Oh Happy Day

Something really awesome happened this week.  A very dear friend found out she was pregnant and rather than feel that expected pang of grief that had become standard when I hear of someone else’s ‘happy life announcement’, my first thought was how wonderfully excited I was for her.  This is huge you guys!  For 22 months now, I’ve had a horrible default reaction to the good news of others.  I hear of someone getting engaged; see one of those gushy ‘happy wedding anniversary my darling’ Facebook statuses; or God-forbid, catch wind of a baby announcement – then back comes that wave of grief.  

‘It could have been me’.  ‘Dan and I could have been pregnant by now’.  ‘We didn’t even get one wedding anniversary’ … all of the horrible, self-pitying thoughts that make you feel like a bad person and a really shitty friend. When this close friend told me, about a year ago, that they were going to start trying for a baby, I kept an encouraging smile on my face until I made it home and then let the tears flow.  My poor, broken heart just wasn’t able to feel joy at the thought of others taking those steps forward in life that were no longer available to me.  I wouldn’t wish my own situation on anyone and could never expect my friends to put their lives on hold, just because mine was – but I couldn’t help the emotions that came to the surface. I started to dread the day that my friend would eventually come to me with her happy news.  Would I be able to contain my own selfish reaction so that it wouldn’t take the shine off her announcement?  I was so nervous that this wonderful person, who has been such a support to me and shared my pain, would see through my smile and know that I wasn’t able to fully share in her happiness.  As the months passed, and no announcement came, instead I saw her disappointment and the early stages of worry that they weren’t getting their special miracle. My relief at not having to force my happiness for her started mixing with my sadness at her disappointment.  My friend was experiencing her own kind of loss and my heart hurt for hers.

So, this week, when she received her good news, I was so caught up in my joy for her that, at first, I didn't even realise that any feelings of my own envy were absent!  I was excited, so happy that a new life was coming in to our world.  I can't wait to see my friend go through this special experience and become a mother.  I'm ready to be by her side, every step of the way. And at the end of the nine months, a new 'niece' or 'nephew' will come in to my world and in to my growing circle of love.  

I am so grateful that this is a happy day.  It's funny, how things work out.  I actually wonder if the universe had a plan up it's sleeve when it decided to wait awhile before sending my friend her miracle.  Just long enough for her best friend (me) to get to a good place where my heart had healed enough to share in her happiness.  

Goodbye for now

Bayor Matthias Cunningham arrived safely on November 23, and he's pretty much awesome in every way possible.

Two writers stepping down in one week?!?

First it was Melinda. Now, it's my turn.

This is very bittersweet for me. I am so incredibly thankful for the platform that Michele has given me to open up my heart and share my journey. I have learned so much just from watching my life unfold in my own words and processing through it, as well as reading alongside the rest of you the posts from the other great writers here.

But the time has come for me to pass the torch. I feel like my heart has been in a good place for a long time now, but there's something that always pulls me back here. Like I needed permission to still grieve and love Jeremy even when other things are going on in life. You all let me do that without question, without judgement, and with complete understanding. I know that there is truly no amount of happiness, success, or good things that can take away the dull ache I have in my heart from the irreplaceable void that Jer left there. He is my love forever, he holds a piece of my heart, my life, my children, and even my future until the day I'm done here. I know now that no one can take that away from me.

My goal has always been to use this outlet to somehow touch other lives who are walking the same horrible path. I pray that I've done that, even just once. But I know that it's time to step aside and let you connect with another writer who might have more to give.  Between the day to day craziness of settling in to our new community after a huge move, trying to keep up with a new house, new jobs, 4 kids with daily homework, a toddler who is more like a tornado...oh, and did I mention I had a baby last week?!? Yea- it gets a little nuts around here. This space has always been an escape and a place for me to regroup and take the time to dig through my own emotions I don't always understand during the week or to work through my grief I sometimes push aside on a daily basis, but I've come to a point where other things need my focus.

So, I babble just to really say thank you. Thank you for being such an encouragement to me. Thank you for honoring my love by allowing me to share pieces of him with you. Thank you for sharing pieces of your loves with me as well in comments, emails, etc. This community really is a special one, and you haven't seen the last of me - I hope to continue to be a guest writer here when needed.

