Lord of the Widow Ring

Deep in the far away land of Mordor, stands Widow Mountain.  Four hundred years ago a Hobbit traveled to this mountain and climbed to the top.  There he found a volcano, and in the memory of his deceased wife, forged a widow ring.  This ring, when worn, possesses great powers to the widow/widower. 

Then, in a series of events - too long to explain and wouldn’t make sense if I did anyway - the ring found its way to Niles, Il, where a young man found the ring right after his wife passed away from breast cancer.  He is, Lord of the Widow Ring.

            So I posses this widow ring and I don’t know whether I should keep it or trek across to Widow Mountain and throw it back in the volcano, where there – and only there –  it can be destroyed (for reasons too long to explain and wouldn’t make sense if I did anyway).  The reason I hesitate to destroy my ring is, I can’t tell if this ring is a curse or my best friend.  When I put it on, I can feel the power of being the widower.  I can be at a family gathering and right in the middle of dinner, get up, knock over a lamp, take the last cookie on the cookie tray, walk out, and head off to the movies – leaving my children for someone to take home and put to bed.  “He’s going through a lot. It’s good he went to a movie, he needs a break,” they would say, justifying my actions while they put my kids in their car to take to their home.

            Without my widow ring, I would be at a store, knock over a lamp, cut in line at the register, and open a bag of candy without paying.

“How rude.” They would say and stare.

“That man has no manners.” They would whisper. 

“Come with me please.” The police would say.

            Can you see my dilemma?  Without the ring, I have to act like everyone else.  With the ring, I don’t always have to explain my actions; others would justify them for me.   No brainer, keep the ring right?  Wear it whenever I feel like making an excuse for my downfalls.  Not to mention, this ring is really difficult to get.  Married people can’t use them.  You know why?  Because married people have what they call “spouses” that renders the power of this ring useless. Example: 

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you cutting the lawn?” the wife asks.

“I’m playing video games,” says husband.  “I was going to cut the lawn but I am feeling emotionally down.  I need this to gather my thoughts.”

“Get up and cut the lawn now.”

“Oh yeah, look what I have.  A magic ring that allows me to do what I want and you will justify my actions.”

“It doesn’t work on you, you’re married.  Get off your ass and cut the lawn.”

“Stupid  Hobbit.  I paid $100 for this thing.”

I never thought I would miss having my wife telling me how full of crap I am or when my actions were out of line, but I do.  Losing a spouse is deeper than losing love.  I needed her to keep me honest, to challenge and get the best out of me.  If I keep this ring, I will keep looking to put it on when faced with difficult moments.  If I destroy it, no more excuses.  Life is tough, deal with it.

My concern is, if I do keep it, what will I look like in five years?  Will I be one of those people who lives in a house - windows all boarded up - filled with small animals in cages.  “Only you, Mr. Squirrel, understand me.  You know why sunlight is out to get me.”  I’ll build a fantasy play land for myself in the backyard.  Kids will ring my doorbell and run for their lives as I answer the door.

However, if I destroy the ring, I’ll have to lose a lot of excuses.  I’ll have to take care of myself even when I don’t feel like it, do that last load of laundry even though I just saw a commercial that reminded me of Lisa.  I have to engage back into life. I don’t know if I can emotionally destroy the ring. It’s a long trek to the far-off  land of Widow Mountain.  Do I have it in me to make that journey and destroy the ring?  Not sure. For now, I think I’ll just keep it in my pocket, where I can hold it and rub for comfort.  How bad can it be to keep it?

My precious, my precious.  

Harmony

“He who lives in harmony with himself lives in harmony with the universe.”
-Marcus Aurelius

It's a weird feeling.

Harmony.

Harmony with life and this sensation...this awareness, that at least at this very moment, you have no qualms with the world.

Of course Michael being dead is a constant that I'll always and forever wish I could change...but once you stop fighting the fate you've been handed...when you just give in to its reality...it can happen.

Harmony.

Calm.

Balance.

And who knows...like me...it might freak you the heck out, because it's been such a foreign feeling for so long.

And like most foreign things, you might find yourself fighting it, because it's not what you have known since your love's death.

You may find yourself swimming up current.

Don't.

Put your hands up and let the flow take you. Swoop you gently in the direction your heart always has the coordinates to.

And feel harmony.

If only for a day. A minute. A second.

And show yourself it is possible once more.

Mini-me (Part 3001)

It's hard to believe my little guy was only 5 when his Dad died, and he was about 3 ft tall.....now, he's pushing twelve, and will be taller than me in the next year. Ridiculous how quickly time passes and how quickly they change.

