Category: Book

Cellular Remembering

6/13/2015

I’ve been feeling out of sorts these past few days, having deep emotional reactions, and just ‘not feeling quite right’. Functioning has been a bit of a struggle, even getting out of bed or dressed has required supreme effort.

This morning I woke up with a sense of doom and a ‘what’s the point?’ attitude. Instead of listening to that inner voice, I began tidying the house, cancelling any plans for the day, determined to be busy. I knew the tears were on the way, and delaying them would give me a little breathing space to try and work out what was behind how I felt.

Last night I had been having spells of light-headedness, not quite dizziness, that felt strange and a little worrying. After reading the following diary excerpt from my e-book, ‘Butch’s Journey’ this morning, I have decided that the feeling I was experiencing was a cellular memory from seven years ago - that intense feeling you get when you know something bad is happening and you have no idea what to do….

12/06/08
Butch came home from work tonight with a sore arm. I didn’t find out until later he’d had a seizure (or reaction to the chemo) and had lost the power of speech for five minutes before he could get in the ute and drive home. I feel so helpless and scared but don’t know want Butch to know.
Gav came up to stay. He has the flu and was going to cancel, but Butch reassured him saying he’d had a flu shot, so it’s all okay.
We were exhausted and had an early night, no doubt in part, from pretending everything was okay in front of Gav.

13/06/08
It was another long day at work, worrying about Butch and just wanting to go home.
Gav went out visiting friends after tea, so Butch and I settled in for a quiet night.
About 7:30pm we were watching a program and Butch had trouble speaking. He couldn’t get the words to work properly. It was frustrating for him and scary for me. I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to sound calm and reassure him everything was okay. I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he motioned for me to pass him the steroid tablets and he took a couple. We went to bed, hoping they’d kick in soon. I lay awake most of the night, worried he might pass away if I slept. It seemed to take forever for 8:00am to roll around so we could ring his GP.

14/06/08
We went to the Dr this morning and Butch isn’t allowed to drive at all anymore. He gave him more steroids and anti seizure drugs, telling Butch taking the steroids was the best thing he could’ve done.
As we let the surgery, Butch looked at me and said ‘I’m f****d!’
I kept saying he just needed a new job, we’d known it for months. This just meant he couldn’t delay it any more.
While we were picking up his prescription Trish sent a text asking what was for tea, and then lunch. She was halfway here, so that telepathic invitation worked!
When we got home, Gav was up, so I took him to one side and told him what had happened. Trish arrived and I filled her in as well. Mum rang – more telepathic phenomena!
I am so scared and feel I could easily cry an ocean, but now isn’t the time. I’m tired as well, so my defences are pretty low.
I can see the difference the medication has on Butch virtually straight away. It’s almost like he was drunk, everything requires deep concentration and he’s developed a slight slur. I can’t believe it’s had such a dramatic effect so quickly.
Butch rang up about a job in the paper and was asked to go in straight away. He didn’t dress as impeccably as usual but I didn’t like to comment, as it required a lot of effort to accomplish that.
We dropped him off on the way to the supermarket and as I watched him walking down the road, my heart sank. I knew they wouldn’t even consider him for the job; the way he was walking made him look inebriated.
Before we left home I had been impatient to leave. Everyone seemed to be getting ready in slow motion or forgetting things and it took an eternity to get them organised. I was pretty vocal about how disorganised they were – this came back to bite me on the bum of course.
As we drove in the driveway, I realised I’d forgotten to take a house key! Fortunately the kitchen windows were slightly open so Trish and Butch pulled the screen open, dismantling the window, so Trish could climb in. I’d left a sink full of dirty dishes just to make it more awkward.
Nobody was impressed when I insisted how wonderful we were creating a happy family memory of us all working together! I could see Butch using all his resources to get us inside again. I was so worried and made jokes to stop me crying.
During all this, Mum sent a text asking if she could call. I sent one back saying, well yes, she could, but we couldn’t get inside to answer it yet!

I feel it’s going to take some time to live this down!

Reading this and while re-living the experience, I choose to focus on the love of Butch, our family, and the bizarre memory of us trying to break and enter into our home. I choose to recognise the tough situation we were in, but also to remember the love and laughter we shared. By unwrapping the bad memories instead of hiding from them, we can uncover the love and fun that was hidden below. It is only when we accept the negative, we are better able to recognise the positive.

