Day 1

Telling Our Son

God loves little children. Our four-year-old didnât see his father die. Didnât get caught up in the flurry of firemen and paramedics. Didnât hear my anguished cries. Didnât see the ambulance take his father away at four a.m. All that is a blessing.

But how can I tell him that his father isnât coming home again? How can I tell him that his father is·dead? I am so tired. This day has seen so much already. Surely Iâve endured enough for one day.

But this isnât the kind of thing to postpone. Everyoneâs weeping and moaning. I have to tell Yale.

I sweep him into my arms. I explain things as simply as I can. I tell him his father had a big Owie. He went to the hospital, but the doctors couldnât make him better. Daddy wouldnât be coming home again.

Yale slides off my lap, pushes this away, and I let him go. He blots out this truth, losing himself in his video games. Itâs too much for him to absorb.

Thatâs not surprising. Itâs too much for me to absorb. Dead? I just canât say ãdead.ä Itâs so·final.

Every few hours, Yale emerges from the preferable world of video games. He asks me again and again, ever-hopeful, with innocent, trusting faith, as if he simply didnât hear me the previous times, ãDaddyâs in the hospital?ä

ãYes,ä I reply. ãDaddyâs body is in the hospital.ä

He confidently assures me, ãThe doctors will make Daddy better. The doctors will fix Daddyâs heart.ä

I yearn for that to be so. I yearn to tell him that the doctors are making Daddy better, that heâll be back home in a few days, or maybe a week. But I tell him the truth. His little face twists into a dark knot. He rebels against this unspeakable betrayal, leaving me abruptly.

At the end of this longest day of my life, drained and soul-shattered, I tuck my beautiful son into bed with me, safely ensconced at a friendâs house. My son pats my arm and reassures me. ãThe doctors will make Daddy better. The doctors will fix Daddyâs heart.ä

I look into his hopeful, trusting eyes, and it kills me to crush the light within. I canât do this. Not again. Lord, havenât I suffered enough already? Youâve ripped out my heart÷how can you make me rip out my sonâs heart? I hesitate. Would it be so terrible to let him fall asleep with hope, comforted by a lie?

ãWhen is Daddy coming home?ä my four-year-old asks, his eyes shining with such innocence it makes my heart ache.

I will not add to his heartache by breaking his absolute faith in me. I refuse to betray his trust with a lie. Let something of value survive this day unbroken! Somehow, I find renewed strength. As gently as I can, I repeat the mantra, ãDaddyâs not coming home.ä

Not ever again.

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
ELEANOR ROOSEVELT

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"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 2

Itchy Woolen Sweater

I sit in a room alone, withdrawn from the bustle of well-wishers, the grieving of family.

No words can comfort me. No touch can ease this pain. No thing can bring me joy.

I have the clearest sense that my body is an itchy woolen sweater. I just have to shrug, and it would fall away from me. Iâd set my soul free. I could be with my beloved.

We used to lie in bed and cuddle, and joke that we were two souls entwined in heaven. When it was time to be born, God had to shake them to separate them (like gauzy twin-ply tissues).

The first soul was his, the second soul was mine. God told me Iâd have to wait a bit, but assured me weâd be rejoined·we were soul-mates. Soul-mates in heaven. Soul-mates on earth.

My body chafes at me. I feel imprisoned in it. I wouldnât even have to do anything. Just shrug it off, and it would lie discarded at my feet, like a hideous woolen sweater knitted by some misguided aunt.

Then, I would float blissfully free. We would be reunited. Bliss.

My mind is intrigued by this possibility. Could it be that easy? Iâm about to try it.

But then I remember·Yale. Like a whisper from another, ãWhat about Yale?ä

I wonât leave our son an orphan. No easy way out for me.

ÎTis more brave to live than to die.
MEREDITH

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"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 3

The Funeral Service

The church is full. I sit in the front row, an arm wrapped protectively around our four-year-old son. Thereâs a smiling photo of my husband, young, handsome, vibrant, full of life. The church is full because he was well loved, and because his death is so shocking, so unexpected. He was only thirty-three.

People get up to pay tribute. I do not speak, but my words are heard. My mother reads my poem, ãNo regrets.ä Another reads a poem I chose, ãJoy and Sorrowä by Kahlil Gibran. The choir sings, ãHeâs Got the Whole World in His Hands,ä a song I chose to reassure our son.

