A Cat’s View of COVID-19

In 2011, I published Letters to Jennifer from Maudie & Oliver, a wonderful book of humorous letters for children and adult readers. It was written by Winnipeg author Sharon Gray, aka LIP (Live-In Person), from the point of view of her two precocious Siamese cats Maudie, the prima donna, and her brother Oliver, who doesn't get enough love because he lives with the prima donna.

Letters to Jennifer from Maudie & Oliver by Sharon Gray,
published by DriverWorks Ink

The cats share their day-to-day adventures, however maudlin or amusing, with their dear Auntie Jennifer – to lift her spirits while she battles cancer. Whether they are watching friends in the garden, jostling for space on their favourite wingback chair, or vying for the attention of humans, the compassion and silliness of Maudie and Oliver make for some terrific, light reading. And we all need more of that in our lives.

The book is no longer in print, but author Sharon Gray is still writing. She recently wrote a new letter from the cats to a friend who has survived two years of breast cancer treatments which, thankfully, led to remission but caused some serious, painful side effects. Sharon graciously allowed me to share her letter with you. She hopes it will lift everyone's spirits as we all go through COVID-19 together.  

LIVING MY LIFE AFTER MY HUSBAND’S DEATH – CHERISHING MY “BIG A”

(Months ago, my bereavement counsellor suggested that I write about this particular time in my grief journey. "It will help others," she said. I am now ready to share this story.)

Nine months was when it happened. When most people, aside from my family, lost interest in me talking about my pain and sadness over my husband’s death.

Some of my closest friends and supporters even struggled to feign interest and patience as I cried or poured out my broken soul to them. I couldn’t blame them. Their lives had only been mildly affected by the death of this outgoing, fun-loving, witty, gentle giant of a man, while my life had been utterly broken. After all, I spent almost 42 years with this man as a major part of my daily life. They did not. And after almost nine months of them caring for the newly widowed me, they had already said and done pretty much everything they could think of to try to help me through my grief. No, I couldn’t blame them.

To backtrack a bit, we learned in December 2015 that my husband, Al, was not going to survive the Stage IV colon cancer that hit him out of nowhere in August 2015. He died on January 4, 2016, a little more than two weeks after we were told his cancer could not be cured. His death was unexpected, shocking, and devastating for those of us who loved him.


His last wishes were that we, the people he loved, go on and live the best lives that we can. We are trying.

When it comes right down to it, no one can help you through ALL of the pieces of grieving the death of your spouse, the most important person in your life. Not your family. Not your friends. Not your pastor. Not your bereavement counsellor.

No one but you.

You have to do a big part of the work yourself. You have to figure out your new life without your beloved in it. And you have to try not to be offended or upset when people try to help you or, conversely, walk away or avoid you because they - and you - know they can't help.

At the end of September 2016, I realized that I had almost made it through nine months since my husband died. I was still sad, still broken. Although some people were trying hard not to suggest that I should “move on” or be more chipper, I saw that it was becoming more and more difficult for many people to visit with me and be dragged down into my puddle of grief.

So I decided to try to hold it in. To keep quieter. To talk less about him. To journal more and keep more of my pain, my thoughts, my sadness, and my loneliness to myself.

I had not been inside my own head so much in my life as I had been in those nine months. With no one to talk to every day, unless I picked up the phone or went away from my home-based business (which I used to share with my husband), my thoughts overwhelmed me, and I struggled to stay upright sometimes.

After he died, I had to rethink everything. Everything.

I soon chose not to come to many conclusions about my new life. I learned early that the best strategy when grieving such an excruciating loss is to take it easy. Take a deep breath. Take another breath. Keep going. Put one foot in front of the other. Get through this moment. Get through another moment. Don’t worry about the thoughts or advice or expectations of others. Do what you need to do in that moment. Rest. Cry. Yell. Grieve. But, most importantly, be gentle with yourself. (I wrote about this shortly after he passed away - What I've Learned About Grief) 

I still struggle at times to live out these helpful words.

What became very clear to me was that I had to work hard at staying positive. I needed to keep taking steps forward, as Al wanted for me and I wanted for myself.

I had moved my wedding rings to my middle finger a few months after Al died, but they were starting to look and feel wrong. I realized that they were making me sad, reminding me every day of what I had lost. Even if I was having a good moment or a good day, my wedding rings moved me toward sadness. It was not how I wanted to live the rest of my life.​

I tested a new look one weekend in September 2016 by not wearing my wedding rings. A few days later, on September 28, I took them off and did not put them back on.