Cherie xx

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Writing a Eulogy (excerpt from my book)

12/2/2013

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I wanted to write a special eulogy for Butch, to tell everyone what a wonderful and accomplished man he was, how everyone loved and respected him.
I began writing the night after he passed and it began to ‘do my head in’. I was awake almost all night, writing about his achievements, trying to remember everything I could, but my mind was totally blank.
After three sleepless nights I complained to my brother Andre how difficult it was, explaining what I was trying to say. He suggested I might be better off focusing on saying why Butch was special to me. It was great advice and the words flowed from that thought.
A eulogy isn't about what you have achieved in life, it is about the impact you have made on others or the way you lived your life. Once I let go the belief that I had to talk about his ambitions and his successes and focused on the real person that was Butch I could talk with authority and love.
Some eulogies are all about making out how incredibly talented and successful someone is and that's fine if you want to write it like that. We're all different and have our own perception of how a eulogy needs to be written, but for me, a eulogy written from the heart was a great way to show how special Butch was.
Big Hugs
Cherie xx
(excerpt from Grieving with Honour by Cherie Nobbs)

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Don't Let Others 'Taint Your Story'

11/4/2013

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I went for a job interview as a masseuse the other day. I am trying to wear my 'big girl pants' these days, so when she asked me to tell her a little bit about myself, I said. 'I'm 53, an author, a widow, and I've love massage and what it does for others....'
She cocked her head to one side and said to me, 'Sorry, could you repeat that?'
Now, although I am 'admitting' I am a widow, this part of my speech is said with such speed, you need supersonic hearing to be able to 'catch the words'.
I repeated everything, except the widow bit, and she said 'No, you said something else, what was it?'
I 'fessed up and told her the bit I had omitted. She gave me that 'look' that people do and said she was sorry. I tend to get flippant when people say things like that. I am a complex creature, I admit it! I don't want others to be sorry or feel sorry for me. My life is what it is. The judges decision is final. No correspondence will be entered into. ...and then I wonder sometimes if I would just consider others to be hard hearted bastards for not saying anything... It hasn't happened yet, so maybe that will be the subject of another blog...
Anyway, back to my 'interview'. The woman asked me a question. 'So what did you learn from his living, and his dying?'
May I say that these are so not the questions one expects in a job interview, and as a person still going through a grief expedition, not at all something I wanted to contemplate with a complete stranger.
Before long, she had me in tears. She knew which buttons to push, what direction to twist the knife that is my grief and how to make me feel as if I wasn't coping with my world at all. When I tried to stop the flow of tears, she told me I needed to 'sob'.
...as if I haven't...on countless occasions!
We were sitting in a coffee shop and there was no way I wanted to let this woman see how her harsh words were affecting me. I gathered my thoughts, pulled myself up tall, erected my protective wall and tried to get myself together again.
Recognising that she had crossed a line and that she wasn't going to get past that wall I had just put up between us, she said 'Well, thats enough counselling for you today. Now, lets talk about why you want to get a job here.'
There was really no point in going any further. There is no way I would work for someone who would want to find my Achilles heel, who would know just how to create pain within my world because she could.
She tried to create a connection by telling me that her son had passed away 8 years ago, but clearly the way I was going through or handling my grief was incorrect and she hadn't experienced it in the way I had. Read: I was wrong.
As I was leaving, she turned to me and said 'Well, no matter what happens, we were meant to meet today. I was meant to talk to you and you were meant to learn from me.'
And you know what, she was right. I was meant to learn from her, and I learnt this.
*A part of 'putting on my big girl panties' during my grief expedition does not entail telling anyone I am a widow, unless its relative.
*There will always be people who will try to tell me that my way of handling my grief is wrong or not right.
*I don't want to work for anyone who's main objective is to make me feel 'less than', so they can feel all powerful.
*Everyone has a story, but their story ain't my story and mine has no bearing on theirs.
*I still find it difficult to talk openly about my grief with others
*I am doing a great job being who I am and experiencing my grief in my own unique way.
Everyone has a story
Big hugs
Cherie xx

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If you didn't do it before, don't sweat it now [excerpt Grieving with Honour]

