The Power of We

My New We

Today is Blog Action Day 2012. The theme this year is "The Power of We".

Thinking about the word we brought back a vivid memory of the first few weeks after my husband Dave's death. I remember suddenly noticing how often I still said we.

I had many visitors in those first few weeks. I would hear myself telling them "We are getting new siding," or "We grew corn this summer but not last summer," or "We were going to go to Italy again," and the word we would punch me in the stomach, leaving me winded and nauseous.

My we had turned to me in an instant and my heart and mind hadn't had a chance to understand. The power of the loss of my we was immense and crushing. Almost a year and a half later and I'm still trying to understand it.

My we used to consist of Dave and me.  He was my family, my husband, my best friend, my biggest fan and the person I trusted most in this world. And then I became just me. Overnight.

Everything was still there. His shoes, his wallet, his phone, his email account. But he was missing and so was the me I had been when he'd been here on this earth.

He had been dead for less than 3 months when I went to San Diego for Camp Widow. I was 35 years old and was completely consumed with the need to find my new we.

I vividly remember the feeling I had as the escalator at that Marriott brought me to the second floor where Camp Widow check in was taking place. I looked around at all the people milling about and thought "They're all like me," and I swear I took a deep breath for the first time in 3 months.

I was comforted just by the knowledge that I was surrounded by my new we. It wasn't anything like my old we and it couldn't replace my old we.

It didn't make the pain of his loss any less devastating, but it was power in numbers, and I didn't feel alone anymore. That first camp was the beginning of my re-entry into life.

When I returned home, I would picture all of those people I'd met, doing incredible things, like Michele Neff Hernandez, starting the foundation that allowed me to find my new we in the wreckage of Dave's death, and Matt Logelin, finding strength in his daughter and getting his beautiful love story to her and her mom out into the world and I borrowed their light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn't see mine yet, so I used theirs.

When I was sure I couldn't withstand the pain of grieving the loss of my old we, I would call someone I met at Camp, and even from several states (and a country) away they would extend a strong hand through the dark and pull me out into the light, reminding me that we were in this together at least for that moment.

When I'd do the same for them, I felt a connection almost as strong as any I'd felt before. It was as though I could suddenly feel the invisible cords from my heart to theirs, extending hundreds of miles, allowing strength to surge back and forth between us, as needed.

My identity from my before-life was gone, but my new identity was a WE again. A different we.

We widowed people are warriors.
We are heroes, the kind of people who have power from the depths they've clawed their way out of to find the light.
We are a force to be reckoned with.
We know intimately the true value of love and the impermanence of life.

I don't know if I'd truly understand that if it weren't for SSLF and Camp Widow.

Just the simple but incredible act of communicating online with widows from all over the world through this blog is a we that spans the globe and includes millions of people in its web of connections.

My neighbor, two doors down, just lost his wife to cancer and in my condolence card to him, I included one of the SSLF outreach cards I carry around. So, I've cast the net over him, too, including him in this we. Hopefully, he will not feel as alone just knowing that there's a we out there for him, too, whenever he needs it.

SSLF allowed me to have a we again, during a phase in my life that could have been isolating and horrifically lonely.

The power of we, indeed.

normalcy

week three of

my trip around

the country

talking about

that thing I worked

on for madeline

it's been a week

 since i've seen

my baby.

(well a week since i've hugged my baby. I saw some photos that her grandma broccoli sent my way of maddy covered (and i mean covered) in temporary tattos, and some more that the other grandparents have sent my way.)

it has been

awful to be

away from her,

and i have been feeling

terribly guilty

but then i reminded

myself that if

things has been

different, they

probably would

have been the same.

(but yeah different).

i would still

be at my old job,

still traveling

to and from india

every few months,

still missing some

important moments,

still missing my baby.

all of it

to give her the

kind of future

she deserves.

so even though i

miss her more than

i can adequately describe,

it makes me

long for tomorrow.

(something i never expected).

and i hate to say it

bit its nice to know

that i can

(finally?)

find some

normalcy in our situation

(something i never expected).

