Unimaginable

Life hasn't turned out like I thought it would. Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured myself standing before a room full of widows sharing with them my thoughts on finding hope in the aftermath of despair. Never. And yet here I am, and here you are, and we are here together.

Unimaginable does not mean impossible. How do you apply that concept to life as a widow? The night Phil died, I could not imagine sleeping comfortably in our bed ever again ~but now I can fall happily into my bed and sleep the night away. When I stood in front of our friends and family to speak publicly about my love for Phil at his funeral, I could not imagine ever wanting to verbalize my love for him in front of a large group of people again ~but now I share our journey with groups all over the country. When I sat alone in a restaurant eating lunch without my partner, I could not imagine a comfortable lunch alone ~but now I often grab a quick bite to eat without even noticing that I am alone. When I took off my wedding ring, I could not imagine ever wearing another ~but now I know that some day I will.

In the same way that we could not have imagined where we would be today, we won't be able to imagine where we may be tomorrow. Sometimes the unimaginable is terrible, but other times the uncertain future brings us gifts that defy our ability to comprehend.

As we gather together today for the first ever National Conference on Widowhood (VERY unimaginable), I encourage you to embrace the possibility of that which has yet to be imagined.

Unite

This past week Nicole (WSM) and I were both able to speak to military widows from the Vietnam era. Now we did it in different ways (mine was on the phone and hers was at the podium), but both brought us to the realization that we were overlapping two generations with one common thing, sharing our stories of love, grief and survival.

The woman I spoke with has been on this journey of widowhood for 40 years(where as I'm only going on 2), yet for 30 minutes time and age were not a factor. We spoke about what we do in our free time, about how we were notified and other topics. Excitement was present in both of our voices, for in those moments we had come full circle. 40 years later she was able to share things with someone who understood that she and so many others had paved the way for our generation.

Of course I wanted to ask her if there was some secret to getting through this new life, some seeds of wisdom I could plant in my garden. She paused for a moment, and in the words she then spoke, I was reaffirmed to why I am still here.

"The one thing that has pulled me through is the love I have for him and the hope that one day we will be together forever."

It was then that I realized that yes, we are the new generation of military widows and things have changed from past generations, but there is one constant that will always unite us, always bring us together as one in the end, and that is love.

Life does sure insist on happening...

Life does sure insist on happening.

This weekend, while I am in San Diego for the Conference, my daughter will be putting herself on a plane for musical theater camp. She will take a plane to Newark, and then a bus. We have reviewed the itinerary maybe one hundred times. She is really tired of me. "Do you have your ticket? The confirmation number of the bus service? The notarized permission form? Death certificate? Money? Do you know what to do if there is a glitch? Do you have the Marriot number in San Diego?" And on and on.

The poor girl.

It is not her separation anxiety that is at issue. We are both clear about that. It is mine. Since December 2000, it has always been mine. The first time she went to overnight camp I struggled not to go to bed for the two weeks. The next year it did not get any better. The third year, it was for a month, and as I walked to my car having said my 30th good bye, I met her counselor. "I think Anneke is very sad," I wept, "and she might might need some consolation from you". And then I just sobbed.

This kind, young, cute-as-a-button counselor reached out to me and patted me on the shoulder... "I know its hard Mrs. Elmhirst, but you will be fine."

Ah, humbled again. My tears dried up and I regained my composure, not wanting to appear less put-together than a young woman 30 years my junior.

I am thrilled about this trip to San Diego. I am following the weekend with my first vacation in over 9 years. By vacation I mean, no child. I will be in a boat sailing among the San Juan Islands with my geologist.

But it is a mixed bag as always. Anneke is growing up and our family that started as three, and then became abruptly two, feels to be getting even smaller as she spreads her wings and puts miles between us.

I know that it is right. But at the same time, it makes me a little sad.

Mie Elmhirst

Widows Breathe Coaching

WINGS and Things

A warm hello,

My coach once shared a quote with me quote with me that said, “Take the Leap and Build the Wings on the Way Down.”

That was in 2006, about a year and a half after my husband Rory passed away when I found myself at a major crossroad both personally and professionally. To bottom line it, I knew I had to make significant changes in the way I worked, how much I worked, how available and present I was for my young son and it was also time for some self care. Can you relate? I worked too much (because I thought I had to), I slept too little (because I worked too much), I was stressed out (because I worked too much and slept too little), I struggled with being a single parent to my young son (because I was stressed out), and I ran as hard and as fast as I could to not feel and experience the full and raw pain of my grief.

So, after much hand wringing, and more tossing and turning I decided to “Take the Leap and Build the Wings on the Way Down.” This involved quitting my job (a corporate career of 19 years), going back to school, starting a business and taking the time to breathe and to grieve.

For the past few years I have been building my wings and learning how to fly solo and along my own personal flight plan. I have become accustomed to being alone, to making all the decisions for me and my son, and in knowing I had me and just me to rely on. Okay, it hasn’t been a bowl of cherries, but I’ve figured it out for the most part. (I still hit some turbulence now and then)

Now, enter my significant other, whom I love dearly and who has become a very important part of our lives. This, as you can imagine is a very big deal! It is awesome and personally eye opening as well. Eye opening because I am still learning how to be the best me I can be and I can still get hung up. For so long it seems I’ve been the “widow” and all that entails. Now, after five years of flying with just my own wings, it seems I need to remember what it is like to have a “wingman” again. (A “wingman” is someone who supports and backs us up). I’ve been somewhat afraid to lean on him. It is almost a forgotten behavior and I’ll also admit I have been a little fearful of losing someone I love again to death. Such is life. I know there are no guarantees, and I intellectually know not to spend my energies on the “what if’s” something happens to him, but with that said I am still I am a work in progress.

