You may not know this, but I am a healer, an intuitive advisor and a psychic. Phew, that's quite a mouthful! I have been through enough 'stuff' in my life to know I want to help others as they go through 'their stuff'!
The other day I met a woman a bit older than me. What began as a question about how to start up a leaf blower, soon turned into a full blossomed conversation about how worried she was about her daughter, who had been staying with her for quite some time.
Mary (mother) was worried that Jeanne (daughter) was perpetually sad and seemed to lack energy. With a little gentle probing, she told me that Jeanne's partner had died last year of cancer. Mary couldn't understand why Jeanne wasn't simply 'getting over it'. (I must admit that this is one of my pet peeves when it comes to grief, that we are expected to get over it, like its a stubbed toe or a broken glass) Mary said she had 'gotten over' her divorce when her husband left her for a younger and prettier model. Given that she laboured over that topic for at least five minutes, with lots of huffing and puffing, as well as arm movements, methinks she hasn't really... ;-)
I told her there was no comparison. Besides the fact that grief of any kind is a unique and individual experience, Mary could still 'see' her ex husband. She could have a sense of closure. She could finalise any issues they might have had in their marriage, because he was still alive.
Mary changed tack then and told me that Jeanne and her partner had only been together two years and therefore it should be easy for her to 'get on with her life'. I asked her if she knew the depth of their love and commitment; if she knew how perfect their relationship might have been; if she had any idea of the plans and dreams they had had together. I also tod her that time is irrelevant. We don't need to know someone a lifetime to miss them or grieve for them. We can meet someone for the first time and the impact they made in our life can still mean we grieve. We cannot compare grief journeys, because we are all different. We all view the world differently and we all see it from our own perspective.
As we chatted, Mary was almost dismissive of her daughter's grief, and I couldn't help but mention that her daughter had lost a piece of herself when her partner died. A piece she will never get back or be a part of ever again. Jeanne will have to rediscover who she is and that will take time.
I suggested Jeanne come and talk to me, not as a counsellor or a healer, but as someone who understands, who has been to hell and is still on their way back. Mary looked at me, and in a brief second, I saw fear in her eyes. It was then I knew that not only would Jeanne never visit me, but she wouldn't even get the message. Mary needed Jeanne to be just as she was, because Mary was lonely and felt that she had no real purpose in life. Looking after Jeanne gave her that reason or purpose, and if she got better or began to 'live again', Jeanne might leave Mary with her own ghosts of the past.
Its sad when you see a pattern like this, when dependence or grief is trivialised, and yet, also encouraged to suit the needs of the other person. Mary probably isn't even aware she is doing this, just as Jeanne possibly doesn't realise she is letting it happen. Grief affects us all in many ways. We may think we have it under control or a handle on it, but it has many faces we don't often recognise.
Big hugs
Cherie ♥

I was helping my daughter change the sheets on the grandies' beds this morning. The youngest one kept throwing herself on the bed as I tried to make it and pulling the covers off,as she lay there, in my way, smiling mischievously. Th incident reminded me so much of all the times Butch had done this too, acting in a similar way, doing the same kind of things, using that smile that could melt the hardest heart while he protested his innocence.As I stood at the end of the bed with my hands on my hips, I laughed saying 'If I didn't know better, I would say that you have been taking lessons from your Grandad!'
She pointed to her chest, saying 'Who me?!', in exactly the same way Butch used to.
The older grandie, turned to me and said 'I don't have a Grandad, do I Granma? I wish I had a Grandad, Granma.'
I smiled at her and said 'Yes, you have. Remember the photo on the wall in the lounge? Well, that's Grandad.'
She replied, 'But I want a real Grandad, Granma!'
I had to leave the room, so she wouldn't see my eyes filling with tears, as I wished that he was here too, and able to be a physical part of our beautiful grandie's lives.
Gotta love those blind-siders when they come out of nowhere...
Big hugs
Cherie xx