I do not cry. Safely wrapped in my arms, neither does my son.

After the service, I see the sea of faces, pale and shell-shocked, some contorted with emotion, others stained with tears.

They see their own mortality. They see their loved ones snatched from them. They see Tragedy. They see Death.

A line forms to comfort me. I hear whispers, ãSheâs so calm.ä

ãShe didnât even cry!ä

Roles are reversed. I am the one comforting. Theyâre traumatized by the sudden shock.

They donât realize these past three days have been three years for me.

The heart that breaks open
can contain the whole universe.
JOANNA MACY

Page 22 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 25

Our Sonâs Nightmare

Yale whimpers and moans in his sleep. I comfort him, and he falls back asleep without waking. But then he awakes at 2:30 a.m., drenched in sweat, consumed by terror.

ãMy thumb, my thumb!ä he wails, choking on his sobs.

ãDid you have a bad dream about your thumb?ä I try to soothe him.

Heâs frantic. ãNo! You know.ä

ãDid you hurt your thumb?ä

ãNo! You know!ä Still caught in the nightmare, heâs terrified. He thinks his thumb is gone.

I show them both to him (and all his fingers). He is washed with immense relief.

His thumbs are intact, but his family isnât. A family without a father is like a hand without a thumb.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain ·
I shall not live in vain.
EMILY DICKINSON

Page 31 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 26

Something Inside Me Is Dead

Something inside me is dead.
Is it dead like a black rock,
glistening, beautiful and cold?

Or is it dead like spoilt meat,
a gangrene that will spread inside me,
poisoning everything?

We cannot let our angels go.
We do not see that they only go out
that archangels may come in.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Page 38 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 27

Yaleâs Fifth Birthday Party

Balloons. Birthday presents. Wine glasses clink. Laughter rings out. The house is crowded with friendly people. Crackers and cheese are consumed along with sympathetic conversation.

I donât taste the wine. Iâm not satiated by the food. I donât hear the conversation. Iâm overpowered by loneliness.

His absence resonates through everything. I can taste it, touch it, hear it. Loneliness in a friendly crowd is so bitter.

Iâm forced to realize that more people wonât take away this loneliness or ease this pain. Iâm silent. But inside, it is one long drawn-out scream.

Reality, looked at steadily, is unbearable.
C. S. LEWIS

Page 42 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 28

Faith

I am not alone. What could be more horrible than this?
I am falling·falling·falling·yet I am being gently caught.

I am not alone. That was an illusion.

Faith is born.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want·
Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
PSALM 23

Page 43 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 29

Defying Death

For the first time since our last sweet union, I feel like intense, passionate love-making.

A hot celebration of life. Sweat-soaked bodies, slippery, sticking, straining, throaty gasps, sweet ache, and ultimate shudders.

Celebrating life, worshipping life, being life. Prove that I am undeniably alive from lips to tongue to curling toes to deep within. Throw my vibrant aliveness in the face of Death÷like a bucket of ice water÷defiantly deny mortality.

The only problem is÷the space in the bed beside me is empty.

Death cackles back at me, mocking this fool.

It is only the bed that seems strange
and impossible to account for.
RAYMOND CARVER

Page 50 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 42

Curiosity

The range of my emotions astonishes me. For the first time, I feel intrigued to find out who I am all by myself, and see how this will turn out.

Iâve said before that I need only one person who loves me absolutely and I can do anything. Well, Iâd better love myself absolutely.

Knowing others is wisdom.
Knowing yourself is Enlightenment.
LAO-TZU

Page 59 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 50

We Donât See Daddy Very Much Any More

ãWe donât see Daddy very much any more,ä Yale observed.
Which was not that strange, because his father is dead.

ãIâm thinking about Daddy. How great it would be if he was still alive. He would be good at ÎFlying Marioâ because he was better than me at plain ÎMario.âä

A little later, with the pragmatic unselfconsciousness of a five-year-old, he asks, ãAre we going to get a new Daddy?ä

I tell him that his Daddy will always be his Daddy, even though he is dead.

ãI always love you, Mom, even if youâre dead,ä Yale announces solemnly.

Tonight, he sleeps in his own bed for the first time since his father died. At least until he crawls into my bed at 3 a.m.

