The Laundry Epiphany

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A few weeks ago as I was doing laundry, I noticed that I had already done a few loads of dark laundry, and still had more to go. My first thought was "that's weird, I don't ever remember washing this many dark clothes before."

For whatever reason, this thought took me by surprise. It may seem obvious to some of you, because we have 7 people in our house now, so of course I would be doing more laundry. But that wasn't the realization. It was because most of Steve's laundry is dark - he prefers darker colors. And I realized that for some reason, I was surprised that it wasn't like Jeremy's. And my subconscious automatically went to "before" meaning before Jeremy died. 

What's weird is that I rarely compare Steve to Jeremy. They have a lot of similar qualities - mostly the good ones - which is why I love them both so. But they are very different. Whenever those thoughts come in my head, I try to be gracious to myself and to Steve to remember that not only is he different, but so am I. But, I'm human and I love two men both at the same time so I'm not so naive to think that those thoughts wouldn't creep in once in awhile. 

Jeremy didn't do it that way. What would he say in this situation? Steve handled this so much better than Jeremy would have. Jer would have handled this better. Jeremy would have known what do about this problem. Jeremy would remember this reference. Steve hasn't figured this part out yet. Jeremy never figured that out. I wish Steve and I could have share this memory, too. I wish Jeremy wasn't missing this.

The truth is, these kinds of thoughts can plague widow(er)s in new relationships. I can't speak for everyone, but I know that I'm ok with wrestling with these things. Maybe it's because I won't ever apologize for loving and continuing to love Jeremy. Maybe it's because I won't apologize for loving Steve as much. Maybe it's because Steve is great about talking through these things with me without feeling threatened. Either way, these fleeting thoughts remind me that I have lived two separate lives that continue to overlap in my heart. And that's ok.

Today, as I was folding laundry, I remembered that thought from a few weeks ago and smiled. The bottom line is that I miss doing laundry for Jeremy and grieved a weird, tiny piece of my life that maybe I hadn't before. And I smiled because I was thankful to be able to do laundry for Steve, whether it was dark, light, or pink and polka dotted (ok, that might not be so great!). It's ok that it looks different. It should. They're both equally important and meaningful. One does not negate the other.

Sometimes all it takes is a silly moment of folding the laundry to change your world.

social media, grief, and letting go...

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It's taken me 4 months, 1 week, and 5 days to do it....

I finally changed my Facebook status to 'married to Steve Cunningham' instead of 'married to Jeremy King'. 

I realize that this was well overdue. I also realize in most circumstances, this probably would seem very strange, but for some reason, this was a very difficult change for me to make. Steve and I had talked about it many times - he didn't want to push me to do anything I wasn't ready to do, and I didn't feel right changing it OR leaving it the same. I even needed to make sure I ran it by Jer's mom first, to make sure she knew it was coming and to just hear that it was ok to feel so much stress about this silly little change.

The truth is, this was a new facet of grief I hadn't faced yet. And though it seems simple enough, it was hard for me to publicly admit that I am no longer Jeremy's wife (yes, I know I will always be his wife, but I can't be on FB anymore). I am so proud to be Steve's wife, but announcing that in a silly social network forum meant letting go in some weird way of Jeremy. It also meant that people looking for our story wouldn't easily find Jeremy on Facebook through me and visa versa. But knowing Steve had spent his previous marriage in a relationship with someone who didn't even want to acknowledge him, I knew it was important for Steve to understand how much I adore him and how honored I am to be his wife. And Facebook won't let me be married to them both (I know, the nerve!)

Sometimes I really hate letting go. But as Taryn so beautifully stated in her earlier post this week, "it isn't this horrible phrase consisting of forgetting those you love more than yourself...it allows you to love them even more and grasp the immense amount of love still out there " 

I am here today because of the love Jeremy taught me, and I get the privilege of paying that fierce love forward in my relationship with Steve. So, I continue to love Jeremy more while grasping the immense love I have now. That is a decision I feel good about.

And I can't help but wonder if grief before social networks was a little less complicated...

