Taking Things With Gratitude

November 3, 2013 — Pat Bertram

California sunriseWhen you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food, and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies with yourself. ~~Tecumseh

When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude. ~~ G. K. Chesterton

Gratitude is an integral component of health, wholeness, and well-being. According to a research project from the University of California, developing an attitude of gratitude makes us happier, healthier, more alert, able to sleep better, and better able to handle stress.

Since I’ve been going through a resurgence of grief lately (I call it grief, but it’s really more like self-pity), I’ve decided to devote the rest of this month to being grateful for oh, so many things — air, beauty, comfort, desert, energy, friends — an entire alphabet full!

Tomorrow is the day I Blog4Peace, but the day after, the fifth of November, I’ll begin my twenty-six days of gratitude, one for each letter of the alphabet.

Feel free to join me if you wish.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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The Return of the Sad Saturday

November 2, 2013 — Pat Bertram

My life mate/soul mate died on a Saturday, and for a couple of years, I had an upsurge of grief every Saturday even when I didn’t realize what day it was. (Somehow my body remembered.) It’s been a long time since I’ve had a grief upsurge and an even longer time since I’ve had a sad Saturday, but today I am tearful. I seldom dream about him, but early this morning I dreamt that someone we both knew had died. As we looked at the empty bed, he said, “It’s strange that she died right after I invited her to live with us.” I responded, “Maybe that’s what allowed her to die. Maybe the point of life is death.”

I woke then, and remembered that he was dead, and it made me sad. I haven’t been thinking about him much lately. I’ve been keeping myself busy, trying to build strength and rebuild my life, but this morning, my whole house-of-cards life came tumbling down.

I just now returned from a ramble in the desert, so the sadness has dissipated a bit, but all the pieces of my life are still in a heap at my feet. As the next few days progress, I’ll pick up the pieces one by one, and maybe this time the structure I build will have more permanence. Or not. No matter how good an attitude I have, no matter how much I become immersed in life-affirming activities, he is still dead and there isn’t anything I can do about it. I just have to continue on, realizing that my life has worth. I have worth.

At the beginning of my grief, I could not fathom ever being happy again, which was okay since somehow I didn’t think I had the right to be happy, but I no longer think that way. If our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t want him to spend his life mourning for me.

Still, it’s only natural to feel sad and to miss the person who meant more than anyone else, so I’ll remember him with sadness today, remember what he meant to me, remember his courage and his smile.

Tomorrow will be soon enough to go about the business of rebuilding my life and finding whatever happiness I can.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in grief, life. Tags: , , , , , . 16 Comments »

A Leftover From Grief

November 1, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I met a man the other day who mourned his brother. Both men were divorced (no children), and when newly single, they rekindled the closeness of their youth. They lived within a few block from each other, worked in the same area, often had lunch together or got together in the evening. They rebuilt the car one of them had bought as a teenager, and they went to car shows to display their refurbished antique. One brother worked as a new car salesperson, and often won incredible trips and cruises, which the two of them took.

The magrillen told me about his incredible pain after his brother’s death, and added, “I didn’t even know there was such pain.”

Many of us who have lost significant people in our lives have felt the same shock at discovering there was such pain. Most of us had experienced the death of others in our lives, but one particular death — in my case, the death of my life mate/soul mate — shocked us with the depth of pain we felt. Pain we didn’t even know existed.

If this pain was in us to experience, but could only be brought out by a significant loss, what else is in us that some sort of catalyst could bring to the surface? Is there a corresponding joy? Maybe a radiance or an intense glee that is hiding from us behind our usual stoic facades? We think we know who we are and of what we are capable, but we only know what we know. We can’t know what we don’t. So what is there we don’t know?

Intense grief brings us close to eternal truths, but are there other states (perhaps less painful ones) that can also bring us such wisdom?

For a long time now, I’ve had the feeling of wanting “more,” but I don’t know what that “more” is. I have a hunch the feeling is a leftover from grief, from the knowledge that as humans, we are so much more — can feel so much more — than we ever believed possible.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Excerpt From “Grief: The Great Yearning” — Day 214

October 30, 2013 — Pat Bertram

GTGYthmbI’ve come a long way in the three years since I wrote the following journal entry.  I still don’t understand the nature of life or death. Still don’t understand the point of it all, but the questions don’t haunt me quite as much as they did during the first years after the death of my life mate/soul mate.  I’m learning to live without him, learning even to want to live without him. Sometimes I see his death as freeing us — me — from the horrors of his dying, and I don’t want to waste the sacrifice he made.

