Hope for Hope

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This week, I completed the camp widow survey (see it here)

There was one question that made me think.. made me wonder. Without spilling the details of the survey and question, here’s what my answer was…

I hope to have hope again. The hope for hope, brings me hope.

I realized, I still have a long ways to go in my quest for hope. I realized it’s a little sad that I all I have is to hope for hope.

But I do.

I hope for hope.

Because hope makes me hope for a better for tomorrow.

Makes me hope for a less grief stricken life.

Hope that one day I will “get over it”, “move on” or “forget about it”, in the words of the none experienced.

Hoping for hope, keeps me going. Keeps me pushing. Keeps me from giving up.

Because hope matters.

And if all you can do is hope for hope that is enough.

Soaring spirits (If you are unfamiliar with them, see them here), brings me hope.

They keep me strong.

They have picked me up, wiped my tears, and told me, that one day.. it will be okay. Not “I accept it - okay” but kind of like “this isn't going to kill me after all, and that’s okay.”

I was talking to Michele this week and she said something to the effect of “I am grateful for the courageous honesty you show week after week on WV. You are a widowed rock star.”

I’ll be honest, I don’t feel like a widowed rock star (really, what is that?)

I have struggled… wondering if my blog helps and supports anyone. Or if it’s just me spilling my emotions every week to the written land of never never. I have had writers block like no other. I have scrapped the bottom of my soul barrel, trying to put my struggles into words. Trying to make my struggles make sense to the outside world.

I have had a friend (that is really good at writing) take my written ball of shit, and turn it into writing that makes sense to everyone else. But I write every week, because I made a commitment. A commitment to share my experience and struggles every Sunday, no matter what… that commitment gives me hope. Because come Sunday, I know I have a job that needs to be done.

Having Michele believe in me, gives me hope. Hope that my experience can help someone, if even in a teeny, tiny way. Having someone believe in you, when you don’t believe in yourself, matters.

This life matters. Even in the most shitty of shitty situations… there is a reason to go on.

Even if I don’t know what that reason is (yet) I hope to figure out that reason.

Because well, hope matters.

Aging Gratefully

I am filling in for Jackie today because her computer is in the shop...but she will be back next week!

 Today is my birthday. I am 42 years old, three years older than Phil was when he died six years ago (crazy to think he would be 46 right now!). My first birthday without him I remember wishing time could just stand still. I didn't want to age without him;I didn't want to celebrate being alive with birthday songs and presents; and I didn't want to continue on a forward path that moved away from the life I loved with Phil. Overall, December 29, 2005 was not my best birthday.

Truthfully, finding a way to appreciate the opportunity to live another year took some time. I moved from being down right pissed off about my repeating birthdays to being a bit ambivalent about the passing of time to finally accepting the fact that until my number is called my job is to seize the day.

Seizing the day is a broad concept that, for me, includes both taking as many opportunities for adventures as possible, and also taking time to cuddle a baby without looking at the clock. When I am living my best life I say what I mean, and I follow those words with actions. Making the most of the time I am given is a goal that is never far from my mind, and is firmly planted in my heart, because I know that one person can make a difference. Phil taught me that. But I didn't know how huge his influence on me was, until it was too late to tell him. I try to remember that the words I use may become an enduring memory for someone I care about, and I try very hard to speak words of both praise and gratitude. I may have only one chance to utter them. Time is something I no longer take for granted.

In fact, time is now something I relish in ways large and small...I love giggling with my kids, and running with good friends. I've discovered that Alaska has rain forests, and that Texas is actually huge. I've both cried, and laughed uproariously, with widowed people from all walks of life. I've witnessed both births and deaths and found them both to be an amazing honor. Over the past six years I walked on beaches on the opposite side of the earth from my home, hiked in majestic mountains, and looked over my shoulder for bears while trekking through the above mentioned rain forests. I spent New Year's Eve in New York City, and have driven alone on country roads from Ohio to Indiana. I've walked with friends through cancer, divorce, the loss of a home, and the pain of losing a baby. I have not been just an observer of life, I have rolled my sleeves up and jumped in with two feet time and time again. Because life is short. You and I know that better than most. So now I choose not to waste a single day that I could be making a difference.

President Abraham Lincoln suffered through the deaths of three of his four children, and was well known to be prone to depression. Having come through one particularly dark period, a good friend told Mr. Lincoln that he had been afraid his despair would swallow him whole. President Lincoln responded:

"I have an irrepressible desire to live until I can be assured that the world is a little better for my having lived in it."

Cheers to another year full of opportunities to improve the world, one small bit at a time.



**If you believe that Widow's Voice, and the programs of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, have made a difference for you, we'd be honored if you would consider us for a tax-deductible, year-end donation of any amount. SSLF is a non-profit organization that creates and maintains communities for widowed people around the world. We believe in the power of shared experience to heal, to inspire, and to lead the way to a hope filled future for widowed people everywhere. Thank you for sharing your widowed journey with us all year long. Donate now in support of SSLF. We are so grateful for the many ways in which you all support our mission.

