Time With Tandy

Inspirational author and speaker

Time With Tandy

Inspirational author and speaker

Tag: grief

  • In The Dark

    I stayed in student housing on a university campus while attending a retreat. My bedroom was one of three in the basement of a townhouse. The first evening I found my room, had a short visit with my roommates and went to bed.

    In the night I got up to go to the bathroom. The bedroom was very dark and I became disoriented when trying to find the door. After first bumping into a wall and then opening the closet, I found the door and exited the room.

    It was almost as dark outside of the bedroom as inside. I saw some closed doors, went from memory to choose what I thought was the correct one, opened it and stepped inside. When I heard someone roll over in bed, I knew my choice had been wrong! I quickly backed out. Confused, I stood in the dark and slowly turned in a circle, trying to get my bearings.

    That’s when I spotted the open door that was my bedroom. My phone was next to the bed so I made my way back, retrieved it and used the light to guide me. Success at last!

    Why hadn’t I done that in the first place? The answer is simple. I thought I could manage on my own. That’s why I wandered in the dark when a source of light had been available all along.

    I don’t know about you, but this is a familiar story in my life. Many times I’ve stumbled my way through life’s challenges, thinking if I just try harder I can manage on my own. I’ve learned that seeking help is not weakness, as I first thought. It takes strength to admit I need help to see me through.

    The source of light, God’s Son, is available and waiting for me to seek His guidance. Jesus is the light of the world. He shines into the darkness, the fear and the grief. His light brings hope, peace, and clarity. It focuses my attention on people, places and things I wouldn’t have found on my own. There is no need to walk in darkness when I have access to the light.

  • Wave Walker Excerpt

    Wave Walker Excerpt

    In Wave Walker, Beth’s story is told through her journal entries. Here’s an excerpt from her journal on January 9th.

    You can listen by clicking on the link above. The written transcript is below.

    The abandoned structure had been ravaged by the elements. The paint was peeling, the plaster crumbling, and several windows mission. It seemed beyond repair.

    But something about it drew me closer.

    If you are in the Calgary area, stop by and visit me on Thursday, May 7 at Ground Press Coffee and Books, 106 Sierra Springs Drive, Airdrie. I’ll be there from 3-6 pm to talk about Wave Walker, let you know how you can get your free Reader Resource and enter you into a draw to win a themed door prize.

    The book is available for sale at Ground Press, Amazon (in print and ebook) and in print and all ebook formats through my website

    abandoned house, Wave Walker
  • Broken Pieces

    Broken Pieces

    fused glass

    A display at the vendor market caught my attention. The beautiful fused glass pieces were not for sale but I was told I could register for classes to make my own.

    I was intrigued and over the next few days shared my interest with a few others. Together we registered and headed off with great expectations of what we could create.

    At the first class I sat facing a red cafeteria tray holding two, four inch squares of clear glass. In each corner of the tray were pellets of coloured glass.

    After an introduction to this art form we were told to use what was on our tray or find other shapes, sizes and colours of glass from a nearby table and have fun creating.

    What? Instant panic set in. If a template was set out for me I would follow it to the best of my ability. But, to start from a blank slate and create something produced an almost paralyzing fear.

    I sat staring at the contents of my tray, unsure how to even begin. Around me, others had chosen shapes and colours and were already creating. I wandered around, looking at what they were doing, hoping for inspiration.

    Eventually I attempted to create specific patterns out of random pieces. Some worked and others didn’t. At one point, in a moment of frustration, I swept all the bits and pieces to the side and started over. At the end of the class we left our pieces to be fired in the kiln. I was gong to have to wait until the next class to see how they turned out.

    The following week I was surprised to see how the initial look of the glass had changed after spending time in extreme heat. Now that I understood complete control of the outcome was not possible, I relaxed and enjoyed the process. On my six inch pieces of glass, I created random designs with colours and shapes I wouldn’t have previously put together.

    When I received my finished work a couple of weeks later, I was surprised to see that the less controlled ones were my favourites. Instead of being upset that one had a big air bubble in it, I embraced the uniqueness. Every piece had its own beauty.



    As I thought of my experience, I couldn’t help but see the parallels to my life over the past couple of years.

    When my life shattered, I looked at the broken pieces and didn’t know what to do. A large portion of who I was was missing. It wasn’t possible to put the remaining fragments together to form what I’d had before. My options were to stay frozen in fear or to move forward and create something new.

    Many beautiful memories of various sizes and colours had shaped me over the years. I chose some and used them to help me find new segments of the emerging picture of my life.

