Recently, I lost my husband Paul, the love of my life, my best friend, confidante, and adventure-seeker. It was a long journey that began with his blood cancer diagnosis in June of 2021. Because of the many challenges, I learned a lot and received many blessings — the blessing of reliance on family and community, the blessing of strengthened self-confidence, and the willingness to move forward one day at a time.

The day after Paul died, my sister, Sheila, drove from New Jersey for the weekend. It was so special in its immediacy and its intimacy. While the journey of Paul’s illness was overwhelming, I had Paul with me for feedback and guidance. The new journey of his passing was wholly uncharted. I had experienced loss before, intense and emotionally biting loss, but I had never had to deal with the ocean of logistics before me.

Like me, my sister Sheila is a woman of action. She and I share a “do your best, put one foot in front of the other, and live one day at a time” philosophy for daily living. She brought with her the most valuable gift I was to receive in the days following Paul’s passing. A structure for navigating the details of loss.

The Black Book

Sheila called it The Black Book. It is a simple three-ring binder filled with looseleaf paper separated by eight pocket folder numbered tabs. In the front pocket is the Index. This low-tech diary allows me to organize my flood of thoughts and feelings as they appear simply by turning a page and writing them down.

The hardest part of setting it up was brainstorming the eight categories. Sheila and I sat on my deck all morning with our coffee and bagels. After hours and hours of being on the phone, taking this time to let the phone calls go to voice mail and focus on a doable task was refreshing. “What are things that you need to do? Those are the categories. There can be sub-categories within these, but let’s try and focus on the main topics.” Sheila was so good at guiding me. “Whatever you think, write it down. Better yet, you just say it, I’ll write it down.” I started, “I must call the church, I must call the bank, I must write the obituary, I have to, I have to, I have to…. What else? What else? What else?”

She stopped me, took out a Post-it note, and wrote down the letters KISSD. Keep It Simple, Slow Down. “Because you’re not stupid.” I cried, “Thank you, I love this.” After an hour’s worth of ramblings, the categories were identified: Gifts & Thank Yous, Donor Funds/Obituary, Church Service, Celebration of Life, Account & Cyber Changes, Legal, Tasks, and Other. While I see now that the order of the Categories within the binder doesn’t really matter, it mattered a lot in the moment, and I needed all three attempts that her blank sheets provided.

Instantaneous Usefulness

The best part about the binder was its instantaneous usefulness. Every time I had a thought about something, I turned to the related category and wrote it down. All that day and with each passing day, it became the routine that started with my morning coffee, was revisited throughout the day, and provided a clarifying wrap-up and closure for my day.

The Black Book anchored me.

Sheila reminded me that I did not have to do everything I wrote down immediately; I just needed to empty my head and get it down on paper. The ‘when’ I needed to do it could come later. It was another note Sheila had for the front of the binder – “Does IT need to be done? Does IT need to be done by me? Does IT need to be done now?”

In the first week, I sat in front of that book often. When I was uncertain or just couldn’t think, I let the writings on the pages in front of me be the direction for what to do next. It was concrete. On the group of looseleaf pages in front of the tabbed sections, I put calendar dates – one day per page. I put the next day on the next page and the next day after that. Through the fog of emotions, I could understand the smallest fragment–one day with a limited number of hours.

I chose one major “business” task per day – on that first Monday, I called the bank and stopped Paul’s ATM card and wrote down the directions on what I needed to do in the coming weeks.

That was enough.

Readying my home for family and visitors, I chose one chore; later, I called it my “chore du jour.” One is enough. I don’t have to do it all in a day.

When Paul passed, several home improvement projects were in progress, so moving these projects one step forward each day was added to the list. Text the garage door installer. Done. Part of every day also needed to include self-care–doctor’s appointments, a pedicure, a haircut, or a massage–things that were only about me and no one else. Connection–reaching out to a friend or just saying yes to someone who asked me to go for a walk, taking time for an impromptu visit, meeting for coffee, or going to breakfast, all necessary to each day.

Baby Steps OK

I do not walk this journey alone. I will try to be present. And rest. I started defining the end of my day, dinnertime, and leaving whatever is undone until the next day. I can make a “to-do” wish list, but that’s all it is.

Most importantly, I need to stop throughout the day and let the tsunami of emotion wash over me. Unplanned, these are the tenderest parts of my day. Honoring them is all I need to do. And pray. And talk to Paul. Because the spiritual connection we had is not lost with his passing. I still have it. Paul’s spirit is with me, and I share the progress of each day with him in thought and audible conversations.

With this structure my sister provided, I made it through a day, a week, a month. The tasks of each day came together, and one by one, they were completed. The results of each were comforting beyond my imagination and expectations. “It matters not how haltingly we walk” is one of my favorite quotes. It makes baby steps okay. It allows for every path, even when the journey is not a straight line. And it never is. The only thing that matters is that we continue to put one foot in front of the other. And walk.