Life According to Gribble

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Tag: widowhood

group of people attending burial

Scheduling a Funeral Sucks: Let Someone Help You

October 3, 2024 / / 0 Comments

When my husband passed away, I had to make a lot of difficult decisions. One of those decisions was when to hold the funeral. We lived in Utah at the time, but we were burying him in Washington state. The most sensible timing of events was a problem though.

I worked out the schedule by days of the week. Saturday was the funeral program in Utah. Sunday we rested. Monday we would rent the U-Haul and transport his casket to Washington. (It felt weird transporting a casket with my dead husband in a U-Haul, but that is what we did.) Tuesday evening the funeral home would unload his casket. Wednesday we would hold the burial.

Sound’s reasonable right? Well, what was left of my heart in the gaping hole in my chest dropped in my stomach when I looked at the calendar. The day of the burial was my husband’s 35th birthday. I frantically rearranged the schedule to no avail. Every time I thought it I had it worked out, a bad feeling overcame me. The only plan I felt peace with was the original one.

His family was less than enthused about the schedule. They all came over to “discuss” the situation. When I finally and simply stated, “I’m not changing the date,” one of his family members stormed out of my home, slamming the front door behind them. If there’s one thing I don’t tolerate, it’s slamming doors.

I got up to give them a piece of my mind but stopped as soon as I got out the door. It would do no good to go after them. All I would accomplish is create more rifts in an already tense and difficult time. So what did I do? I balled my fists and walked back inside with a great deal of anger filling me.

They were wrong to storm out, but I realized later that I also bore some of the blame. I failed to fully explain my reasoning why I refused to change the date. I didn’t share the struggle I went through when solidifying the schedule. That burden was mine to bear, but looking back I should have been more forthcoming with my struggle.

Hindsight sucks because it doesn’t really account for the emotional and mental state of everyone in the situation. Objectivity is often clearer when looking back. I should have let them help me bear the burden of that problem. They could have asked why I chose that day. Maybe they did at one point. I don’t remember. All I do remember was both emotional and logical arguments for why the date impacted them. I could have given them the opportunity to understand, but I didn’t.

The moral of the story for me is it’s okay to share your burden when struggles come your way. Even if that sharing it just telling someone. Having an ally who understands can make a difference. Circumstances and emotions get in the way of rational thinking; however, perhaps the next time I am confronted with a difficult decision, I will confide my reasoning with those who are impacted.

black Fayorit typewriter with printer paper

A Note from Gribble: It’s About to Get More Personal

July 28, 2024 / / 0 Comments

Gribble here. My girl is embarking on a more personal journey, so I’ve added a new category in our posts! The category is “It’s Getting Personal”. I’m going to tell you the events of what she calls her “three years of hell” so you have a better understanding of the obstacles she navigated and still faces. Sympathy is not necessary or sought.

My girl’s life changed forever in 2016. The year began with a miscarriage and she lost her job due to the deep depression she experienced. Six months later, as she was just coming out of her funk, she unexpectedly lost her husband to a thrombotic embolism (a blood clot), leaving her to raise their three children (almost 12, 10, and 3) by herself.

Her uncle died one month later while she was trying to pack her house to move out of state. About a month and a half of homelessness followed while she moved her children and the cranky 10-year-old cat from one relative’s house to another. When she was finally able to procure permanent housing with her parents, she crashed down from survivor mode.

A very serious bout of clinical depression overtook her life when she exited survivor mode. Some family members discussed the need to have her admitted. They eventually decided that my girl’s children needed her presence more since their father was no longer there. I don’t know if that was what was best for the children, but that was the decision made.

Eight months after her uncle’s death, her husband’s grandmother died. A more specific diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) was added to her pre-existing conditions of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), intrusive thoughts, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and anxiety when she was able to emotionally get herself out of bed and to therapy.

Several months before the grandmother died and for two months following, my girl took care of her bedbound mother until her passing at the end of May 2017. Her mother was buried one week before her husband’s one-year anniversary.

Nine months later her cousin’s 21-year-old son died in a tragic car accident, two weeks later her daughter’s dog died, and about four months later her daughter’s 11-month-old kitten died. Her then 4-year-old was diagnosed with autism and therapy led to the discovery of my girl having Bi-Polar Disorder (BPD). She told me later that many things in her life, even prior to her husband’s death, made significantly more sense.

While she was not close to all of those who passed away, the fact that death loomed so close to home struck a nerve with each notification of loss and each step of her mental health journey.

Navigating life is tough. Please remember that this post is not meant to dredge up sympathy. It is simply meant to be informational. Her journey is changing, as is expected in life, and I feel it would be best for her to share that journey with all of you. Perhaps the growth and setbacks as she works through her grief, mental health, and spiritual travels will help someone else someday. I hope you find comfort or enlightenment in the posts.