In mid-September, I had heard a radio commercial for a local jewellery store that was closing at the end of the month because the owners were retiring. I had taken my wedding rings to that store for resizing a few years earlier, on the recommendation of Dionne Warner, the inspiring seven-time cancer survivor I wrote about in the Never Leave Your Wingman book. The owners knew Dionne and her amazing story, and the woman jeweller remembered and recognized me when I walked into the jewellery store two days before she and her husband retired from their business. I was impressed. 

I told her why I was there. “My husband passed away from cancer and I don't want to wear my wedding rings anymore,” I said. “I want something to remind me of him and our time together, but I don’t know what.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied. And she began to cry.

I was moved by her caring. We stood for a second, then wiped our tears and carried on. I asked about necklaces and she showed me options for melting down wedding bands and placing the diamond in the centre of the blob of gold. I laughed, and I imagined Al's laughter at that concept too.

“You wouldn’t be able to see the diamond from my ring if you did that!” I told her.


You see, Al and I became engaged in Calgary when we were impoverished students finishing up two years of journalism classes at SAIT. We went downtown one day in May 1975 to look for an engagement ring so we could get engaged before I left Alberta and moved to his home province of Saskatchewan to marry him and live happily ever after.


We found a ring that we liked and could afford. Since Al wasn’t getting paid from his part-time job as a pizza delivery guy for another few days, I wrote a cheque for the $30 down payment on my own engagement ring.​ That might seem silly to some, but it was reflective of our relationship – make the decision together, do what needs to be done, and move on.

Al paid me back after he got paid. No big deal.

So in September 2016, at the jewellery store in Regina, I decided that a blob of gold with my diamond set in a necklace was not for me. I also wanted to continue wearing other necklaces I own and I did not want to feel compelled to wear only one, so I decided to look to see what else was available.

The jeweller showed me some rings - starting at a very high price, of course, and then working down to a cost that was more to my liking. I asked to try on only two of the rings she suggested, but they were too bulky and ostentatious for me.

She then asked if I preferred gold or white gold. “My wedding rings are white gold, so that would be nice,” I told her.

She pulled out another ring from the display case and I knew this was my ring. It was beautiful. Perfect, in fact.​

This new ring is a combination of white gold and gold, and I immediately loved the design. Very unique and very personal. It fit my story exactly.

I bought the ring and asked for suggestions on where to take it for resizing since they were closing within 48 hours and could not do that work themselves. I wished the woman good luck in her retirement, then walked out of the store, pleased with myself and especially pleased with my purchase.

I wanted to show this ring to all three of our adult children in person over the next few days, so I kept the undersized ring inside its jewellery box and I carried it with me. That evening, I talked with our youngest daughter, Dani, after our yoga class. I told her about my decisions to stop wearing my wedding rings and to buy another ring in memory of her dad but also in recognition of my new life without him.

Dani was thrilled. “It’s an arrow pointing to your future!” she said of the design. She was proud of me, doing something just for myself (since I am not a me-oriented person) and moving forward with my life.

Her reaction surprised me. I had not seen an arrow in the design.

​The next night, I shared the story with our eldest child - our son Dave - and his wife, Kelli. Dave was shocked and speechless for a couple of hours, but that was my fault. I carelessly started the conversation by holding up my bare left hand and saying, “Look! No rings!” While I was excited by this, knowing the happy ending to my little story, imagine the grief that our son had to process in those seconds of recognizing that the band symbolizing his parents’ 40-year-marriage was now gone. I quickly apologized to Dave. I did not realize how that would look to him.

After I told Dave and Kelli the whole story and showed them my new ring, they were pleased for me. Kelli saw the design as a linking of two things. Dave told me later, “I really like it, Mom. It’s really cool and I hope it brings you some comfort.”

That weekend, I visited our oldest daughter, Lisa, and her family. Lisa was very excited by my purchase and loved the ring. “It’s two souls coming together!” she exclaimed about the ring’s design.

Friends who saw my new ring also thought the same – they saw the design as two lives joining or a clasp holding two people together.
​But that’s not what I saw in my ring.
​
​When the jeweller first held it up to me, I immediately saw an “A”. ​For “Al”. My Al.

​That’s why I bought the ring.

Weeks later, I laughed out loud when I remembered that my mom used to call my husband “Big A” – because he was almost a foot taller than everyone in my family and he was a lot larger than most of us too. His big personality matched his size as well. "Big A."

In my diary entry on September 30, 2016, the night that Dave told me he hoped the ring brings me comfort, I wrote:  “I know that it will. It already has and I’m not even wearing it yet. Al did not choose to get sick and die, but I have to choose to live and to live well. When I bought that ring, it was a big physical reminder of my decision to carry on without him here, but cherishing his memory and our love everyday when I look at my hand. He will always be with me, and now I will wear it on my finger as a visible symbol of our never-ending love.”

