Hi...

 

I’m Kerryl.  In 4 days I’ll be 18 months into my journey as a widow and single mum.  And you may note from my spelling, I’m an Australian blogger. 

I’ve read Widow’s Voice since I joined the ranks, and am honoured that Michele has asked me to now write about my life as a widow.

Ian and I first met on a dating website.  I liked that he actually used complete words and sentences in his profile - a rarity in my experience.  After a few emails, we met face to face for the first time on 11 June, 2009.  I walked into the bar, saw him and my immediate reaction was “that’s him” – and not that I’d identified the person I was meant to be meeting, but as the man I knew would be my husband. 

As our conversation progressed that evening, Ian invited me to move on to a fundraising event for a friend’s kid’s band.  I figured why not.  Apparently his friend was on the phone saying ‘no, no, this is NOT a first date type of event!!’  The event can only be classified as being so bad, it was a great evening!  And I agreed to see Ian again – much to the surprise of his mate. 

Four months later, Ian proposed, with a cactus rather than the traditional roses.   And we started trying for a family.  Quick, yes, but in hindsight…

We welcomed our son John in February 2011, and married at our church on 4 June that year. 

I returned to work and Ian stayed with our son as a stay at home dad.  Being a father was something he’d wanted so badly and Ian was determined to spend as much time as possible with John.  Many of Ian’s friends who had experienced fatherhood before him had said they regretted not spending more time with their children when they were young – perspective he was grateful for. 

Ian had an extensive history of heart problems including two prior open heart surgeries, all bizarrely un-related.  As confident he was, I was always concerned about what would happen in the future.  Rightfully so, it turns out.

In early 2010 Ian started getting a rapid heart-beat – a resting rate in the range of 120 beats per minute. We spent a bit of time bouncing in and out of emergency at our city’s main hospital getting it set to rights. He was referred to a cardiologist who scheduled a radio frequency ablation to correct this issue for 22 February, 2012.  After 12 months waiting, the surgery, by all reports at the time, went well.

On 17 March 2012, Ian’s 46^th birthday, he became really unwell at his birthday lunch.  He asked me to take him to the hospital and I made a one hour plus drive from the restaurant to the hospital in about 40 minutes.  He collapsed in the foyer, freaking me, our 13 month old son, and the medicos as there was blood everywhere.  He broke his nose on the floor, and being on blood thinners, he made a bit of a mess.

This was just the start of our journey...

 

Photo: One of the many wedding photos with Ian's cheeky smile - he'd just bitten the end of my nose, something he did regularly.

 

I am strong.

Picture from Pinterest

I am strong.
I am incredibly strong.
I never knew how strong Before.

I wonder how I survived those first few minutes of knowing, those first few hours of screaming, that first night, week, month, year.

But I did.

...and so I know I am made of strong stuff.


I know it's true because I am still here, raising two children, finding joy where I can get it
.... and I am not dead.


But sometimes I think I am so strong that people don't see past the incredible feats of strength and endurance I am constantly displaying.

...and they forget that it takes every ounce of my strength to keep moving forward.

...and they let me carry too much of their load.

...and I do it because I am strong.

But I worry that I can only carry so much.

So I am going to pick and choose those extra things I must carry.

I'm not going to take on everyone's minor problems.

Because I need every ounce of my strength for us.

My "Mr Right"

I recently heard about another widow I know …widowed after me … she has found someone new.

She is quite in love.

This makes me sad.

Not about her happiness.
Just that I am nowhere NEAR being there. I don’t even want to look for someone new, even though I just want to be happily married again Right Now.
….but I want to be happily married to Greg.
Nobody else will do.

I guess it is good that I know myself well enough to see that I am not ready. That I would only be using another person as a crutch...
... expecting characteristics and quirks that only belong to Greg and me...
...expecting another person to drag me out of this hell.

I know I will never be that same, undamaged person I used to be.
That's OK.
....But I do want to be comfortable in my own skin.
Comfortable with my own abilities to steer us through this life.
I want to be able to give as much as I get from someone new....

But.
I’m Not there.
Not yet.