Second Best

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A few weeks ago, I opened up the floor for people to ask Steve and I questions: about grief, about dating/getting remarried after widowhood, our relationship...whatever. We want to be as open as possible about our story so that we can try to bring hope to others. So, we'll address one today, and maybe the others next week. But today's question was for Steve, and he is perhaps the first non-widowed person to guest blog. I'm thankful that he can bring his own perspective and I don't have to speak for him on these issues. And since I know this is such a supportive group of people, I know you'll show him the same love you've all showed me.

Hi Vee, I give you a lot of credit for doing this. You are brave! Does your husband ever feel like he is #2? Does he struggle with living in the shadow of your late husband? Just curious as I recently started dating a widow and sometimes I feel like no matter what, I'm never going to be first in her heart. I will never be the only man she's in love with, and that will make me sad from time to time (other times I do understand and accept it it but that doesn't mean it is always easy). Would like to hear your husband's perspectives if that is ok. Thanks.

Steve: Sure - there are definitely times when I feel second best.  I think it is because I, like most people, want to be the only one our special someone thinks about, loves, or wishes to be with.  When you hear the woman (or man) that you love speak about someone else, even if they are deceased, in a way of love, longing, or desiring it can be a blow to your ego.  While feeling "2nd best" has never been a big battle for me, there are times when I feel it - usually when it comes to things that Jeremy (Vee's late husband) was really good at that I am not and I know I cant give her, or when we get together with friends that Vee and Jeremy had together  and they share moments that everyone remembers fondly and realize that these stories don't have me in the picture, but probably most of all when Vee's grief comes at a point when I have tried really hard to make her happy. 

Before I go any further, I have to say that Vee is really great making me feel loved and has NEVER compared me to Jeremy.  Without those things in place I think it would be a much bigger battle for me.  As far as coping with those feelings, I can't tell you personally what to do, but I can tell you some of the things I remind myself:

First, I remind myself that I love Vee for who she is, not who I want her to be.  We fell in love after Jeremy died - and I realized that her grief would be a life-long journey.  There are parts of the journey that are tougher and some parts that are easier, but its always there somewhere.  I knew from day one that if I couldn't love Vee for all of her (including her grief and love for Jeremy) then I had no business being with her.  

Second, I remind myself that Jeremy died - it wasn't his fault or anyone else's.  If Jeremy was a jerk, or cheated on Vee, or abandon her and the kids, that would be one thing, but he was a great man who loved his family and died too early in life.  In anything we lose that is wonderful, its natural that we would want it back. Therefore, I try to put myself in her shoes and understand that her longing for him is only normal because of the love they shared.

Third, I try as hard as I can not to compare myself - but as a warning, this is really tough! There have been times where I wondered if Jeremy was funnier, a better match, more romantic, a better lover,  etc.  These thoughts can drive you mad and leave you feeling super insecure. When I have started down this road of thinking I try to remind myself that Vee is with me because she loves me - sure she loves Jeremy, but she also loves me. She chose me and wanted to spend the rest of her life with me - and she is a pretty incredible woman, so that makes me a pretty blessed guy!

Some food for thought:  I have looked for resources for guys dating or marrying widows (especially young widows) but haven't found much.  Because there is not much help or advice out there, my best advice is to be as open and honest as you can with the girl you are dating.  If there are things that make you feel inferior then be honest and try to work through those things together. 

I hope that helps!     

What would you like to know?

Yesterday, I opened up my personal blog to questions from readers about my grief journey, my new relationship with Steve, and anything in between that maybe I hadn't addressed yet or before. I was overwhelmed with the response and questions that came from it, and am excited to get the opportunity to share our story and open our hearts in a world of grief that so few people at our age really understand.

I had never intended to do the same here, but I realize that this group of readers is different. We approach life with a different lens. I could tell the questions on my personal blog that came from other widows or those who had experienced grief before and were curious about how to handle different situations or aspects of grief. So, we wanted to extend the same opportunity here: for people to ask questions to Steve and me (we will both answer from our different perspectives) in maybe areas that aren't always touched on.