    Some days I try too hard to form the fragments into the picture I have in my mind. Others, I am more spontaneous. I’ve learned I don’t have complete control over the outcome. Being forged in the fire tends to change things. It also smooths out the sharp edges and makes the finished product stronger.

    With guidance from God, the Master Creator, my life is taking on the shape and colours of his design. I am His work of art and He’s not finished with me yet.

  • Out of the Darkness

    I stepped from the brightly lit room and into the dark night. The blackness overwhelmed me and I wanted to go back. That option was not possible. The only way home was to go through the darkness, so I cautiously moved forward.

    Slowly my eyes became accustomed to the lack of brightness and my surroundings became less frightening. In the dark night of grief, I wondered how I could find my way without the light my loved one brought to my life.

    I looked up for guidance. Above I could see twinkling stars, their pinpricks of light giving encouragement.

    Bit by bit, my thoughts shifted from the pain of loss to the comfort of wonderful memories. Each brought a sparkle of light into my darkness. The process is gradual but I have faith my long night will fade into the dawning of a new day. When I keep looking up, light will be given to guide the steps I need to take.

    I am grateful for those who have walked this journey ahead of me and offered much needed light as they held high their candles of hope and understanding. With the Lord’s guidance, I pray I can do the same for others.

  • Hidden From View

    “You’re so brave,” they say. “I don’t know how you do it.”

    Actually, I’m not as strong or brave as people think. You may see the highlights of my days but very few know of the times I’ve become overwhelmed with fear, loneliness and grief. Those are not on public display.

    I feel and acknowledge the emotions but don’t dwell on them. How do I do this? By faith and the power of prayer.

    On a recent trip I alternated between glimmers of joy at new experiences and a longing for the comfort and familiarity of home.

    I was in Peru, in an area called The Sacred Valley when I awoke early in the morning, filled with uncertainty about the days ahead. From my window I could see a nearby mountain. In large letters on the mountainside was the word GOD. Most of the mountain was clearly visible but the top was covered with clouds.

    In awe, I stood with tears of gratitude as the Lord spoke to me through this visual. He conveyed that even though I may not be able to see the entire route he’s taking me on, he is with me as I journey. There are still some mountaintop experiences ahead for me. I take comfort in knowing I can trust him to guide my steps.

  • Breaching the Dam

    “Have you seen how fast that beaver dam is growing?”, he said.

    I stopped walking along the path by the creek to look in the direction the man had pointed out.

    When I said I hadn’t noticed the dam before, he told me it had only been there for two weeks.

    “Every day it’s bigger,” he said.

    Water flowing downstream was starting to back up. I wondered how long it would be before it either diverted to and flooded another low lying area, or breached the dam. It couldn’t keep backing up without some sort of release.

    This thought stayed with me as I continued my walk. The analogy to my grief journey was not lost on me.

    People ask me how I’m doing and I paste on a smile and say, “fine.” I hold back my tears.

    I’m driving and something on the radio triggers a memory. I fight back my tears as they aren’t compatible with driving safely.

    I’m talking with a family member and my eyes well up. I do my best not to cry. They are dealing with their own grief and don’t need mine compounding it.

    All the while, my grief is suppressed. I tell myself that tears are a sign of weakness, something I need to apologize for. They make others feel uncomfortable, so I don’t release them. Even the overflows I can’t stop are carefully controlled.

    The pressure builds. The tears will not be denied. Alone in my room, I feel the dam being breached. My carefully structured composure collapses, bringing a flood of waterworks. I give in and let it run its course.

    Afterwards, I realize how much better I feel. The pressure that had been building in me has been released. I discover that tears are not a sign of weakness. They are a language of their own, expressing feelings I have no words for. They are essential to my healing.

  • Catlike Grief

    I’ve come to the conclusion that grief is like a cat. They are both somewhat unpredictable.

    Sometimes it turns its head and ignores me. We peacefully co-exist but there is little interaction.I can almost forget it is in the room with me.

    Other times it arches its back and hisses at me. I jump back, wondering what happened to set it off. Still worse is when the claws come out and blood is drawn. This usually happens at times I least expect it. I need to hide away afterwards and tend to my wounds.

    Then there are days like yesterday. I looked around my living room and saw so many reminders of the life and love I’d shared with my husband. My metaphorical grief cat curled up on my lap. Whether it was there to comfort or to be comforted, I don’t know. Either way, we had some special moments as I stroked its soft fur and felt its heartbeat. We bonded in a new way.

    I’d never thought of grief in these terms before. Last night I dreamt about cats and wondered why. This morning I thought about it and understood.