Almost Married

By the time you all read this post I will be married. Even as I type these words I find that fact slightly unbelievable, because five years ago I was certain that my life was over. My heart was still beating, my lungs worked, my eyes opened each morning, but my LIFE was over.

I found the fact that the world as I knew it had stopped turning to be both limiting and liberating. On the one hand I was desperate to have my old reality back, and on the other I just wanted to move onto the next world as soon as possible. Either situation would have worked for me, because the point was to be with Phil again in one world or another, I didn't even really have a preference. Not caring was freeing, while desiring the impossible was infuriating. My days were marked by the swing of the pendulum...desperate, reckless, desperate, reckless. Looking back now I tremble at the memory of those days, and also marvel at the power of the human soul to somehow persevere. Because I have. Somehow I lived through the terrifying reality that my husband was dead, and that the life I reveled in was no longer available.

At one time surviving the absence of Phil from my daily life took every ounce of my energy. As I grew through my widowhood I began to see that recreating my life was actually a bigger job, made more complicated by the fact that not only did I lack the energy to create, but I lacked the desire. I wondered how I was supposed to manufacture a zest for life that I did not feel. Forgive me if you thought for a second that I actually have the answer to this rhetorical question. Because I don't. Personally, I consider the fact that a genuine enthusiasm for life has been returned to me a miracle.

(Disclaimer: I have been corrected before when using the word miracle, so I want to be very clear here. I am using the Michele Neff Hernandez dictionary of words and freely applying creative license to define something that I find totally incredible.)

Here are a few things I consider to be miraculous...the fact that my heart survived losing Phil because it really should have stopped beating, the idea that taking all of those little steps forward followed by huge steps back throughout the grieving process actually did move me forward, coming to the realization that love is worth the pain of loss no matter how devastating eventual separation will be, the finding of space for so many more people in my life and in my heart, truly knowing love and recognizing it when I felt a knock on my heart, finding a man who loves this new me in so many of the ways that the old me was loved for just who she was at the time, the fact that neither joy nor grief is mutually exclusive.

These are just a few things I personally consider to be gifts of an inexplicable nature. The fact that I can't tell you how I got here baffles me a bit, but grief has taught me to stop looking for the explanation and just enjoy the moment. Which is what I hope to report to you that I did every minute of September 18Th, and yes, I will post pictures. Thank you all for the outpouring of love and good wishes. I take them with me into this new phase of my life as treasures from the past that will brighten the future.

Foot Holds

One day I was walking along, minding my own business when I was knocked over the edge of a cliff, down into a deep ravine. When I finally came to after the fall I discovered myself in a dark pit facing a rock wall. The only way out of the ravine, was to somehow climb the wall.

The fall to the bottom knocked the wind out of me, and getting up the energy to even consider stepping up to the wall took some time. When I was finally ready to reach my hand up and try to find a crevice I could use to hold onto as I placed my foot on a small outcropping on the rock I looked up and realized that the wall I faced had been climbed before.

Way up in the distance I saw another climber. Relief washed over me as proof that climbing out of the pit was possible materialized right before my eyes. Seeing the other person in the distance gave me a boost of confidence as I stepped up to begin my own climb. Working my way up the wall required every ounce of effort I possessed. Each placement of hand or foot required forethought and concentration. The experience of movement being difficult was forgien because walking is so natural whereas climbing was all new. I could no longer move forward in a straight line mindlessly, instead every inch of progress was measured and each hand hold or foot hold sought out. Traveling up was exhausting. The one thing that kept me going was knowing that someone else had gone before me, getting out of the pit via this wall could be done.

As I climbed I realized that each and every one of the places where I put my hands or feet had been touched before. No stone was new, no crevice newly discovered...they all felt traveled to me and there was a sense of comfort in knowing that I was one of many climbers on this ascent. This knowledge gave me the courage to keep climbing, even when I felt I could not go on. Those climbers above me made all the difference as I made my way up the wall and out of the darkness.

Many times I have been asked why I work with the widowed community. Often I am asked whether I think holding onto the experience of grief limits my ability to move forward in my own life. There is an overriding perception in our society that you can't get over your loss until you have removed the effects of that experience from you life.

What I believe is that climbing out of the pit of despair, fear, confusion, and paralysis caused by grief is a team effort. If those of us who have climbed out don't reach out to those who are at the bottom of the pit, who will lead the climb? Every effort to support another widowed person creates a hand hold or a foot hold on that rocky wall of widowhood. It is up to US, those who are climbing the wall or have reached the top, to leave a trail of hope for those who will follow us. We can create a network of support so large, that no one need grieve alone. We can provide the visual, physical proof that climbing out of the darkness is possible.

Together we can blaze a trail, together we can make a difference, together we can prove that life after loss is a beautiful opportunity to make the most of what lies ahead. Volunteer, donate, make a call to a widowed friend, join the community of facebook, leave a comment when a blog makes a difference in your life...each action in support of this community makes the climb a little easier for the next person down the wall. Every single effort counts.