Six Months after Robert’s Death

By Joan Price | February 2, 2009 |

I’ve written about losing Robert to multiple myeloma last August and taken you with me on many of my steps forward. I return today, six months after Robert’s death, to check in with you again. You have been marvelous, posting comments here and emailing me privately with your warm messages and your stories.

If you’re a new blog reader, I’ll update you briefly. Yes, this blog is — almost all of the time — about sex and aging. The reason I wrote Better Than I Ever Expected: Straight Talk about Sex After Sixty and started this blog was because I found great love in later life — I was 57 and Robert was 64 when we met. My work changed from writing about health & fitness to writing and speaking about sex after 60. I decided to face full-on and speak out loud against our society’s stereotype of older-age sex/love/dating as unseemly and icky.

Robert and I had seven years together from first kiss to last and I still feel him with me, especially when I teach my line dance class, where we met and where we continued to dance.

I’m dedicating whatever it takes to the process of grieving and moving through grief. Here are some of the tools and helpers I’ve found since I last wrote Discoveries Helping Me Move Through Grief three months ago. In case this helps you or lets you help someone else, I share them with you:

I’ve learned plenty from the counselors from both Hospice (Rick Hobbs) and Kaiser (Connie Kellogg) and although sometimes I entered their quiet rooms thinking I’d never stop crying, they accepted me with compassion and skillfully taught me ways to cope.

I took an amazing full-day workshop from Joe Hanson, author of Soaring Into Acceptance (available from the author). Among many gifts of that day, I was able to change my one-sentence “story” from “I lost the love of my life, and my life is and will be empty without him,” to “I found the love of my life and learned how to experience love fully, and I take this with me on my path.” (Joe will be repeating this valuable workshop, “The Power of Acceptance,” on Saturday, Feb. 28, 2009, in Larkspur, CA, near San Francisco. I heartily recommend it.)

I’m in a Hospice spousal bereavement group. The best part is getting to know other people who experienced the same kind of loss at roughly the same time. Because of the confidentiality of the group, I can’t disclose much about it, except that it’s helping me move forward. I recommend taking advantage of everything Hospice has to offer.

I’ve continued to reach out to loved ones and to new friends and welcome them into my heart. Being close to people who understand me balances my need for a lot of solitude. Extending help to others who need it balances the help I need to accept from others.

Each month gets a little easier.

Yes, I’ll write that next book. Writing still brings me joy, and I’m no less committed to the mission I’ve established here. For now, I’ll continue to indulge in short spurts of writing and when I’m ready, I’ll take on the book I’ve been planning for more than a year.

Thank you for your compassion and confidences. Keep those comments and emails coming, even if I’m not as quick to answer as you came to expect.

Warmly,
Joan

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Ashes to the Wind

By Joan Price | December 15, 2008 |

Yesterday would have been Robert’s 72nd birthday.

A year ago, we spent his birthday hiking the craggy Northern California coast which he loved, watching the waves crash over the rocks, holding each other as if we might never have this experience again.

Yesterday Robert’s family and I retraced those steps. The day was blustery and cold, the ocean silver green under grey skies instead of the sunlit blue it had been a year ago.

I sprinkled some of Robert’s ashes, and the wild wind sucked the ashes into the air in a dancing cloud. I did it over and over, my tears turning to laughter as each time the ashes took flight, like a magic trick, then disappeared into air.


(photo by Mitch Rice, Robert’s son)

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Discoveries Helping Me Move Through Grief

By Joan Price | November 2, 2008 |

Robert died three months ago today. Although this post has nothing directly to do with sex, so many of you have sent me compassionate emails that I’d like to share what I wrote to my online grief support group today:

I’ve been working hard at finding ways to create some semblance of balance and — dare I say it? — moments of joy in my life amidst the powerful grief that comes in waves and knocks me to the ground. I’d like to share some things that have worked for me, just in case any of them might be useful to some of you. Feel free to add to the list if you have something to share that has worked for you.
Problem: Out of control crying had reduced me to a crazy, quivering mess and sometimes lasted days without a break, intensified by not being able to sleep for more than 2 hours at a time. I felt physically and mentally ill from the ravages of grief.

Solution: Doctor prescribed an antidepressant (for “situational depression” for six months), a sleeping pill, and a counselor. The combination has brought me indescribable relief. I still grieve and sometimes feel like I’m pedaling through peanut butter, but at least the elephant has stopped kicking me in the chest and stomach.

Problem: I knew journaling would help, but my writing fingers felt paralyzed for the first two months — did I write memories of Robert and talk to him in my journal, or did I write about ways I was trying to move on? The two seemed to cancel each other out.

Solution: I started TWO journals. In one, I write to Robert and remember the special things he/we did and said. In the other, I write about my steps towards creating a new life: making new friends, insights from counselor and friends, little things that make me happy, if only for a minute. This has worked splendidly — I write in one journal, then switch to the other.

Problem: Morning ritual was so special. After wonderful snuggling, Robert would say, “I’m going to make you coffee.” He would get up, bring me the morning newspaper and coffee in bed. I would share something from the paper that might interest him, and sometimes he would just sit and watch me lovingly as I read, or he would go out to tend his garden. He painted a special bell (he was an artist ) for me to ring when I wanted a coffee refill. It was a glorious and loving start to the day, and without him, mornings felt so empty.

Solution: Replace missing ritual with new one. I cancelled the newspaper subscription (don’t even miss it). Now I get out of bed, make my coffee the way he used to, but I bring it to my favorite chair that looks out on the yard and I write in my journal while I sip.

Problem: My world was Robert. I did much independently, don’t get me wrong, but he was the one with whom I walked , danced, went out to dinner and films, talked about everything.

Solution: I reached out to old friends and made new ones. I thought about people whom I liked and would like to know better. Several had extended invitations to me, but I wasn’t ready. I contacted them and made walking dates and coffee or dinner dates. Now I have people I can do things with, and they understand when I get tearful.

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Dreaming of Robert

By Joan Price | September 9, 2008 |

Last night I dreamed of Robert for the first time since he died. I had wished to dream of him, to see him again.

In my dream, I was sleeping and woke to find his naked body — strong, no back fractures — beside me. I sidled into his embrace, inhaling his scent (which I always loved, and which was vividly real in the dream!). Oh, he’s just been away on a trip! I thought, trying to make sense of his beautiful body beside me.
Suddenly I started to sob to him, “I can’t bear being apart from you! Let’s stay together for the rest of our lives!””Yes,” he answered quietly.I looked into his dear face. He was gazing at me intently, lovingly.”But how did you get here?” I asked him, suddenly thinking that our house was a long way from the airport. “I have your car!”He looked at me puzzled and perhaps amused. Then he started to fade away and I woke up.
(photos by Robert’s son, Mitch Rice)

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