Candle-light

I was blind-Image via Wikipediasided by grief a few times yesterday.
....that intense feeling that someone is missing.
....that subconscious lightening in my heart when I thought I caught a glimpse of him in the shed before I remembered.
....looking at my kids who aren't supposed to be growing up without their Daddy.

I was tired and feeling overwhelmed at the amount of work I have to do, the fact that my house looks like a bomb exploded inside it, the fact that there is nobody else here to take some of the strain.

So by the time I went to bed, I was miserable.
Crying.
Sobbing.
*Knowing* that things would never get any better, but that I had no option but to keep living this half-life.
*Knowing* that I would never meet another man like Greg. That all my fruitless looking at profiles on dating sites just reinforced this. (I must confess that I put my profile on a dating site during the holidays for no other reason than to prove to myself that men still found me attractive and that I could find somebody if I wanted to ... but as it turns out, I didn't actually want to).

Somehow I slept. Probably through sheer exhaustion.

...and when I woke up this morning, I turned on my laptop to see this message:



...and I remembered that I am not alone.
Other widows have felt this exact same way during some point in their journey.
They are surviving.
They know moments of happiness mixed with the grief.
...and they are holding candles to help light this darkness for others...

So for today, I will try to focus on the candle light shining from the hearts of other widowed people and remember that life really does have more light than dark.

MIP

from here

I drove home from the apartment yesterday having spent the day waiting for the new furniture to be delivered and coming to terms with the fact that there was suddenly an offer on my house and I accepted. The loss I've suffered suddenly felt brand new again.

On the ride home, I was on maybe the fourth hour of steady crying and trying to breathe with a chest turned tight and claustrophobic with fear. I remember coming to a rolling stop somewhere south of Longview and looking over at the traffic speeding easily by in the other direction. Only a small strip of grassy median separated me from that traffic and the thought crossed my mind that ending this kind of pain would require a quick left turn, a bump or two over the median and to launch the car into the oncoming traffic.* There was even a big semi coming. The thought did not recur and did not last long (and hasn't recurred since, I swear). Maybe a few seconds. But it was there. And it scared me. I knew at that moment that it was time to be honest about how much help I needed. I began to send out requests for help.

I continued to cry and a recurring thought I battled the rest of the way home was "I am no one's most important person". I am no living person's mommy, kid or wife or daughter.

I thought for the millionth time about chosen family then. About how maybe I don't have a living mom, dad, or husband, but I do have sisters and brothers. Maybe not siblings by blood, but I have them. And though they have Most Important People (their kids, spouses, parents) who am I to say where I rank on their list of MIP's?

I thought of the actual blood family I haven't had the chance to become close with over the years but who love me still. From afar. Without reservation. I am someone's cousin, someone's "auntie", someone's niece. 

I thought of how even when Dave was alive, there were other people on the planet I loved almost as fiercely. I couldn't really rank them with Dave. There's no ranking when it comes to love.

The next day, today, has been hard too. But I sat down in the midst of my darkest feelings and thoughts and wrote up a help request to my closest friends. I wrote them a list of tasks that I have to complete before the house closes and asked them to let me know which ones they could help with. All the while, I was battling the fear that my needs are so numerous right now that they will overtax my loved ones' energy and get in the way of their needs. But then a sister reminded me of the way that they can each pick and choose from the list I'd made to suit their needs and that asking for help was so important.

And the help came flooding in. Along with the help came relief and a glimmer of hope, a reminder that although I am no one's mom or daughter or wife, I am loved and cared for. And I'm not alone.

Then, I cried some more but the tears and sobs came from a place of utter gratitude and relief.

 * I urgently wished to be with Dave again and for my old life to come back. I urgently wished for a little break from the seemingly unbearable pain I feel when the grief monster strikes. I think this is very different from actual suicidal thinking. Suicidal thinking is believing that dying is the only way to solve your problems or end your pain. My beliefs about life after death aren't even enough to convince me I'd be with Dave if I died, anyway, so dying isn't something I think will solve my problems and I would NEVER put my loved ones through such an ordeal. Especially, now, knowing exactly what it feels like to be left behind by your MIP. In addition, losing Dave has made me ultra aware of the gift of life. I get to live and experience things and Dave doesn't. I will not waste that gift. Dave would KILL me if he knew I did (ha ha). I just needed to be honest about the depths of the pain I experienced so that others can feel connected to my experience. If I'm not honest, I don't honor how hard this is or how real this is. Forgive me in advance for making anyone worry about me more than they already do. I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't think it was important to.

The Proposal

Dear Lisa,

When I get to Heaven, will you marry me?

I’ll understand if you say no.

I get that there are probably better options for you where you are, and with so many secrets of the universe to explore, I’m sure you don’t want to do them alone.  Can you wait for me? 