If you choose to comment on a post, PLEASE BE KIND. Everyone deserves kindness in one aspect or another. Be that person who is kind, positive, and factual in your comments.

Now I need to get back to my place of safety before my girl’s puppy finds me. Happy reading!

Why is this happening to me?

June 28, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I have had to turn to my faith more than a few times these past two years. It is by no means uncommon for us, as survivors, to have a crisis of faith. We face a little one-word question that puts us to the ultimate test of faith. Why? Why did they have to die? Why am I still here? Why did they leave me? Why don’t they get the chance at a full life?

The short answer is a simple and frustrating, “I don’t know.” The longer more specific answer relates to the story of Joseph in Egypt. Below is a brief (I promise this actually is brief compared to the full version found in the Bible) synopsis of the story.

Joseph was the youngest and most favored son of his father, Jacob. His older brothers were overwhelmingly jealous of the favor their father showed Joseph. They decided one day, when their jealous anger rose to a peak, they would to kill him. Before they murdered their brother, they saw a caravan of merchantmen traveling to Egypt. Why kill their brother when they could gain a profit by selling him as slave?

Once the caravan reached Egypt, Joseph was then sold to a man named Potiphar, a captain of the guard to Pharaoh. Joseph worked hard and became Potiphar’s right hand man until Potiphar’s wife decided she wanted more from Joseph than he was willing to give. The wife grabbed Joseph’s coat when he literally ran from the house. Joseph shrugged it off and kept running. Of course the wife, having been rejected, decided to cry to her husband saying Joseph made advances toward her. Her proof was Joseph’s coat in her hands. Potiphar believed his wife and sent Joseph to prison.

While in prison, Joseph was yet again blessed for his work ethic and given the duty to oversee the prisoners in his ward. About this time, Pharaoh became angry at his chief butler and his chief baker. They were both placed in Joseph’s ward and experienced odd dreams on the same night. Joseph interpreted both dreams saying in three days the butler would be restored to his former position and the baker would be executed. True to Joseph’s interpretation, the butler was restored and the baker was significantly less fortunate.

Two years later, it was Pharaoh’s turn in the disturbing dreams department of dreamland. No one could interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. The butler spoke up and told Pharaoh about his experience with Joseph.

Pharaoh called for Joseph and demanded an interpretation of his dreams. Joseph explained that Pharaoh’s dreams were a warning. Though the next seven years would be plentiful, a great famine would strike all the lands of the Earth the following seven years. Joseph then suggested Pharaoh invest in a pretty comprehensive food storage program. Impressed, Pharaoh told him it was now Joseph’s job to create and oversee the aforementioned investment program…and have power over just about everything else except the throne.

The famine came as predicted seven years later and guess who made an appearance in Egypt two years into the famine? Yep, Joseph’s brothers. They didn’t realize who Joseph was at first, but don’t you worry, his brothers were graced with a pretty serious “Oh #&%@” moment.

Joseph could have done anything to them and no one would have faulted him; however, he chose a different path. He didn’t take them as his servants. He didn’t make them experience the sudden death round of the “how shall we play with brother today” game. He was happy to see his brothers. Joseph rejoiced! He told them not to be angry with themselves for selling him, because God sent him there to save many lives, including theirs.

This is where we bring ourselves back to the present. Whether you believe in God or not, bad things happen. It is an unfortunate fact of life we cannot escape. Joseph gained some understanding of why he was sent to Egypt when his brother’s showed up to purchase food, twenty-two years after they sold him to the caravan of merchantmen.

Just as Joseph lived in slavery and prison for so long, we also find ourselves in horrific places after the trauma of losing our loved ones. I won’t lie to you. Grief shows no mercy to anyone, and patience plainly sucks. Faith is all that will sustain us.

I still don’t have any specific answers why BJ had to die 11 days before his 35th birthday. All I have are speculations at this point. I take great comfort knowing that some day I will have the answers. It may or may not be in this lifetime, but I have faith the answers will come. You will also have the answers at some point. Don’t rush that moment. The Lord left us here for a reason. Looking too hard for answers we are ready or able to receive will only bring frustration and unhappiness. All we can do is take everything one day, one task, one moment at a time until we receive those answers.

Please remember you are far from alone in your journey. Faith, with all the other emotions we have swirling around our psyche, is not easy. Our goal should be to seek others who also struggle. Together we can help each other move forward in a positive and productive way.

You are loved more than you know!