I know that you all will be just as encouraging to our new writer. Amanda will be taking over my day, but we will have a new Tuesday writer....let me introduce Kerryl McGlennon:

Ian and I met on 11 June 2009 after first contact on an on-line dating site and I knew he was going to be the man I would marry the moment I laid eyes on him. Four months later he came to my office, handed me a cactus, and asked me to marry him (he apparently didn’t see the florist over the road – but did find a cactus!). We married on 4 June 2011, celebrating with our 4 month old son, family and friends.

In February 2012 he had heart surgery for a wonky heart-beat, and he got hit with the rarest complication which showed up on March 17, his 46th birthday. After a roller-coaster three months of battling infection and complications on the complication, he passed away on 14 June, ten days after our first wedding anniversary. We managed to fit a lot into three short years.

I’m now raising our son, who is apparently just like his father was as a child in both looks and temperament, and trying to instil in him what was important to Ian (while sometimes being rather miffed Ian got out of dealing with toddler tantrums). And in part of the soul searching aftermath, at 38 I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up, so am studying accounting part-time at university. Although I have to walk this road, I’m incredibly grateful that road is in the country I live in, and I’m walking it at this time in history.

Welcome to this incredible community, Kerryl. I'm sorry you have a reason to be a part of it, but we're so glad you're here.

Thank you

source

Today, I just wanted to say thanks.

Last week, I was hesitant to share my fears and also my joys of being pregnant and all that comes along with that when it's attached to grief. But I don't know why I was so reluctant, because I was overwhelmed with the support of so many.

So I needed to take the time and share my appreciation for this community on Widow's Voice. I'm so thankful that I have a space filled with people from all different stops on their grief journey, but who all come together to support, encourage, and bring hope to one another. Whether I'm struggling through my grief, or sharing the often guilty joys that come in the aftermath of loss, I know there is someone out there connecting. Someone who needs to hear what I have to say, or someone who brings me hope. That's the magic of this place.

Thank you for allowing me to continue to share my journey with you all. Good & bad, I have a place here. That really means something.

You guys rock.

Joy and sorrow

source

Several weeks ago, Steve and I announced to the world that we were pregnant.

After we posted the adorable video we made with the kids (you can watch it HERE), I tried to write a post to talk about this sudden twist of events in our life. A baby was not in the original plan for us when we met, but we came to a place where we felt ready and desired to walk through the journey together as a couple and with our kids as a family. But the post sat on my heart for some time before I could get it right or feel good about it.

Here's the thing: I am thrilled. But in this space, I know I can be honest and say to my fellow widow(er)s that I am also terrified. I didn't know how to talk about both pieces without taking away from the other. Last week, I felt so encouraged after posting about my two worlds colliding, because the truth is, you guys just get it here. Joy and sorrow run side by side in life. And becoming a widow while pregnant sure made the scary factor of this pregnancy even greater.

It took me a long time to get to a place where I felt ready to face this journey again. I didn't think I would ever have to, so there were a lot of pieces I had not grieved before. Knowing that I am having a baby that isn't Jeremy's feels strange. Knowing I get to have a baby with Steve feels wonderful. Experiencing a lot of PTSD about losing Steve is something that he was willing to deal with during this pregnancy because it is truly my worst fear. But somehow preparing my heart for new life and the excitement that comes along with it has overshadowed so much of that.

I had someone on my blog accuse me of committing 'emotional adultery' against Steve because I was 'dwelling' on my life with Jeremy. I was even more shocked that she herself was a remarried widow. I understand that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but how do you just 'forget' and move on from the most significant relationship you've ever had? How do you undo building a life and three children with someone? I'm sorry, but it's not possible for me. I carry Jeremy in my heart forever, and Steve knew that full well when he met me. He accepts that and loves me for that. That doesn't, however, mean that I dwell on it or even that we spend half of our marriage talking about the past. Steve is my present and the man I want to walk through the rest of this life with. My relationship and marriage with him is just as valuable as my marriage with Jeremy was - I wouldn't have married him otherwise. But I am and forever will be Jeremy's wife. I will always have his children, love his family, care about his friends, carry on his legacy. I am who I am because of the life I had with Jeremy and no amount of moving forward can erase that.

Phew. End soap box.

Thank you for giving me a safe place to express my joy and sorrow as it runs side by side. Truthfully, as scared as I am to walk this journey again, I am thankful for the opportunity to redeem my last experience and to celebrate the love I have found in Steve. I am ecstatic to bring another life into this world and watch our family come together even more.

But a few extra prayers and good wishes couldn't hurt ;)

A birth day to remember

A very special Cars cake made for a very special birthday boy.

