Community Matters

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All of us reading here at Widow's Voice understand that community matters. We're witness to the value of finding someone, anyone, to remind us that we are not alone. That's why most of us are here.

But this week, I've been struck by watching the rest of the world be reminded of how vital community is. Saturday morning, a friend of mine and one of the regular faces that became a part of my community after Jeremy died, got the terrible news that her husband tragically passed away. There are too many parallels to my own experience, and it's been a gut-wretching thing to watch. And now everyone who loved Amy's husband, Jim, is searching for answers. 

Searching for comfort. 

Searching for peace.

Searching for community. 

As much as I hate knowing that Amy and I now will share this tragic experience together forever, I'm thankful for the opportunity to be able to help in any way. Even if it's just by sitting with her, buying her groceries, making a 'funeral and viewings survival kit', or by telling her it's ok to grieve her own way. 

I am able to do a little bit more. Because Amy's life insurance policy was 4 months shy of the 2 years needed to cash it out, she will not be receiving the money she anticipated to pay for the costs that accrue after death (and we all know how expensive that can get!). I've decided to donate all the earnings from my blog revenue for the month of December to help ease the financial burden for her. (Read more about it HERE - you can help too, just by visiting the website as many times as you can this month).  I don't make much on my own, but it's amazing what happens when a community comes together.

I watched my Facebook feed blow up to share and donate to Amy. The response is outstanding and overwhelming. Good people are still out there, and when they hurt, we all hurt. It's a reminder that we're not supposed to walk through life alone, but in community. 

This widowed community was never something any of us wanted to be a part of. But I sure am thankful to have found it. Thank you for reminding me that community matters.

Inner Voice

**Filling in for Amanda today...but she will be back next week!**

Decision making was never difficult for me. Options don't confuse me, and once I have made a choice I rarely question myself. I realize that many people engage in a mental wrestling match with every decision they make, and I have regularly been grateful that my mind and I generally agree pretty quickly. 

And then came widowhood.

One of the most disturbing aspects of widowhood for me was the about face I experienced in my decision making abilities. My previously certain mind betrayed me at every turn. When Phil died an avalanche of decisions that needed to be made immediately began, and then an on-going slide of questions to be answered by the last person standing continued. The first heart wrenching choices to be made included: whether or not to donate his organs (you have to make this one in less than 24 hours), burial vs. cremation, what type and how many memorial services to have, and will you be purchasing a monument Mrs. Hernandez? Once these choices were made I began to second guess each one asking myself repeatedly if I made the right choice.

The decision making process did not get any easier as the weeks and months passed. I discovered that I was entering the wrestling match of the uncertain on a daily basis without regard for the importance of the choice to be made. Was I doing this task correctly? Should I purchase the blue or the brown sheet set? Water the grass every other day or every third day? One minute option A seemed best, the next minute I was more inclined to go with option B. I found myself seeking advice on choices large or small; allowing myself to be swayed toward my adviser's way of thinking regardless of what my own instincts were telling me. Buy a new fence or fix the old? Sell Phil's truck or keep it? Get a gardener or teach the kids how to mow the lawn? Vacation or no vacation? The list went on and on....making a decision of any sort became a monumental effort. I lost confidence in myself, and began to believe that everyone else knew what I needed better than I did. Until one day when a well meaning friend stepped over the line regarding my privacy, and a little voice sounded inside my head..."He did not just do that!" Hearing the familiar sound of my own voice I realized in one mind blowing moment how much of my daily life I was allowing to be determined by what other people thought, felt, knew, said, or sometimes even ordered. The silence of my inner voice suddenly became deafening.

The truth is our inner voice still speaks while we are grieving, but sometimes we can't hear her/him over the din created by sorrow. The initial realization that we are no longer a part of a couple often begins an all-consuming tempest inside of us. But at the eye of the storm still rests the core of our being. That innermost self still knows what we need. When I first became aware that I was abdicating my right to run my own life, I asked myself the question...who are you? I didn't recognize the woman I saw in the mirror, because I allowed her voice to be silenced by grief.

When my inner voice finally spoke, the first thing she told me was that I would be okay. She spoke up when I tried to do too much, and pointed out when I needed a mental health day. When I wanted to quit, she reminded me that quitting wouldn't stop the pain. When I began to hear her again, she helped me choose between going out to dinner with friends and staying home to watch a movie. Myself helped me figure out how to manage the holiday season. She knew instinctively what I needed on the first anniversary of Phil's death, and all the ones that have come after. She consistently, and confidently, knows which choice is best for me. Sometimes I ignore her, and when I do I usually pay a price. But she loves me and she is proud of what I have done, and of who I am becoming. Only she knows the effort this has required. Finally I realized that her approval is what I need most. No one knows me better than I know myself. But I only discovered that fact when I was willing to trust my inner voice once again.

The call to do something

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For a long time now, I've felt God calling me to do something with my story, and with Jeremy's legacy. To somehow help others through what I have been through. However, I had no idea where to start. And more importantly, and most selfishly, I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to let God use me because I was too angry that it had to be at the expense of such a great loss. I wasn't ok with me or my children suffering such heartache in order for other people to benefit or learn something.

I can honestly say that I still sometimes struggle with this battle. But the pull I've felt on my heart to help, to follow the calling I feel like I've been given, has been outweighing my selfishness. The stirring that I have felt has started to bubble over and I've finally felt ready to take a step forward.

Last week, a dear friend and her sister stop by our garage sale to see me. Her sister had just lost her husband weeks before. He died suddenly of a heart condition as well, leaving behind two children and a very distraught wife who wanted to come talk to me. As she hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder, my mind raced searching for something to say - just one thing that someone had told me when Jeremy died that helped in some way that I could offer back. I realized, though, that nothing I could say would make her feel any better. Death sucks, and grieving can never ease with words. Only time. I don't know that she was looking for words of wisdom (and if she was, she definitely wasn't gonna find any from me), but just to be in the presence of someone who 'got it'. Someone who survived. My heart ached for her as I recalled those first few weeks and months after Jeremy died. I still relive those moments every once in awhile like it's still happening. The confusion, the injustice, the anger, the desperation, the defeat...the heartache. I don't know if I helped her in any way, but she's been in my prayers and on my heart ever since.

I realized that even though I'm ill equipped to really move forward, God has really been using my story to help without my knowledge or even my consent for quite sometime now. He let me kick and scream and throw fits (and still does) while continue to bring beauty from the ashes.

I want people to know that grieving is a dark and terrible part of life that never leaves.

I also want people to know that there is hope and healing.

I want to do more.

Steve and I have been praying that God work through our redemption and relationship to bring a unique perspective to others and somehow use that to help, and bring hope.

I am excited to announce that Steve and I have been asked to host a workshop for Camp Widow. Ironically, the workshop is titled "Mad at God: A conversation." Uh, yeah - I have some experience in that department, I'm not ashamed to admit it! I am anxious, excited, nervous, and overall humbled for the opportunity to help in some way.

I can't wait to meet some of the inspirational people that have been integral in my own grief journey. I'm thankful to have Steve by my side to share this passion with me. I hope this is just the beginning of many other opportunities to finally step forward and feel like I'm making Jeremy proud.