  • The Invisible Woman

    hiding in plain sight,The last week or two has been difficult. I hadn’t realized how low I had spiralled until, during a phone conversation, a friend asked me what had brought me joy in the past week. As much as I wanted to find something to tell her, I couldn’t. Not a single joyful thought could be found. Loneliness overshadowed everything else.

    I’d experienced other times like this during my grief journey, but nothing that had lasted this long. Even though I’d been out and around other people several times, I felt like I was on the outside looking in and not an active participant . All I wanted to do was go back home and hide myself away. Something had to change before depression got a firm hold on me.

    A wise woman once said she had observed me make myself invisible when I was out of my comfort zone. The realization that I was again doing that very thing helped to explain why the loneliness was intensified when I was out. It’s hard to interact with someone who has faded so far into the background she can’t be seen.

    I have always been on the quiet side until you get to know me. Then, look out as my true personality emerges! When I had a partner to share my thoughts, dreams and everyday life with, this was fine. Past behaviours don’t serve me well in my solo life.

    Many years ago, when Brian and I were first dating, he took me on a road trip to meet his uncle, aunt and cousins. It was late when we arrived and most of the family were asleep. The next morning I was awake, dressed and sitting on my bed, with the door open, so I’d see when Brian got up. He slept in and I had a long wait! His uncle stopped at my door and encouraged me to come downstairs with the family. His words, “Don’t be backwards about coming forwards,” are ones I have never forgotten.

    Not forgotten but also not always practiced. While I learn to navigate this new journey I travel, Uncle Tom’s advice may be just what I need to help me rediscover who am I and find joy once again.

    I know my life holds meaning and purpose and in order to fulfill that I can not and will not become an invisible woman. If you happen to see me performing my great disappearing act, please remind me of this.

  • Imperfectly Perfect

    weather, wind,A strong north wind had been blowing for several days. My son and I had been waiting for more favourable conditions so we could scatter some of Brian’s ashes along the beach that meant so much to him.

    Our time to do this was running out as C was flying home the next day. Despite the wind, we headed out just before sunset. Emotions ran high as we wondered how we would know the right spot to stop. Nothing was preplanned. This experience was totally led by our hearts.

    I stopped in front of an abandoned house. The ravages of storms had taken their toll on this house, just as the ravages of disease had attacked Brian since his last time on this beach. Somehow this seemed like an appropriate place.

    We each took a turn, standing close to the water’s edge as the waves came in, shaking some ashes from the cardboard scattering tube. The tube was covered with a sunset scene over water. So fitting for this time and place.

    No matter how far I leaned over the water, the wind blew the ashes back onto the sand. With great insight, C said, “This is the way it was meant to be. Dad loved walking along the beach but didn’t like to go in the water.” Perfect.

    Before we turned to go back home, I sent a message to Brian on the wings of the wind. I told him I would always love him and never let his memory deteriorate and be abandoned like the house on the beach behind us. His legacy of love would live on.

    Darkness had almost settled over us as we walked back. I glanced behind me and saw the cloud had parted enough so we were able to witness a beautiful sunset over the water.

    We may not have known what the time and conditions would be for this emotional and symbolic event, but God did and he worked everything out perfectly.

    sunset

  • Footprints

    walk, beachThe morning matched my disposition. I was feeling “off”. There was no sunshine and weather conditions were a little stormy. Still, I felt drawn to go for a walk on the beach.

    Amid the footprints in the sand, two sets stood out. They were in the same area which meant the same firmness of sand, but the impressions left were totally different.

    One set was steady and left soft imprints of the sole of the footwear. The other was uneven and left a strange, deep design. It was as if the ball of the foot dug much deeper and then curled back, forcing the sand backwards into aa slight ridge. The heel was merely an outline.

    I wondered why one set looked uniform and easy and the other seemed to indicate struggle. The conclusion I came to was that they had different levels of support for their feet. Perhaps one had firm soles on their footwear and the other soft ones.

    I thought of my life recently. When going through tough challenges I tend to try to handle everything on my own. I will eventually get to where I need to be but the journey is more difficult than necessary. It’s not that support hasn’t been offered. I just think I should be able to do what is needed without inconveniencing others, so don’t reach out or accept the help offered.

    These footprints in the sand served as a powerful reminder of how proper support can impact my journey in a positive way.

    I look over at my son, walking beside me. He has taken the time to join me as I navigate this formerly familiar but now unknown stretch I’m currently walking. As he helps me through this rough patch, my steps are slowly becoming firmer. Gratitude wells up in my heart and leaks through my eyes.

    The proper support makes all the difference. With that in place, I’m going to be fine.