Written by Matt, posted by Michele due to some technical difficulties....

not what I imagined

it's been three

years since i was

here, in the place

that appears to be

the end of the earth.

my life is

much different now than

i imagined it would be,

(whose isn't, right?)

but being here makes

it seem like

nothing has changed.

that blue building

where we stayed is

still there.

i just walked

past it.

the boats in the harbor

continue to ferry tourists

to the fishing spots,

and the deckhands

still give the

same stories to avoid

cleaning the cod.

i'm here now.

feeling like i did back

then, but today when

i get off the boat

with my brother,

liz

won't be waiting

for us at the

bar with the money

on the walls.

but i'll go

and sit there anyway,

with my him and his

friends, trying to figure

out how to say

something funny enough

to make them laugh

when all i want

to do is

disappear for awhile.

found

a few days

ago she found them.

they’d been sitting

in plain view

since before her

mom died.

well, not exactly

in plain view…

they were covered by

a couple of books,

but i could see

them from where i

sat every day,

working on our taj.

it helped

that i knew they

were there,

otherwise i probably

would have looked

past them as well.

but at two years

three months and

six days,

she found them.

i didn’t hesitate

when she said,

“oh! daddy!” in

that voice she

only uses when

she’s excited about something

(and she uses it a lot).

i lifted the books,

and pulled

out the box.

with a little help,

they were soon

liberated from the

plastic and held

tightly in her hands.

no longer did

they look like

choking hazards.

now,

they were gifts her

mom had intended

for her future daughter.

the daughter she

dreamed of

is here,

but she is not.

camp widow 2010

it started off

much the same way

it did the year before

(in a bar),

but i have to say

that the 2010 version

was even better

than 2009.

why?

several reasons.

first, i got to

catch up with

the folks i met

last year.


so much had changed

for all of us, and

i got the sense

that even the reason

we were there

had changed.

it's not that we

didn't need the

support as much as we

did the first year,

but we were

better off than

the year before because

of our attendance

in 2009.

we had created

a close knit

support group for ourselves

and this was not only

an opportunity

to see each other

again, but it was

also a chance

for us to give

back and help get

others to the place

we find ourselves in.

and it's not that we've

"gotten over" the

death of our partners

(because that will never happen),

it just that we

made a connection

with folks

like us.

and that's invaluable

when the world

is at it's darkest.

so to that end,

i was thrilled to

see my friends

reaching out

beyond the social group

we created

last year,

and embracing new members

of this awful club.

and when my new

friend emily told me

that the event

was "a life changer"

well, it confirmed that

camp widow is succeeding.

and the credit

goes to everyone in

attendance, but especially

to michele for

actually putting some

actions behind her words.

another reason this

year was so much better?

holy shit!

there were 10 times

the number of men

as last year.

don't be too surprised...

there was 1 man

last year (me).

which (of course) means there

were 10 this year.

and to see another 10x

increase next year,

would be amazing,

but i'll temper my

expectations for now.

let's just call the

2010 event

a small step forward

for widowed men...

meeting folks like

david and tom and mitch and chris

and others

made me positive that

someday camp widow

will be a huge

means of support

for more men

in the future.

but we may have

to change the name

to be more inclusive.

i know what

you're thinking...

"camp widowed people"

just doesn't have

the same ring as

"camp widow."

well, i'm sure

michele can come up

with something better.

something I didn't expect

on march 25th, 2008

i had more

friends than

i'd ever thought

i'd have,

and more family members

than i remembered having.

everyone i'd known

throughout my life

rallied around me

in numbers i never

could have expected,

all of them ready to

ready to help me

clean my house,

(as if i needed a clean house)

to feed me

(as if i could eat without puking)

to hold me

up as i collapsed

under the weight of

liz's

death

(this is exactly what i needed).

but few of them

knew what to say.

because who really knows

how to speak

to a man

whose 30 year

old wife died the

day after she gave

birth to their child?

no one.

i went about my

days, mothering/fathering

my daughter,

trying to figure

out what the fuck

i was going to do,

and writing it all down

so i wouldn't forget.

all while crying over

liz.

i wasn't writing

as a way to

reach out to

anyone in particular.

i wasn't writing

hoping that i'd

find a wider group

of support.

i didn't want

anything from anyone,

because i told myself

that i could handle things

on my own

and i felt like

seeking help would

make me weak

(typical man, right?)

but something interesting

happened along the way...

i started getting

emails and

comments on my blog

from women all

around the world

who were just like me.

they had dead husbands, boyfriends,

fiancee's, and partners,

and better than

anyone else in my

life, they knew

exactly what to say.

so when i got

a comment from

candace or melody or janine,

or an email from kim,

or andrea, or sarah, or nikki,

i read them

like they

were my college textbooks,

and when i talked

to jackie

on the phone

i laughed and cried

and yelled and swore

and listened and shared

and smiled and cried

some more.

jackie was funny,

brash, and she swore

more than i did.

she could look

past the obvious awfulness

of our lives

to find some hope.

i really felt like

i had met my

long lost canadian sister.

she was one of

the major inspirations

behind my desire to

give back to

this community of widowed

people i started finding

myself becoming closer to.