How can it be possible? This little man that changed everything is turned 2 on Friday.

Holy Moly.

In some ways, watching him grow is going by way too fast. Gone are the days of baby snuggles and gibberish....he is now a full-blown Cars lovin', running and jumping, never stops talking, knows what he wants, stubborn red-headed tempered, loving and laughing toddler.

In other ways, though, his birth could not seem further away to me. If my reference of time was based solely on that day, I would swear Carter was an adult. Perhaps because I have suppressed that day in my mind and my heart....sure it was a day of joy that Carter safely made it into the world in spite of tragedy going on around him, but it was also the second hardest day of my life next to losing his daddy. It's one of the few pieces of grief I haven't fully come to terms with and I have a hard time talking about. Ashamed that giving birth to this beautiful was a painful experience. Thinking about that day always leaves me in tears. 

Perhaps it also seems so long ago because so much has changed since then. So much life has been lived, so many milestones have been celebrated, created, and passed. And I have changed since then. I'm not the same person who birthed this beautiful boy two years ago. It's crazy to think that so much could change in such a short amount of time. Maybe that's why it doesn't feel like a short amount of time.

The only thing that gives me the ability to speak about the pain of Carter's birth is the knowledge that out of those ashes came the beauty that is my son. The child that forced me to keep going, robbed me of my selfishness, and brought to life another piece of Jeremy for me to hold on to. And the boy that saved my life. This little man is too full of life to keep me focused on the pain...he leads me forward and focused on living. Children have a funny way of doing that.

I would give anything to see Carter with his daddy, even just once. To see the look on Jeremy's face that I have burned into my heart....the look of falling into unconditional love with the life we created. I would do anything to give Carter an opportunity to know his daddy beyond the pictures and stories we tell him every day. I crave the sight of Jeremy on the ground playing Cars with Carter. I ache to see Carter give just one big sloppy, beautiful kiss to his daddy.

As much as it hurts to know I will never get to see these images in my life time, I also know that I do not want Carter's birthdays to be marked by tragedy. Today, I am reminding myself of how far we've come and how much love and happiness Carter has added to my life just by being in it. And I smile knowing Jeremy is watching, beaming with pride that his little man is happy and healthy, despite my shortcomings. And I look forward to seeing where the rest of his birthdays take us.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. 

I love you always.

A bottle of shampoo

source

The minute I found out Jeremy was dead, time has never again made any sense to me or straightened itself out.

It's amazing how I can feel like seconds have gone by since I've last seen him, while at the same time feeling like it's been an eternity since I've heard his voice. Days get confused, milestones and memories start to overlap and get confusing, and worst of all - when time stops for you, it continues on for the rest of the world.

Lately, I've been feeling so far away from the day Jeremy died. Not him, but that day - so much life has happened in between since then that it feels light years away. I keep having flashbacks of that day while feeling so far removed from it. Like I've gotten used to this day to day without him that sometimes I hardly remember where I was before. It's a horrifying feeling.

But then I step in the shower and see a giant bottle of shampoo - one still remaining from the few that were bought mysteriously and stocked in my house after Jeremy died, and I realize that it wasn't that long ago he was still here. Or I walk past his binoculars on my dresser that still carry the scent of him and remember that he was just here. Or I see Faith wearing the shirt that Jer picked out for her that still fits here and know that not that much time has passed. Or I hear Caleb recall stories of his daddy because it wasn't that long ago.

It's a hard truth to face to know that time will continue to move forward with Jeremy. That each day we all get a little further from him, less people will think about him, and we will continue to grow and change without him. My only solace in that is knowing that one day further from him also means one more day closer to him. And no matter how far away he feels, and no matter how much time doesn't seem to make sense...he was just here.

Would you?

source

Between the business of getting our house in order and having 5 children, it hasn't left a whole lot of in-between time for Steve and me. We steal moments throughout the day but our one-on-one time is really just before bed or in the car. Luckily, we drive a lot, so we get the chance to connect. Some of my favorite memories of Jeremy are from our long car rides: dreaming together, laughing, learning about each other....those moments are so special to me. I try to soak them up with Steve too. Sometimes we read together, sometimes we dream together about what our future will look like, what our hopes are for our children, where we want to be, etc.

We love to play 'what if' or 'would you rather' or make up random questions like 'what would you do if you won the lottery?' just to pass the time and for fun. So, it was no surprise at first when Steve randomly and innocently asked me "If you could know how and when you were going to die, would you?"