4/27/2013

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In the beginning I was focussed on being two people. I would do Cherie's housework and various duties then begin working on Butch's jobs. I was always exhausted, attempting to have everything as pristine as we would have had it. One day I sat on the ground and cried because the weeds were getting out of control in the courtyard. I felt Butch would have been disappointed in me for not keeping it tidy. How silly is that? Wherever Butch is at this point of time, I bet he doesn't give a fig about the weeds in the courtyard. However, he may be worried about me getting stressed out about something so minor!
The stress of being one person trying to do enough for two took its toll on me and I could feel my energy levels dissipating on an alarming scale. To top it all off I wasn't making any headway.
One day I was telling my cousin Kaye about my dilemma, she told me to stop thinking of it as being two people's jobs, to instead think of them as being Cherie's jobs. She told me to write a list and realise Cherie would get around to them when she could. The relief of this was phenomenal! In hindsight it seems like the most logical way to work through everything that needs doing, but sometimes it's difficult to see what is right there in front of your face. Kaye pointing it out to me was 'a duh, how obvious' moment!
I think sometimes when we are going through grief we see everything as really big and huge instead of as a hurdle we can walk up to and kick over if we don't want to jump over it.
Before 2008, when things went wrong in life, I pictured them as lots of little incidents falling around my feet like scattered bricks. When we are depressed, sad or angry it can feel like the bricks don't seem to scatter anymore, they stack up creating a wall we just can't climb.
I guess part of beating the blues is to find ways of 'kicking' the wall down, like the 'Cherie To Do' list. All of a sudden I didn't feel like a slave to our home and how it used to be. If I didn't feel like rushing around madly I didn't have to. I could enjoy a quiet moment or read a book without feeling guilty.
In most relationships, the duties are divided between both partners. Butch would handle the mechanical, handyman and complaints departments and whatever duties we didn't share, were my department.
When Butch passed away, I had no idea how to organise a car service without being ripped off - hence the $5,000 for a my first routine service! I was naive, I told the head mechanic my husband had just passed away and he told me not to worry about anything he would look after me. I obviously didn't notice he was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
I am pretty independent and maybe just a little stubborn (although I prefer to think of it as 'independent thinking'!), so I refused to ask anyone for help, believing it was time I stepped up and did all those jobs I hadn't bothered to worry about before. Big and expensive mistake!
So, my advice to you, is if you didn't do those things before your partner passed, don't sweat it now. It isn't a sign of weakness to admit you don't know everything about all things. Ask friends and family or ask if they know someone who can help you with anything you are unsure of.
If you don't do housework, either get a cleaner in, or find someone to help you until you feel confident enough to do it on your own. The same applies to cooking, gardening, repairs, etc. Don't feel 'less than' because you need help with even the most menial of jobs.
I remember getting frustrated because I couldn't change one of the light bulbs. I worked on that sucker for days on end, I refused to be beaten. I kept berating myself for being useless and stupid. It turned out there was something wrong in the fitting itself. I’d spent a week in the dark just because I didn't want anyone to think I was a failure! What a waste of energy, emotion and time!
Nowadays, I know who I need to call on for help no matter what the problem and its great to know I don't have to do a crash course in ‘stuff’ I don't really want to understand.
Hugs,
Cherie xx

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Clothes We Wear [excerpt from Grieving with Honour]

4/13/2013

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During my grieving journey I have been told on countless occasions I shouldn't wear black all the time. In the beginning I wore black as a symbol of my grief and to show how dark and lonely my life was - even if this wasn't intentional.
As time passed, I wore black because it gave me comfort and later I preferred it as it made me feel invisible, which to some degree I felt I was. Some days it felt as if everyone had got on with their lives and Butch was 'yesterdays news'.
There are many reasons for preferring the darker clothes in your wardrobe, some of them are rational and others aren't, like me believing I was invisible.
By wearing black I was saying 'I don't want to get on with my life, in fact, I want out!' Wanting out is a normal part of the grieving process, but eventually you will want to be 'in' the life you own.
It is important to gradually incorporate colour into your life, in part because it symbolises the emergence of you into life again. It is a known fact that black is a depressing colour, but not everyone realises by wearing black you are reinforcing your depression. Take a look around you and look at the people who wear black as a uniform. Are they happy, cheerful souls who are living a life that resonates, or are they sad, miserable personality types who believe life has nothing to offer them?
I'm not saying you should outlaw black attire at all. What I am pointing out to you is that you already know you are sad and lost, but you don't have to live as if you are.
I've always believed in the power the mind has over the body, so if you are dressing in a manner that helps you to remain stuck in your grieving space/depression, it will be difficult to rise above it.
It hasn't been easy to incorporate bright happy colours in my life, when I am feeling so darned miserable without Butch, but I know he wouldn't want me to wear a depression shroud for the rest of my life, he would want me to make the most of my time here. Isn't that what your friend/loved one would want for you?