I cherish the many years I had with Al. I wish that everyone in the world would be blessed with such a great love. I miss him dearly every single moment of every single day, but I am so grateful that he was with me, that we were together.

I have been wearing my new "A" ring for eleven months now. For eleven months, I have felt love when I look at my left hand. Love instead of sadness.

​The never-ending love between me and my Big A.




​

An Angel Sign at Church - A Message from Beyond or a Coincidence?

I am a “liberal” Christian woman who believes in God, in Jesus Christ, and in angels and other out-of-this-world spiritual guides and helpers.

There. I said it. I believe in angels.

Oh. Were you stuck on the “I believe in God and in Jesus Christ” thing? Then this is not the blog post for you.  You may want to move on to reading something else.
​
Here I am, in 2017, believing in God and in angels … and in angel signs.

​I didn’t use to believe in angels much, aside from the whole “your guardian angel will protect you” thing that I was taught growing up in the Catholic faith. The thought of angels being around us all the time is a relatively new awareness for me. And it’s one I am just fine talking about now.

In 2012, when my oldest daughter, Lisa Driver, discovered her gift of talking to angels/departed loved ones – yes, like Long Island Medium, Lisa occasionally talks to dead people – I was curious. (I’m a trained journalist. Curiosity is essential.) The more Lisa researched, trained, and honed her gift, the more she wanted to help others, which led to her writing her first book, Opening Up: How To Develop Your Intuition And Work With Your Angels, I, being a good mom and a book publisher, volunteered to help her publish that book, and I’m proud that I did so because the book has won an award (Winner, Spiritual category, 2014 Great Midwest Book Festival) and has helped hundreds of people already.​

Lisa Driver, author of Opening Up

I knew that publishing this book would mean that I, as Lisa’s publisher and mom, would be asked questions about what I believe regarding angels, mediums, after-life etc. So I came to terms with my own changing beliefs.

I am a practising, faithful member of the United Church of Canada. Lisa was raised in this denomination too. As she explains in her book, “I was filled with peace when I heard the minister speak of a loving God who wanted the best for us and for us to love each other. The ministers, youth leaders, and families that attended were so welcoming, open, caring, and full of love. For me, church was (and still is) a place where I could go and feel accepted, faults and all.”

This is my experience with the United Church of Canada as well. Mostly. There have been times when things haven’t been all rosy – we are humans after all – but in general, my denomination and my local church congregation, worship services and committee work fill me with love, peace, and hope. Through pastoral care, prayer, and our work in the world, we help people serve others, embrace and celebrate life, heal, grieve, and be the best people that we can be. We are a caring community. I find my participation in my chosen religion is a fulfilling, wonderful way to live my life.

After reading Lisa’s Opening Up book, I accepted the concept that angels and angel signs are connected to God, or whatever you choose to call the Divine Love that guides us all. Many of my church friends also embrace this concept of angels and angel signs as other parts of their spirituality that they’d wondered about but couldn’t discuss before since it didn’t fall under traditional “church” concepts. It is marvellous for me, as a mother and a constantly evolving human being, to see the growth in myself and others because of these new concepts of connecting with our angels, shown to me by my daughter.

In Lisa’s Opening Up book, she notes that feathers and coins are two of the most common physical signs that people receive from their angels. “While finding a nickel on the street is common, if you find coins in mysterious places or when you are feeling down, know it is your angels getting your attention and trying to put a smile on your face. I had a client who found dimes everywhere – on her bathroom counter, on top of her microwave, even on her bed! She knew these dimes were a sign from her grandma that she was still with my client, watching over her and sending her strength and support. Feathers are a very common sign because of the wings we envision on angels.”

Which brings me to this amazing story…

One Sunday morning in late February 2017 was a very emotional day for me. It was not only my birthday – a day I did not want to celebrate since the recent death of my husband, Al – but it was an important day in our church year too. We held our annual meeting after our worship service, and a motion was made to remove my late husband’s name as a trustee for our church. This is church policy and an important step that I knew had to happen. I wasn’t ready for it emotionally though. Al died in January 2016 after a short battle with colon cancer. He was diagnosed as being terminal only two and a half weeks before he passed away, so I and our family and closest friends were still, in large part, reeling from this sudden death. (Lisa wrote about Al’s illness and death, among other things, in a wonderfully helpful way in her second book, Leap! How To Overcome Doubt, Fear, And Grief & Choose The Path Of Joy, which was awarded Runner-up, Spiritual, 2017 Great Northwest Book Festival, by the way.)