I don't know whether to start this with a statement like 'It's been five and a half years since Butch passed', or 'I'm a housesitter', as both are relevant to my blog today.
I am currently housesitting in the home of some friends, friends that Butch and I visited a lot when he was alive. We also lived next door.
I hadn't realised how that would impact on me until I was on my way to their home. I began crying and felt such pain as I contemplated being in a home where we had had so many great times, while overlooking the home where we were at our happiest...well before Butch was diagnosed.
From there on, there has been many poignant memories and bouts of tears, as I sit out in the courtyard, at the dining table, hearing conversations and laughter of days long gone.
I've been looking across the fence, remembering the good times, like the time I begged for a Christmas tree and Butch brought a seven foot tree, roots and all. (He was clearing a subdivision with a digger at the time)
This morning I decided to go for a walk, and other memories began crowding in, not just of when we lived here, but also those last two years after he was diagnosed. I relived moments upon moments and cried as I walked back. (I suppose people look at me and think 'Wow! She must really hate walking!')
I couldn't help thinking that every time I think I'm moving on, there always seems to be a bitch slap that makes me realise I still have a way to go. Silly me for thinking there was a use by date or a time limit. Time. It will take time. And lots of it.
Missing my true love tonight and all the good times we shared.
big hugs
Cherie xx

Underneath the hustle and bustle of Christmas, there is a deeply hidden layer of sadness and pain for those of us desperately missing our loved ones as this happy family occasion approaches. Sure we hide it deep below, thrusting it to the bottom of our To Do List, trying to avoid those feelings that make it nigh impossible to enjoy the festive season. Sometimes we can feel like a child who has discovered that fairy tales aren't real, there is no happy ending and there never will be.

The thought of an empty space at the table this year crushes our soul, leaving a dry dusty taste in our mouth. It doesn't matter whether its for the first time or more, the pain of Christmas without someone we love doesn't have a time limit or expiry date.

With all kinds of grief, guilt can rear its ugly head and ask us if we loved and cherished them enough and did they know the height and depths of our love. Thoughts and memories can flicker through our 'home theatre', bringing up events and situations that are best left on the editing room floor. Special Occasions have a habit of dredging up old pain, hurts and anguish.

As we walk around the shopping centres, we try not to notice couples walking hand in hand; the excitement as they choose gifts for others and surprise each other with tender well thought out gifts. Some of us find it difficult to be a part of the joy that is the festive season, we'd rather just hide away from the world, but thats not how it works is it? Life goes on whether we want to be a part of it or not. There are obligations and duties to be met, even at Christmas. We avoid the card stands shouting 'To My Darling Wife/Partner At Christmas', or 'To The Man I Love At Christmastime'. We already know that looking will only create that damp and prickly feeling behind our eyelids. Often we will catch ourselves sighing as we look at 'couple presents' or gifts that would have been ideal for that special person who has passed. As we listen to couples bickering and badgering each other as they pass, we want to reach out and shake them, reminding them how lucky they are to be together; to be able to share such precious moments that we can never have again. In a far off thought, we know that we won't have that wonderful pleasure of waking up next to our significant other and relishing the best gift of all, a Christmas morning snuggle.

If we have lost a parent, then this time of year brings a different kind of pain. Those that brought us into the world are no longer here to share the joy of this Christmas, as well as the memories of our childhood misdemeanors and achievements. Celebrating without those who loved us, no matter what we said or did while they were alive, is harder than hard. The joy of greeting, the hugs, smiles and innate connection we have with our parents cannot be replicated within any relationship. Even if we weren't as close as some, or as we would have liked to be, there was an intangible thread that was woven around and though us all, and somehow, made us part of a whole.

Celebrating Christmas after a child has passed has its own tumultuous heights and despairing lows. We all believe our children will out-live us. They have so much ahead of them, that we would have wished for them to experience and be a part of. It doesn't matter how old our child was, the pain is still heart-stoppingly deep and pain drenched. There are no words that can possibly explain that knife twisting ache, as we see other babies, children, teenagers or adults enjoying the build up to the festive season. We often imagine what our child would be doing at this time of the year, what amazing gifts they brought into our lives by just being here. If there are other family members of the same age, it can make it difficult to visit various departments of stores, knowing we won't be buying anything for our child. As Christmas fast approaches, we feel an ache that nothing can ease, as we imagine a day without that special part of our life, the child we created, the person we knew for all of their short life.

