Relaunch of my blog and answering the question, why do it?

Anti-climax has its place I suppose. This post was originally going to serve as my reentry into the blogosphere. News events prompted me to change that plan with a well-received blog post about Meryl Streep and Donald Trump.

Before that, I last posted a regular blog entry in mid-May as I retired from the Walter Cronkite School at Arizona State University.

I promised in that last post that during a planned hiatus, I would decide if I was going to continue the blog and exactly what form it would take if I did continue. I also needed to sort out why and whether I might continue.

This blog was born as McGuire on Life, Disability and Grief in August of 2014 out of three needs. A) I needed a broader canvas for my thoughts and feelings than my blog McGuire on Media offered me. B) I wanted a forum on disability to discuss my book, “Some People Even Take Them Home.” C) I needed to bare my soul about my grief after my late wife, Jean Fannin McGuire died in June of 2014.

My hope was that my personal experiences might offer comfort at the same time I provoked people to think deeply about grief and disability. I am convinced personal stories intrigue, stimulate and educate.

Contemplating the relaunch of the blog forced me to confront why I should do it. The truth is writing the blog on any kind of a regular schedule is perilously close to work and I just retired from that practice.

Rumination led me to realize that writing is not really work for me. It’s how I think. I add flesh and blood to all the weird ramblings in my head by writing. I need to write.

I also need to touch people. Few things make me as happy as the realization that my writing touched someone. My book, “Some People Even Take Them Home”  did not sell near as many copies as I’d like. Yet, writing that book is one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. I know it affected some people profoundly. For a writer, all you really need is to affect one person.

I admit to a deep desire to encourage people to think through issues and prompt them see things in a new light. I completely understand my opinions are my  opinions and I am wrong a lot. Writing on a public blog allows the give and take from an audience that will make you painfully aware of your errors in judgment and will applaud your successes.

So that’s why I am relaunching the blog. I changed the name to McGuire on Life so that all the old subjects are fair game, but I can also broaden my canvas to include travel, retirement and the people I meet on those new adventures.

I am still disabled. I still have a disabled son. I still think a lot about illness and grief even though I have found a delightful new love. Those topics will remain a part of this blog.

After I retired, I needed new business cards. My new card says Tim J. McGuire, Life Enthusiast.

At root, that is who I am.  To the frequent consternation of the two women I have lived with, I wake up every morning bubbling and happy and usually stay that way all day.

We are at the point in American history where too many people are  struggling to be enthusiastic about their spirituality, their politics and their futures. I don’t propose a Pollyanna approach. If I were to redo those business cards I might make it  “Realistic Life Enthusiast.”

I hope you will find that describes these blog posts.

Tim J. McGuire is the author of “Some People Even Take Them Home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can remember your loved one and be happy at the same time

I was talking to a close and incredibly smart friend over the holidays about memories, grief and loved ones.

I told him how happy I am with my new wife, Candace, and how happy she seems to be. As the conversation meandered I mentioned that Candace was a little down because the four year anniversary of her husband’s death was New Year’s Eve.

My smart friend expressed confusion. He could not understand how one minute I could say Candace was incredibly happy and then tell him that she was melancholy over her late husband’s death.

I was briefly surprised before I realized again that people who have not experienced the loss of a spouse just can’t understand how conflicting emotions exist with you all the time.

I gently told my friend he was thinking about emotions as a zero sum game and they are not that at all. I told him melancholy and happiness co-exist. One does not replace the other.

I completely understand how difficult that is for someone who has never lost a spouse to comprehend. Intellectually it probably does not compute, but for someone who has lost a spouse the feelings are genuine. To explain to my friend, I put out my left arm in a straight line. Then I did the same with my right arm.

I said the straight line represented by my the left arm is my late wife Jean. I miss her. I loved her and I loved our life together. I regret that our wonderful nuclear family no longer exists. I am deeply saddened that my kids lost their beloved mother. I think about her and what she would have thought about scores of events and people each week.

Then I moved to my right arm and told my friend that was my life with Candace. We laugh uproariously practically all the time. We learn and come to enjoy eccentricities like my sneezes and my constant aches and pains,  and her obsession with Christmas decorating and her cats. We cultivate a new love with all sorts of tender moments each day.

The two lines are wonderful in their own right. They do not subtract from each other. One of those lines is a memory. It cannot be lived again, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be treasured and remembered fondly without detracting at all from the other line. That other line is now. It is real and it can be savored, felt and hugged.

So when Candace was melancholy about David’s death I never felt a single pang of jealousy. Because I experience the same emotion all the time, I knew that she could remember, honor and miss David at the same time she loves me with all her heart.

One of those straight lines represents yesterday. The other line represents today. The two separate lines just are. They are distinct worlds and they are as real to me as my right foot.

Candace holds both of her lines in her heart at the same time and so do I. We treasure yesterday and our late spouses. We savor and live today with our new spouses with everything we have to give.

Second-guessing past actions is silly because you are someone new

It was a joyful, peaceful Sunday. My new wife, Candace and I were enjoying brunch, reflecting on  the Catholic mass we had just attended and on our week. I candidly confessed that All Souls Day in early November had prompted me to reflect considerably about my late wife Jean. Candace, a bit surprised at the parallel, replied that she too had been reflecting the last week on her late husband David.

As we talked, we realized that it would probably be an error to call our thoughts grief. Our grief has matured, if you will, into melancholy, a sense of loss and definitely sweet appreciation.

I then wistfully confessed that many of my thoughts centered on second-guessing how I handled Jean’s illness and death. Like many widows and widowers I have talked to, I worry about things I should have said, comfort I could have offered and kindnesses I wish I would have extended. As I expressed my regrets Candace gently offered her wisdom. “You did your best with what you had. You loved Jean in the very best way you could and that’s all she could have asked of you and I know that’s all David asked of me. We did our best.”

As I rolled Candace’s comforting words around in my mind, I experienced my own flash of understanding for which I am incredibly grateful. It is actually quite silly for me to second-guess because I am quite a different person from the one who attempted to comfort Jean and hold her hand as she faced death. Her valiant outlook on life, her acceptance of imminent death and the crushing reality of grief changed me in fundamental ways. Comforting my children, and receiving their comfort altered me too. So did the journey of finding new love with Candace. I realize my grief counselor’s incredibly wise advice to “tend the garden of grief over Jean and the garden of new love with Candace” transformed me in fundamental ways.

As I ate my frittata I realized how fruitless it is to wish I would have acted differently 16 months ago when I am a new person complete with fresh bumps, bruises and new revelations. If we are growing in understanding and appreciation we simply cannot rationally assess what that other guy in our past should have or could have done.

Candace is correct. We did our best. My love for Jean, her illness, her death, my grief and my laugh-filled journey to an exciting new love with Candace are now part of my odyssey. If I pay attention, they can be great teachers for the next part of my adventure.

Tim J McGuire is the author of “Some People Even Take Them Home” A Disabled Dad, A Down Syndrome Son and Our Journey To Acceptance