...

last year,

michele asked me

to speak at

a conference for widows.

if that didn't sound

depressing and terrible,

i don't know what did.

i agreed, simply because

i like michele.

then i started to

hear from the widows i'd

gotten to know

over email and the phone...

they were also planning

to attend this awful conference.

suddenly i was excited

to meet all of

them, to sit down

and say the things

you can't say in front

of someone who hasn't had

(what i consider to be)

the worst imaginable

thing happen to them,

and share a few

drinks in the bar.

when i arrived in

san diego and finally met

them in person,

along with abby

and a few others,

i knew for sure that

we would be forever

bonded as friends.

it was a lovely sisterhood

that developed

that first afternoon

in the hotel bar

(i was the only widower in attendance).

there was no pretense.

there was

friendship and understanding

and fun.

yeah.

fun.

at a conference created

specifically for "sad" people.

i got to know

a lot of widows

that weekend in san diego.

like jennifer, and erin, and jerilynn

and so many others.

and i can't begin

to articulate how

thankful i am that i

was able to meet them.

...

as i look forward

to camp widow 2010,

i realize i'm

not just going

because michele

asked me to speak.

no.

this year i'm going to

join my sisters

for some laughs.

and drinks.

and to add more friends

to a list i never

thought could be

so long and wonderful.

...

oh. and it sounds like

i may actually meet some

widowers this year.

i guess i'm

not the only man

who has realized how

important this sisterhood

can be.

hindu temple

today you went to

your first muslim mosque

(just realized i didn’t take any photos of that)

as well as your

first hindu temple.

you met a ton

of very friendly

people and learned a

little bit about

cultures other

than your own.

don’t worry…

i don’t expect you

to remember everything

you learned today.

we’ll come back

here a lot

as you get older,

and over the years

you’ll learn it all.

i’m pretty sure

you’re gonna be smarter

by age 10 than

i am at 31

(almost 32).

and for that,

i will be most

proud of you.

the same, but not

we

walked here,

in the same place

you now stand,

through a uttar pradeshian summer,

the two of

us,

hand-in-hand until

we could no longer.

still we walked

near one another,

separated by it,

yet kept close

because of it.

we learned about this

place, hearing how it

and a lack of water

drove them

from here.

we both understood

then, why otherwise

rational human beings

would leave behind

years of hard work and

forgo such beauty;

it was the same

reason we let go

of one another.

the wind

blowing in from

the desert,

bringing with it

that heat…

heat that feels

like a

hair dryer blowing in

your face while

you stand in

a sauna.

but today,

we, you and me,

we stand here.

summer is

over, and that heat,

that heat

is gone.

but i can still

feel it,

and it is

something i’ll revel

in until i can

no longer feel.

and you.

you feel her.

i’m sure of it,

because i can

see her in

you.

the smile on

your face,

the way you

hold my hand,

and the way you

let it go…

so walk where

we walked,

stand where

she stood

and together,

we will feel

something.

i didn't think about it

i thought about

it from time to time,

but i wasn’t sure i’d

ever come across

it again.

i had a vague sense

of where it was,

but it’s not like i

i really end up

near this place all

that often.

so the memory could

have remained just that.

i’ve gone much further

to find the places

i’ve wanted

to rediscover, and this

one is so close

that it could have

happened much sooner

so today,

it did.

not meant to be,

it just was.

as it all is

these days.

sitting here,

i thought that

where we were

wasn’t where i thought

any of us would be

just four

years earlier,

but who really can

predict anything?

believe me when

i say

i’m glad that

i can’t.

written words

today, someone asked

me what i do.

when i told her

she asked,

“how do you come up with them?”

“i don’t know,” i said.

