A Day to Celebrate Love

When my husband died, I was still in the process of integrating in to his 'before life' and forming connections with his friends.  We lived in Brisbane and he was from Sydney, so most of his close friends weren't local and we therefore didn't get to hang out with them regularly.

I knew they were wonderful people though, lots of fun, loyal friends to Dan and the kind of people I was looking forward to having in my life too.

When he passed away unexpectedly, six weeks after our wedding, one of the many random thoughts that ran through my mind was 'now I will lose my connection to all of these people whom I was really looking forward to getting to know!' Luckily for me, I wasn't entirely correct.

Sure there are some whom I lost touch. Some of them have stayed in contact, checking in on important dates, liking my Facebook posts, etc.  And others have been more present throughout the past 22 months and I'm now blessed to call them friends of my own accord.

This was a great surprise to me. I wasn't expecting it but am so happy to not only have them in my life - to share my love for Dan and swap memories with - but to be making new memories together through our own genuine connection.

One in particular has been an incredible support.  She went to school with my husband and lived down the street from him. They'd formed a special life-long brother/sister connection that they'd both held dear.  She had also, many years earlier, experienced her own grief at the loss of a partner when her boyfriend died unexpectedly, and consequently, fought her own battle with severe depression.

After Dan's death, this friend called or text me at least once a week for a very long time.  Even thought she lived in another state, I started feeling like she was one of the few people I could talk to about what I was going through and rely on to listen to me and 'be there' with me in my darkest days.
This regular 'checking in' didn't stop at that point where most other people start to forget or drop off, it continued for well into the second year and we still talk regularly now.  I value and treasure both her friendship and the connection it gives me to my husband.

So when I heard that her long-term boyfriend had proposed and they were planning their wedding, I was over the moon for my friend and honoured to be invited to their wedding.  However, when the invitation arrived, I saw it would be held the week after Dan's death anniversary, on the same date of his funeral.

I knew that this friend would not only have no idea of the significance of this date for me (the funeral day is something that not many would think about), I also knew she'd be mortified if I told her the impact it had on me.

So, over the past couple of months, I've been thinking about what to do.  On one hand, I really want to be there to celebrate my friend's happy day.  A hopeless romantic, I have always loved weddings and was honoured to be invited.  But on the other hand, I knew this would be a difficult time for me. Possibly not the best day to be travelling interstate, to a 'love' themed event where I wouldn't know many people.

I was torn.  I didn't have to make a quick decision, it's still a couple of months away, so I let it sit and wait until the answer came to me.  We continued to speak regularly, my friend was very understanding and never put any pressure on me to attend but couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice when I enquired about her wedding plans.

As an example of what a wonderful person she is, they happy couple even asked my permission to incorporate Dan in to their day - choosing a reading from one of his favourite books and asking guests to consider making a donation to a charity that supports people with depression, in lieu of a wedding gift.

This week, I finally made my decision - and booked my flights to attend.  This was based on a range of factors.  Another friend offered to come with me as my 'plus one' and keep me company; the excitement that I felt for my engaged friend started feeling stronger than the dread I felt for my husband's pending anniversary; and I decided that the 1st of August didn't have to ONLY be about the day we said goodbye to Dan - but it could also be the day to celebrate something beautiful.

I chose to make it a day to celebrate love.  The love that my friend shares with her husband-to-be, and the love that brought me not only to Dan but to this special person he heralded into my life.

Until Death Do Us Part

Yesterday I was faced with another one of those big hurdles for us widowed folk – a wedding.  My dear friend married the man of her dreams and began her life as a Mrs. 

This wasn’t my ‘first’ wedding as a widow, my best friend got married three week’s after Dan’s death.  While I attended that event, wore my bridesmaid dress and managed to stick around until after the formalities before excusing myself and going home to cry, I was still in deep shock at that point and the whole experience seems surreal to me now. 

So I guess you could say that yesterday’s wedding was the first that I was really present for. 

Leading up to the event I was delighted for my friend.  She is a wonderful person, as is her new husband - the type of people that genuinely deserve to find happiness.  They have a kind and generous love and an incredible appreciation for each other that very much reminded me of my own relationship with Dan. 

I knew it would be challenging to see another couple sharing their special day – so full of hope and potential – but, like many things, the reality was more difficult that I was ready for.

The day was full of moments that made my heart ache.  The vows... the exchanging of rings... the speeches... the endless references to living happily ever after.  Even just watching all the other coupled-up guests enjoying each other's company, I was not only faced with the constant reminder that my own marriage was so unfairly short-lived, but I missed the person I most wanted to share that day (and every happy day) with. 

I watched couples exchanging sweet, intimate smiles as they found their own relevance and meaning in the beauty of the day. I sat as partners danced closely with their significant others. I felt the love in the room and couldn’t stop wishing with every part of my being that my husband was there with me, holding my hand.

I exhausted myself, trying to keep it together, but there were many tears. The friends I sat with knew it was difficult for me and tried to offer comfort but I didn't want people to know much I was hurting.

I especially didn’t want the bride to see my pain – I was mortified at the thought of taking anything away from her beautiful day even though I knew, of course, that she would understand.