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Stress Anniversary Conflict

8/18/2012

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I've been really sick this week. What started out as a virus became quite severe and I was laid up in bed for three days. I rarely get sick, and to lie around when I am is not usually something I do willingly.
It began as I did the final proofread of my book on grief (Grieving With Honour). I started coughing, and the more I read, the more incessant my cough became.
Day two was particularly bad and I lay there, just wanting it all to be over. I'd had enough of the pain both within and without my body.
I asked my friend Karen for some distant healing and she told me that what was going on with me was to do with my gief book.
In the early hours of Friday morning, I was shown, in a dream, one of the chapters of my book. I awoke, knowing my body was rememberinga moment in time four years ago.
The anniversary of Butch's passing is in September, which brings in all sorts of emotions and feelings. However, on a cellular level, my body remembers the day Butch told me he didn't want to fight to live anymore, that he was ready to 'go'.
A piece of me died that day, as I realised he was preparing to die.
Each year, around the same dat, I receive an anniversary reminder from my body.
The first year, I had huge acid burns and blisters appear on my body. Tears I cried were also acidic and burnt trails down my face.
The second year I developed a rash that burned like acid and also blistered my skin. I just wanted to peel all my skin off to get some relief.
Last year I got really sick with a combination of acid rash and chest pains, similar to a panic attack.
There were other symptoms as well, like a deep-seated pain in my kidneys, constriction in my chest and stomach cramps each anniversary.
Each one has peaked on the same date and resulted in me wanting to be 'put out of my misery' and asking my guides to please 'take me home'! And each one has begun to dissipate each time I realise what it is and acknowledge my cellular as well as my emotional grief. (it's just a shame I don't 'get' what is happening until after the peak!)
It's important we are in tune with our bodies, that we listen to the messages it has for us. When we feel fear in our kidneys, grief in our lungs, anxiety in our stomach, a sore throat as we swallow words we feel we cannot say or sore ears when we are being told what we don't want to hear, we need to acknowledge and accept these as times when our bodies are saying 'Remember when...?' or 'Enough! It's time to take action!'
There are many events in our life that our cells remember, and we need to notice if what we are felling is a 'present' issue or a gentle reminder!
love Cherie xx

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Unfinished business - excerpt from 'Grieving with Honour'

7/14/2012

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04/08/11 - The other night I dreamt about Butch, I relived his gradual deterioration and passing once again. This isn't the first time I have had this dream, but this time it was slightly different. I had the opportunity to say all those things I wish I'd said before he lost the ability to answer. It was an incredibly sad dream and I felt like I was experiencing the whole grieving process again. When I awoke I was devastated. I would have been quite happy to just lay there and wallow in the awfulness of it all.
In this dream I remember telling him that losing him the first time was incredibly hard, that my world imploded and I could find no reason to carry on. He looked at me with such love as tears rolled down his face and I promised I would try harder this time.
Reality was a different scenario, I woke up so heavy with my sadness and grief I could barely function. The pain permeated my soul and I spent a fair amount of time 'washing out my eyes' from within.
All day I felt 'out of sorts'. I couldn't focus or feel. By the end of the day, I was relieved to go to bed and stop the perpetual
loop it felt like I was in.It is only now I can see the positive in this dream where, in the altered reality of my mind, I had the opportunity to say all those things I regretted I never had a chance to say to Butch. On reflection it was a more positive than negative experience, I just had to look past the sadness to see that.
When someone we love passes away, it doesn't seem to matter how much we talk beforehand or how much we understand and love each other, we can still feel as if some things have been left unsaid. The unfortunate thing is we can't just pick up a telephone, tell them and feel that sense of closure. For some, like me, it can mean the recurrence of an event through dreams until we can release the pent up emotion we have been clutching at. It was easier for me to suppress my emotions, to beat myself up and as a consequence feel unnecessary guilt.
If I was to be realistic, I would say, in grief there is always something we hold on to that can prevent us from moving forward or moving on...but perhaps that is just my truth. I know I have a few more issues to work through yet. (my motto must be 'why hold onto one thing, when you can fit so much into two hands...?)

