“It Isn't Fair”

I recently overheard a widowed woman sharing about her experience and of being still in a very painful place with it all after 4 long years. Granted in widowhood, that isn't an extremely unusual circumstance. But I do think sometimes we err on the side of being so careful with those grieving that we do not say some more blunt perspectives that could also be helpful to individuals. I don't know that they would be, but I'm willing put it out there and find out I guess. I could be entirely wrong, you all may let me know.

So this woman was expressing that she is still in so much deep pain, and wishing she wasn't. She obviously felt as if she was “behind” in some way with her grieving. And then she went on to say that one phrase that really bugs me... “It isn't fair!”

Well no, DUH, it's not fair. It isn't fair that you lost someone you love earlier than your wanted to. It isn't fair that I did either. None of this is FAIR. I'm not even sure why this feels so harsh to say – we've been telling five year olds this for decades. But somehow it doesn't seem to sink in. And it's entirely true... life isn't about fairness. It never has been. It never will be. I didn't make the rule… and I don't like it anymore than the next person. But there it is. It's been this way since the dawn of time. I don't know when we all started thinking it was supposed to be fair - probably always. But why? Who ever said that to have a happy life meant a life without pain? That a peaceful or fulfilling life was a life without unfairness? That the horrible stuff will always just happen to someone else? It doesn't work like that.

I learned this lesson pretty early in life. When my mom died, I was nine years old. My dad was a handicapped alcoholic widower that had no clue what to do with a 9 year old girl. That certainly wasn't fair to anyone in the situation, me or him. He worked very hard to provide a roof over my head, food for me to eat, clothes, and kept me in a good private school. He started going to AA meetings and even stopped drinking for a good while, too. But he was also an emotional mess. And he bottled up everything. And he sat around his entire life saying to himself “it's not fair”. I watched this statement eat away at him over all the years of my life, until he died from complications of heart and lung disease when I was 26. He never remarried. He never dated. He never really even made new friends hardly. I watched the mental and emotional anguish that comes from sitting inside of those three words "it's not fair" for too long. From being the victim of your circumstance for too long. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about this phrase and about owning it instead of letting it own ME. Naturally, I don't want to end up like him. 

This, being widowed, is NOT fair. Absolutely it is not. I would not wish this experience on my worst enemy. And while there is a certain amount of time – which can only be decided by us – that we do need to sit and gravel in that unfairness... there also comes a time to own that statement. There comes a time when we must grab hold of it and not let it take us down. A time when we must stand up and say that phrase in a different sort of way. “Life owes me nothing” is how I changed it up for me. It's harsh, and not flowery, but it's absolutely what I need to remind me that happiness isn't just going to show up on my doorstep after a certain amount of time. I am going to have to WORK.

This phrase reminds me that it's up to me to decide everything that happens from here on. It's up to me to make something out of the aftermath of his death, and find a way for his memory and his life to live on. It's up to me to create meaning from all this pain. To drag myself through the mud screaming if that is what it takes to work through it. And to reach out my hand to someone else and help pull them through the mud when they get stuck there... because I think that is where the most meaning can be made – in seeing just how much we can give and receive from each other. It is also where I am finding balance to the unfairness.

No, my story is not fair. But losing this one incredible man has brought into my life a string of other hearts which I have influenced and who have influenced me in ways I never imagined. It takes work to open up to that. Really fucking hard work. I want to close off and shut down and let his death ruin my life sometimes. It takes work every day still - even two and a half years later. Some days I am still crawling through the mud. But I'm beginning to see now that this idea that a happy life is one without pain is totally false. I'm beginning to see just how beautiful this unfair life can be if I work for it and keep my heart open. I'm beginning to see that maybe there are reasons that so much pain has happened to me… because I am someone who can do something with it. Change it into something else. Help another because of my experience. And that is not just me, but also you. We all have that capacity. 

Life does not owe me happiness. That means that I have choices every single day to move towards something or sit in the unfairness. Some days, I say no, and I sit in the unfairness of it all. Hell, I did that most of the morning today. Sometimes I need to. But eventually, I remember that phrase "life owes me nothing". And soon enough I get up and go looking for my happiness, or my peace, or some meaning and purpose. For something that is positive. It is up to me to work for it, to find it, to make it when I can't find it, and to give it to someone else who needs it once I've got it. I suppose that is why I am writing this to begin with, after all. It was a bad morning, and I decided to make something out of it. Hopefully it finds its way to someone who needs it. 

Thinking about dating again: tell me it gets better...

Speed dating announcement in Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

please.... Please???

So I made my online dating profile visible again during the school holidays in an attempt to push myself out of the doldrums.  You know - maybe I could lift my spirits by having a coffee and a good conversation with a male to make myself feel like I am still young and attractive and not an old crone waiting for the grave.

When signing up on one site, I got 30 e-mails within half an hour of activation...... which sounds fabulous until I read through them and most were veiled suggestions of something rather sordid and soooooo not for me.  Although there were quite a few really nice ones as well but I got freaked out by the speed of the e-mail responses only minutes after I signed up and never contacted them.

On another, I got some lovely e-mails .... just a shame they were all from men at least 12 years older than me. (I am quite specific about wanting someone who is a non-smoker and under the age of 50 ... don't judge me!  I am looking to reduce my chances of being widowed too soon again.)

..and it is easy to see why so many people get discouraged.  .....

Men nearing 50 stating that they want a 25 year old woman with a 'hot body' (seriously??? when I was 25 with ...ahem ... " a hot body" ....  I thought anyone over 35 was ready for retirement). (and  HELLO  men aged in your late 50s and 60s, this 42 year old woman is looking at you like you are writing from your nursing home and low on your meds when you write to me and make lewd suggestions).