Obviously, I don't have the answers. Or any right ones. We all know that grief looks different for everyone, and I can't even say that I've got one single thing figured out. What I do know is that being a pregnant widow at 28, and getting remarried 18 months later is rare and raises a lot of questions for people - I get it. I would have some too. Steve and I both feel passionately about our calling to walk this journey of grief and help others along the way - him as a grief counselor, me as a young widow - to hopefully shed some light with our unique perspectives in areas that need it. And to bring hope. We're willing to be honest and transparent with our story and our grief if it means helping someone else on their own journey. That's what this blog is all about right? Helping each other? I'm thankful for the opportunity to do that in any way.

So, if you have any questions for Steve and I, ask away. We'll address them next Thursday here and try to answer. The only questions we won't answer are ones that are disrespectful, demeaning, or judgmental. But as I've already learned, those kinds of things only come from people who don't "get it" - and here, we're in good company.

What would you like to know?

The language of grief

Me and my new husband, Steve :)

Ever since Jeremy's death, I've noticed how much more careful I am with my words.

The months after he died, I couldn't muster up the energy to write anything with feeling (unless it was deep and utter sadness). Even my texts were void of expression. I remember posting something about not wanting to misguide people into believing I was better than I was. No exclamation marks. No smiley faces. When good things happened, and a lot did, I expressed my gratitude but never joy. Never happiness.

All my widowed friends understand what I mean. Everyone giving you the head tilt and asking how you are....I could no longer give a general "good" - I was far from good. I shrugged my shoulders and said 'ok' or more commonly 'I'm still here.' To me, that was the worst I could possibly be.

I have since continually felt like I couldn't really breathe in pure joy ever again. Sure, good things happen and I smile easier and I can say I'm good again most of the time....but every good thing in my life stems from one horrible worst-moment-of-my-life event.

Yesterday, I came home from a 9 day honeymoon in Jamaica. It was fabulous. Beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, beautiful company. It was a trip I will remember for the rest of my life. In fact, because of grief, I take moments in so much deeper than I used to, writing things down, taking more pictures...I just know how priceless life is now. And even though the trip was wonderful, I still grieved. One night, I grieved heavily and it came at me without warning. The truth is, I can only enjoy this amazing trip with Steve because Jeremy isn't here anymore. I can't think about the depths of that for too long or it'll drive me insane, but every once in awhile, the heaviness of it sits on my chest and threatens to suffocate me. You can only imagine the type of man it takes to sit beside his wife who's shaking and sobbing uncontrollably while grieving her dead husband.

Steve and I talked in depth about the trip and our favorite pieces and how much we enjoyed it, but I expressed how awkward it is to feel like grief has stripped away innocence from me. I will never again use the phrase "best day of my life" or "the happiest I've ever been" or "worst day of my life" without feeling like I would betray my life and love with Jeremy. Even though these phrases can be over dramatized or loose within context, I'm very careful to use other language.

The smilies and exclamation marks have long been back in my texts and writing. When people ask me how I'm doing or how my trip was, I can say without lying, "great." I don't know if the day will ever come, though, where I won't use a different language than everyone else when I carefully compare and contrast life. I call it the language of grief.

I guess that makes me bilingual.

What's in a name?

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This post was written last week, as I am blissfully unaware of the real world this week enjoying a Jamaican honeymoon with my wonderful new husband!

Ever since the moment I knew I would marry Steve, I have felt so much peace about where God was taking us. Even in the way He brought us together; all the things I thought would worry me about getting married after losing someone I love so much turned out to be bearable issues that we worked out so seamlessly. Even the peace I felt against other's insecurities...it just all came together in the way only God can pull it off.

The only thing I ever felt unsettled about has been my name. Veronica King. It's who I am, who I have become, and who I want to be. When Jeremy and I got married, I couldn't wait to change my last name. I was proud to belong to Jeremy and take his name, I was proud to be a King and had waited my whole life to become a "Mrs." And I feel the same way about Steve: I am proud to be his and be a part of his family and take his name. The difference this time though, is that my name is also my connection to Jeremy. It's what keeps us connected, it's how people find him through me and visa versa. I am part of his legacy and he is a part of mine. It birthed my blog, Everyday Kings. I jokingly used to tell Jeremy that the only way I'd ever change my last name from King was if it were to become Queen instead.