For some couples, they leave their spouse in their old age and the wait time for their reunion is just a few years, if not months.  You left me at age 39.  I may be down here awhile.  Will I be a distant memory or will you be the first one to greet me when I get there?

Can you tell how much I still love you?   How much I miss you? 

Can you see me struggle?  I think of you during my darkest hours.  I draw strength from how you dealt with your cancer, refusing to be the victim and living life until the end.  I use you for inspiration to continue with my life.

Am I doing okay raising our children?  Children you gave birth to - one of them during your sickness.  I’ve made mistakes with them since you’ve been gone.  And every night when I go to bed, I replay how I was with the kids.  Wondering if I am doing what you asked of me when you knew you were dying, “Matt, I need you to take care of our girls.”  Can you see me raise my voice less and listen to them more?

I am in the process of re-learning life.  Does it frustrate you to see how much I’ve figured out since you’ve been gone?  To see how better I am with my priorities; to see me understand how to appreciate life.  To treat people the way you were hoping to be treated.  You planted the seeds, but left before the flowers bloomed.  Does that make you mad, or are you proud to see your handy work of a different me?

Do you see me trying to live a life without you?  Trying to build something new for myself and take this pain and turn it into something positive?  Does that break your heart?  Or are you frustrated I’m not doing enough?  Are you sitting around a pool with all the other husbands and wives yelling down, “Come on guys, live a little!  Didn’t our deaths show you life is short?  Let’s pick up the pace! We’re bored watching all of the inactivity.  Not much gossip here in the land of eternal happiness, so give us something to talk about.”

Knowing what you now know in heaven, was I still a good husband? 

Does heaven allow you to look at all our old fights?  You know, the ones where we’re both arguing, “That’s not what I said!” “Yes, it was.” “No, it wasn’t.”  I’m guessing you can see now I was probably wrong on a lot of those. 

I can be a better husband. I can sit down and talk, to support your dreams and goals.  If you wait for me, we can have a marriage that Mark Antony and Cleopatra would see and be jealous of.

So what do you say, Lisa? When I get to heaven, let’s get married.  It will be fun.  You can wear white - white never goes out of fashion in Heaven.  We can get married during a thunderstorm – the lightening will be our candles – and we’ll rearrange the clouds so our party won’t get wet.  I’ll make Benjamin Franklin my best man; Audrey Hepburn, your maid of honor.  Martin Luther King can give the toast and Moses will lead us in prayer.

I’ll let you have The Grateful Dead be the band, if you let the Three Stooges sit at our table.  

We’ll honeymoon in a private villa owned by Howard Hughes and then buy a house with a river running through the middle, leading to a tennis court in the backyard.  We’ll hang out on our extended porch and watch unicorns drink from the river. 

Lisa, wait for me, and we can finish up that great marriage we were just starting to achieve before you left.

Mine

“I would much rather have regrets about not doing what people said, than regretting not doing what my heart led me to and wondering what life had been like if I’d just been myself.”
-Brittany Renee

At this very moment...undoubtedly...like every moment since his death...I am following the map created every second by my heart.

It hasn't been the easiest one...

The smoothest one.

Or the most scalable of paths.

But it has been the one, that for nearly 5 years, which has been the right one for me.

It's been one that I've walked alone.

It's been one that I've walked with many.

It's been one that's never led me astray...even though I was certain it had at many moments.

It's been mine.

Not his.

Nor hers.

Nor yours..But mine.

And never....ever...have I been more proud, more excited, more certain...with each step...to keep walking.

A Week and Counting

Time marches on, and quickly!! It was only May when I got engaged, and the big day is coming up next week! I can hardly believe it. I make that statement with double meaning. I can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed since May, but it's more than that. I can hardly believe it.

I remember a time when I was convinced I'd never remarry. I loved Daniel more than anyone in the world (excluding Grayson :) and there was no way I would ever find someone like that again, much less allow them in. I wasn't even going to look. Dating? Maybe. I mean, I'm human so it wouldn't hurt to at least go out every once in a while, but long term? Forget it. Men are generally stupid and I'd already had the cream of the crop. Marriage? Forget about it. It would be a cold day in hell before that happened....well, it looks like the temps in Hades are dropping rapidly!

I think Carl slipped in when I had a rare moment of "guard down". I had decided I was interested in finding someone - I had arrived at the conclusion that I wanted someone in my life for real, not just a fun date. But, I had become the two date master. I could eliminate a guy in two dates (a couple of posers made it past my radar, but those are another story), and I had serious doubts that I'd find anyone 3rd date worthy.