I still yearn to talk to him, though. I miss talking to him, miss his insights, miss the neverending conversation. (“Neverending” is a misnomer — the conversation that began the day we met and continued for decades until he got too sick to hold up his end of the dialogue, did eventually end.) He was easy to talk to. He never misunderstood what I said. I could make a simple comment to him, and he understood it was a simple comment. He didn’t make a big issue out of it, just answered back appropriately. It seems now every remark I make to anyone becomes a major deal as I try to explain over and over again what I meant by the first remark. It’s exhausting.

I’m  grateful we met and had so many years together. Grateful for all the words we spoke to each other. Grateful I once had someone to love. Grateful that when my time comes to die, he won’t be here to see me suffer. Grateful he won’t have to grieve for me or be tormented by unaswerable questions.

Excerpt from Grief: The Great Yearning

Day 214, Grief Journal

Life/death has me very confused. I still don’t see that a person lives after they are dead. What survives, if anything? The part of us we never knew—the un-sub-conscious? If so, how would we know who we were after we were dead? Is it just the energy in our bodies that is released? If so, for sure we would not know who we were.

On the other hand, without some sort of afterlife, life simply does not make sense. What’s the point of it all? To survive? For what—more survival until there is no more survival? To help others? Why? So they can survive? For what?

If there is life after death, what do you do with eternity? You have no ears to hear music, no eyes to read or watch a movie, no legs to walk, no hands to caress another, no mouth to talk, no brain to think. Sounds like a horror movie to me. And what will we do if Jeff and I meet again? Bask in each other’s light? That would get boring after a minute or two.

I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whether life ends or continues after death, this is where I am now. So what do I want from the rest of my life? I don’t know. I’ve never really wanted much. I never even wanted happiness—I thought other things were more important, such as truth. But now? I truly do not know what I want, except that which I cannot have. I yearn desperately to talk to Jeff—not about anything in particular, just to talk. It’s like a voice hunger, or a word hunger. A dozen times a day I think of something I want to say to him, to ask him, to marvel at. Sometimes I just want the feeling of connection. I still yearn to put my arms around him and protect him from what will happen, but it’s already happened, and anyway, my touch never had the power to heal.

I know I’m strong enough to handle this—after all, I am handling it—but I DON’T WANT TO!!

Click here to find out more about Grief: The Great Yearning

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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And So Grief Goes . . .

October 27, 2013 — Pat Bertram

When you lose a soul mate or any person who connects you to the world in a significant way, you are born into the world of grief. At first, like any infant, you count your age in days, then weeks, and finally months and years.

I am long past counting the days and weeks since the death of my life mate/soul mate, though I can figure it out. (In case you’re curious, I calculated that it’s been 1,310 days or 187 weeks.) I’m even past counting the months. Today is an anniversary of his death, but without stopping to figure it out, all I know is that it’s been more than three and a half years but less than four.

numbersThis is a significant development. People who have never had to deal with the death of such an important person in their lives were spooked by my counting the days for so long, thinking I was unhealthily obsessed with the past, but that wasn’t the case at all. The days were milestones, ways of proving to myself that I could get through my grief one day at a time. And I have mostly gone through it. The horrendous pain, angst, and confusion of those first months isn’t even a memory. I can’t imagine anymore what I went through, can’t imagine how anyone could go through such a series of losses and come out the other end stronger and able to face whatever traumas life has in store. (In my case, not only did I lose my life mate/soul mate, I lost shared hopes and dreams, my most devoted fan, my best friend, and my home.)

When I talk about my grief, people assume I mean I still mourn him. To me, grief is the process, the whole spectrum of grief-related advancements including healing and rebuilding one’s life. The spectrum flows from the deepest black of despair to the brightest white of joy. Mourning is the sadness, the tears, the screams, the soul-deep pain — the physical manifestation of grief. I am long past the soul-deep pain, but I am still a long way from joy, so although I seldom mourn him any more, I still consider myself a child of grief.

Someday, that too will pass. Grief has taught me what we already know: things change. I never thought I’d laugh again, never thought I could live again. And yet here I am, all these months later, laughing and enjoying myself on occasion. I never thought I could forget him, and yet he is not always on my mind. For so long, I couldn’t bear the thought of settling down anywhere when I leave here (I am temporarily staying with my 96-year-old father, looking after him so he can be as independent as possible). All I wanted was to keep on the move. Travel See what life has to offer. I still think of leading such a spontaneous and unsettled life, but I am also weighing the possibility of settling down. I used to fear stagnation, but I am surer of myself and my solitary place in the world, and I doubt I would stagnate. I would do . . . something.

And so grief goes . . .

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Only Human?

October 26, 2013 — Pat Bertram

At least three times in the past few days, people have reminded me that we’re only human, and each time I could feel myself sliding down our evolutionary tree until my knuckles were dragging on the ground.

