prior to his death.
My daughter Heidi was off to her freshman year of college. Her brother Scott was a junior in high school. Heidi asked if she could take a small portable television to college with her. As it happened, the television set was residing in Scott’s room. We agreed that she could take the television set, but when it was time for her to leave she found the set handcuffed to Scott’s bed and Scott nowhere to be found. Needless to say, the television set never left the house.
No doubt Allen’s writing will lift your spirit and inspire you to remember and share heartwarming and funny stories of those you have loved and lost. Thank you, Allen, for sharing your life, love, and humor with the world. You’re a one-of-a-kind treasure.
Gloria Horsley, MFC, CNS, PhD
President and cofounder of Open to Hope
Dear Reader
While this book comes out of the lessons I’ve learned about loss from the death of my wife, the thoughts within address all kinds of loss. The feelings that often accompany the loss of a loved one also apply to such things as losing a pet, getting a divorce, being let go from a job, or any other major setback in your life. Any loss can be overwhelming. The aim of this book is to help you realize that loss is part of life, that it can be one of our greatest teachers, and that, in spite of your loss, you can once again fully partake in what life has to offer.
After my wife died at the age of thirty-four, I was devastated. I went for counseling to deal with my grief. After three sessions, the therapist told me that life is difficult. I fired him. I walked out of his office. I didn’t need to hear that. I was living it.
I also sought out books about grief. I thought that they would help me understand my loss. Most of them did not. They were huge tomes, more than I could handle at the time. Most of them told me how horrible I might feel after losing a loved one. That I might not have my appetite, not sleep well, and/or be depressed.
That advice did not help me deal with my grief. I needed something that was easy to read. Something that provided encouragement. Something I could turn to on a daily basis for inspiration and uplifting thoughts. Something that spoke to my heart, not my head. Finding none of that in most grief books, I wrote my own. It is the book you are either holding in your hand or reading in a digital format.
My intention for the book is that it will provide comforting, heartfelt thoughts and a lighter tone not found in other books on loss. I also hope that it will show you that there can be a positive side to loss and help you understand that, although your loss is a life-changing experience, it need not necessarily be a negative one. And that, because of life’s brevity, a loss can be a powerful wake-up call to celebrate life.
Please note that I am not advocating avoiding the grief caused by loss or rushing through it. Unexpressed grief can come back again with a stronger force. It is important to fully deal with the grieving process after a loss. However, my goal in writing this book is to help you go beyond your loss to embracing life fully again and, yes, even laughing again. And to help you go from merely surviving to thriving. Also, I hope that it will uplift your spirit, touch your heart, and nourish your soul.
P.S.: The advice in this book is what worked for me during my time of loss. Some of it may seem right for you, some of it may not. As with any information, take what fits and leave the rest behind.
Opening Diary
Sunday, June 24
I have no sisters. I do, however, have a cousin who has been like a sister to me. We grew up together, shared many a happy moment at a Broadway show, and enjoyed numerous fun-filled meals together. And even though she lived on the East Coast and I on the West, we were very close.
Three days ago, I found out that she has leukemia. And, at her age of seventy-eight, the doctor doesn’t think the prognosis is very good.
I am very upset. I have not only felt like crying in the past few days but have actually done so several times. And while I haven’t consciously tried to find some humor in the situation (I am still in shock), there is a picture hanging on my wall in the hallway that brings a small smile to my face every time I see it.
It is of Bernice and some Disney-like character. The oversized bird’s bright yellow beak and Bernice’s nose are touching. Her face is glowing with laughter and joy.
This photo is the essence of Bernice’s spirit—upbeat and playful. It is a wonderful reminder to me that, although Bernice’s body may be going through turmoil right now, her bright spirit will remain forever.
Wednesday, July 4
Thoughts of Bernice are all-consuming. I wake up at night thinking of her. Every time the phone rings, my fear is that there is some bad news.
Wednesday, July 11
I’m out of town, attending a week-long conference in San Diego, California. The phone in my hotel room rings at two thirty in the morning. Without even answering it, I know exactly what has happened. I check out of the hotel and I’m on a plane to New York to arrange for the funeral and Bernice’s burial.
Friday, July 13
Bernice’s coffin is lowered into the ground. It is Friday the 13th.
Saturday, July 14
The day after the funeral, my daughter and I decide we need some quiet time together. We stay around Bernice’s apartment going through some of her possessions. In the afternoon, we take advantage of the unusually cool, for New York, summer weather and go to a nearby museum. There we spend time reflecting in a tranquil setting.
But the tranquility doesn’t last long. Unbeknownst to us, it is the museum’s annual fundraiser. When we enter the museum’s courtyard, hundreds of people are starting to gather. The DJ is working his musical magic, the band is getting ready to take over, and the crowd is anticipating the loud and lively late afternoon.
We get caught up in the festive scene, order a beer, and delight in watching the spectacle of the young New York art scene. There we sit, forgetting—at least for a while—that Bernice’s funeral occurred just a little over twenty-four hours before.
We also realize that the solitude we planned for that day was not to be. When the loud music gets a bit much for us, and the crowd starts to become overbearing, we head for one of Bernice’s favorite neighborhood restaurants. Just before our meal arrives, a young man takes a seat next to our table. With his guitar, he plays and sings songs by the Beatles, Paul Simon, and others. He invites us to sing with him. We do. Like the museum experience, the quiet dinner we anticipated did not happen.
But what did happen was spontaneous magic. Throughout the day, it was as if Bernice’s luminous spirit was saying to us, “You’ve cried enough. You’ve mourned enough. Now it’s time to partake in the music of life.”
Sunday, July 15
I think of two things Bernice told me. One she shared several months prior to her death. She said that she lived her life by what her mother taught her—to bring joy to at least one person each day.
The other thing she told me occurred when I was a teenager. It was about her world excursions. She was the first person I knew who traveled by airplane. I used to stand on the observation deck at LaGuardia Airport and wave to her as her plane took off. One day, I asked her if she was afraid that the