Along came Carl. He charmed me with his easy humor, his fabulous smile, and his ability to talk to me about our bumpy past lives. He disarmed me completely and when I looked up...it was date 3, and we were booking a trip to New Orleans...and he hadn't even kissed me yet! Seriously? When did he slip me the love potion!?? Fast forward a year, and Carl, on one knee, blew me away. I still don't think I've recovered from that romantic moment :)

Almost two years later, we have bought a house, and the big day is coming up fast. I can hardly believe it! Who knew this was possible? I think several of my friends wondered if I'd go this route and had serious doubts - much as I did. I didn't, and still don't think that "moving forward" after Daniel means finding a man. "Moving forward" means finding yourself again and building a new life for yourself. I moved forward - and buckets of tears and a few years later, I found myself. A stronger, harder, more cynical version of me, and also a softer, more sensitive, and more loving me... but still me.

Who would have thought that new me would end up counting the days until her wedding? Certainly not ME! ;-) A week away and counting....I can hardly believe it!!

making cookie batter together

photo from here

Jackie sent me a message last night to let me know that one of her little ones is sick, and she hasn't been far enough from a pail to write for today's post. My job as editor means that if a writer is unavailable, I am on duty...but you already heard from me yesterday...so I looked over some past posts and realized that Jackie had an unfinished draft of a post that I love. So, she wrote the first half and I wrote the second...hence the title, Jackie and I are making cookie batter together! We hope you enjoy the result!

I am a widow. Yes, it's a huge part of who and what I am now. But it's not the first way I would choose to describe myself.... anymore.

If each role we play in life is like an ingredient, like a batter of sorts, can't widowhood be the cream in the "Hazelnut Cream Cookie" rather than the first ingredient mentioned? I am afraid that having the widowhood portion of my dough become one of the unmentioned contributors (i.e. eggs or flour) would be doing a huge disservice to the memory of Jeff, and I am still not at the point where I can erase "him" from my cookie title. But I am certainly ready to have my widowed status demoted to the second word identifying me as a cookie.

I don't want my title of "widow" to be my primary identity. I want to go back to being "Jackie". I want to be described as "funny", "kind", even "bitchy" if necessary....I despise knowing that I have been described as "You know the young widow with two little kids?" Yes, I am a widow. But I am a mommy, a sister, a daughter, an auntie, a friend, a neighbor...and so many other things too. Yet, the one thing many people remember is that my husband is dead.

As my heart heals bit by bit, I realize that not allowing my widowhood to be my most important identifying attribute is not dishonoring my late husband. In fact, learning to describe myself by using words that point out my unique qualities reminds me of all the reasons he fell in love with me in the first place. Without him by my side it is easy to forget that Jeff thought I was beautiful, kind, funny, and a great mommy. I am more than what has happened to me. I am all that Jeff saw in me, and I can't be defined by just one word. So for now I may be a Hazelnut Cream Cookie or a Oatmeal Toffee Crunch Cookie...just know that this cookie is made up of a variety of quality ingredients...not all of which you will find in my cookie title.

I Know Him But We Never Met

I am filling in for Janine today, she will be back with us next week!

Tribute Tile Wall from Camp Widow West 2011

 Soaring Spirits is moving into a new donated office space...and even though I am writing this on Tuesday night, boy has it been a long week! While making room in our new digs, the relocating of desks, file cabinets, book shelves, and storage boxes has unearthed a variety of photos, old stationery, Christmas decorations, and two appointment calendars from the 90's.

The thing is these calendars belonged to the late husband of one of our board members. As I turned the pages and viewed Carl's writing I was struck by the proof of his existence...staring at me from small boxes marked with words written by his hand.

I never met Carl, but I feel I know him. I have heard his voice only once (on a cassette tape actually), and when I listened, somehow the timbre sounded familiar to my ears. Carl is someone I can pick out in a photo; I can tell you that he was meticulous and funny and fiercely loyal. I know that he helped his step-kids avoid their mother's wrath when they found themselves in hot water. He loved to give jewelry as a gift...I have seen the evidence! Carl was respected by his peers, valued by his employers, and kind to his family. When his daughter was diagnosed with cancer, he tried desperately to bargain with God to let him trade places with her so that she and  her young family would not be at risk of losing each other through death. Personal details, daily habits, food and wine preferences, and favorite travel destinations: all this I know about a man I never met, which I find odd and amazing at the same time, because my friend Barbara shared her love with me.

As I stared down at the maroon colored book in my hand today, I realized that not only do I "know" Carl, but I know so many other men and women whose hands I have never grasped in my own. You see, as a widowed community we share our late spouses with each other through stories, photos, tears, and laughter. When you leave a comment here, or send a message to us at SSLF, we meet your loved one for the first time through your words. Then every story you share there after, adds to the total picture we have of the person with whom you shared your life. Slowly but surely people we never had the privilege of sharing a meal with become dear to us, known to us.

In this beautiful way, our loved ones live on. Not just in our hearts, or even in the hearts of those who knew them in life, but in the friendships we share as widowed people trying to make our way without the people we miss and love so much.

Thanks Barb for sharing Carl with me. And thanks to each and every one of you who share your loved ones with us. Our community includes not only you and me, but all the people we love who have changed our collective lives. What a gift.