It’s important to note that there were also a lot of good things about the wedding. I had moments of really enjoying myself, I laughed with my friends and was filled with love and happiness for the beautiful couple.  I just wish so much that Dan had of been there too. I think he would have had a nice time and made friends with the new partners who have come in to our group since he passed. 

All day, despite trying so hard to fight it, I kept thinking: I can't believe we only got six weeks of our ‘happily every after’, it sucks so damn much.  I guess that will never NOT suck.  It will always be shit and unfair and painful as hell.  Hopefully just not as often.

His widow and his wife

I was invited to a wedding this week, one of my husband Dan's good friends is marrying his long-time love.   They live in a different state and I only got to meet them a couple of times while Dan was alive, at our engagement party and our wedding.  Since his funeral I've also caught up with them at a fundraising event we held on his birthday, in March this year, and even though they are really nice people, we've never quite had the opportunity to form a friendship of our own.

I'm honoured that they invited me to join them on their special day, it's really thoughtful and lovely of them to include me in an event that I would most definitely have attended if Dan were still here.

When I thought about going to their wedding I felt so many different emotions.  For a start, most widowed people would agree that any wedding is going to be a tough ask, particularly in those first couple of years.  Three weeks after Dan's death I was faced with my first big hurdle when I attended my best friends' wedding as her bridesmaid.  It feels so surreal to me now that I did that.  She had been my bridesmaid only a couple of months earlier and was with me the night that the police told me that Dan had taken his own life (and by my side almost every day after).  I knew no one expected it of me and my friend and her fiancé basically let me decide on every element of how I wanted to be involved.  It was difficult but I was driven by wanting to be there for my friend - even if it was just sitting quietly in a corner, I wanted to be present for her.  I actually think I was still in such deep shock that the reality of what I was doing didn't really sink in, enabling me to get through the day in my zombie-like armour.  This event would be very different.

I also felt some sense of duty to represent my husband by attending his friends' wedding.   I'm not sure why.  I mean, there's no way I could fill his shoes.  He was loved and admired by all of his friends for his wonderful, cheeky sense of humour, his positive outlook and his kind, caring nature.  He was like a big brother, the one they went to for advice. I could never be that for this couple - even if I had of been given the chance to grow closer to them before we lost our common denominator.

I wondered what they expected of me.  Did they genuinely hope I'd make the trip and maybe forge a stronger friendship that would carry us forward without Dan's presence to bond us?  Or were they being polite, assuming it would hurt my feelings to be overlooked and excluded (which it most likely would have) but not expecting my attendance.

Eventually I stopped wondering what I SHOULD do or guessing what people WANTED me to do and just looked at what felt right.  I sent them an RSVP thanking them for being so kind and thoughtful.  I told them that I thought they were beautiful people and was genuinely happy  that they were coming together to build a life.  I told them that I wished, so much, that Dan and I would have been able to join them in celebrating their love but that unfortunately it would just be too difficult for me to be there without him.

That's what it came down to.  Sitting there, amongst his friends, in a room filled with love and laughter - knowing he was meant to be by my side, holding my hand was just too much.  It wasn't a place that I belonged without him.  It's a celebration that I would have loved to attend as Dan's wife.  But just couldn't bring myself to go as his widow.

The Crazies are Normal

Last Friday I attended a wedding.  It was quite the picturesque spring evening affair: the weather was Austin, Texas-perfect, the bride was Texas-stunning, and the decor was spot-on.  Seeing the bride and groom exchange promises while holding hands and crying was truly heart warming.  But part of me wanted to grab them both by the shoulders and scream “No, REALLY!  Do you understand the commitments you are making?  These words you are saying MEAN SOMETHING!”  But that would have blown the mood all to hell.  And who needs to be known as the crazy widower who shows up at weddings and yells at the bride and groom? So I didn’t.

Being a widower has made me crazy in unexpected ways.  For one, I don’t really worry like normal people worry anymore.  Things that used to be a big deal (and still are to most sane people) don’t even hit my radar.  My perspective has changed. I know what a bad day REALLY looks like now and, frankly, no amount of spilt milk, flat tires, or cat puke is going to come close.   Hell, it’s unlikely that even if the car or the cat caught on fire I’d be that affected.

But life is balance.   So while many things don’t bother me, the most ridiculous things do, like hearing the words “in sickness and in health” repeated just because the minister said, “repeat after me.”  That bothered me quite a bit.  But I truly hope that the worst test of that statement the bride and groom ever celebrate is over cute winter sniffles.

I think most of my friends would understand my crazy, but there’s only so far they can walk down this path with me; they are just visitors.  Fortunately, there’s another group of friends I’ve come to know.  It’s a group of folks I’ve met since I’ve been writing for Widow’s Voice.  I met many of them last year for the first time at Camp Widow.  And this year, here at Camp Widow East, I am overjoyed to see them again for this short weekend.  They really, truly understand what those marriage commitments mean.  They understand the crazy that follows the crash.  Every single person here will take my crazy, and add to it a little bit of their own.  They’ve lived through the worst, like me, and have come out the other side changed.

It’s so nice to be here back in the asylum.