(Interestingly, that fall isn’t as far as it once was. Recent finds have shown that what scientists once assumed were three different species have been idenwarriortified as normal variations in the physical features of a single species. But we lay folk already knew that, didn’t we? It’s only common sense that not every member of a species has exactly the same physicality. The shortest living person measures 21.5 inches. The tallest measures 101 inches. I’m sure craniums also have big discrepancies, as do bones and bone density.)

Saying that “we’re only human” masks the truth of us, and believing it allows us to accept the basest part of our natures without feeling the need to aspire to anything more. Sure, we’re human, but we’re also divine, or at least have a glimmer of divinity in us. Even those who don’t believe in God believe we are sparked by something eternal — an energy that can neither be created nor destroyed.

We were born with god-like powers:

The power to interact with the world around us, to become part of the fabric of creation. (Life flows through us, the air becomes part of us, the very earth itself enters our body by way of the food we eat. We are creatures made of stardust.)

The power to participate in creation by way of procreation, making art, writing, living the life only we can lead.

The power to love, to laugh, to sing, to dance, to feel grief and joy, to be compassionate, to forgive.

The power to grow, to transcend who we are and become more of what we were meant to be.

Rob McNamara wrote, “Life will not let you divide the sacred and the mundane. You cannot separate the unsubstantial from the significant for they are married to a union fundamental to the very fabric of existence.”

Yet saying we are only human divorces us from the sacred and leaves the mundane. Why should we aspire to so little?

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Leading an Elegant Life

October 24, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Elegance. Such an elegant word, evoking images of times gone by, when clothes gracefully draped the human form, and people wrote with stylish hands.

Several times lately, I’ve stumbled across the word elegant in reference to both language and living, and I’ve become enamored with the idea of leading an elegant life. When people speak of elegance, they generally refer to things — the materiality of life — such as elegant dress or elegant furnishings, but what does that have to do with life itself?

According to my dictionary, elegance means pleasingly graceful; excellent, splendid. According to Wikipedia, elegance is a synonym for beautiful that has come to acquire the additional connotations of unusual effectiveness, simplicity and focusing on essential features.

So an elegant life would be a life of grace, excellence, effectiveness, and simplicity. Finding the essence of life and paring away that which is cumbersome, unattractive, or unnecessary. Overcoming the limits we have set for ourselves (or that others have set for us). Dreaming of becoming more of who we are.

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

During these past years as I’ve struggled to find a way through grief after the death of my life mate/soul mate, I’ve often talked about wanting more, though I have never quite known what I meant by “more.” Well, I still don’t know the specifics of what I mean, but at least I have a better way to describe what I want — an elegant life.

I have a hunch aspiring to lead an elegant life is not an easy task, but beauty and elegance never come without a price.

And it just so happens I have the rest of my life to spend on the pursuit of elegance.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Life After the Death of a Soul Mate

October 23, 2013 — Pat Bertram

What I love most about blogging is that sometimes when I start writing a post, new or buried thoughts percolate to the surface, ending up on the page and surprising me with insights. Yesterday, when I wrote Living Offline, I had no idea I was starting to look forward to the rest of my life. I’ve kept my head down, plodding along, trying new things, meeting new people, visiting new places, and apparently, somewhere along the line, I went through a renewal of sorts.

Many people who had gone through a grievous loss have told me that it takes three to five years to find a renewed interest in life, and so it is with me. In just a few days, it will be three years and seven months since the death of my life mate/soul mate, and I find myself involved deeply in life, not just with such difficult matters as looking out for my 96-year-old father and dealing with problematic family members, but also with taking care of myself and my well-being.

Sierra Club conditioning walkI’m physically active, eat right, and have accidentally become part of an intelligent and talented coterie. I say “accidentally” because when I joined a group of walkers, I didn’t expect to end up going to art shows that feature members’ work, hearing one member in a choir of madrigal singers, and seeing others dance. Because of these people, I’ve also learned not to fear old age. Although people of all ages walk with us, some of the most active members could be considered elderly, but I can barely keep up with those in their seventies. I have no idea what life has is in store for me, of course, but I do know that getting older doesn’t necessarily mean getting feeble. It just takes a bit of luck and a lot of physical activity and mental stimulation.

Grief goes in cycles, so chances are I will still be experiencing occasional grief surges (especially on the weekends when I can’t feast on the endorphins and friendship of the group walk), but now I know the truth: there is life after the death of the person who connected you to the world. There is even laughter. Maybe even joy.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Living Offline

October 22, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I seem to have more of an offline life lately than I do online, which is a throwback for me. I didn’t get a computer or get on the internet until 2007, but they came at a time of upheaval in my life (my mother was dying and my life mate/soul mate was declining) and they proved to be lifesavers. Well, mindsavers. I needed something to occupy my mind to keep from giving in to foolish worry (foolish because there was nothing I could do about either situation except to be available when needed), and learning has always been my forte. So I learned what I could about using computers, navigating the internet, blogging, social networking, and everything else that goes to making up an online life.

