change of attitude – Barbara Heagy

Cracked Open

December 11, 2018, was the anniversary of Tom, my beloved husband’s death. Eight years ago, he passed away into another world. Facebook, my main social media site, has a feature that takes you back on your timeline with each passing day. You are able to see what you did and said on December 11 from 2008, 2009, and so on. I was able to trace my life for the weeks and days preceding Tom’s death. I could see all the things that were happening and my comments on them, and I couldn’t help but think over and over again, If I only knew that one week later, three days later, Tom would be dead. It put a very different perspective on life for me. We just never know, do we, what life will bring. It reminded me even more to live each day fully, with zest. This is the main theme of my book, our story, in 10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss that I published after Tom’s death. His death and the grief over the subsequent years has taught me much about living a full life.

Grief has softened me. Not at first. First I felt raw and torn, laid open like a jagged wound. But with time that has healed and in the opening of that wound, deep in my gut, I have come to recognize a soft, vulnerable place. And I mean I physically feel it that way. There used to be a hole, a place where the pain of losing Tom and never having him in my life again sat like a dark cavern. It has been replaced. Now there is a fullness filling that empty hole, a soft spot, almost like the yolk inside an egg. It sits in the same place, never forgetting, but always accepting. Tom’s death took away a piece of my soul, but left behind a soft, accepting centre of love and gratitude. It may be delicate, but it’s not weak. In its softness is strength, courage, empathy. It’s pliable, secure, and forgiving.

Reading Mark Nepo’s , The Book of Awakening, I came across this passage. He seems to know about that soft spot within that comes after deep pain. He writes:

“It leads me to say that if you are unhappy or in pain, nothing will remove those surfaces. But acceptance and a strong heart will crack them like a shell, exposing a soft thing waiting to take form. It glows. I think it is the one spirit we all share.”

Grief has cracked me open, and because I was able to look and experience it full in the face, it has left behind a soft jewel in the centre of my soul.

Writing for Healing – A Response Poem to Rumi

Back in June, I attended a writing workshop with Kat McNichol called “Writing for Healing” in Eden Mills. As one of the quick writing prompts, I wrote a poem Not Me. It was written in response to the poet Rumi’s poem Not Here.

When the poem was introduced to us by Kat, I had such a negative internal response that I decided I should just deal with it in a written response. The result, created in five minutes, showed me the level of anger and weariness I had in dealing with the grief of my deceased husband and love of my life.

Kat asked if she could publish the poem in her online newsletter. Check out the poems (Rumi’s original and mine) and other stories by clicking on the link below.

A Response to Rumi

And by the way — if you have a chance to take a workshop with Kat McNichol, do it! She’s a fabulous teacher. There is another ‘Writing for Healing’ workshop coming up in October. Check for details at www.dreamerswriting.com.

A Response Poem to Rumi’s Not Here

Not Me by Barbara Heagy

Oh, Rumi.
I do not want to hear this right now.
Don’t speak to me about bravery and sharp
compassion.
I have had howling hurt
And it sucks.

I have stood strong and full of courage.
“Turn and face the lions,” I said.
But the lions’ roaring pains my eardrums.
Their carnivorous breath makes me faint.
Their overpowering size tires me
As I pace the cage with them.

Copper and gold are not for me.
I have accumulated a treasure house of
such so-called riches.
Give me sun.
Give me breath.
God, give me pastrami.
Anything but more of your precious metals.

I am not half-hearted.
I am empty-hearted
Facing your sizzling ovens that shape the soul.

Empty-hearted, holding back,
I am now just well-enough and getting by.

Your challenge has depleted me,
Frozen my thoughts into debilitating ideas of
“I can do this.
This will be good for me.”

Well F’ you, Rumi.
I walk away from this challenge.
I’ve given at the office, thank you.

Choose to Live

At a recent writer’s retreat I attended, I was sharing my published books with another new writer friend. An author has to be able to say what his or her book is about in under 30 seconds, one or two sentences at the most. My keynote for my first book is “10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss, is an inspiring cancer story. It may uplift and encourage you to live your best life.” I often say “It’s an inspiring memoir/cancer journey/love story.”