So, the next course on my flight plan includes continuing to work through my own personal issues (fear of another loss), to cherish my “wingman” and learn to allow myself to lean on someone and completely love again. I also plan to be a great “wing woman”, because I’ve learned I am strong and a great support person as well! This is and continues to be quite a journey. A woman’s (and a widow’s) walk or “Soaring Spirit” is ongoing, is it not?

My hope is to keep flying (adjust as necessary for turbulence) and I absolutely hope to see many of you building your wings, flying and soaring high in the sky.

Warmly,

Colleen Phillips

New Adventures

This is a picture from my vacation last week.  I'd love to tell you all that it was the most fantastic trip I've ever been on.  

That, however, would be a lie.  

It was mostly .... not fun.  It was mostly ..... lonely.  It was mostly .... painful.

I really, really needed Jim there.

But there is no answer for that need ..... and so I move forward.

There were some good moments ..... like the time I spend reading and relaxing underneath the above beach umbrella ..... all by myself.

And I met some nice people, even though I'm not one who easily engages with strangers.  Well, let me re-phrase that.  I never used to easily engage with strangers, until Jim died and suddenly widowed people were not strangers.  Not even for an instant.

I am in San Diego this week, staying with Jim's brother and his family.  My father-in-law was here until yesterday.  And when he left .... a very huge wave came crashing down on me.  I never saw it coming.  I had to leave the house and stay outside for a while before I could calm down enough to come in.

I haven't seen him since my mother-in-law died last May.

When he left in the car it felt like another part of Jim was leaving .... and who knows if or when I'll ever see him again.

Grieving totally sucks.

But, on a good note, I love being here with my family.  They let me just relax here and don't expect anything of me.  The kids are not here and are being well taken care of.  As is everything back home.

I'm still able to get some work done each day, which I love, because my job makes me feel as if I matter ..... that I make a difference.

And on another good note .... I will go on another adventure in 2 days .... the Widows' Conference.  I can NOT wait to meet so many of these people whom I've only met through cyber space,

I don't think I can possibly love them any more than I already do from seeing them face-to-face, but it will so great to hug each one and just sit and talk, hopefully with no masks.

Yes, it is an adventure that I wish with all my heart I did not have to take.  I would trade every good thing, every single blessing, to just wake up and find that this has been a 19 month nightmare.

But ... that, too, is not meant to be.

And so, I push on .... looking for new adventures ..... sometimes having to force myself to go on them, but I'm usually glad that I did.

And I know that Jim is glad that I did.

I would certainly want it for him if our places were switched.

So, in spite of this year and a half nightmare ...... and many, many times because of it ..... I have been blessed.

Very, very blessed.

And I have no doubt that ..... in 2 days, I will have a weekend of blessings to tally up and share.

I pray that many of you will be there .... and that we will get to meet.

Because we are stronger than we think we are ..... especially when there's a group of us .... together.  

We can do anything.

And I look forward to doing that.

The Value of a Friend

For lots of reasons, but likely due to the National Conference on Widowhood this weekend, I keep thinking about my friend Michele and how different my life would be without her. She once wrote that God closed the door to Phil, but by an odd twist sent her the window that opened to me. Given the choice, she'd have slammed my window for sure... :) and I understand that. Not given the choice, we have been blessed by the friendship the new window gave us the view to.

Thank you Michele for being my partner on this curious and very often painful path. Thanks for being my partner in crime, the loud laughter in my ears, the person who knows when my voice "just doesn't sound right". It is so much easier to bear the load while walking next to someone with a similar load and a similar attitude about life. I'll be in the same city with Michele this week, and I can't wait! Look out San Diego, we're on our way.

Happy Tuesday! - Michelle D.

Life In Yellow

So, it is Tour de France time. This may or may not mean anything to you, but in this house Tour Time is a big deal.

The Tour de France is the granddaddy of cycling races, made famous in recent years by the athletic feats of Lance Armstrong. You will notice in any photo of me that I am wearing a bright yellow LIVESTRONG wristband. I took the band I currently wear off of Phil's wrist as I sat beside his beautiful body in the emergency room trying to grasp the fact that he was dead. He wore this particular yellow plastic circle for at least a year before his death, and I have been wearing it in his honor for the past four.

Anyone who came to Phil's funeral left with a livestrong band, because Phil loved the message this yellow campaign represents...never give up. His mother was diagnosed with Leukemia about seven years ago, and Phil felt an even deeper connection to the Livestrong Foundation knowing they were providing support, encouragement, and resources for people fighting cancer. All this, plus the fact that Lance Armstrong kicks butt on steep hill climbs made Phil a lifelong supporter of the Livestrong movement.

So as I watch the cyclists battling up the intense French hillsides, I remind myself that I have hills to climb too. When the uphill battle of grief makes me want to throw in the towel, my little yellow band reminds me to never give up. Phil didn't, and I won't...at least not today!

The photo above is of me and Paul Sherwen at the Tour of California. He is a longtime cycling commentator and former English cycing pro, and to say I was starstruck is a serious understatement!