---

At our church meeting, a friend made the motion, on behalf of his committee, to remove Al’s name as a trustee. This friend fought back tears as he spoke and we all became quiet and emotional, watching this open display of affection and loss.

A few minutes later, a dear friend of mine, Nadine, stood on behalf of the Nominations Committee and put forward my name to be accepted as a trustee. I had volunteered to put my name forward for that position. I wanted to honour Al’s memory and I knew it was a job that was usually not too taxing time-wise and was something I could do, amid my grief, having been an active member of our congregation for more than 30 years. The nomination was accepted and everyone became sombre again after that vote. It touched me deeply.

---

About 15 minutes later, the meeting ended. Nadine came running up to me and said, “Deana! Look at me!” She grabbed my arms and turned me towards her.

I was confused. Nadine is quiet, rarely gets excited in public, and never yells.

“Look at me!” she strongly repeated.

So I looked at her face. “Look down,” she instructed.

Which I did. And there, on the front of the skirt of her beautiful red dress was a perfectly placed, small white feather.

“Wow,” I said.

“I know!” she said. “I swear, Deana, I stood up to offer your name as the nomination for trustee, and I wasn’t near anything, and I sat down and there on my dress was this feather. It’s like he approves of the nomination.”

I took a photo of this feather. I knew that Lisa would be thrilled by this amazing angel sign, and I wanted to remember it as well.

---

​Nadine was talking about my late husband, Al, of course, when she said “he”.

We have seen enough nickels and quarters dimes and feathers on our walks and at restaurants and various other places in this last year to know that he is with us, sharing in our daily lives, and that we should not question where they came from. They are signs from Al, my departed loved one, our departed loved one. Still, we are human and we want to figure out where and why.

As another dear friend, Susan, came up to us to visit, I asked Nadine to tell Susan what happened. As Nadine finished her story, she started trying to explain that she had no idea where the feather came from. Susan, being much more understanding of angels for much longer than I have been, interrupted, “Don’t try to explain it. Just accept it for the marvellous miracle that it is.”

So we did that. We smiled, knowing that this was a message for us and that we should accept it gracefully and gratefully.

As I left the church and walked out to my vehicle, I saw a nickel on the ground by the driver’s side door. Another message from my angels. “God is with you. You are not alone.”

It is easy sometimes to pooh-pooh concepts that are different from what you have been taught. In my journalism career, I learned not to dismiss the perspectives of other people, especially if those ideas and approaches were not harmful to others.

My mother passed away from pancreatic cancer a few years before Al died. My father and father-in-law had also passed, and a few months after Al died last year, my mother-in-law passed away. We have lost many dear friends and other family members in recent years. I miss them all and would do anything to have them back in my daily life, but that is not to be. Connecting with angels, with my dear departed loved ones and other loving spirits connected to God, brings me courage and hope to get through my days and, especially, difficult moments. These little angel signs bring a smile to my face and a light to my heart. Sometimes they make me laugh out loud at the oddball timing and placement of the signs. They help me get through the darkest hours. They are a gift from God and I accept them gratefully.

Keeping My Chin Up After My Husband's Death

It's been five months and 10 days since my husband, soulmate and business partner Al Driver died of colon cancer. Stupid cancer! I'm so tired of even thinking about it. So I try not to.

I try to get through the days doing some work for our book publishing company, spending time with family and friends, moving stuff around inside my house, and tending to my flower garden and small, new vegetable garden. I am thankful that it is summertime and I can go outside and take short or long walks or bike rides. I can sit in the backyard and ponder or look at the sky at night and talk to the stars.

A couple of weeks ago, I went for lunch with my dear friend Nadine - my girlfriend soulmate. After lunch, we went to a wonderful local garden centre and perused the aisles before buying a few plants for our gardens. At one point, Nadine pointed out this bench:

I started to cry. Heavily.

I turned away from the bench and my attention was drawn to a wall FULL of signs and sayings.

But I only saw this one:

I burst out laughing. I recognized my husband's wacky sense of humour jumping out at me from the many quaint, tender, and funny sayings on that wall. "Come on, Deana. You can do it!"

Thanks, Hon. I needed that.

Yes, I need to keep my chin up. The days will get better, the evenings will eventually be not as long and lonely, and life will return to a comfortable new normal some day.

Our daughter Lisa Driver, who is a gifted spiritual healer and author, sent me a link to the website of another author and blogger who writes about Second Firsts. I have been encouraged and inspired by Christina Rasmussen's blogs, her social media posts, and her changed attitude toward life after loss. I highly recommend her to anyone who has lost someone dear to them.

As I sit alone in my home-based office, I think of others who have come through this and I know I will do so too.

I will get through this with the help of people like you and my friend Nadine.