Often the pain of what we have lost makes it hard to appreciate what we have right here, right now. Sometimes we need to remember that those who have passed never really leave us, for we have only to think of them and their voice or face will appear within our memory. The love we feel for them remains locked in our hearts. No one can take that away, It can't be stolen, dwindled or diminished. Although they aren't around us physically, they are still here, as we discuss the joys and disasters of Christmas past. As we eat their favourite foods, we bring them into our circle of love, those fond memories creating a softness around us and this day. Sure there will be tears amongst the laughter and happiness of a Christmas Day, and thats perfectly normal, because that is a part of honouring the amazing connection we have and will always have with those who have passed from this world.

If we aren't fortunate enough to have a Christmas surrounded by family and friends, Christmas Day can be just another day of pain and grief. If this is what your Christmas Day looks like, please reach out to a family member, friend or even a neighbour, allow them to know how much you are dreading this day. There is no pride in grief, pride just prevents us from connecting with the world around us. We are not a rock or an island. We do need others to help us through the tough times. There is no weakness in reaching out or admitting that Christmas sucks big time for us. Make this your Christmas gift to you - let those who care about you know how you are feeling. Allow them to help. You would do the same if the roles were reversed. Above all, be kind to you!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

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)

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

This year marks the fifth year since my best friend and husband passed away. In an earlier blog this year, I was celebrating that I had 'woken up', that I had started to get on with my life, or at least start taking those baby steps towards living, instead of merely existing.
I really thought I was starting to get a handle on this whole 'grief thing'. I thought I had it all under control. Sure, I still cried randomly, I still felt the big black cloud of sadness envelope me every now and then, but I was 'getting my shit together'.
I made some changes in my life, I had re-discovered some things I needed to make me feel happier than I had been in a long time. Yep, I sure had it all going on...no stopping me now... hah!
Butch's death-aversary was on the 21st September. The day prioor, I had spent a lot of time pondering on my grief expedition and how far I had come. I decided to thank my family and friends for their support and love, so I created a 'public thank you' on facebook. As I wrote, tears streamed down my face. I was staying with good friends, but me being me, I didn't want them to know I was upset, so I stayed in my room until it wasn't noticeable. I wonder if I will ever get pasty this issue I have, that I mustn't cry in front of anyone? (I used to cry in front of Butch, of course, but he knew me inside out and back the front, so my illogical reasoning tells me that's 'different'!)
For an hour or so, I held it together, I stayed upbeat, never letting on....and then the dam walls broke. I raced upstairs to my room, pretending to be busy doing something. I couldn't stop the flow of tears. I tried my usual tactic of telling myself off and saying I should harden up. I tried telling myself it was okay to be upset, but that didn't help either. Grief is so isolating. Even if others are travelling the same road as you, even if they are grieving for the same person, their grief isn't your grief, and putting it into words defies science and expectation.
As I have mentioned countless times, I hate being seen crying, so when my friend's husband asked if it was okay if he came into the room, I replied 'Only if you keep your eyes closed!' He did a huge backwards leap, which made me smile, because he had misconstrued what I had meant.
My friends were so supportive. They didn't say 'Hey, its been five years, stop being a blubber butt!' They just hugged and sat with me. It was definitely my lucky day when they came into my life.
I had decided to do something on Butch's 'versary, to try and step up and out, but also because I felt if I went home to my family, I would be expecting them to prop me up for yet another year. It was interesting to note that my daughter had also found this year incredibly difficult. We agreed we should have spent the time together after all. Gotta love hindsight. Its so helpful.
My birthday is 10 days after Butch's 'versary. I woke up with the black cloud floating above my bed. Every part of my day, every moment was harsher, sharper and more intense than it had been for some time. Tears flowed freely until I had to go to work. On the drive there, I distracted myself as best I could and gave me the pep talk to end all pep talks.
My face felt swollen, my eyes distended and I couldn't seem to connect with my brain at all. It was a long and emotional day. I was perpetually and totally exhausted.
I would be interested to know if the five year mark has significance for others as well. I know that for us, as a family, it has certainly been more intense.
I still wish my life was different, that Butch was still here with me, even though I know it can't happen. Is that so wrong of me? Or just plain silly...?
A part of me wonders if grief is not so much about who we lose, but what we lose as a result. I don't mean that quite how it appears. It just seems to me that, surely, now I know that my wish won't be granted, that I would just pick up and move onward. Instead I am still caught up in loss, sadness and emotional pain. It is as if the dark fog of grief lifts, but returns as a soft grey mist that still swirls and affects my vision of the future.
Hugs
Cher

