor.  My dad’s prognosis is good, thank God.  The cancer is only in his esophagus and hasn’t spread.  They are going to treat him with radiation, 5 days a week; and chemo, once a week, to try to shrink and contain the tumor.  They will give him a month or so after that process to recover, then they will do the surgery.  Dr. G. hooked us up with the chief of Thoracic Oncology (surgeon) and the chief of radiation.  I know he is in good hands.  His attitude is positive and optimistic and he is still very active.

I have taken my folks to Karmanos for their first few visits.  I will be taking him to his first chemo and radiation on Tuesday.  It has been bitter-sweet seeing Raymond’s nurses, his doctors, the hospital that he had been to once or twice weekly; from December to April.  The place where he was hospitalized a number of times and I went there daily.  The nurses all gave me a big hug and cried with me.  Raymond made such a lasting impression on them and they truly loved him.  The blessing here is that I know the “lay of the land” at Karmanos, and I can help my parents find their way around and maybe feel more comfortable with me there.  The blessing for me is that although being there brings up many fearful and painful memories, by helping my folks, I am helping myself.

On September 5th, it will be 4 months since Raymond passed.  The hospice grief counselor said that after 4 months, it is still “pretty fresh.”  Her words helped me to see that feeling such a deep sadness is okay.  Some people say, “Get out, do things, move on with your life, Raymond wouldn’t want you to be so sad.”  What I know now is that, it is what it is, and everyone’s process is different.  Ray and I had such a deep spiritual connection in the 2 years and 2 months I was with him.  We talked all the time, about any and every topic.  We laughed and cried together.  From the first day we met, we were together every day after.  He used to say that it was like we were together for years because ours wasn’t the “normal dating process” (weekend dates, etc.) we were on the “fast track.”

God, I miss the laughter and fun we had together.  For anyone that knew Raymond, they knew that he had a very large presence.  When Ray walked into a room, his presence was felt by everyone.  He is not present anymore.  My life is very quiet without him.  So, like the freighter, I cry out in the fog of sadness, alone on the river of my life,  knowing that life goes on, and hoping that sometime soon, this freighter will find her way through the fog.

 

 

 

 

 

About 1lisaa

I've been on a spiritual quest my whole adult life. As a 59 year old retired school teacher and a long time observer of people, life, nature and miracles, I have decided to start a blog. As I began my blog I was a caregiver for my soul mate Raymond who was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in 2011 and it has been quite a journey. Now, I continue this blog with memoirs, insights, and stories about this journey, called life. In this blog, I hope to find clarity and share spiritual lessons along the way. All comments and insights would be appreciated.
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3 Responses to The Fog

  1. susy westmoreland says:

    My dearest Lisa you have such a beautiful way with words and expressing yourself. It was heart wrenching for me to read your latest entry. “It is what it is”. Yes!
    Bob would have been 77 on 8/30 this year and “yes” it was a tough day for me.
    But this is not about me but about you. You have tremendous courage and I love you so.
    I’m so happy that you are such a living angel for your dad.
    Love you,
    susy

  2. Judith Lanphier says:

    You brought tears to my eyes for many reasons. Not surprising though as they are always just beneath the very thin surface I have been thinking of you heavy the lady few days as I take the last few items out of kalani and leave a completely empty house that was my home. It’s how my life feels. empty. I know that’s not really true but it feels that way. I’ve wanted to call but i ve been so overwhelmed by this move I just kept working on it. I’m having breakfast at shop in princeville cause not even coffee left at house. Just decided to order a bloody Mary It’s a rough day ahead

    You are such a beautiful writer and the love u shared with Raymond is what we r here to experience. I need to talk. I’ll try call tomorrow.

    Sent from my iPhone

  3. Rose Hollandsworth says:

    Lisa, you are a very special lady. Your writing is so beautiful and the way you express yourself is awsome. You also are a very special daughter. Your parents are so thankful that you have helped your dad in so many ways. I am so glad that you were able to connect him with Dr. Gadgeel. He is the most compassionate and caring doctor that I have ever met. I know that Ray make such a good impression on him. I keep you in my prayers daily and hope that the freighter soon will be able to find her way through the fog. God Bless you Lisa.

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