I finally got to see the rest of the wedding pictures last night and I was amazed to see Daniel's teenage face looking at me from so many pictures. Grayson has been looking so much like me lately that it was shocking how much he still looks like Daniel. It's more than just the looks though, it's the spirit.

In our wedding pictures, G was glowing with excitement and overflowing with enthusiasm. From his sweet face as he walked me down the aisle to his break dancing at the reception, he was a force of happiness that was a joy to watch. I noticed it at the wedding - as much as you notice anything at your wedding - but the pictures captured it for all time.

What an amazing gift. What mom wouldn't be worried that this kind of change would be a hard one? Getting a new family, moving schools and homes, changing your life....it's all tough. I've been worried about him since we first started talking about it (who am I kidding? I've been worried about him since he was born!). It has been fantastic to watch him adjust so well and seem so happy. What a huge load off my mind.

Now, if I can just keep him from breaking any bones in sports.....(right, good luck with that one).

Happy Friday!

The new girl in town

source

Hi. I'm Veronica. I'm the new girl in town here on Widow's Voice. Like most of you, I'm not the least bit thrilled to fall in any category to allow me such a role on this blog, but nonetheless, I am looking forward to walking through my grief journey will a community of people who get it. Let me tell you a little about me.

This is what my sweet little family looked like before tragedy struck unexpectedly in the form of a heart attack that took my wonderful husband and best friend Jeremy on a November 9, 2010 when he was at the very young age of 31. In addition, I was 28 and 6 months pregnant with our third child.

Needless to say, the last 16 1/2 have been quite the roller coaster for me. My life has been completely flipped upside down. Since Jeremy died, I had his baby without him, bought a house, lost my brother unexpectedly, and purchased a new vehicle. Lots of big milestones that have taken place without the one I love. Speaking of the one I love, I would like to tell you a little bit about my awesome husband, Jeremy.

Jeremy was the head of grounds at Rochester College, but also worked for our church as the Worship Leader there. He was a hunter and fisher, and full blooded Canadian through and through. He was stubborn, hilarious, sweet, handsome, loyal, and an incredible daddy and husband. He was my rock, my shoulder to cry on, my best friend, my anchor, my north, and my sanity. I can't bear to write out more of the horrible day, but you can read about it here.

Fast forward 16 1/6 months. I have come a long way, but this journey of grief for me is far from over. I continue to stumble my way through picking up all the broken pieces that were left behind in the shadows of the greatest loss I could have ever imagined. But my kids are happy, healthy, and still grieving in their own way too. And I have this sweet little face that Jeremy gifted me:

There ya have it. This is me. This is my family. This is my loss, my tragedy, my love, my story.

It's nice to meet you all.

Believing

I was thinking yesterday about the day after Phil died. Revisiting that day makes my skin crawl, literally. Mentally I can now stand at a distance and watch myself try to out run the pain; walk around in circles hoping that once another full revolution is complete I'd wake up from the nightmare; and stare at each of my friends and family in turn seeking something in their face that would show me how I was going to live the rest of my life without Phil. There isn't enough mental distance available to protect my heart from the waves of pain that still radiate around that day. Every time I speak to a newly widowed person, I take that virtual journey back to day two of my widowed journey.

Janine is not writing today, because she is revisiting those early days as well. Her family is walking beside a young lady whose father died last week. He leaves behind a wife and family who are now living the first days of loss. She has asked me to ask you for prayers, good thoughts, and your supportive energy for this family, and for this man's wife. Not only for today, but for the journey ahead. If you could also stand beside Janine as she does her best to support these people she cares about, and walk beside her son who is watching someone he loves mourn her father...as he mourned his.

August 29, 2005 I loved my life. September 1, 2005 I did not want to live the life that was traumatically dropped into my lap. On some level I knew I would find a way to make it through the days ahead, but I was certain those days would be devoid of both happiness and joy. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other, until I found you.

My widowed community (discovered on a crazy journey that is a whole other post) changed my life. I looked into faces that knew the pain I felt, and found a way to smile. I heard stories of both failure and success. Each widowed person I met had their own way of making the most of the life still ahead of them. I was awed, and inspired, and grateful. Because until I met people who outlived a spouse or partner and found the way through the searing pain into a life that was full and meaningful, I did not believe it was possible. 

Now, I believe. Not just for me, but for you. And for the family we've been asked to virtually support today. We are the living proof that surviving this brand of pain (sometimes I think of it as torture!) is possible, and they are going to need us. 