Origidesknally, I was gifted with a year of the internet, and after checking out libraries and finding other interesting sites such as the Internet Movie Database, I wondered how I could possibly use this unexpected gift. I figured that by the end of that first year, either I would find something to do, or I would get rid of it.

It didn’t even take a year, just a few months. Not only did I find something to do, I found a life, excitement, friends, even love of a sort. (I loved blogging from the first time I posted an article and understood what blogging was all about.) I also found support and encouragement. I don’t know how I would have dealt with the death of my life mate/soul mate if it weren’t for the bereft I met because of opening myself to the blogosphere.

Now, almost three and a half years after his death, I’m looking around my offline world, and I’m finding life, excitement, friends, even love of a sort. (I love walking with the local Sierra Club.) I no longer seem to need the screen of a computer to filter the worst of my worry or pain. I see the world through the excited eyes of child rather than the angst-ridden eyes of a bereft and lonely woman.

Parts of my offline life are hard, of course. I’m looking out for my 96-year-old father, dealing with problematic family members, and experiencing occasional upsurges of grief, but what isn’t hard is easy. Fun, even.

Instead of fearing the rest of my life alone, now I’m looking forward to seeing what I will make of myself.

***

(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”) Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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It’s In the Cards

October 21, 2013 — Pat Bertram

This is going to be a tough weekend for me, a convergence of people and events and influences from the past that I would just as soon not cope with. I wanted to run away but couldn’t find anywhere to run (except for a long solitary hike in the desert), and anyway, the situation has to be dealt with.

cardsNormally, I don’t put much faith in prognostications, but since I’ve been nervous about how I will handle the situation, I asked my sister to do a Tarot reading for me. (Strange, until recently, I didn’t even know she knew how to do a reading.)

Apparently, the cards say that I’m going to be fine. They say I have the strength and courage to do this, it’s something that needs to happen, and I have the skills and abilities to handle it. I hadn’t expected to feel anything but a vague amusement at the ways of the cards, but instead I felt relieved by the assurance that I’ll be able to handle what is coming. (I knew it anyway. I just got nervous.)

One odd thing — apparently, this weekend I will see myself as working with others, yet others will see me as being on a solitary quest. Something to think about.

If you’re interested, this is the layout of the cards, which seems to accurately describe the situation, my hopes and fears for the outcome. If you find a different, more disturbing meaning, I don’t want to know!

Celtic cross spread:

Card 1: The card in this position represents you. (VII Chariot): In control, confident, connected to the power of the world. Able to triumph over obstacles, achieve victory by focusing intent and will. Self-assured, assuming reins of power.

Card 2: The card in this position is about what the conflict is. (XV The Devil): This card is about losing independence, becoming enslaved, having limited options, feeling desolate, but choosing to stay in the dark. Needing to break free.

Card 3: This card represents the foundation or basis of the situation. (Ace of Wands): Having grounded energy and enough self-assurance to rise to the occasion; accept this as an opportunity, a challenge. The spark has been lit!

Card 4: Influences of the past affecting the situation. (Seven of Wands): Being trapped, in conflict, defending others against harm, evil. Having the strength and fortitude to take a stand, defend what you believe in. Having the faith and courage to face difficulties.

Card 5: What is likely to happen in the immediate future. (King of Swords): Contemplation, solitude, patience, wise understanding, compassion. Understanding that all aspects and needs of people must be balanced.

Card 6: The outcome you most desire. (Queen of Wands): Calm assured confident. Can handle anyone and anything- this is not arrogance, but understanding your skills and abilities. Dedicated, engaging, wanting peace, harmony.

Card 7: Your self-image, how you see yourself in this situation. (3 pentacles): Working with others, compromise, cooperation.

Card 8: Influence of those around you/ how others see you in this situation. (8 Cups): On a solitary quest. Relinquishing the material world to seek answers from the depths, the underworld. Maybe upsetting the balance in order to achieve something greater- a more lasting connection or peace.

Card 9: What you hope or fear the most. (4 cups): Getting lost in yourself, not belonging, loneliness, boredom. Being too self-absorbed, introspective, seeking too deep into own concerns, lost in reverie.

Card 10: Outcome. What is most likely to come of it all if nothing much changes between now and then. (3cups): Coming together, creating something together, celebration, friendship, relying on others. Some sense of community, working things out together.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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