When this issue arose, I felt so unsettled about it, like I had to choose who I loved more, and tried to find other people who had remarried after being widowed to see what they did with their last name and why. I didn't really have any luck figuring out what to do. I didn't know how to bring it up to Steve, even though I knew he would be understanding, because I didn't want in any way to make it seem like I didn't want to take his last name or that he is less important.

We finally talked it through and Steve, being the incredible guy that he is, was very understanding and let me take my time deciding what I wanted to do. The only solution that gave me any sort of settlement was to have my cake and eat it too.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce myself: I am now Mrs. Veronica King-Cunningham! :) It's a mouth-full and a lot to write down, but it incorporates the two things I love most and puts a smile on my face and peace in my heart.

For any of those reading who have been remarried, what did you do with your last name and why did you make that decision?

Catch 22

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This will be my last blog post as a single woman....Saturday, I will be becoming Mrs. Steve Cunningham! The reality is sinking in, and I am getting SO excited! It's really been a crazy ride, and a quick one, so I haven't had much time to really let it process that this is MY wedding I'm planning, not someone else's - that and I haven't really let myself get too giddy about it.

It's weird that in the midst of all the craziness and planning my wedding with Steve how much it has made me miss Jeremy. Not because I'm not excited or because I'm not in a good place, but because he has always been the person I share everything with and I have been desperately aching to just share the ins and outs of life with him, the way I always used to. But, I recognize the irony in that and know that both of those things - my life circumstance and sharing it with Jer - could never happen at the same time.

While I'm experiencing the very weird mix of excitement and grief, I realize what a unique and frustrating place it has put me in. I find myself holding back happiness so I don't appear too excited about my wedding, because people then think it means I'm over Jeremy, that I'm done grieving, or I'm being disrespectful in some way. On the flip side, I worry that if I show my grief too strongly or talk about it too much, people accuse me of not being ready to get married or not being in a good place or that I'm moving too fast. It's my catch 22.

When I get down about this predicament, it helps to know that these assumptions generally come from those who don't know me well, have not talked to me about where I am at with things, or people who don't understand grief. I don't know a lot, but there are a few things I am certain of:

1. I miss Jeremy every single day.

2. I will miss Jeremy every single day for the rest of my life.

3. I am head-over-heels in love with Steve.

4. I am excited about my future with Steve and our beautiful family.

5. My happiness and my sadness run side by side. And neither negates the other.

So this week I have tried to intentionally not worry about what everyone else thinks and allow myself both time to grieve what I will no longer have with Jeremy and celebrate what I am going to have with Steve. I am trying to soak up every good moment of the beautiful chaos in my life right now, because Lord willing, I won't ever have to do it again.

I'm Engaged!

I'm sure that's not what you were expecting from my second post as the newest widow to the scene! And while I will take plenty of time to talk about my journey through grief and the pieces of it I still face on a day to day bases, I want to also share the pieces of my life that are happening now. And to share a story of hope and healing.

I won't dive into everything on this one post, cause there's no way I'd be able to share all the ways God has been working this story into my life, or the way Steve (my fiance) has helped me discover a place I never thought I'd see again. You can read more about our journey on my personal blog but just know that there is so much purpose in our relationship and how our paths have crossed each others.

The second reason I wanted to share this news with y'all, besides just wanting you to get to know me, is to share the AMAZING way that Steve proposed to me, and the perfect way that it combined my past with my future.

First of all, I am very hard to surprise. Probably because I'm nosey. Steve totally threw me off and surprised me with this one, and had my closest friends all in on it. To throw me off, my best friend made up a story that she had a photo shoot in the morning, but her car broke down so she needed me to pick her up. So off I went to Stony Creek Metropark to pick her up. But when I found her, she asked me to get out of the car and take a walk with her. I thought Steve was driving that day to Michigan, not knowing he was already there, but as soon as I saw a red rose on my best friend's car, I knew. She handed me the rose, told me how much she loved me, took my arm, and started walking. We walked a 2 mile path - yes, crazy long! But every 200 yards or so I was met with another rose being held by some of the most important people in my life. People who have stood next to me while I suffocated in grief, people who clung to me when I fighting to find purpose in life, who watched me go through my darkest hours, and people who have supported my new relationship with Steve. And as each person gave me a rose, they also walked me down the path to the next person while reading a letter about what I meant to them. WOW. If the tears weren't flowing hard enough (thank GOODNESS it was sunny and I was wearing sunglasses!) I walked with my best friends, Steve's parents, my family, and finally...Jeremy's family.