Thank you for your continued caring of me and our family.

I will enjoy the rosebushes that I purchased in memory of Al.

And I will keep my sense of humour and my love of life.

I will remember all the good times - and some of the tough times - that I had with my husband during our 42 years together. And I will continue to tell his story for the rest of my life so that no one around me forgets him.

And I will hold onto my faith and know that life will again be good.

Chin up, Buttercup!

Happy Birthday, Never Leave Your Wingman book!

Five years ago, on June 10, 2011, at Relay for Life in Regina, Saskatchewan we unveiled the inspiring, life-changing book Never Leave Your Wingman: Dionne and Graham Warner’s Story of Hope. 

Since then, much has changed and nothing has changed.

I am Deana Driver, author and publisher of this amazing, laughter-filled true story. I continue to celebrate this book and the people I wrote about – seven-time cancer survivor Dionne Warner and her husband/wingman Graham Warner.

Left to right: Al Driver, Dionne Warner, Deana Driver, and Graham Warner - launching the Never Leave Your Wingman book at Relay for Life, Regina, Saskatchewan on June 10, 2011.

Never Leave Your Wingman has changed thousands of lives with its inspiring messages of hope, love, and living life to the fullest. Thousands of people have changed their outlook when diagnosed with cancer, using Dionne Warner’s first-24-hours approach of “Why Me?” and then shifting it after that first 24 hours to her remarkable “Why Not Me and What Am I Going To Do About It?”

Dionne is still here. In bold, beautiful, living colours! Since the book was launched, Dionne has beaten Stage IV liver, lung and bone cancers - with strength, laughter, courage, and costumes too! She is a walking miracle.

                     

In January 2012, she was pronounced in remission. In April 2012, Dionne went back to her volunteering at the Allan Blair Cancer Centre in Regina, to help give other cancer patients hope and encouragement. Unfortunately, in August 2012, cancer was detected in Dionne's liver. Again. This was the fourth liver cancer diagnosis for her. With typical Dionne feistiness, she was signing Never Leave Your Wingman books with me at the Pasqua Hospital gift shop the very next day. She had not even given herself a full 24 hours this time to let the diagnosis sink in. Her immediate reaction had been: “It’s only one cancer this time, not four. They did not say ‘Stage 4’, and it’s not in my brain – so bring it on!”

Dionne continues to fight this latest liver cancer while continuing to inspire others with her courage, strength, and her story. She celebrated her 50^th birthday last October! She’s been fighting cancer for much of the last 20 years! Dionne continues to inspire.

The book’s title comes from a phrase (and philosophy) spoken by Graham Warner, Dionne’s husband. Shortly after Graham wooed Dionne to Regina from Toronto in 2001, she was diagnosed with her third cancer – liver cancer. They were engaged to be married at that time, but Dionne told Graham he did not have to marry her now that she was sick again. She said she would return to her family and her oncologists in Ontario and he could carry on with his life. An experienced pilot, Graham quickly replied: “You never leave your wingman.”

They have soldiered on together since, through better and worse, beating her two liver cancers and her Stage IV liver, lung and bone cancers, and now fighting liver cancer again.

In August 2015, my husband and publishing business partner Al Driver was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer. On the evening of August 20, Al had an emergency operation for what we thought would be diagnosed as a ruptured appendix. It turned out to be a tumour. Al quickly adopted Dionne Warner’s 24-hour rule and he fought his cancer as long and as hard as his body would allow. Our family shared hope, laughter and much love with him for the next four and a half months. (See my December 2015 blog post about cancer, hope, and love.) Unfortunately, on January 4, 2016, Al passed away. His body could no longer fight. 

But the story and struggle and hope and love still go on.

Much has changed and nothing has changed.

This Never Leave Your Wingman book has been a blessing to many and will continue to be a blessing and a beacon of hope for as long as it exists.

I am proud to say that I wrote it. I am proud to say that I published it. I am proud that we launched it at Relay for Life. I wish everyone at Relay for Life celebrations everywhere the best event they could ever imagine!

Our family will not be participating in Relay for Life this year. It is too soon. Too raw. Instead, we will be gathering to scatter some of Al’s ashes in the Qu’Appelle Valley this Sunday, the day that would have been his 62^nd birthday, just a week before Father’s Day. We will celebrate our Al and we will hold dear to the principles in this book. Live life to the fullest, as Al did and as Dionne and Graham continue to do. No regrets.

What I’ve learned about grief

I apologize to every person I’ve ever met who has lost a spouse to death. I had no clue.

While I knew that your spouse died, I didn’t know the kind of mind-numbing, gut-wrenching, life-altering, hole-in-the-chest pain that you must have experienced after their death.

