My Forever Valentine

The cover of the last Valentine's day card I gave my husband

I've been back home, in Brisbane, Australia, for a couple of days now.  As it seems to go with most vacations, it's so good to go away and then it's so good to get home.  Getting off the plane after the 13-hour flight from LA and walking in to the arms of my wonderful parents, who came to town to collect me from the airport, was a good feeling.  I had a wonderful time, both in New York exploring a new city, and at Camp Widow.  But I felt ready to get back to my bubble.

It was emotional to come home.  I was very tired and jet-lagged, I had missed my family, my friends, my house and was happy to be reunited with them.  I had missed my routine and the little world I've built for myself since Dan died.  But returning home, I missed my widowed friends and the safe little world that exists when I'm around them.  I felt lifted by the people I met at Camp Widow, the wonderful spirit of the weekend, the bravery of the men and women I met.

You'd think that a conference for widowed people would be a pretty miserable event, but it's actually so uplifting and fun. Everyone is full of camaraderie, there is constant laughter and hugs and celebration of love. To meet people who have been through the darkest of times and can still find light in their lives is indescribable. My widows are some of my favourite people in the world.

So I have felt like I'm in a strange place... floating between wanting to run back to widow-land and wanting to re-enter my real life. 

And then, smack bang in the middle of all of that, we have Valentine's day today.  Bleugh.  What a crappy day this is for us.  I have been lucky enough to have avoided most of the commercials and hype because I've been travelling, and THANK GOD it fell on a Saturday this year, so we were spared the parade of flower deliveries throughout the work place.  But still, here it is.  

When I woke this morning, on Valentines day (in Australia, we're 18 hours ahead of Los Angeles, so I write this on Saturday afternoon to be published in the USA by midnight Friday), I immediately started missing Dan.  I pulled out our old cards and read the beautiful messages we had written each other.  We were not yet married, on our last Valentine's day together, so they were all full of hope and excitement about how we couldn't wait to be husband and wife that coming June (he died six weeks after our wedding), and how we were so blessed to have each other.  

Of course the tears fell.  I couldn't lay around in bed and cry for too long though, because I had booked a hair appointment for 8am and had errands to run.  

As I went about my day, I kept thinking about Dan, and this stupid day, and what I was missing out on because he wasn't here.  And I realised something.  Yes I was missing my husband today... but do you know what?  I realised, I wasn't missing his love.  Because it was still all around me.  

It hadn't gone away.  The words he wrote in his cards still held the same meaning today, as they did two years ago.  I was still the most important thing in his life.  The gratefulness that he felt at coming home to me every night was still real.  I was his eternal love story. We are Forever Valentines.

It's hard to explain and didn't even make a lot of sense in my own head, but I actually felt like I could feel a warmth around me, almost like a full body hug that enveloped my whole being.  I was still carrying his love with me today, even though he's been gone 18 months. 

The gifts that he brought to my life are still here and will be with me forever.  The person I am today is because he loved me.  

Maybe this realisation was partly because of the inspiring messages I received at Camp Widow.  Actually, I think this had a LOT to do with it.  But I also feel like maybe I am growing.  Maybe I am moving through my grief, so that in this moment I was able to see past the pain and the agony at being separated from him and see some of the joy that is still here, because of the time we got together. 

It's an incredible feeling when you can see this growth in yourself.  It's a bit scary, and I almost still don't fully believe it is possible.  But it's nice.  It's a relief.  And I know Dan would be proud of me.  Because I'm proud of myself. 

Would I still be your Valentine?

source

Jeremy was never big on Valentine's day.

He didn't hate it. We didn't ban it. He just wasn't overly romantic. He tried to be, and did some very sweet things, but most of the time we were too broke to really do anything anyway. And yet, on this Hallmark holiday celebrating love, it brings those little moments rushing back as if it were a big deal. Cause he was a big deal to me. 

Our first Valentine's, while we were still dating, I cut up hundreds of hearts and wrote different reasons why I loved him on each one. Every year after that, I re-used them in different ways, and would add more reasons why I loved him in the mix. I was thinking today that I'm not sure what I would add this year, because he's not evolving or changing anymore, I love him for all the same reasons. He is and forever will be the 31 year old, handsome and strong husband and father in my eyes. But then it also made me realize how much I have evolved and changed since then, and pieces of me that Jeremy will never get to see. And it made me wonder if he would love the girl I am now.

I don't love the way I used to. I'm more careful with it, but I also cherish it so much more. I'm more comfortable in my own skin. I actually enjoy cooking (who would have thought?!), and I know how to maintain a household pretty well on my own. I'm scared of things I didn't used to be scared of, and unafraid of things that used to terrify me. My support system has changed, my friends aren't the same. My priorities have shifted. My dreams and goals have evolved. Would you still love this version of me that has been beaten, broken down, and built back together?

Of course, I know the answer. Even though I'm not the same girl I was before he died, I know that essentially, emerging from grief has forced me to be a better version of myself....probably the version that Jeremy always saw in me. And even though I've grown for the better, I'm still me. I'm still the girl who has to sleep on the left side of the bed, who tries to please people too much, who quotes Friends in my head on a daily basis and then hears his laughter in the back of my head affirming how funny I am. I'm still the girl who wants Faith and Caleb to love the things their daddy loved, who cries at nearly every movie, and who holds onto all the precious and unforgettable quirks that he had. I'm still the girl terrified of fish, loves all things cotton candy, rollercoasters, pink, and slurpees. I'm still the girl that wants to tell our story. I'll always be that girl.

Yes, I am still convinced that no matter how much time separates us, no matter how much change comes between us, I would still be your Valentine.

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?