Dear friends, I’ve begun to attend a grief share group. It meets weekly at a local church. I’ve met some wonderful people who are each experiencing the roller coaster of grief, just like me. I’m grateful for the chance to speak candidly about my sadness, my worry, my loss. The big difference with these folks compared to you is that they didn’t know Pete. As a result, we talk more about the feelings and circumstances of grief rather than the specifics of the people we are grieving. A couple weeks ago we were encouraged to write a “grief letter.” A grief letter is meant to communicate with your loved ones, your coworkers, your friends, what they can expect from my grief and what I may need from them. In just a few days, Pete will be gone six months. For me (since grief is so very different for everyone), I am feeling the effects of not seeing him for six long months. 180 days without sharing a cup of coffee. 180 days without talking to him face to face. 180 days without hearing about what he is reading or learning. 180 days without telling him about my day. His absence feels different these days, more real perhaps, like his absence itself is a tangible thing. Yes, I am sad. I cry several times each day. Usually just a few tears leak out while my jaw clenches. I usually try to take a deep breath to calm myself. But my breath gets caught in the middle of my chest, right where my heart is. But with a second try, I am able to take a deep breath. With this breathing, I am not trying not to stifle my tears. I’m just trying to conserve my energy. Big snotty crying is exhausting. But at least once each week I have what I call a “full body meltdown.” While it’s happening, I am questioning things like, “how did this happen?” How did my life change so fast? Or I am wondering what kind of life will I build now. And then I go back to how did this happen? How am I having to build a life at 46? I already built a life. And it was a good one. It is a good one. It is… it still is a very good life! It’s just missing one very important person. And all of those questions, all of that crying and even those meltdowns are happening while I’m going to work. It’s all happening while I text back and forth with friends and family. It’s happening while I read the news and pray for the world and worry about healthcare. It’s all happening while I lead a congregation who is about to break ground on a new sanctuary. It’s all happening while I study and prepare sermons for weekly worship. We are remarkable creatures really, our capacity to keep living is stunning. That's what you can expect from my grief these days. But a grief letter is also meant to ask for what I might need from you. This is really hard. To ask for what we need is vulnerable and hard and I’d rather not do it. I’d rather you read my mind… isn’t that true for most of us?!
But here it is, I wish people would talk about Pete more. Or when you think about him or are reminded of him, that you might mention it specifically. Yesterday my grandson, Mateo came into my room and asked, “Was that PopPop’s birthday?” He was looking at a picture I have in my room and at one point he must have asked what the picture was from. And it was from a birthday party a couple years ago. Many of his friends met us at a hot dog stand. It was almost rainy if I remember correctly. We ate and laughed around picnic tables. Mateo remembered and he asked me about it. I turned around and said, “Yes, the picture is from PopPop’s birthday a couple years ago.” He said, “PopPop is in heaven.” I said, “yes.” And then he went about playing with his fire truck. I was grateful for him just saying Pete’s name, which of course to him was Poppop. It made me happy. And it reminded me that I am not the only one thinking about him. So if something reminds you of Pete, would you please tell me. It may make me tear up. It may not. Our memories are precious. And I am grateful that you are sharing this roller coaster ride of grief with me. Peace, Beth
Carole Barrett
10/17/2017 11:27:25 am
Remembering when Pete first came over. U told me he couldn't have sugar so I learned to make things that he liked. He loved the coke slaw so I learned to make it without sugar. Wanted him to feel like family. U would say, "Pettin Pettin" And when the first serious discussion came up, he eased in with, "I realize that my position in this family is tenuous ..." and I said, "no Pete I want to hear what u have to say." That started some real dialogue and it never ended. I became his mother in law. That's supposed to b a painful relationship! I decided to love Pete when Beth did. He let me call him Petey. He became my link to the family that loved him. So many times I say to myself, "I have to talk to Pete about this." I learned that "everyone loves Pete. When I brought Nick to meet Pete, there was an instant connection. Between the music and the tales they both loved, Nick would want to sit next to Pete. He was never a force to b reckoned with but rather a warm shoulder to lean on. Acceptance and a one liner. I will always miss him.
Kim
10/17/2017 01:30:50 pm
Pete was so friendly whenever I would come to NJ and steal you away for a day. He was always interested in people. I remember that about him. He always seemed to be “present” when he talked to me - not distracted. Your wedding day still marks my heart with precious memories (remember the video? My legs back then!) I love you, friend and I dearly loved the man who had your heart . Love, kim (kimmy - to you)
Maureen
10/17/2017 10:22:07 pm
I'm not good about sorting through older newspapers. I intend to make a binder of relevant medical articles. I want to create a travel "bucket binder" of places I would like to visit. I cut out articles to send to friends I think would enjoy them.
Lauren McFeaters
10/17/2017 10:28:38 pm
You know what reminds me of Pete? Really, really great rock and roll.
Bob Davis
10/21/2017 12:22:12 am
November 19, 2010 I photographed the full moon and posted it on facebook captioned Goodnight Moon to celebrate it and the beloved book by Margaret Wise Brown. Pete responded to my post but I didn't see his response untill yesterday when I'd came up on my feed as a memory with Pete Scibienski. Obviously Pete didn't check his response before he sent it, as autocorrect changed one word in his response. Pete wrote "Even a man that is pure in heat and says his prayers at night" ...may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright! Comments are closed.
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