I didn’t know until now. And I’m sorry I wasn’t a more compassionate, helpful friend to you.

I have grieved the death of my father-in-law, my father, my mother, and several close friends and family members. The pain of those losses was severe, but I did not feel the same kind of despair and complete heartbreak that I have felt since January 4, 2016, when my husband, Al, died only four and a half months after being diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer.

Al’s illness had no warning signs and his health went downhill quickly. He woke on the morning of August 20, 2015, with a pain in his abdomen. Emergency surgery found a fist-sized tumour on his colon, which led to a high-output ileostomy and numerous complications that required repeat hospitalizations over the next few months. Al passed away in a hospice bed in January, with me and several nurses at his side. Losing him has been confusing, frightening, surreal, sad, and so much more. It feels like a large part of me went with him when he died.

I try not to dwell on the discomfort he must have felt while so courageously and gracefully going through his cancer journey. (He hated the phrase “battling cancer”, so I try not to use it.) We had many beautiful, precious moments together during those last few months, but those are hard to remember when the pain is so raw.

I think about him every day, sometimes in almost every moment of every day. I know it is still early – only a month after he died – but sometimes the pain is so overwhelming that I can’t think of anything else. And I sit alone and try not to become consumed by the ache in my soul.

I try not to think of how empty my new life is right now. I struggle with finding a “new normal”.

I know, logically, that it will get better as I grieve and heal, but the heart doesn’t always work together with the brain, so I must go through this pain in order to move on. It is obvious that my journey on this earth is not yet finished and I need to continue to do the best I can to live my life to the fullest, while honouring Al and all that we worked for in our 42 years together.

I have learned a lot more about grief in the past month – from reading materials, by talking to family and friends, by attending a bereavement support group, and from experiencing it. I have also been reminded of many things that I learned in my years as a journalist about how to help others who are grieving.

What Not To Say To Someone Who Is Grieving:

“I know exactly what you’re going through. I know how you feel.”

No, you don’t. It is not possible.

Every human being is different and every relationship is different. Every grief journey is different.

You may have an idea of some of the feelings the bereaved is having, but you could never know exactly how they are feeling.

My relationship with Al and our time together before he died is very different from what anyone else experienced in their relationships. Plus, I barely know how I am feeling from minute to minute, so how could you know?

“Oh, I know. It still hurts ___ years later.”

Putting a time frame on someone else’s grief journey is not helpful. Every person is different and every grief journey is different. Phrases like this may also be an indication that you have work to do in your own individual grief journey and you may benefit from some grief counselling or support programs.

What To Say Instead:

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“If you’d like to talk, I will listen.”

 “Can I give you a hug?”

“Would you like me to come over and just sit with you?”

 “Can I call you occasionally just to see if you need anything?”

What I have learned that has helped me grieve my husband’s death:

• Breathe. Long, deep breaths.
• Be kind to yourself. You did not choose this. You need time to adjust to this new reality.
• Rest often or have a nap. Grieving is hard work. Do not expect to accomplish much each day, at least for the first while. Give yourself a break.
• It’s okay to feel sad. It doesn’t mean you will feel sad forever. It means you feel sad now and that’s okay. Give yourself permission to feel how you need to feel.
• Wherever you are and whatever you are doing, it’s okay to cry. You don’t need to explain your feelings or to apologize for them. You don’t even need to understand your feelings. You just need to feel them and express them if and when you can.
• Give yourself time to grieve. Grief is not an orderly series of stages that lines up perfectly with any given time frame. Grief has been described as “a tangled web of emotions” and it may take months or years for you to untangle some of those feelings. That is absolutely normal. Everyone’s grief journey is different. Remember that you are doing the best you can with the situation you had or have in front of you. Let that be enough for now. Try to ignore or stay away from those who think you should be “over it” or moving on with your life before you are ready.
• It is normal to feel like you do not want to go on. Usually, that is a fleeting feeling that will dissipate with time. It is not normal to consider suicide. Seek professional help immediately if you are considering harming yourself.
• Seek out bereavement support, whether that be in the form of an organized support group with facilitators, a religious or spiritual leader, a professional counsellor, or books from the library. Take what you find valuable from those resources and don’t feel bad about ignoring the rest. One of my cousins started a “grief scrapbook” in which she pasted helpful newspaper articles, clippings, tips, and meditations to help her grieve her husband’s death. I use a notebook.
• Read a good book or listen to music to distract yourself or, in my case, to bring you some happiness. This is self-explanatory, but I do happen to know of a little Canadian publishing house that has some pretty great books (wink, wink). And music can soothe the soul.
• Watch TV or a movie to give your mind a break. I have a couple of new favourite movies that have helped me to grieve my husband’s death.
• Write your thoughts and feelings in a journal, either daily or whenever you feel the need or desire to write. Don’t worry or feel bad if your thoughts change. That’s what thoughts do. Your thoughts and feelings are sure to change as you grieve and heal.
• Write a letter to your loved one. This may be especially helpful if the death was sudden or there were some things that were left unsaid. I write to Al or to God almost every night before bed. Sometimes the letters/journal entries are tender and filled with longing. Sometimes they are full of pain and tear-stained. Often, they are both. Always, they help me heal a tiny bit more.
• Make a list of the people who have offered to help you. Look at your list and choose whoever you will find comfort in during a particular moment. Then call them to chat or ask for help. My list includes people whom I can phone and ask to stay with me so I won’t be alone for the first while as I grieve.
• Don’t feel guilty about not responding to and staying in touch with everyone who contacts you. Choose what you need to do and who you need to talk to and let the rest go for now. Focus on you.
• Leave your home at least once a day. Go for a walk or a bike ride. Go for a drive. Give yourself a change of scenery. Remember that there is still a world out there.
• When you are strong enough, go places in your own vehicle. Then if you suddenly feel you cannot stay, you have the freedom to leave without disrupting other people’s plans. Be careful to drive only after your mind is healed enough to concentrate on the road ahead – literally – and to remember how you got home.
• Try not to dwell on feeling guilty. You may have difficulty accepting that it is okay for you to continue living your life. My husband, Al, asked me to promise him that I would live my life to the fullest and not let his death consume me. I replied that I would try, but that it would take time. I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it. Grief counsellor Andrea Mackay of Greystone Bereavement Centre in Regina SK explained that guilt is “the little bully that we all have inside us. When that guilt sits on your shoulder, flick it off, and tell it to F--- Off!”
• Try to think of the good times and be grateful, but try not to let the uncertain future break you into more pieces. You will feel sadness about the loss of future good times, but keep putting one foot in front of the other and focus on getting through one minute at a time, one day at a time.
• Allow yourself to take a break from work, if you are able to do so, whether it is for a few minutes, hours, days or longer. I am blessed to be self-employed and grateful that I do not have huge financial burdens at this time. I am thankful that I work with patient, caring, compassionate authors who have become friends and who have accepted my need to work at a slower pace and give myself time to figure out the new face of DriverWorks Ink publishing.

Thank you to all who have helped me and my family in any way during these past five months since Al's initial diagnosis.

Thank you for your understanding as I take time to slowly heal. I feel your love and it is appreciated.

From:  https://www.etsy.com/ca/listing/184864560/be-gentle-with-yourself

(You may be interested in this post from April 2017: Living My Life After My Husband's Death - Cherishing My "Big A".)

Sad News - Al Driver's Death

Hello, dear friends.

I am sad to tell you that our beloved Al Driver passed away from colon cancer on Monday, January 4, 2016, at about 10 p.m. at the Regina Wascana Grace Hospice. I was with him at the time, as were several nurses. He passed peacefully. The previous few days had been particularly difficult for him and us, so his passing was a blessing of sorts.

An obituary will appear in the Regina Leader-Post (via Speers Cremation and Funeral Services) within the next few days. (Obituary link) A service celebrating Al’s life (primarily organized by Al before his passing) will be held on Saturday, January 23, at 2 p.m., at Westminster United Church, 3025-13^th Ave, Regina, SK. At Al’s request, please wear bright colours to celebrate the laughter and love that he shared with the world.

Flowers gratefully declined. Anyone wishing to make a donation in memory of Al may do so to Heritage United Church, 1050 N. Arnason St, Regina, SK S4X 4K9.

Thank you so much for your love and care of our family during these past four and a half months. Cancer can be cruel and we felt you holding us up during those times on this journey. Please continue to hold our family and extended family in your thoughts and prayers in the days ahead.

The final word goes to Al, who chose this poem for his memorial card:

Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Everything remains as it was.

The old life we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no sorrow in your tone.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Our 40th Wedding Anniversary - From A Hospice Bed

Today is our 40th wedding anniversary. Strangely, we are celebrating that today for the first time in 40 years.

You see, Al and I were married twice - to each other both times. December 29th is the date of our first, legal marriage ceremony. January 17th is the date of our second, church ceremony.

We've never celebrated on December 29th before, but this year is different. This year, my husband is dying from cancer and it is important that we take every moment possible to celebrate whatever we can in whatever time we have left together. Even though he is lying in a hospice bed, getting weaker every day, we celebrate that we've been married – happily – for 40 years. That is a big accomplishment these days and we’re proud of ourselves.