The best part about having a community like this is that you don't have to summon the energy to believe that goodness WILL return to your life, because you have a bunch of sisters and brothers (that you may never have met) who will believe it for you until you can believe it for yourself.

The funeral revisited

Image via Wikipedia

She sat at the front of the church with her mother.
Swathed by relatives.
Confused between the false smiles of mourners  when they spoke to her and the shaking sobs of her mother in the seat next to her.
I watched as this little girl, dressed in pink tulle looked into the faces of everyone who came near her.
Bewildered.
Watching as her mother, grandmother and aunties dissolved into tears before her, and her cousins displayed emotions ranging from nervous frivolity, to shock, to grief as they watched their mother's cry their way through their eulogies.
No doubt, wondering where her father was and exactly what was happening around her.

I looked into her five-year-old face from a distance.  Willing her to see me.  So she would know I was there.... that her teacher had come to her father's funeral....because I know how much it will mean to her later.

.
.
.


I went to the funeral of the father of my tiny year 1 student last week.....exactly 1 year, 11 months and 29 days after the kids and I sat huddled in the same position under similar circumstances: a car accident; a  father suddenly gone.

I remembered holding the hands of our children who had that same bewildered look on their little faces..... my son even younger than this little girl, my daughter only 1 year older.
I remembered smiling through the memories of his life as they played on the screen before us and wishing we'd taken more photos of each other.
I remembered trudging behind the casket as we followed six of his best mates out of the church, his body held shoulder high.
I remembered staring at my feet as they walked out of the church and watching as the casket was loaded into the hearse, not glancing up lest I see the faces of the hundreds of people who came.

....and I remembered how thankful my children were that their teachers had come to their Daddy's funeral.  Teachers who would soon become my colleagues and help hold me together as I began working again.  Teachers who would hold my kids together when they were angry at the world, and teacher who pushed them into learning and achieving.

...and I made a silent vow to this dead father whom I'd never met: I promise to look after your daughter to the best of my ability.  I promise to show her compassion when she needs it and I promise to push her forward and onward. I promise to be there for her for as long as she needs.

I promise.

How Boring!

from here  

Two women I had just been introduced to the other day began to discuss their Valentine's Days with their husbands. They both agreed that it had been like any other day for them. One said she couldn't even remember what she and her husband had done and the other said that they'd just ordered in and watched a movie. "How boring!" they both agreed.


 They didn't know I was recently widowed. For all I know, they probably assumed I was married, too.

I stood there, frozen, wanting to take them both by their collars and pull them close to cry "WHAT I WOULDN'T DO FOR ANOTHER BORING VALENTINE'S DAY WITH MY DAVE!!!!"


I wanted to do that, but not in anger. I know that before Dave died, I made comments like that all the time. I was always grateful for our love, but I would make lighthearted, "Oh, we've been married since the dawn of time," comments to get laughs, or to commiserate with other married people. These women  weren't bitterly complaining. They were just commenting on how humdrum their longtime marriages had become.


It wasn't anger I felt at all. It was urgency and envy so strong it made my knees almost buckle. I wanted them to know that what they think is a boring night at home is what I now long for every moment of every day. 


To settle in, with your love, on the couch at the end of a hard day and know that you have each other, even when the rest of the world feels out to get you? To feel THAT again? I'd do anything.

I wanted them to know how much they'd miss that boring life if it were torn from them. How they'd feel the loss of that like a black hole in their gut. That they'd wish they'd gotten a million more of those boring nights at home.


But in the end, I didn't say a word. I stood there, stiff and awkward, and waited it out, like you do a painful cramp or bout of nausea. I didn't cry. I didn't run for home. I just went on with the night.


It's getting easier to wait those moments out, but they still slice into my heart and turn my mind into a spinning mess.


On the other hand, I'm relieved that those two women didn't know I was widowed. If they did, they might have self-consciously censored what they said in my presence, or at the very least, worried about saying something that might upset me. I can always feel that kind of tension in people around me. That discomfort is very understandable, but also palpable and in turn makes me uncomfortable too.


There was something a little comforting about being treated like anyone else, even though I still felt so separate from "everyone else" that I felt like a visitor from a different planet.


We all take things for granted, I suppose. We can't live every moment of every day being aware that we and those we love could die at any moment. It's too intense. We take our health for granted until it fails us. We take our freedom for granted until it's taken from us. We take our loved ones for granted until they leave us. That's just human.


But, I suppose there will always be a part of me that wants to shake people who are loved by a spouse and say "DON'T TAKE A MOMENT FOR GRANTED!" After all, that everyday, ho-hum moment they take for granted might be their last together.


What an important lesson to learn. Can it only be learned the hard way?