A Note from Our Editor

Thank you all for your comments, suggestions, and kind remarks regarding last week's Tuesday and Wednesday posts. What I find equal parts amazing and challenging about leading this blog effort is attempting to meet the multitude of needs of our readers; allowing for the variety of opinions expressed regularly; and at the same time working to offer something valuable at each of the multiple stages of widowhood. As a team of people who essentially work in a vacuum, we do our best to share our widowed journey as we live it.

When I asked each of our writers to join the WV team, I asked them to write about their life NOW...not THEN. I asked this very purposefully. The mission of Widow's Voice is to allow our readers to walk beside us through the ups and downs of widowed life. If we write about the past, we are able to do so with perspective. I have challenged our writers to courageously share their now, even though they don't know where now may take them. I can't count how many times I have personally hit "publish" on this blog with trepidation. We throw ourselves out into the web universe naked and vulnerable, never sure what the reaction to our words may be. Our commenters have the option to post anonymously, our writers do not. I couldn't be more proud of the ways in which they endeavor to light the path for those who read this blog. Always aware of the fact that we will never be able to meet every reader's need, try as we might.

Every person who is a part of the WV team wants to reach out to the widowed community. We don't get paid, we sometimes weather less than positive responses not only virtually, but in person as well, and we commit to sharing our lives week after week after week...whether we are sick,busy, tired, or just don't know what to write. We do this because we know. Because no matter how far out we are, we will never forget THAT day. Because we care about you. Because we want other widowed people to know they can survive. If we did, you can too.

I also want to assure you  that we really consider every comment made to this blog, including the ones I choose, for various reasons, not to publish. I will continue to edit out overly negative or demeaning comments, because I don't feel they serve our purpose here. Comments of all kinds are noted, and your kind words to our writers make their day. Sometimes when you write week after week you wonder whether your words are making a difference, so thank you for letting us know when we do.

Additionally, this is a space for you to support each other. I loved a comment over the last couple of days reminding everyone that this is a shared space and we have a real opportunity here to support others who are seeking hope. Your words matter as much as ours do. So please do feel free to share your feelings, stories, and words of encouragement.

As a team there has been much discussion about what changes we can make to the blog to better serve our community. Starting tomorrow, most writers will be changing writing days. By mixing up the order of bloggers, we hope to balance the dating/not dating, parent/not parent, women/men perspectives a bit. We will be adding a new writer over the next couple of weeks who began this journey only five months ago. I am also working on creating some easier to find links from our archives that share parts of the early journeys of each of our writers. All of the changes coming through the next month or two are intended to better serve this community, we hope you will be patient with us through the process.

When I began this blog in 2007, I never imagined that some day it would be read by nearly half a million people who live in every US state and in 130 different countries. I really hoped one person would find comfort here. And I still do. One person matters. YOU matter. Each time we change one life, we have fulfilled the mission of Widow's Voice. Thank you for sharing your widowed journey with us. We'll be here tomorrow. And the next day, too.

Yours in hope,

Michele

Widow's Voice Editor

Full Circle

I have been feeling kind of lost lately. I'm a bit unsure about a lot of things. For one, I have been renting a house for the past few months while I sell off my house in San Francisco, which has provided the kids and I a temporary home while we get settled into San Diego. As of today, I no longer own a house. Yes, my house sold, which is good, but it also comes with mixed emotions. I lived in that house for 17 years. It is the house where the kids and I have many happy memories, and also some sad ones, such as Michael dying. I suppose the latter is not strictly a sad memory, as it was also a beautiful experience providing Michael all the comforts of dying in our own home, and in our own bedroom. Yet even with all these positives, it was time to move on.

Ever since Michael died I have had an urgent need to leave my home, and start over somewhere new. I know that it goes against conventional wisdom to make such a big move, such as leaving your job, home, city and friends, during the first year of grief. But I knew it was a good move for me. By the time the first year anniversary of his death came around, I was already in a new environment, which helped me get through that terribly rough time. I think it would have been even more difficult for me if I was still in our home at the time. Maybe this wouldn't be helpful for most, but for me it was exactly what I needed.

Last week was the second anniversary of our wedding. It wasn't the first time for this occasion to come around without him, as he had already died when our first anniversary came around. One of the things that came about with our first year anniversary was my decision to begin blogging about my grief journey. The experience of writing about my process on a daily basis was quite cathartic for me. There were definitely some very dark days, days in which I didn't think I was going to make it. But here I am, full circle, one year later, and I have survived.

I think about where I will be by next year, and I kind of come up empty. Not that I don't have expectations, more that I don't really know what I want, or what I can expect. All I do know is that after coming full circle this time around, I can honestly say that life is getting easier, if not better. I now have the benefit of looking back, and clearly identifying the many changes and milestones that I have successfully grown through. This is my history, and if history repeats itself, then I can expect this next year to get even better.

Waiting

Special thanks to Dan for guest writing for me today! Michele

This is the part no one tells you about. This is the part that many do not know. When your spouse dies, you are left with a void, a big void. Your mind constantly reminds you that he is gone, and that what lies before you is an existence that must begin without him. The only problem is, how do you do this? And, what exactly is this new existence like? For me it's about waiting.

When my husband Michael died I was not surprised. After all, the doctors told us two year prior that he would in fact die. We spoke of it often. We prepared for it legally and emotionally. When it happened I was thrown off course. All the talking and planning didn't prepare me for an existence without him. In those first few weeks I sat on my living room couch in shock. Hours went by, and there I sat. I sometimes imagined that I was sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus to come by. I would board the bus, and it would take me away, away from my new existence. I knew that it wouldn't take me to Michael, that part I understood. I just needed it to take me away from where I was, which was feeling lost.

It's been 11 months now, and still I wait. No, I don't sit on my couch all day long anymore. I do have my kids to tend to, but at night, I do sit and wait. I'm waiting for a sign that tells me which way to go. There is no bus that will be arriving, so if I want to move forward I must chart the course myself. And to be honest with myself, I have started this movement. Yet, there is still so much that I am lacking. There is still so much that lacks meaning for me. So I wait. From my bedroom window I can see the city lights. They tell me that life continues to move forward. But tonight I sit here perched in my tower of grief. Waiting.

http://daninrealtime.blogspot.com