When I saw Jeremy's mom and sister in the distance, my knees almost gave out. I know that not everyone has a great relationship with their in-laws, but I cannot find words to describe how grateful I am to have married into such a wonderful family. They are my family, and their support as they gave their daughter-in-law a blessing to marry another man other than their son spoke to my heart in ways that I can't explain. I know it can't be easy. I know it faces them with grief they probably weren't expecting - I know it has for me. But there they were, supporting me and rooting for my happiness.

It was the hardest I've cried in a really long time. But my tears turned to pure joy when I saw this adorable, handsome, very nervous, all dressed up and sweating in the heat, precious man waiting for me at the end of the long path. This man that loves me for all that comes with me, accepts and encourages my still very strong love for my dead husband, loves my children, loves God, and whose character makes me want to be better. This man who grabbed my heart very quickly and who has very carefully held all the broken pieces of it and continues to help me put it back together. But also a man I cherish for all he comes with, for all he's been through, and for all he has become because of it. This man whose daughters have taken over my heart.

Our engagement will be a very short one. But I'm so thankful our stories have come together in such a way that it can only be a testament to God's grace and love. I'm thankful to have found someone Jeremy would approve of (he and Steve were friends, in fact) and who has proven to be someone I can't wait to share life with. I feel very blessed to have found two such men in my lifetime.

Oh, and he gave me this!!!

Ode to a Frog

(photo from: kissingfrogs.net)

Kim's blog this weekend got me thinking...fondly reminiscing about the "joys" of dating again. This blog isn't really a poem...more of an epic journey, the story of a quest.

I met my husband at the ripe old age of 16, and married him at 22. We did date other people for a while in college, but really - he was "the one" from the beginning. Fast forward through marriage, college, grad school, the birth of a wee one, and a deathly battle with cancer....(not to go quickly through that important stuff, but those fabulous years are not the topic of this blog). The scene is set with a suddenly widowed 36 year old woman wondering...WTF now?

At first, I had no intention of dating, and had clearly stated "NEVER". Really? Who wants to go through that? If there is a 100 percent chance that we don't make it out alive...I was not interested in the odds of reliving widowhood. It sucked once, but twice? No way. Besides the obvious risk of death, there was also the equally obvious: my husband was awesome, and those still single this late in the game are single for a reason. I didn't want to find out why they were single. They could stay single far, far away from me.

But, as a woman who had been happily married and really missed it, I eventually became curious. Could I find something like that again? Initially, I went out on a few dates as a horrible experiment. Horrible is really the magic word here. Not good at all.

I had a couple of dates with "sensual in public man" - quite charming and entertaining, but inappropriate PDAs when there was no private interaction to back it up. Cool as a cucumber when we were alone, and hot for me when we were in public. Awkward. I'm pretty sure he was gay and trying to prove to his friends that he wasn't.

Next came "I will fix you" man. This one saw me as his pet project. His goal was to erase my past and replace all hurt with happiness and light. We only went out for a few weeks, but his agenda was clear: make poor hurt woman forget about past - eradicate all painful memories by replacing with flowers and jewelry. This was interesting for a short time, but the pressure was intense. I took a break from him and from dating...I think I was dating out of boredom, but my heart just wasn't in it.

About a year later I met "Delegation Man" - this guy was charming and fun for a while, but was intent on engaging me in the running of his life. He effectively managed all things in his life via delegation. It took me a little while to figure out how useful I was to him and how much my work load had increased since I'd met him. I was an only parent with a full time job and suddenly had an additional dependent. Not good, and his expectations only grew over time. He wasn't looking for a partner, he really needed an executive assistant. On the other hand, the experience with this one made me realize that although he wasn't the right one, I missed having a last call before I went to sleep at night and a date for the Christmas party. Maybe dating wasn't all bad, just dating this one wasn't good.