“i can’t make them stop.”

and it reminded me that

i used to wonder,

are there enough of them?

they seemed so hard to

come by before that

moment, but now,

they’re as plentiful as

the rays of light

blanketing los angeles

in july.

these things,

they’re that rope

i found hanging from

the sky that day,

the one i held,

floating away

as the rest of

the world disappeared.

and as tightly as

i’ve clung to them,

they’re the reason i

can let go

of some things.

circles

not long after

the darkness fell

upon us,

i came up with

an arbitrary goal…

wear them one day

longer than

her.

but this wasn’t the

first time i let

some unspoken goal

determine my behavior.

no,

giving myself

a personal challenge that

eventually becomes

a near obsessive compulsive disorder,

this is a problem

i’ve always had.

like that time

as a kid when

i decided that everything

had to be done

an even number of times.

or that time

i wondered how

long i could go without

drinking soda,

(six years, five months and twenty five days).

but there’s nothing magical

about any of this.

about 947 days,

so 743 it was.

she would have been

surprised that i’d made

it this long

with them.

not gone

there, where they
used to be,
is a thin line,
dug deep into my
skin, one that only
i can see,
a reminder that
they’re still there
even if
they’re not where
they used to be.
that line will not
be there forever,
but the mark
they left on me
will remain until
i breathe no longer.

working and happy

it is late

and i’m still awake,

a fit of creativity

has settled upon

my brain, and has

translated into

eight fingers and two

thumbs, working to pound

out the

words i’ve struggled

to find.

tonight i spoke to

one of my best

friends in the world,

and she

cried for us.

happy tears,

knowing,

evident in the smile

in my photos,

the words that i

write and the sound

of my voice,

that i am

the happiest i’ve

been in a very long time.

and she knows

you’re to blame,

and for that she cried.

so sleep…

because i will

be awake, writing

about the past,

ready for the future.

and then there's this

happiness has pervaded

my life,

before, during and after

my time with

liz.


and since she died,

it’s been my friends

and family and stranger friends

and music and books and

travel and writing and

memories and photography

and baseball and cheeseburgers

and beer and this blog

and countless other things

that have all been

huge sources

of happiness for me.

and then there’s madeline.

what can i say about

her now that

i don’t think every second,

that i don’t write down

whenever i can,

that i don’t capture

on virtual film

every day?

well, she’s been

my biggest source of

happiness since

liz

died, my reason for

getting out of bed

in the morning,

the reason

i can pull myself

together after

finding a long lost

photo of

liz

in a box in our garage,

the reason i haven’t

fled the country

with just my ipod and wallet.

madeline is my everything.

without her, i would be nowhere,

but with her

i am here.

and now,

there’s another source of

happiness in my life.

her name is brooke.

and we’re dating.

it’s weird how

things like this

can sneak up

on you,

but i’m happy it did.

we met briefly

last september,

a five minute conversation

that found me teasing her

(that should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me).

we hung

out a couple of

times at the end of november.

and in december,

when maddy and i

were in mn for

the holidays,

we spent even more time together.

and now,

she’s been out to

los angeles to visit

us twice since

we returned here at the

end of january.

she makes me smile,

and maddy

really loves her.

how do i know?

because madeline hates

most women, yet

she lets brooke do

her hair without

putting up a fight.

but this…

this relationship,

it’s something i’ve

been reluctant to talk about.

why?

because it’s hard

enough to discuss this

with my friends

and family, face-to-face,

let alone

with strangers

on my blog.

plus, i’m pretty

sure this is gonna

change the way

that some people view me.

and widows and widowers,

the people that

i’ve committed to helping,

both through my words

and through the foundation

i started in

liz’s

name, may think

i no longer “get” them.

i assure you,

i do.

finding another source

of happiness does

not mean that i

have moved

past the pain,

’cause i still feel

that pain on a daily basis.

and this doesn’t mean

that i have replaced

liz.

the way i look at

things is that when

liz

died, i died.

but i was reincarnated

a moment later,

and i’m

lucky enough

to have the memories

of my previous

life still with me.

these memories,

both good

and bad,

come to play in my

everyday life,

and it’s these memories

that will keep

liz

alive for madeline.

she will know

her mother through

my memories of her,

through the photographs

i’ve taken,

through the family and

friends that i

hold dear,

and it’s these people who will

remain in her life,

and my life forever.

and i see this

whole thing

as an evolutionary process,

a process that has

me moving through,

not moving on,

because moving on

is impossible.

but happiness…

it’s been here the

whole time,

even in my darkest,

most fucked-up

moments, yes, there

has been happiness.

and with brooke

now in our lives,

there’s even more happiness.

and i don’t see

how that

could be anything

but positive.

here

i’ve been here,

in this place.

but when?

was it twenty five years ago?

maybe eight?

yesterday?

no.

it was

thirteen years ago.

and it was

almost four years ago.

i was here.

she was here

we.

we were here.

but it was different.

thirteen years ago

it was an

awkward meal with

people who didn’t

know me.

but she made

it comfortable,

even fun.