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Sharing my blueprint...

1/18/2012

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I have just come back from a writers cruise. As part of the seminar, we were asked to introduce oursleves and talk about what we do. This was my intro:
Hi, my name is Cherie Nobbs. Three years ago I lost my best friend and husband, Butch. Actually, I didn't lose him, I know exactly where he is.
Before he passed, I believed grief was about missing someone or something. It never occurred to me how devastating and life changing this could be on all levels of my being.
The past three years have been a long arduous expedition into the unknown, where I've had to reconnect with myself, work out who I am now and recreate a life with joy in it. It's very much a work in progress.
The prescribed levels of grief didn't seem to apply to me. Books and information didn't tell me what I wanted to hear; that grief was hard, bluddy hard, that life wouldn't feel important anymore, that sometimes getting out of bed was an achievement all in itself.
I personally believe there's about 121 stages of grief. I visualise them as the floors of a skyscraper. Each time I move to a new level, I see a little more light entering my life. I begin to feel more comfortable with my existence as I move around and explore the new territory.
A few of the levels have mazes that can make me feel I'm going around in circles or nowhere at all.
On some, I drag my feet or pretend I can't find the lift, especially if it's too confronting, or heaven forbid, it might take me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes even when it's uncomfortable on that level, it can be hard to get past it and push the button that will take me up and out of it.
The levels have dramatically changed durinng my expedition. Originally they were empty and devoid of light. All the shared parts of me of the past 25 years had been removed after Butch passed.
Gradually I added a few personal touches like happy memories (hard to do when they had disappeared on the basement floors) and signs of gradual self-empowerment.
There have been times when I've skipped a level and it's felt right, but there's also times I've dodged a level and had to go back down. If I move too fast or cheat, I find the construction work on that level isn't complete.
Sometimes the lift jams or the cable slips. It's hard not to feel bad about that. I know I just need to reach out for the lift phone, to connect me with the lift operator, my inner self, to discover what's holding me back.
However, there are times I don't want to hear what the operator has to say, so I can remain there, stuck, for some time. There are also times I need to call for outside assistance for major repairs or adjustments. Experts can be necessary to help me raise my vitality or consciousness level. Usually I don't like asking for help and I'm stubborn (although I prefer to think of myself as an independent thinker), so I can stand there 'wallowing in my stuff' until I change or accept I am at a standstill.
More often than not, I'm the only person in the lift. Many people find it difficult to relate to me as I grieve and they don't know how to 'fix' me.
If I'm honest, I believe I'm at 82 (only 39 levels to go!).
Although it's not the top level, the view is much better than it was at 50 or even 70. Sometimes I even recognise the progress I've made instead of dwelling on what I've yet to achieve.
I've learnt a lot about myself, not all good, but that's okay. If I've learned anything, it's that my grief expedition is unique, no one else is going through grief in exactly the same way as me. I don't need compete or be better than anyone else, I just need to be the best I can be.
Reaching the top floor doesn't mean I'm over the loss of my soulmate, it means I've reached a pthe place where I honour myself and my new life.
I may not be an expert on grief, just mine. With my book, 'Grieving With Honour', I can help others with their expeditions, by sharing the highlights and low;ights of my own experiences. I can't make it better or 'fix' it for the., I can only help others feel less isolated and share the blueprints of my skyscraper.
My next step is to plan what my life will be like when I reach the 122nd level, to move beyond the what was and focus on the what can be. Who knows? Maybe I'll take a parachute and a leap of faith to build a new skyscraper....

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Cellular Remembering

Writing a Eulogy (excerpt from my book)

Don't Let Others 'Taint Your Story'

If you didn't do it before, don't sweat it now [excerpt Grieving with Honour]

Clothes We Wear [excerpt from Grieving with Honour]

Stress Anniversary Conflict

Unfinished business - excerpt from 'Grieving with Honour'

Sharing my blueprint...

Cherie's Blog

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