Shortly after ditching "Delegation Man" - Michele and I dared each other to try eharmony. She signed up first and a day later I joined the madness. She met Michael the first day...and is now living happily ever after. I was not so fortunate. The list of frogs grew with my eharmony membership. Fortunately, it was a relatively short list. I can usually tell in a single coffee date whether there is something amiss, so no kisses required to weed out the bulk of them. BUT, a few made it passed my initial inspection. I went on a few dates with a fellow widower, but the chemistry just wasn't there - he wasn't really a frog, and I didn't kiss him, so I guess he doesn't really count. Next, I dated "I'm almost divorced" for several months before determining that "almost" has a variety of definitions. He served an important purpose though, "almost divorced" made me realize I was capable of letting down my guard and allowing someone in my life. He wasn't Mr. Right, more Mr. Right Now, but he wasn't without value. He taught me a lesson and prepped me for the future. He helped me to see some of the things I didn't want and solidified for me that I did really want someone in my life.

There were several others, most one or two dates at the most - "gift giving man", "i hate women but you seem different guy", "dirty txting guy" (only a single drink for 30 minutes led to a dirty txting episode...awkward), "you're my best friend now guy", etc. I hope you get my point here. There were multiple attempts to try to get back into dating, and multiple breaks to decide if it was worth the hassle. I kept telling myself you have to "kiss a few frogs", but how many???? I'd taken about an 8 month hiatus when I decided to try eharmony again at the suggestion of Grayson, who said "how do you expect to find someone if you're not even trying?". Whatever, don't use your powers of logic on me, punk kid....
Okay, okay. I'll try.

I'd been back on eharmony for a day or two when Carl turned up in my matches. A few days of fun electronic correspondence followed by a drink that turned into a four hour conversation, a few fantastic dates and a crazy impulsive trip to New Orleans (we booked the trip on our 3rd date and hadn't even kissed yet...stupid....but it worked out!) and suddenly we were inseparable. It was a few months before I could believe the frog was indeed a prince, but he's fabulous and I can't believe my luck.

Wait a minute....LUCK? No way. Perseverance is more like it. I'm lucky Carl came along, but it wasn't because he fell into my lap. I decided I really wanted to find someone special. I kept looking, hoping he was out there, and I kept risking the frogs in the hope that the prince would appear. Thank goodness he did.

Keep on going, and the chances are that you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it. I never heard of anyone ever stumbling on something sitting down.~Charles F. Kettering

someone to watch over me

Photo from here...

Recently, I was told of a widowed father who was married within one year of losing his wife. The story was told with the tones of scandal and betrayal. It was insinuated that if this poor man had truly loved his wife, he wouldn't have remarried so quickly or 'easily'.


I have heard stories such as this a few times since Jeff died. I have understood the implications of people not in our shoes that remaining single after losing your mate to death shows the outside world something of your feelings surrounding the loss of your mate.


But none of us widowed people seem to stand up very often and say, "Hold on a minute! I understand the impetus that propelled that person."


We are all too ashamed or embarassed by the memories of our own desires and hopes that finding someone to love us or fill the gap of the parent that our children/families would soothe our hearts.


I remember that before Jeff died we'd occasionally talk about what we'd do if/when the other person died. I SWORE I would never want to physically share a bed with another man. I truly believed it.


But when Jeff died, I longed to have someone hold me. I most certainly wished it could be Jeff....but since he was dead, I would cast my eyes about searching, hoping, needing the comfort that another body can provide. I would take inventory of my single male friends and wonder if they could/would protect me and my kids. If any of them would touch me and hold me and love me.


Of course, the people that I spent most of my time with wouldn't have understood this need - so I kept quiet.


But now when I speak to other widow/ers, those dark, early days are sometimes dredged up into conversation. And it seems to be pretty universal. We all long to have someone to hold us. To smooth down our hair. To love us. To watch over us.


And in the absence of the one we truly want, I am sure that occasionally the "stand-in" can fall into a small space made where the huge void developed. And maybe that is love. A new love.