…

some of them

were here.

i was here.

she was here.

we.

we were here.

and that day four

years ago,

we stood up

there.

it was that day,

that day i

put the one

now on my

left hand

on hers.

and the one

now on my right

was on my left.

it was to

be like that forever.

that was the plan.

i can smell

the flowers.

i can feel the excitement

of that moment.

i can see the dress.

and the woman

inside of it.

but four years

later, i am here

some of them

are here,

but she,

she

is not here.

…

a voice

on my stomach,

the pillow over my head,

right ear pressed to

the mattress.

i can hear her voice

resonating through the

springs below,

the vibration reducing the

words to nothing more

than a mumble.

the voice,

unmistakable,

but she’s not in

the room.

where's my towel?

for the second time

in less than a

week there was

no towel waiting

for me when

i got out of

the shower.



why?

because i left the

damn thing hanging

on the door knob

in my bedroom.

first instinct,

still,

13+ months after

she

died was to yell,

“hey liz! can you please bring me a towel?”

fuck.

when does that

go away?

the fact that

i left my towels

all over the house

really used

to piss

liz

off, and i can

still here yelling

from the other room,

“no. sorry! you’ll have to air-dry! this is what happens when you don’t return your towel to the bathroom after your shower.”

she always ended

up bringing me

a towel, but

she always made

me suffer before

doing so.

…

instead of

getting a towel

delivered to me

by my wife,

i shook

myself like a

wet dog,

and made my

way to the linen

closet where i

found a towel.

new refridgerator

i bought a new

refrigerator a couple

of weeks ago

to replace the one

that had been

fixed twice and

was still leaking water

all over my floor.

a few days before

it was delivered

i looked at the

old one and

realized i needed to

clean it.

both the inside and the outside

needed cleaning

so i removed the

photos, wedding invitations,

recipes, and hand-written

lists of things

liz

wanted me to do

around the house

or pick up from

the grocery store.

and then…

underneath a magnet,

behind a torn piece

of paper with

an e-mail address and

phone number from

the past, there

was the card,

included with some flowers,

that i had

asked the

florist to send to

her

back in september 2007.

i was in india

at the time,

on another business trip,

during what would

be her 30th and

final birthday.

…

the new fridge

has been delivered

and the old one

has been removed.

many of the things

on the inside have

been thrown away.

but the stuff

on the outside…

the photos, wedding invitations,

recipes, and hand-written

lists of things for me

to do, are

on the new one.

and so is that

card.

struggling

struggling.
not sure why.
somehow i got to thinking
about the notes that liz
used to write
to me in the
blank cards
she used to buy.

i think i have
them all.
or at the very
least, most of them.
can’t look at them yet.
can barely stand
to think about them.
i will never
see another.
…
she would come across
them, months, years later
(usually while cleaning my desk)
and would say,
“why do you keep this shit?”
“i don’t know.”
is all i could
ever come up with.

but even before
she was gone, this ephemera
from these important moments
was something that
i knew i had to keep.
i just couldn’t
articulate why.
…
recently i
came across a couple
of notes i had
written to her
before heading off
on business trips.
they weren’t in
fancy letter-pressed
cards or on that
expensive-ass stationary
that only a woman
would buy.
no.
they were scrawled out
on 8.5×11 paper,
or on sheets of
lined notebook paper
thoughtlessly torn from one of
those composition books
i’d stolen from work,
the ones with
the black and white covers,
or on any scrap
of paper i could
find as i ran out
the door to
catch my cab.

as i find these
things i think,
“why did she keep this shit?”
i wish i could ask her.

hawaiian wedding part two

when it was time

to get ready for

the wedding.

i’m of course

going tie-less

because i still

don’t know how

to tie one and

my wife is

no longer here

to curse and assist me.

we took our

seat in the

sun and as the bride

started walking

down the aisle,

maddy started to squirm

and make some noise.

shit.

we retreated and

i kept one

eye on maddy

and the other on

the wedding.

i knew that

she

would have been

up there with

the others,

and i would have

been here doing

what i am doing

and i kept it together

until i looked

down and noticed

liz’s

name listed on

the wedding program.

…

after the wedding

maddy took her

mom’s

place in the photo




(as i look at the photo and think about the sentence i just wrote, i figured that someone reading this may take the sentence literary and think that kevin would have been holding liz, but the visual made me laugh out loud so i’m leaving everything as-is).