I've been hearing through various forms of media lately, that grief may be classified as a form of clinical depression, through some complicated form of analysis..
A part of me is happy that there is finally some recognition for grief, but the other part of me is shaking it's head and saying 'What the...?'
All too often when someone is on a grief expedition of any kind, whether it is the loss of a loved one or a job, we do get sad and depressed. How could we not? Our life has changed dramatically. Things will never be the same. We will never be the same.
As we struggle to pick up the pieces, we are told to start looking ahead, don't worry, time will heal, think about 'other stuff' or just 'get over it'.
Nobody wants to talk about grief. It makes us feel uncomfortable. After all, what can we sat to make the other person feel better? Well, lets face it, not a lot..but we could listen.
There is no easy answer to helping someone while they are in their grief bubble. The best and kindest thing we can do is to allow them to release some of their thoughts, angst and even guilt (which is usually misplaced or magnified during a grief cycle) they are carrying around.
Most people, including me, find it difficult to express the many aspects of our grief. We feel out of step with the world. It's as if we have lost our beginning and our end - we are stuck there, somewhere in the middle, unsure which direction we should travel in.
As we hold in our emotions, pain and loss, we can withdraw into ourselves as we try to work our way through it all.
After losing someone we love, we already have a feeling of disconnection and being/feeling different. So when those we depend on aren't offering us the support and encouragement we desperately need, we can spiral into the dark depths of a grief based depression. Once we are there, it can seem like a struggle to get out again.
Most of us reach for help in one for or another. If we feel we aren't getting it, we can turn to habits and addictions. I know for me, after being smokefree for over 20 years, I turned to cigarettes. They became my best friends. They were always there, it didn't matter what time of the day or night. They were never too busy or worried they would upset me. I didn't have to explain, all I needed to do was reach for them and there they were.
It took me over four years to feel I could survive without my 'best friends'. It was a long slow process, where I discovered who I was, what I liked about me, what I didn't, what I wanted to do and what I didn't. It has been a hell of a ride and I am not the same person I once was.
I haven't 'got over' my grief, its still there. Not a day goes past without sadness, regret or pain. I accept that this is just the way it will be. For so long I fought against what I was going through. I had never seen anyone else go through grief before. I hadn't seen how it rips the rug out from underneath you and sets you on your arse, wondering how the hell you will ever stand up again. Grief had always been something that was hidden within the dark corners of 'society's laws'.
It isn't that complicated really. Grief makes you sad. It makes you depressed. It can make you feel as if you want to end your life. It can make you feel unreasonable and unrealistic guilt. It can make you feel that life isn't worth living without the person you lost. It can leave you disconnected and lonely. It can make you afraid and fearful. It can rock your world. It can make you angry with the world, with yourself, or with no one in particular. Whether we want to admit it or not, grief helps us get in touch with our emotions, especially the ones, we haven't looked at or wanted to acknowledge.
The best we can hope is to through it, to find our way through this midnight maze of sadness and torment, to find that place of peace within our hearts. For it is when we reach that point, we can begin to believe life really is 'for us' and we start to honour ourselves, our life and our place in the world.

