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  • Cynthia Coupe

8 Months Out...

To be honest, I really don't know what I'm going to write here. There's been so much going on it's hard to process, hard to motivate, hard to sit still, hard to move.


I find that what matters most to me is really the energy of the moment, feeling into space and time, what feels good and going with that. I've been kind of avoiding the things that are difficult...like probate.


(Oh god, Probate...Let me give you an insider's tip here: Set up your needed paperwork. Make a will, a trust, or a Payable on Death (POD) account. Just do it. Please, as the survivor of someone who had nothing set up, please take care of your legal obligations...It will save so much headache for the grieving person to have this in place, and it's easy. I'm sure if Frank had thought of it from that perspective he would have done it, but that wasn't the case.)


Eight months. I feel the seasons returning to where they were when Frank left us. The arc of shadow is coming into focus, with days shorter and nights cooler. I can smell fall, and I know winter is just a couple of steps after that. I'm not sure what that will bring...the internal process of the winter season is often difficult, lonely, quiet. Will it be more-so this year, or will there be bits and bites of things that catch my heart and sustain me? Lena and I will actually be in Australia for a big chunk of the winter, traveling on a voyage I've longed to take since I departed that dear country nearly 30 years ago. It will be summer there...no darkness, only light. How interesting that will be.


People tell me how good I'm doing, and I recognize that that probably is true for what they would expect grief to look like...I think it's believed to look like staying in bed, not showering, forgetting to eat, looking like a beast...but let me tell you, it looks very different for me but remains one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through.

I'm shattered, strewn about all over the place. I rise daily, shower almost daily, and exercise regularly. In fact, that's my coping mechanism...sometimes I'm out there walking, running, spinning on my bike, doing yoga, you name it, for several hours a day. I mean that. My morning routine has increased, doubled in fact, with the time I spend meditating, stretching, sometimes journaling...I resource like my life depends on it, because it does. The more I can do to stay grounded, centered, and focused the better. I feel untethered, but I know what stays me. I know what keeps me upright.


And I know I'm healing. Even in the middle of this intense loss, I can feel myself healing. I'm happy, I have goals, I look forward to the next day, and month and plans with friends. I cry when I need to, and I'm preparing myself to love deeper than I ever have. I am learning to listen to me, to really, deeply listen. That's quite a gift, honestly.

I still can't focus properly, can't read a book, don't want to watch a show, can't even read a magazine most days. My mind is distracted, bored, pulled away into I don't know where. Social media is ok, but social media sucks. I look forward to that stage being gone and being able to return to my intelligent brain. I listen to music now far more than I used to, sometimes several of the same songs over and over again, often in nature when I used to enjoy the peace and quiet. Now I want noise.


I look at pictures, daydream, fantasize and recreate who I am, who I was, who I thought I might become. I don't cook much. I drink more than I used to (which literally looks like a hard cider a few times a week), and alternate between sleeping more and sleeping less.


And the thing is: I am doing good.

It just takes an incredible amount of resourcing.

And a few parts crying.


I'm literally creating the new me. It's like alchemy. I'm not exactly sure how it will turn out...but I keep going with what feels good, what feels right, what's spacious and in alignment...I make mistakes, sure, and then I see they are mistakes when I feel the alternative...something that is in alignment feels SO different than something which is out of alignment...and I'm grateful to finally have the ability, time and space to pay true attention to that.


Work is going great. My employees are freaking awesome and running such an amazing business. I can't even tell you how proud I am. How beautiful the interactions are between our clients, the growth that's going on there...remarkable Damn. It makes me proud as heck to know that what Frank and I created is doing this well. His desire to make sure the population we serve wasn't lonely is freaking paying off...it's magical. I'm sure he's up there doing a happy, fuck-yes dance for anyone who is watching.


And that magic allows me to resource, and grow. I've been pushing myself like mad to do just that...to talk with people, to educate the masses, to make lasting changes for the population I care so deeply about...that's my goal. It won't happen overnight, but it's happening. I love growing...I love learning and pushing myself...and it's hard as hell and often I break down in tears and stare at the sky and realize how truly beautiful this world is. How lucky I am to be here, to have had such a deep spiritual bond with my beloved...because that still exists, and I am grateful.


The road continues to rise and meet me. The wind is at my back, and until we meet again I am certain God is holding me in the palm of her hand...or maybe that's Frank. Either way, I'm held and the people who have become my angels continue to show up...and I love it.

I love, and isn't that just so amazing? I'm not afraid of love. I'll never do it again in the same way, but I'm not afraid to do it again. I have a lot of gratitude for that, for the ability to pick myself up, hug my friends and tell them how awesome they are, and to open my heart even when it hurts, expecially when it hurts, because that's the way through this mess. Grief shouldn't happen in isolation, or alone. Grief was meant to be shared, just like love.


And, if I haven't told you in a while, or maybe even ever: I love you. I do. You're a human, on this journey, and that's crazy difficult sometimes. I love you for it. Thank you.













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