I know that no one should judge this. It just is. And if it brings comfort and soothes a broken heart, who is anyone to say if it is "right" or "wrong".

brand name

photo from learning how to live

Doctor

Obsequious

Tattle-tale

Cashier

Humanitarian

Uncle

Artist

Labels are words that used to describe ourselves and others - a way to quickly and efficiently identify traits and tendencies.

When I think about the labels used to describe or identify me, the one that gives me most to think about is 'widow'.

Initially, I despised this branding. I hated the term and what it meant - that my husband was dead. I didn't see myself as the typical widow in black gracefully and wisely fading into the background. I wasn't sure if my personal portrayal of this word was proper or made me a 'good widow'. Somehow this term seemed to mean to me that I had failed.

Over time this feeling has changed. Now I wear this name tag with a little bit of pride and a lot of awe. I have made it this far. Two and a half years ago I would never have believed it. I did not think I would genuinely laugh again. I would not have imagined that I would enjoy life and all its' mysteries. It astounds me.

At the risk of sounding pompous, I am kind of proud of myself. I am stronger that I ever thought possible. I'm not a warrior, but a widow. And I have chosen to get out of bed each morning despite believing that the last morning that mattered had already happened. The loss of my husband has taught me that there are few things in life to be feared and that taking a leap of faith is far less terrifying as I once thought.

Now that I carried the 'medal' of widowhood, I wonder how long do I get to wear it? In five years, does the noun 'widow' get taken from me and get replaced with 'widowed'. Will it cease to be a label and instead become a verb? If I ever enter a relationship again, do I stop being a widow and become one of the ones on Facebook with the status of "Married"? I feel that I would be both....Would "It's complicated" be offbase?

I now wear my label as a mark of my late husband. An etching of "Jeff was here" in my perverbial bark. Although I may be ready for another label or two, I would like to keep my hard-earned 'widow badge', thank you very much.

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.

Death Grip

For the last couple of weeks I have been in Australia with my three kids, my daughter's best friend, and my fiancee. We spent ten magical days touring, laughing, learning Australian phrases, introducing the kids to Michael's friends and family, and exploring our new family dynamics. We couldn't have asked for a better first togetherness trip.

The kids and I arrived home safely, and Michael will be following us in less than a week. We brought home some of the things he didn't want to send on the ocean liner that will deliver his personal belongings to his new address in America. As I unpacked his leather jacket, a few business suits, hiking boots, linens he thought I would like, and t-shirts that all have some sort of Australian logo on them I found myself wondering...whose life is this?! Five years ago I was packing up beloved items of the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with and trying to find an appropriate home for each and every one. Press the fast forward button and I am now trying to find space in this house that I have somehow stuffed full of my own things for a different man that I will spend as much of my life with as fate allows.

As the reality of Michael's eminent immigration gradually sets in, my heart has begun to attempt a daring escape. For the past five years I have held my heart in a vice like death grip. The first months after Phil's death I think I needed to contain my heart to keep myself from bleeding out! As the years past my heart hold remained a constant shield from disappointment. As long as I didn't expect for life to be kind to me, there was no danger of having my hopes dashed. I liked to play any game of the heart very close to the vest. But then love called me out and asked if I was willing to give up the chance to experience joy in a vain attempt to create a safety net that would protect me from future pain. Lip service to the idea of taking a risk is fine, facing the reality? A whole new ball game.

Yet as I unpacked these manly things into my very feminine bedroom my heart would not stop doing a little jig. The concept of a happy partnership with a wonderful man who loves me kept causing my poor strangled heart to struggle to be free to sing. Sing about how great it will be to have Michael here everyday, sing about the wonder of having a man who wants to take care of me right here in this house, sing about the fun things we will do, sing about the projects we will embark on together, sing about date nights, and dinners, and wine tasting, making new friends, enjoying old friends, and calling Michael on the phone in the SAME time zone. All of these things are right on the horizon. On one hand the nearness of joy terrifies me and on the other hand my captive heart is rapidly wriggling free of the clamps that have been securely attached for just about five years and refusing to stop singing.

The one thing that settles me slightly as I face an amazing, but unexpected future is the fact that love is the only thing that never dies.