Handcart Lessons

June 18, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Around March 2018, I was barely able to keep my head above the watery chaos of depression. My husband had suddenly passed away about a year and a half prior. My children were the only ones keeping me from letting myself go. They already lost their father. They needed their mother – not that I was much of a mother at the time. Granted, I was much better than I was the year prior, but I’ll go into the crippling effects of depression another time.

I thought back to an experience my nephew shared the prior year when he came home from a church sponsored event called Trek. Every few years my church organizes a pioneer journey for youth ages 12 through 18. The journey reenacts the pioneer experience during their trek west. Everyone dresses in pioneer garb. Youth are broken up into “families” with at least four children and one couple from the congregation serving as “Ma” and “Pa”. The youth pull loaded handcarts over 20 miles of difficult terrain in a three-day period.

My nephew told me about an experience that had surprising effect on me. The final hill is always given to the ladies since many pioneer men didn’t make it to their destinations. That left the women to bear the burden of finishing the journey.

Every young man was sent to the top of the hill.  The young men were told they were not allowed to help the young women. They could only silently watch. My nephew said it was a powerfully emotional experience to watch the young women struggle up the steep hill. Being unable to help was like torture.

When the first handcart finally reached the top of the steep hill and crossed the line marking the end of their trek, the young women ran back to the hill. The girls were exhausted, but they couldn’t bear to let their sisters continue to struggle on their own. One by one each handcart finally reached the top of the hill.

There were no shouts of joyous accomplishment and applause when the last handcart made it to the end. No one shrugged their shoulders and asked when they could get their phones back. The young women hugged each other with love, grateful to have made it to the top. They were proud of their accomplishments on that journey, but humbled by the sheer determination it took.

Every young man stood with their hat reverently held in their hands. Some freely shed tears…I mean got sand in their eyes. They were emotionally hurt, proud of their sisters, and distressed in their limited role of watching; however, they felt the Holy Spirit testify of the greatness of the pioneer’s tragically earned achievements. I thought a great deal about that story for a long time.

My unexpected lesson hit me this past March. I was trying so hard to get my own handcart over rough terrain and my dear husband’s spirit was forced to watch, unable to help. What kind of special hell is that? And I was the one making that hell even more bitter. It certainly wasn’t on purpose, but it was true all the same. I had eyes on my husband for so long and didn’t see what I should have.

Everyone handles tragedy in different ways. The death of my husband just about broke me, but I decided I couldn’t cause him and my children any more pain than they already had to endure. I somehow found a way to pull myself back to the land of the living. It wasn’t an overnight change. A great deal of heartache, prayer, hard work, and tears went into the process of moving on.

Unfortunately, the process never truly ends. Good days and bad days still trade off custody. What matters is keeping my eye on the goal. Continuing to progress to the best of my ability. Some days it is all I can do to keep the handcart from slipping backward. Other days I make good headway. It’s a matter of not giving up.

I have learned we all need to keep our eye on the top of the hill. Every step gets us a little closer. Celebrate those small steps because they add up quickly. The strength we discover when we reach the top of the hill will be a powerful testimony of our love for those who can only watch.

Be kind to yourself and know that you are loved!

Welcome to Life According to Gribble!

June 4, 2018 / / 0 Comments

My name is Gribble! As you see in my handsome picture, I am a vintage 1980’s Lots-a Lots-a Leggggggs caterpillar who has seen better days. My girl adopted me when her mother brought me home for Christmas. I remember my girl was about as tall as me when she held me in her little arms. That was decades ago though.

My girl’s now grown into a woman who has also seen better days. Her name is Keani (pronounced K-on-E). She is a mother, widow, and is finally following her passion. Writing. Because I told her she has no other option. Being the wise woman she is, she gracefully accepted my not so subtle hint.

Why have I come to this extreme, you ask? (This is where you ask.) The past several years have been the most difficult of Keani’s life. My girl battled a great deal of clinical depression in 2015. 2016 made its début with a miscarriage, followed by the death of her husband, the death of her uncle, a move from Utah to Washington state, a period of homelessness, and a deeper view of the rabbit hole called depression. 2017 wasn’t much better with the death of her late husband’s grandmother and the death of her own mother. Then her cousin’s son was killed in a very tragic car accident in 2018.

Tragedy has a way of changing a person. The life lessons Keani learned during the painstakingly slow and frustrating process of “Moving On” were gained by prayer, soul-searching, hard work, and a lot of tears. I created this blog as an outlet for my girl to share her life lessons. Just like Keani, many individuals are trying to navigate the grief that comes with loss. Those things that have made such a difference in her recovery will be of use to others – maybe even you.

Don’t be confused though. This is my blog. She may be doing most of the sharing, but I will be supervising with expert precision. I am, after all, her oldest and longest friend.

Wow! This is one long post for a Gribble. Until next time!

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