January is the month that my daughter died.

Like many of you who have lost a child, the anniversary month is painful, accompanied by an ever-present aura of anxiety.

Recently I was reminded of a well-meaning “professional” who once told me to “fake it until I made it.” Like I had lost a job or was depressed over a bad relationship. In retrospect, I can only say that was and is horrible advice - a platitudinous line of crap that does not apply to grief.

Faking it by shoving all your pain and sorrow in a deep dark place never to be discussed again does not help. It only makes you feel fake.

Grieving is hard. It takes time. In fact, it takes a lifetime.

Whether you lost your child last week, or 50 years ago, you will never get over it. The loss is permanent and woven into every fiber of your being.

Yes, you learn to move forward, live again, laugh again, experience joy again, but you will never get over it. We will never be who we were before our loss, and we can never un-lose our child.

We can only honor and hold tight to the continued love we feel for them while trying to live the best life we can - but we do not get over it.

That is a reality worth grieving over – not faking over.

Be well my friends.

                                                ©2021susanfurniss.com

November is always a hard month for me to get through. This year was no different except I found myself pulling away and not wanting to share much of anything. It was a time of silent reflection while trying to gain perspective and direction. But as it always does, time moves on, the calendar changes and I got through it.

Right now, there are many who are approaching their first Christmas without their loved one. It can be really tough when you feel such pain and longing inside while seeing everyone else’s joy and happiness. It can be so hard to take. If you know someone newly grieving, reach out with love. And if they do not respond – go gentle on them – try and understand – and another time, reach out again.

Then there are those of us who have been going through this a while now and it is still really tough because you keep bumping into ghosts of Christmas past. You might be past the acute grief, but you still hurt. You still long for that person. Some may even try to be strongest person in the room because otherwise “coping” with Christmas would be impossible.

The holidays may be a “forever battle” for some of us. But you learn that the pain and heartache can exist with the joy and happiness. That the grief we feel so freshly during the holidays can be a gift. A gift so that we never forget how beautiful those past holidays were, how easy gratitude was, and how effortless singing a song of joy could be.

So let us continue to lift each other up. To laugh, cry and learn from each other. And most of all, keep holding onto the love that our loved ones left us like there is no tomorrow!

Blessings to you all.
                                                         ©2020susanfurniss.com

This is Gertie. She is a little pygmy goat that belonged to my daughter Jonnie Sue before she died.

Since her death, I’ve looked after Gertie and the other pygmy goats that belonged to my daughter. There used to be five but only 3 are still living – Gertie, Peanut & Buttercup.

Over time people have encouraged me to get rid of them. Although I’ve thought about it from time to time I have not done this for several reasons.

I would worry about where they would go and how they would be treated. I wouldn't want them to be split up because they are a family. I know this because I watch them interact with each other daily. They depend on each other and their funny little routines in surroundings they know. And because they are defenseless, they depend on me for everything about their lives.

A few weeks ago, I was out of state. When I returned Gertie had somehow hurt her right front leg. She couldn’t put any weight on it forcing her to hop from place to place. With relief, the veterinarian confirmed her leg wasn’t broken and ruled out any hoof disease. It was most likely badly sprained. He treated her with several shots and left me a bottle of medication and syringe to dose her every day until she was better.

While this may sound like a simple enough task, I can assure you that it definitely was not! This simple act of giving Gertie her daily dose of medication invariably always began with a stand off and ended with both of us in some ridiculous pose on the ground. It required patience, timing and laughter (along with some muscle rub for me). But after a few weeks I’m happy to say that her leg is completely healed and she is back to her usual sassy self.

My point in telling you this story is that nature and animals are the best teachers on life. Although these little goats gain something from me, I gain more from them in return. Being in the presence of animals can sometimes seem like a little prayer that can feel like hope.

While their care and feeding may sometimes feel like a burden - my interactions with them are engagingly therapeutic and surprisingly grounding. Every day when I’m out at the barn feeding and caring for these little creatures – I’m having a moment while doing these tasks. A moment - a time of intentional turning toward my daughter and remembering her with the caring of animals she loved.

For now, these 3 little goats will remain on my small farm while I watch them grow old in peace and love and serenity.

Sending you a little animal love today from Gertie.

                                                     ©2020susanfurniss.com

While it’s not officially Fall, this is the last day of Labor Day weekend which most consider the end of summer.  For many it’s a time of looking ahead and looking back. Recognizing that change is coming. Change is always coming.

Summer the season for leisure, fun and adventure. The long days, sunshine, fireworks and fireflies.

It seems like it just got here and now it’s leaving. Evenings are coming much sooner, the nights are cooler as cold weather creeps closer. It’s always a bittersweet transition.