Or the young whipper-snappers who are looking for a Mrs Robinson or some sort of mother figure. No.  Just No.

Something in my waters tells me that I will meet someone I can truly love again..... I know it in my heart.  But as the holidays finish and it is back to school tomorrow, I know I will hide my dating profiles yet again whilst hoping that Mr Right just strolls into my life and finds me.

.....here's hoping!
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P.S. I hope nobody takes offence at this - I am just trying to make light of my own self-sabotaging nature and the absurdities of internet dating, and being Australian, I do that by "taking the piss" out of the situation. 
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P.P.S. - If you have found a new partner via internet dating, I'd love to hear your success story ... and what site you used..  Alternatively, if you are at the point of looking around again on internet dating sites and have some "interesting" stories to share, I'd love to hear them.
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P.P.P.S. I am aware of the irony of the last two paragraphs. 
 
 

Preparing for change.

It's time for change.

I have been taking stock into where my life has been, where it is at the moment, and where I want it to go in the not so distant future.

For many of us, well, for all of us I suppose, change was at one time an unwelcome visitor. Change happened to us. Change came up from behind, kicked our feet up from beneath us, and took something we most valued.

I know that when my husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor change happened to me. When that final day arrived and he was taken from me, change definitely happened to me. Since that day, change has continued to occur, both welcomed and unwelcome, expected and unexpected.

The way I tend to live my life, especially these past couple of years, is to anticipate what I think I will need. Rather than let change happen to me, I make the first move, and keep moving.

Lately I have known that it is time to make some changes, and after giving it some serious thought I have decided to change my writing. Firstly, I need to take a break from all writing for a short time. I need to focus on my day to day living, and put some focus on the new person in my life. I feel like I need to live my day to day life without over analyzing it. I also need to do this more privately.

With this in mind I have decided to end my regular writing here on Widow's Voice. Next week will be my final posting. I believe that when one person goes silent, another speaks. It is my hope that by honoring what I know is best for me, stepping aside, I will be creating a space so that someone new may begin. I often think of us all as making up a beautiful and rich quilt. We are all bound together through our hope and through our grief. Each of us is unique, and by sharing our own personal stories and comments here on Widow's Voice we create something that is so warm and comforting.

For now, I am preparing for change. I am formulating my thoughts and feelings, and will be writing one last message next week. And who knows, I may pop up every once in awhile here, or somewhere else. I don't think I can stop writing all together, yet I know that I need to begin writing something new. For now, know that I am already feeling some anticipatory loss just by making this decision, and sharing it with you.

Much love.

Dan

Sticky Toffee

Guest blogger Wendy Diez is filling in for Jackie today...thanks Wendy!

Picture from here

I’m on my way to pick up the kids at preschool and decide to stop at Panera to grab a decaf with extra, extra cream and no sugar.  I wait in line thinking about all that I have accomplished in my kid-free two and a half hours when I hear the woman in front of me order a Sticky Toffee cookie.   I’m transported back in time.

I’m in England five years ago with my dad, stepmom, stepsister and Chris.  We’ve just spent a week in Ireland and are finishing up our vacation with a three day stay in London.  We are eating a traditional English meal at a pub and after our dinner, our waiter asks if we would like dessert.  He lists the options and ends with, “And then there is the Sticky Toffee,” with a typically British accent that makes the dessert sound much grander than it actually is.  The delivery is so convincing though that, don’t you know, five minutes later we are all enjoying several servings of this delicious concoction and cracking ourselves up by repeating to each other over and over again, in our pretend accents, the words: Sticky Toffee.  

“Would you like some Sticky Toffee?”  Cue uproarious laughter.

“Why, yes, sir, I will have some Sticky Toffee!” One of us coughs out a chuckle

“Would you be so kind as to bring me some more Sticky Toffee?”  Giggling erupts through Sticky Toffee-stained teeth.

“Have you heard about our world famous Sticky Toffee?”  Someone actually snorts.

The pints of beer we consumed earlier in the evening only intensified how hilarious we thought we were.

This was our running joke for the rest of the trip.  A few weeks after we returned, my dad, stepmom and stepsister came over to look at the pictures from the trip and Chris surprised everyone with homemade Sticky Toffee.  He was a fantastic cook and his version rivaled the original one.  And again, we amused ourselves by sitting around repeating the words “Sticky Toffee” to each other.

After a few weeks, as can happen with inside jokes, the Sticky Toffee references came less often and eventually, we dropped it altogether.  Only on rare occasions would it randomly come up when our Ireland/England trip was referenced.  And then, I completely forgot about it.  Until the woman in front of me at Panera orders a Sticky Toffee cookie.  

Now all I can think about is that trip and how my husband was a saint to agree to take one crabby, old man, one sweet but slow old lady and one thankfully normal stepsister on a vacation with his wife of just one year.  As an extremely experienced traveler, Chris took on the responsibility of planning the entire trip from the towns we would visit to the places we would stay to the sites we would see.  He was the only one brave enough to drive a car through the unpredictable terrain of Ireland all on the wrong side of the road.  He tolerated complaining, cancelled plans, unexpected delays and way too much family together time.  I won’t say he did it all with a smile on his face because anyone who knew him, knew that he liked things to be a certain way.  He liked to be in control of his time and didn’t normally have patience for people that slowed him down. 

And yet, he did it.  He embarked on this adventure because he knew I wanted to do the trip this way.  He did it because he knew it would make me happy.  He did it because he wanted to see Ireland and England with me even if it included some tag along travelers.  He did it because he loved me that much.

I could hug that woman in front me at Panera who ordered the Sticky Toffee cookie.  She just reminded me how lucky I was to have experienced that kind of love. 

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.