ãI love you, Mom. I always love you. Even if you are dead, I love you.ä

I snuggle him. ãI love you, too, Yale. Iâll always love you. Even if I am dead, Iâll still love you.ä

Iâll love you forever. Iâll like you for always.
ROBERT MUNCH

Page 71 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 55

Hawaii, first vacation without him

A Five-Year-Old on Love

ãI love you more than Dad.ä Yale pauses, waiting for a reaction. Not getting one, he continues breathlessly, ãI love you more than my new clothes or more than my video game or more than anything! I love you more than ÎFlying Mario.â (Thatâs a hard-to-believe-one, isnât it?) I love you more than going on an airplane. (Whoa!) I love you more than this new house that weâre living in now.ä (A condo in Hawaii.) ãI love you more than Santa Claus and more than presents. (Whoa! Isnât that good?!) I love you more than anything! I love you more than a star!ä

ãI love you more than that!ä I protest. ãI love you four million-billion-zillion. I love you like crazy wildfire. I have the galloping greedy gimmies of love for you! You are the light of my life, the joy of my joy, the happiness of my happiness!ä

I tickle him, and he giggles happily, then asks, ãDo you love me more than Dad?ä

I pause, then gently say, ãNo.ä

ãWhy?ä

ãI love you both the same÷four million-billion-zillion!ä

ãI love you with all my might. Say that on it, Mom.ä

I comply, writing it down.

ãRead it to me.ä

I read it back to him.

ãWrite down, ÎI love youâ at the end of it,ä Yale says.

I do.

Yale says, ãLove is an important thing. Write that down.ä

I do.

Yale says, ãI love you more than outer space.ä

ãIâll write that down.ä

ãIâll remind you. Did you forget yet?ä Yale teases.

ãNo, not yet,ä I say, writing it down.

ãI thought of another one!ä Yale crows excitedly. ãI love you more than my new fishing rod. (Thatâs hard to believe!) And I love you more than my bow and arrow!ä

The heart is like a garden.
It can grow·compassion or fear·
resentment or love·.
What seeds will you plant there?
BUDDHA

Page 76 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 99

Depression

Sleep÷the most blissful intoxicant left to me÷beckons. I long to stay in that loverâs grasp forever.

Wakefulness÷a bloated, loathsome, leaden state abhorrent to my senses.

That tiresome state between sleeps.

Depression.

If there is meaning in life at all,
then there must be a meaning in suffering.
VICTOR FRANKL

Page 109 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 100

Make It Stop!

Every night, when I lay my head down on the pillow, itâs with dread. Every night is the same. I awake in the middle of the night from the same nightmare. Reliving every second of his death.

I canât sleep. Iâm so tired. I look haggard. My clothes hang off me. I try drinking before bed and fret that Iâll become an alcoholic.

Deborah dismisses that worry, ãDid you have a problem with drinking before?ä

ãWell, no.ä

ãDonât worry about it. Itâs temporary,ä she says.

Still, a drink a night or even two is a lot for me, and an unfamiliar pattern. Besides, it doesnât work. I get homeopathic sleeping pills. But nothing takes a bite out of these nightmares.

His gasping breath. I turn on the light. His eyes are bulged, unseeing. ãDavid, youâre scaring me!ä No response. I give CPR. He pees in the bed. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

And I awake, drenched in sweat. Iâm desperate. A friend recommends a therapist. Iâll try anything.

ãSo, what seems to be the problem?ä the therapist asks.

ãIâm having nightmares. You have to make them stop.ä

ãWhat are the nightmares?ä

ãTheyâre nightmares of my husband dying beside me. He died a few months ago. I canât sleep. You have to make them stop.ä

ãWell, just a minute here. Tell me more about your life,ä the therapist insists.

I donât want to get bogged down with details. I donât want to get all emotional and cry. I want results.

ãHow are you during the day?ä the therapist prods.

ãThe days are okay. Itâs the nights that are a problem.ä Make it stop, make it stop, youâve got to make it stop!

ãHow are you getting through the day?ä the therapist persists.

ãOkay. I just pretend that my husband is away on a business trip, and then I can function. Itâs the nightmares I canât bear.ä Make it stop, make it stop, youâve got to make it stop!

ãSo÷you get through the day by pretending that your husband is away on a business trip?ä

ãThatâs right.ä It works. Whatâs it to you?!

ãMaybe your nightmares arenât the problem,ä says the therapist.