It’s been a long time since my children were small, when they still considered themselves a unit and relied on each other. This summer the fireflies were beautiful and numerous, and I was reminded of those times and the special summer months that we passed through so long ago.

For my three children summer symbolized freedom and carefree days. I remember their squeals of delight as their little bare feet darted around the darkening backyard catching fireflies. Little hands sticky from earlier popsicles capturing tiny flashing bugs that brought magic to a summer night, calling out, “Got one!”, then, “Me too!”, “Me! Me too!”

It’s an ancient backyard ritual. Fireflies are magical.

I remember tucking them into their beds, as their sun kissed faces gazed in awe at the twinkling and blinking coming from the mason jar on their night stands.

Fireflies, tiny emissaries of nature. They are here and gone too quickly. What did we do to deserve them?
The magic of fireflies can’t be bottled and sold, and they are so extremely difficult to photograph. It really can only be experienced live. Just like life.

I think of my children now, grown, living lives of their own. My youngest no longer living. But I remember and I wonder – what did I do to deserve them? All the joy that they brought me can’t be bottled or sold, nor could all those precious, fleeting moments be photographed.

Similar to fireflies, my children, began as tiny emissaries of love, captivating me from the first moment - in a single flash. The light of their love continues to twinkle and light my life even on the darkest of nights. They shine and leave their mark on the world.

Soak up these last fleeting days of summer for we are like fireflies of summer – here one moment, gone the next. It’s over all too quickly - these cycles of the seasons and our lives.

As we say goodbye to summer and welcome another season - remember that there will be the beauty of changing trees and piles of leaves to jump into. Followed by the excitement of the first snowfall and the quietness that winter brings as we wait for the renewal of spring.

And before we know it, fields and meadows will come alive again as tiny twinkling lights dance in the air. And like soft rain on a pond, little bare feet will be in pursuit and the music of children’s laughter will float in the evening air like the enduring belief in magic.

Every season is worth savoring. Make sure you enjoy the view for life increasingly marches on.

                                                             ©2019susanfurniss.com

                                                                 ©2019susanfurniss.com

A week ago, June 8, was my wedding anniversary. Since my husband’s death, I’ve struggled every time the date rolls around. This year, all I wanted was to feel peace and gratitude for the gift of our love. I didn’t want to cry and feel so sad – but to honor and remember this date with quiet reflection. So, I went to the florist and got a red rose for every year of our marriage and white roses for every year he’s been gone. It was a lot of roses!

I then wrote a note, took the arrangement to the church where we were married. After some quiet moments in the sanctuary I left the arrangement there in gratitude -in memory of us – him and I. And I felt peace.

A few days later I flew to Montana where I’ve been traveling and enjoying epic vistas at every turn. Most people find it frightening to travel alone. Not me. Time alone when traveling can be both rich and restorative - allowing sensual details of the world -patterns, textures, colors, tastes, sounds - that are difficult to do with others.

I’ve been wandering around in huge sections of landscape with no one else around. Only the sound of my own footsteps and the wind making the tall prairie grass sing. Truly the address of my soul – and soothing beyond words.

I feel him strongly here. Since his death I’ve always talked to him. I tell him things and imagine I know what he’d say. The conversations have been more frequent this past week.

I miss everything about him – the way we were together. The exact combination of him. Eyes, hands, the mole on his cheek, the way he loved me.  The sound of his voice. The ornery smirk that that would bust into a full-face smile. Sometimes I wonder at the grace that he and I ended up together.

He’s physically gone but the essence of him will never be gone from me. I cherish what he left me with. That I still feel his love. That I can still talk to him. That he's still answering.

I’m not really traveling alone.
                                                    ©2019susanfurniss.com

Anyone who’s lost someone they love deeply understands about grief triggers. They come without warning brought on by the simplest of things. Today I was involved in a drive by – boom – there it was – and then it was gone. Leaving me in its wake. The perpetrator was a song and it happened like this.

I was in the cereal aisle, my hand lifting a box of named brand, sugar filled junk, but froze midair when the song came on. In a split second I was transported back.

My first day in a school where it seemed everyone knew everyone but me. A sea of faces I didn’t recognize or really want to know. In fact, I didn’t want to be in the state, town or much less the school. It was second period class when a blond hair boy with a cute mole on his left cheek turned around and said, “Hey, what’s your name?”

The rest is as they say, “ is history.” We were happily married, had a family, loved each other fiercely, then he died.

And then, there I stood in a grocery aisle, intently staring at a cereal box with tear filled eyes - listening to this song whose first line became a loving joke between us.