My heart used to flutter every time I saw Butch. It didn't matter whether it was across a crowded room or over the tea table, my heart would skip a beat. Even after 25 years, he knew how to make my heart jump around. He could make me smile in a way no one else ever could.
I was thinking about the way my heart used to jitterbug around in my chest as I drove home from work today. I realised that I haven't felt that kind of love-joy-excitement since he passed. I'm not meaning as far as attraction to the opposite sex, we have already established enough times in my blogs that isn't part of my agenda. I am talking in a general 'being a part of my life' kinda flutter....I just don't get that anymore.
When I think about the kind of movement I get from my heart these days, I sure don't see it as a joyous and pretty butterfly pulsating around in my chest....no, I see it more as a fat red fish that has fallen out of its bowl and is flopping around on the ground. It can breathe while its out of the bowl - its a special kind of fish, able to survive almost anything life throws at it! Every now and then it raises it's head ever so slightly, thinks to itself, 'Nup, nothing to see or feel around here..' and then it sags back to the ground.
The weird thing is that to look at me, or to hear me speak, no one would ever suspect. I am loud, a laugh-a-minute, compassionate, positive and happy-creating individual. No one seems to see whats really happening below the surface...well, I say no one, but there is the odd person who recognises it, mainly because they have it hidden within the layers of their being as well.
I wonder if I will ever get that butterfly back, or will the 'heart of me' just lie there, accepting life but not excelling at it.
Some days it feels as if each step is uphill and its difficult to remember a time when it wasn't that way.
I guess its that age old question....How do you mend a broken heart.....? ...and once we have that sussed....when....?
I'm not saying this is me continually, that I am sad, apathetic and just going through the motions. I am sometimes genuinely having a great time and laughing, but a part of me knows my red fish is still flopped on the floor and he's not really stirring, no matter how loud I laugh...
hugs Cherie xx

Today (3 May) is my anniversary. It would have been our 5th anniversary, if Butch was still alive, but today, there is only me to remember our special day. Most people don't know that today has such a special meaning. I don't make a point of saying anything, after all, whats the point. It's not like they can wish me all the best or say how wonderful it is that we're still happily ever after. So I sit here, knowing that I am almost the only person who remembers.
This week I worked out that we were married less than five months and over 54 months have passed. I'm not happy about the ratio - but hey, what can you do about it?
I still feel lost and alone without my life partner. Although in my more cynical moments I would say 'without my partner, I feel sometimes as if I am just 'serving life'.
Last week would have been our 30th sin-aversary, something I would have made a big fuss of, reminding Butch for at least a month beforehand, before forgetting it on the day. Some patterns are hard to change!
I have finally completed my grief book 'Grieving with Honour' and although writing it has been a healing journey, I'm not sure what happens next.
This past weeks I have felt as if my tear ducts have been primed and ready to overflow at the slightest hint of anything touching my heart strings. Its been over four and a half years, shouldn't I be handling this stuff better by now? My eyes feel puffy and I feel as if I'm walking a tightrope.
Some days I feel gung ho, I feel as if I can conquer anything, that I am stepping up and out to the best of my abilities, and another day I am stuck within 'If this is all there is to life, can I really be bothered?' I am so tired of struggling, of trying to juggle with all my balls in the air and having no one who understands why I feel this way or who I can really confide in. Of course the confiding issue is mine, I don't want anyone to think I'm sad and pathetic or trying to get sympathy. I don't feel I'm any of those, but it won't make any difference how matter of fact I say it, or how many times I say thats not my intention, you just know its gonna sound all wrong.
The other day my granddaughter was looking at a photo of our family before Butch was diagnosed. She said 'That's you Grandma!' I replied yes it was. She turned to me, holding her hands on either side of her cheeks saying 'You had your other face.'
Out of the mouths of babes....Yes, I feel as if that face no longer exists, that person doesn't live here anymore and sometimes I struggle to believe I can ever be that happy again....
Anyway, I'm not sure about the point of this blog, except maybe to say, Happy Anniversary to me!
with love and hugs
Cherie xx
PS. If you were wondering about the formula.....at 5/less than 5 months married:more than 54 months widowed = 5 years & not happy.

I have been thinking about this blog and in true 'Cherie' fashion, I decided to revisit it and look at the positives in my life. I have my memories, I have my wonderful family. I have reconnected with my gifts. I am a Granma. There are many people who love and care about me. I can mostly notice that the world is a beautiful place, or that the sun is shining. I have my health. I have managed to keep the payments on our house going, I have a job, I pay my bills (even if it is incrementally) I am making a difference. I have never been without choice - since Butch's passing my path has always been travelled in the direction I chose, even if it hasn't always led to where I wanted it to. There are times when I can look at all those positives and say 'I totally rock!' xx