Then, my friend asked me a simple question, one I had never been asked before so succinctly.

“So, how do you continue to live a quality life when you’ve been given a terminal diagnosis with no hope of a cure?”

Her succinct question demanded a succinct answer. She wanted to know in a few sentences how my husband and I did it.

I answered her this way, in list form: change your focus to ‘living’ rather than ‘dying,’ live in the moment, live with gratitude, and focus on your abilities, not your losses.

Focus on ‘living’ every day, rather than ‘dying.’ You try to fill your day with as many life-fulfilling activities and people as you can, and you focus on those positive messages and feelings, rather than negative people, circumstances and thoughts.
Live in the moment, with mindfulness, tapping into all your senses. Taste that juicy apple, smell that scented rose, look up at the sky and the clouds floating by, feel the softness of your child’s cheek, listen to the sounds of nature all around you. Often, the simplest things are the most meaningful.
Live with gratitude. Say thank you. When you awake, be grateful for another day given, and when you go to sleep, say thank you for all you received.
Focus on what you can do, rather than what you can’t do. In spite of impending losses, you still are capable of many things. Use your time to enjoy doing those things you can still do.

“10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss’ is a story of struggle, pain and loss, but at the heart of it, it is a story of love, hope, and strength. It is a story that may help others who have been given a life-debilitating diagnosis, as well as helping their caretakers and loved ones who journey with them.

My book can be purchased at The Bookshelf, Guelph; BookLore, Orangeville; Hannelore Headely Old & Fine Books, St. Catharines and Spa Wellness Tamara, Guelph. It can also be purchased directly from me by messaging me. Buy it online at amazon.ca.

Gratitude

Gratitude – a deep, heartfelt thank you and appreciation for what you have – can transform your life. It can change despair into hope, fear into love, and sorrow into joy. With gratitude, we realize that it’s less about your life circumstance and more about your attitude to it. Focusing on what you do have rather than what you don’t have, or what you can do, rather than what you can’t do, is the simple secret. It’s a matter of free choice. You decide. No matter how difficult or taxing your situation is, there is always something to be thankful for. And it’s usually the simple, everyday things that mean the most – the roof over your head, the supper before you, the sunshine, the raindrops, the smile of your best friend, or the laughter of your child.

Gratitude, practised daily, brings an unexpected life change. Try it. Close your eyes and focus on the benefits, the good you have in your life. It doesn’t have to be outstanding or unique to be appreciated. It’s often the things we take for granted. Do you have your eyesight? There are those who don’t. Can you breathe freely without assistance or drugs? There are those who can’t. Do you have a home, food, family, or friends? Freedom of speech and movement are basic rights for us in Canada. There are those who are denied these simple human needs or comforts and yet, even they can find something to be thankful for. Perhaps it is their health, their families, or the simple gifts that are there for all of us – clean air to breathe, water to drink, sunshine to warm our bodies and spirits.

Focus on what you have today. Don’t let worries about the future affect your thoughts. Choose what you are thankful for and then say it out loud, or write it down in a daily journal or on slips of paper for a gratitude jar. If you do this every day, you will soon have a host of things. Doing this every day begins to change your world view. Instead of negative thoughts, you become focused on positive thoughts. You begin to feel good about yourself and your life. You begin to look for the benefits of every situation rather than the trouble it brings you. You begin to feel good about others and look to their strengths rather than their weaknesses. You choose daily activities that build you up, give you enjoyment, and add to your life, rather than take it away. This is something we all can do. But we have to practise it every day. Let feeling good about yourself and your life become a habit.

I have a friend who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. At first, all he could think about was the negative effect it would have on his life as he envisioned losing more and more of his taken-for-granted strengths and abilities. He began to fear the future. Bit by bit, he began to realize that he still has many capabilities and circumstances. He owns his own home, his family live close by and want to help in any way they can. He has begun to write his life story. He bought himself an adult-sized three wheel bike. He began to take dance classes. He joined support groups to meet with others who were also facing this life-debilitating disease. He still has much in his life. The last time I spoke to him I was impressed with his calm, inner acceptance of his disease and the enjoyment he has in his everyday life.