Al and I met in college in Calgary, Alberta in the fall of 1973 and we became best friends before we began dating in January 1974. Al went home to Regina, Saskatchewan to work at the Regina Leader-Post newspaper for the summer of ’74 and I stayed in Calgary to work at summer jobs. Those were excruciatingly lonely months without him, but he phoned me often, in the middle of the night, using the Regina Leader-Post's long-distance phone plan. (Thank you, former sports editor Bob Hughes for being so kind as to allow these calls between two lovesick youngsters.)

The first thing Al said to me when he returned to Calgary in August 1974, for our second year of journalism school, was, "Will you marry me?"

I eagerly said, “Yes.” I couldn’t imagine a life without him.

We didn't officially get engaged until the following spring, at the top of the Calgary Tower, a few days before our two-year journalism course ended. Al had a job waiting for him in Regina and I only had him, so we agreed that I would move to Saskatchewan. It was an excellent decision on my part.

Our first wedding was a legal ceremony performed by a justice of the peace at the Regina Court House on December 29, 1975. We did it for the money.

One of Al's dad's friends informed us that if we got married before the end of the calendar year, Canadian income tax rules (in those days) would allow Al to claim me as a dependant for the entire year. This meant a significant tax benefit for a young couple who had nothing.

I was working as an invoice typist for a company that sold paper. I lied to my boss and said I had a doctor’s appointment that morning. (I had to lie - I needed them to still give me time off for our "real" wedding a few weeks later.) I left work at 11 a.m. to meet Al, his parents, his sister Linda, and one of our male friends, Terry, at the Regina court house. I didn't have any friends in Regina yet and Al's sister was still underage, so Al's mom signed the marriage documents as my witness. Our friend Terry signed for Al. (Strangely, Terry was an usher at our church wedding and not one of our best men. Our best men were likely both working that day and we must have decided not to bother them with this trivial event since Terry was available during time off from his job.)

The marriage ceremony lasted less than 15 minutes. Al took my wedding ring out of a box and put it on my finger at the appropriate time, as I did with his; we signed the papers; put the rings back in the boxes; took a couple photos; then went for lunch at a nearby pizza restaurant. I couldn't even eat much lunch because it took a long time coming and I would have been too late going back to work.

December 29, 1975.

Al's mom is wearing red. Al's dad is in the background.

Linda, Al, me, Terry.

Al continued to live at his parents' house while I lived in an apartment that became our first home as husband and wife after our "real" wedding weeks later.

On January 17, 1976, we had our church wedding in my hometown of Athabasca, Alberta. We made our vows in front of God, our families, friends, and many people we didn’t even know who were invited by my parents. That’s what good Ukrainian weddings were like in the 1970s.

January 17, 1976.

We have always considered January 17^th to be our wedding anniversary. December 29th was quickly forgotten.

Until now.

It’s unlikely that my beloved Al will be alive on our January 17^th, 40^th wedding anniversary. His colon cancer has spread to his bowels and he has been unable to eat for most of the last few weeks. It is sad, maddening, distressing, and heartbreaking to watch, but we have had many precious moments these past 12 days since we heard the news of the failed surgery attempt to remove his bowel blockage.

We have said all that we need to say to each other. I have read him dozens of tributes about him written by family, friends, co-workers, school chums, and more. We have seen many wonderful glimpses of his life and his impact on others through their eyes, and it has been good. Very good.

Al is strong mentally, when the painkillers wear off a bit, and he has surprised us many times over these past few days: waking to watch the world junior hockey games (hockey is his favourite sport); asking us to bring him an Orange Crush and then absolutely savouring the taste of it; providing a suggestion on how to further streamline our accounting processes for our book publishing business; telling our children, children-in-law and grandchildren that he loves them; and, as usual, correcting my verbal errors when I say the wrong name as I tell a story, and, I am sure, mentally rolling his eyes when I say dumb things. He has opened his eyes and wished me “Happy Anniversary” twice today, including after I read him what I intended to post on this blog. He is a good man.

And we have laughed. A lot.

Al watching world junior hockey with our
son-in-law Kyle, son Dave, and daughter Lisa.

Enjoying Orange Crush, with our
daughter Dani.

Al has been at peace with the notion that he is dying. Everyone dies. It is apparently his time. 

He wanted to make it to Christmas, which he did.

Al was able to come home for a few hours on December 22, to
celebrate an early Christmas with our beautiful family

He wanted to make it to our anniversary, which he did. 

He has lived a good life and, as he told me a few months ago before we knew how mean this cancer would become, “We’ve had a good run.”


Yes, we have, my love. Forty great years. Happy Anniversary.