When I met Greg, I had a deal with God that I’d have a thumping realisation when I met my “Mr Right”. I’d had enough of rubbish boyfriends and I didn’t want to spend any more time with people who were … well … just NOT right for me.
So at the tender age of 22, I had sworn off men until I got that kick, that thump, that nod from above that *This One* was my Mr Right.
… and frankly, Greg couldn’t have come with any more bells and whistles.
It was almost like he was wearing a flashing neon sign saying “I’m Mr Right”.
It was obvious to both of us from the minute we met.... obvious to everyone else at that party too....
.....we were Meant To Be.

So what worries me is that while I’m here, forsaking all others, pining after a dead man …. that I may miss the next flashing neon light. But it’s a risk I will have to take, and just have faith in my gut feeling that I won’t be alone for the remaining (50?) years of my life.

I just hope that the next good man to come into my life remembers to wear his "Mr Right" name badge so I recognise him.....

The Bikini

"Mom look!"


She's not timid.
She's not afraid.

She walks into my office in her first bikini.
Until this moment she had never worn one, never as a baby, toddler or little girl.
Until this moment she only wore board shorts and rash guards.
She has never worn one as the daughter of Art.

Two weeks after her 11th birthday she asked for one.
I waited for her to ask 4 more times before I took her seriously.
Then before our vacation, I purchased one.

She prances into my office for my assistant and myself to see.
She turns around once.

I am speechless.

Her long, lean legs, that ass that seems to have gone from adorable to hot over night.

The beginning of breasts.

Her older brother leans on my chair looking at his sister in a whole new light.

She leaves and he swings his left arm into the air, forward then back in a mock hit.
He swings his right arm into the air immediately after in the same motion.

He says "Bam! Back away from my sister!"
"YOU! I saw you looking!"
He lowers his pretend sunglasses, glowering over the top rims at the boys he has to defend his sister from and says
"I said I saw you looking, you look again and I'll......."

My assistant and I are cracking up.

The three of us all understand what is happening even if she doesn't yet.
And then I am crying.

Filling in the blanks:

Art would have ...

Art would think .....

This is something he would have needed to debrief.....over a period of days.....

But Langston stepped in. Langston without Art had the freedom to truly be the older brother, to see, to know, to desire to protect his sister. Art was so big in their eyes, I don't think Langston would have felt the need to step in.

And in that I see how their relationship, the one between brother and sister has shifted, has grown, has gotten stronger. They are not two separate individuals in a family. They are a pair, in a family that has experienced tragedy. And that tragedy has made them appreciate their own importance to each other. It's a gift.

And then I'm laughing again, thinking...

"Honey, it’s a good thing you are dead cause if you weren’t, Pallas in a bikini would kill you. P.s. She asked me for a skirt today!"

give me one reason

In any tragedy, early loss or hard lesson, we look for a reason behind it. The "why". Over the last three years I have searched for the explanation, or rationale, for Jeff's death and all the aftermath of his loss. Not the reason written on his autopsy certificate or the coroner's report. Something deeper. Something less concrete but still as real...and "good". I have searched for a sort of justification for his loss. Some signal that the repercussions for his death were not all negative and in vain. I have felt the flicker of atonement when an acquaintance had heard that Jeff's reluctance to go to the doctor resulted in his death and insisted her husband go to the doctor for a persistently bothersome throat...only to find out that he had cancer and possibly had a chance to catch it in time. I felt some sort of rationale - maybe Jeff saved someone else's daddy in a round about way. While signing a co-worker's life insurance papers as a witness after telling them of our life insurance debacle and how life would be so different for the kids and me if I didn't have to worry about money, I felt an acknowledgement for our loss. Someone wouldn't have to face widowhood with children and not know how they would provide for them financially. After singlehandedly installing six fence posts correctly in our backyard with only the help of a postpounder, a level and a ladder (plus an extremely zealous four-year old boy), I wondered over whether I would have not only been able to do this before Jeff's death and if I would have had the confidence to unquestioningly tackle the project alone. I certainly feel that will never be a good enough reason for losing my beloved...But there may be some other purpose behind his loss. A string of positive happens that would not have happened if I were able to hold him just a little longer. Hopefully, each loss of each of our spouses has caused some amount of positive to ripple through humanity. Because I need some amount of rationale. Some amount of explanation. Some amount of knowledge that my love's life did not go unnoticed.