A family member has been told his cancer is at a palliative stage and that no more can be done for him to regain his health. He has accepted that, withdrawn from all his drugs except those that relieve difficult pain, and has made the choice to begin to live, rather than just curl up and die. He has been honest and up-front with his family and adult children and still partakes in family activities, weddings and other celebrations while he can. His family have gathered together in love, letting their father know how much he truly means to them. Too often we hear these words of praise at our loved one’s funeral, after they are gone. The children assist their father in any way they can, using their own strengths to help him begin to close his life. This involves selling his cars, reviewing his paperwork, cancelling his subscriptions and memberships, and delivering fresh-made meals on regular visits. He still has much to be thankful for. He still laughs everyday, his loud boisterous one-of-a-kind laugh that is his unique signature sign.

Start practising gratitude in your daily routine. You will be happier. It will enhance your life. It won’t have the power to remove negative conditions and experiences from your life but it does have the power to lift you up and give your life meaning and purpose, in spite of those difficult circumstances. Why not start today? What are you grateful for?

Choosing Beauty

In my present research and writing for a book I will be a part of dealing with grief, I have read Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning.” In it, he often quotes Nietzsche with “He who has a WHY to live for can bear almost any HOW” as he explains that it is not the circumstances of life that give us meaning and purpose, it is our attitude and choices we make that give us meaning and purpose. We cannot stop suffering in our lives, but we can choose not to suffer. We can choose to be responsible for our lives, even in taxing circumstances, and seek out the beauty, the small moments, the sensory gifts, that make the moment not only bearable, but even glorious.

Dr. B. J. Miller, in this Ted Talk video, speaks of dying and death. We can’t stop dying. But we can choose how we spend our last days. We can’t solve for death, but we can design towards it by making the life we have left more wonderful, rather than less horrible, He states, “You can always find a shock of beauty or meaning in what life you have left. If we love such moments ferociously, then maybe we can learn to live well, not in spite of death, but because of it.”

Frankl and Miller speak of the same things. Living and dying well is our responsibility. Rather than becoming a victim to our circumstances, we can direct the quality and beauty of our lives to the very end. Frankl quotes the Jewish scholar Hillel the Elder with:

“If I do not do it – who else will do it. And if I do not do it now – then when?”

Tragedy and Martyrdom

At the recent wedding of my daughter and her new husband, the room seemed to be immersed in love and positive feelings. It was a room filled with large and close family groupings. One of the extended families consisted of 63 adults, another included five siblings and their parents and partners. All the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely and there was a deep sense of community, family, and love among them. I knew that it was a room filled with people who had experienced pain and deep tragedy in their lives, but they didn’t come across as tragic figures or martyrs.

I watched with pleasure as six adult sisters dressed up in costumes and goofed around at the fun photo booth set up in a corner of the reception hall. I’m sure each one of them had experienced deep tragedy in their lives; they had lost their beloved mother in the past year, one of them I knew had lost a child at a young age, but there they were laughing, embracing and sharing the deep bond they obviously had for each other. At another table, a family member, who is dealing with cancer and is in active chemotherapy treatments, was there laughing uproariously with his large family as they shared stories and love. Most important of all, both families were having fun.

Life should be fun. When bad things happen or things make us unhappy, we can wrap ourselves up in it, cut the tragic figure, “Oh, woe is me!” Sometimes we can even take great pride in our tragedy: “Look at me. Look at how wonderfully I am handling my pain, my loss. Aren’t I wonderful?” We become the great martyr.

The sisters didn’t do that. The father, sick and weak with cancer, didn’t do that. We can’t stop the pain in our lives, but we don’t have to let it become our identity, the suffering martyr, the mourning tragic figure.

To live a life well-lived, let us remember that we are not grief itself. We experience grief. It is not my cancer. It is just the cancer. Don’t make pain your identity. Let it not define who you really are.