And then my heart smiled, envisioning him as he was then, and then older as he’d come up behind me, wrap his arms around my waist and with that romantic spirit of his, whisper in my ear, “Hey, what’s your name?”

I came home and downloaded the song on my mp3 -  listening with love - not tears. It’s a cherished memory and I can remember it now and smile.

And if you need a smile – Don and Juan were an R&B/doo-wop vocal duo who recorded “What’s Your Name?” in 1962. That’s right - Don and Juan. You can't make this stuff up!

The song remains an enduring classic.  Maybe you'll listen and sing along...

                                                       ©2019susanfurniss.com

The fireworks and the celebrating have come and gone.

Want to know why welcoming a New Year is hard for grieving people? For me it’s this: when I say goodbye to this year, and begin another – it’s a harsh reminder that my husband and daughter will not live one single second, minute, hour or day in 2019. As more time passes between the last time they were each alive…the harsher it seems.

I have memories of them in other years. But I’ll never have memories of them in this new year or the years I’ve lived without them on this earth.

Yet the New Year has begun and we somehow keep moving on – whether we like it or not. On the bright side, we’ve survived the holidays mostly intact. That in itself is a small victory we can claim.

Will I say, “New year, new me?” No. You’ll never hear me say that. I’m alright just as I am.

Endings and beginnings happen no matter the date. The thing to remember is each day counts.

I don’t have resolutions to proclaim.

I don’t have an epiphany to carry into the new year.

The things I carry into this new calendar are the same as they were last year and the year before that:

• Continue to speak my loved one’s names.
• Tell my story and that of others.
• Embrace my memories.
• Keep reinvesting in life and love.
  
  Happy New Year. May it be a gentler, softer year for everyone!
  

                                              ©2018susanfurniss.com

The calendar says 1 day till Christmas. The sounds are in the air. Jingle bells. HoHoHo. The push to be happy. Such a lovely time of year. But if you're grieving and can't face all the merriment culminating in a big day filled with memories... the very idea of having to be happy can fill you with dread.

I guess there’s probably no time of year when it’s harder than right now – to be “merry”, “bright”, and “happy.” Every grieving person knows the holidays suck. It’s like a seasonal absence amplifier. Trying to wrap grief in bright colored ornaments, shiny paper, or decorated cookies only magnifies the shape of the missing presence.

And the worst of all – having to sign Christmas cards with a name missing, one less stocking to hang, special ornaments that stay in the box, one less present to buy, one less person to kiss under the mistletoe, and having to saying Merry Christmas at the foot of a grave.

Then there are the days that you don’t want to do Christmas at all. Not at all.

The first year people give you a pass. The second year and the years after you’re expected to be back in the swing of it. And the worst part – you get down on yourself for not being where you thought you’d be. Not being as “together” as you thought.

But the truth is, after the first and second years the numbness and fog are gone and the reality of the pain still hits you and hits you hard. It doesn’t get easier - you just learn to navigate it better.

As I sit here writing this on Christmas Eve, my goal is to remain present and get through these next couple of days.  I know that even in the saddest of times joy, laughter and happiness can appear. The magic of Christmas is choosing your own way to keep those that we've lost in our hearts, and cherish those that we still have in our lives. It's about taking the good with the bad. It's about moving forward and not pretending it doesn't hurt or wallowing in the bad. Just trying to let it flow into what it can be now.

My wish is that you can find a way to be “Happyish” this Christmas.

                                                        ©2018susanfurniss.com

Today is your birthday. And of course, I’m sad that you aren’t here. There are so many good, precious memories flowing through my mind. But truthfully, I’m a little angry too. Angry because you deserved better than what happened. Much more. You deserved to see your sons finish growing up, becoming adults. You deserved to have more time. A chance for life without tragedy and illness. A chance to grow old. To have decades of living life. Yes, you deserved it all – instead of what happened.

I’ve found ways to deal with your death – some of the time. Not all of the time. It depends. Sometimes I can hold back the tears. Mostly not. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to shut you out. But how could that even happen? It wouldn't even be possible. I have to keep you with me. That’s what parents do, they keep their children with them. Just because you died doesn’t mean I can’t keep you, carry you, and still love you.

My heart can’t help to ache that you’ll never celebrate this day again. But I'm thankful for the blessing of you to me and all who knew you. I’ll love you forever. And I just fiercely yearn to see you again.

Wherever you are today my sweet daughter, my wish is that you are surrounded by as much love and light as your memory is here on earth. It's what you deserve.

You are missed. You are remembered. You are loved. Happy birthday Jonnie Sue.

©2018susanfurniss.com