What!? ãWhat do you mean?ä

ãYouâre not living in reality. Your husband isnât away on a business trip. Heâs dead. Every night when you go to sleep, your subconscious reminds you of that fact. Over and over, like clothes spinning in a dryer, your subconscious mind is telling you the truth.ä

But I canât bear the truth!

ãYou have to deal with the truth. The dreams arenât the problem. Theyâre the solution. Getting through the day by living a lie is the problem.ä

Oh.

Truth, like surgery,
may hurt, but it cures.
HAN SUYIN

Page 114 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 116

Courage

Courage, brave heart. Courage.

You are more than the love you shared.

You are more than your reflection in his admiring eyes.

Courage.
 

With courage you will dare to take risks,
have the strength to be compassionate
and the wisdom to be humble.
KESHAVAN NAIR

Page 140 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 212

Magnet

The part of my mind that observes everything and takes notes is intrigued. After lying dormant for months, my answering machine is now constantly winking. Suddenly, Iâm a man-magnet. Itâs the siren call of a female in heat.

Feeling like a woman scorned, I mutiny. I feel compelled to prove Iâm desirable. Prove Iâm alive. Prove that David made a mistake.

Fortunately analysis is not the only way to resolve inner conflicts.
Life itself still remains a very effective therapist.
KAREN HORNEY

Page 158 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Day 364

Cellular Scream

Three-hundred-and-sixty-four days have gone by. The hours tick by. At four a.m. tomorrow morning, it will be exactly one year since David died.

One whole year. It feels like five. When he died, I naively thought Iâd be okay in a year. Iâd have ãgotten over it.ä

This is not the kind of thing you get over. Not ever. But I thought at least Iâd feel healed, a bit more healed. A year is an awfully long time. Yet itâs not.

I donât feel healed. I feel raw and vulnerable. I sit by the fire, shivering, though itâs not cold. A blanket is offered, and I snuggle in it for warmth, but this is the kind of chill that neither a fire, nor a blanket, nor hot chocolate can dispel.

As the evening progresses, Iâm overcome by a powerful sense of dread. It doesnât matter that Iâm not alone. It doesnât matter that I tell myself, Thereâs nothing to be afraid of.

My cells tremble with dread. They seem to be trying to scream. The trauma of my husband dying beside me has been engraved upon my very cells.

A stupor overcomes me. I cannot even make it up the stairs unaided.

Do not be desirous of having things done quickly.
Do not look at small advantages.
Desire to have things done quickly
prevents their being done thoroughly.
Looking at small advantages prevents
great affairs from being accomplished.
CONFUCIUS

Page 173 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Two years (second anniversary of his death)

Acceptance

I meet my dead husband at the airport. We sit across from each other, and I unleash my fury, ãHow could you die beside me? How could you rip my heart out? How could you abandon me?ä

I pound my fist on the cold, hard, cheap table, heedless of the faceless passersby, all heading purposefully somewhere else. My fury spent, my voice quavers as I confront him with his ultimate betrayal, ãHow could you leave our son without his father?ä

Silently, compassionately, my husband listens to the outpourings of my raging heart. He does not take the baited hook, nor does he reach out to comfort me with his warm, strong hands. He reaches out to me in the only way he can÷in this dream.

ãIf you had it to do all over again, would you still marry me?ä

I think for a moment, flooded with joyful memories. Love shared, boats sailed, dreams achieved÷together. Iâd take my time with him, though it be short. ãYes.ä

ãIf you had it to do all over again, would you still have our son?ä

This time the answer is quicker, surer. I wouldnât give up our son for the world! He is the light of my life, my joy, my blessing. ãYes!ä

ãGiven that, would you want to know that I would die young?ä

His question gives me pause. Would I choose to taint our joy with dread? I look into my heart, and after a long moment, see the answer. ãNo.ä

A sense of peace soothes my rage and my sorrow. I did not choose my fate. And yet÷I would.

Iâve dreamt in my life dreams
that have stayed with me ever after,
and changed my ideas;
theyâve gone through and through me,
like wine through water,
and altered the color of my mind.
EMILY BRONTE

Page 181 of 260
"From Heartbreak To Happiness" by Aurora Winter

Read the rest of Auroraâs journal of healing,

and give a copy to people you love.

Donât just give flowers÷give hope.

© Copyright 2007 by Aurora Winter. All Rights Reserved.