Without hesitation, I answered with a hearty YES.

But maybe I answered too quickly.

This is a loaded question for me. As a widow, my perspective of life and death has drastically changed. I no longer fear death, and I still long for Jeremy and ache for the day when I'll get to see him again. Not only that, but I long for a place void of hurt and pain, loss and death.

The months after Jeremy died, I remember wishing I could know when I would die, so I could know how long I had to bear through life and to give me something to look forward to. But, as every widow will come to hate and embrace at the same time, life goes on. You're still standing and breathing, and you're not mad about it anymore. Still, I wouldn't mind knowing when I will die: to prepare myself and the people I love, and to give a goodbye that I was robbed of with Jeremy.

I told Steve that the only thing that would make me regret finding out was if I learned my death would be slow and painful. But then again, how many people get to do this when they find out they have a terminal disease that they know will take them slowly? Would it change my every day life? Would I live differently? I'd like to think I try to live every day to the fullest, but even I would have to admit that it might change things. And maybe the point is to live life in a way that you wouldn't have to give a goodbye if you didn't have the chance to; that the people you love already know what you would say.

All week, this question has been stuck with me. Would I find out? I am one of those people that does not like to be left out of things...I don't like not knowing, no matter how hard the truth is. There was NO WAY I was going to wait to find out the sex of my children when they were born if I could find out and prepare sooner. That's just how I am. And even though sometimes I regret this piece of my personality, I don't have the ability to not want to know.

What I determined is that I'm glad that I can't know, and that it's not my decision to find out or not. Even though I answered quickly with seemingly convicted assurance, the more I think about this question, the less sure I am about my answer.

What about you? I anxious to know, especially in this arena of widows/widowers - if you could know how and when you were going to die, would you?

beginnings and endings

source

I am in the midst of reading a wonderful book called "The Color of Rain" by Micheal & Gina Spehn, which tells the story of how each lost their spouse and found hope and healing in each other. I am excited to read something that seems to parallel a lot of my own story, but it's also really neat to read because both of them are from the same town I live in, so it makes it even more personal and close to my heart. I even ran into Gina at Panera a few weeks ago in a weird twist of God's timing through a mutual friend. Very cool.

There is a quote from the book that I read yesterday about 5 times. Then, I underlined it. And re-read it. And made notes in the margins. Then I thought about it all day. Finally, I had to write it down. Gina was talking about the final days of her husband's terminal illness and the love that was developed through it:

"It was not physical or material. This love lacked inhibition and boundary. It was limitless and free of expectation or regret. It was effortless, all-encompassing love; given, received, and understood. I think it's rare in life to experience this kind of love. In any relationship it ebbs and flows, but once you've had it, you crave it like no lustful urge you've ever had. I was filled with it on my wedding day, and when I held my babies in my arms, and again when my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer. If only we had the ability to live life as thought it were so new or so close to the end that all we could do is give and show and become love. It seems that beginnings and endings teach us about this kind of love. It is in between that we tend to forget."

Okay, now go back and read it once more. Let it soak into your pours. Breathe it in deeply. Make it truth. Anyone who has had an experience like this knows the power in these words. It is what I have been trying to formulate words for and translate from my heart that I've been unable to do in the same way. But it could not be truer. When you lose something so precious, you crave to fill the space. You crave to feel something genuine, something authentic. Everything seems arbitrary up against something so important that you become frustrated with other people's pettiness. You lap up the moments that matter.

I am about to face another beginning - the beginning of my life with Steve. Facing this new adventure in my life brings me closer to that nostalgia of remembering what life is all about: love. So I'm more sentimental, I try to be more careful with my last words to people, I steal extra moments with people I love. And grief tends to keep you running along with the same theme and keeps it closer to you for longer. But that doesn't mean I don't fall into the 'in between' category every now and again. I catch myself doing it now and at the end of the day, I can recognize it in a way I couldn't before. And I start over every day. It's a pledge I made to myself and to Jeremy that this was the way that I would love from now on. My life is forever changed, so there's no way I can act like it isn't.

I needed to share this thought with the world today: Love fiercely.

Don't get stuck in the in between.

Reunion

source

Steve and I just finished reading this book called "Heaven is for Real" - it's a boy's account of his visit to Heaven and back while he almost died from appendicitis at age 3. Whatever your beliefs are about Heaven, it's definitely a great book that will give you a lot to think about.

I went through a phase in my grief where I longed for Heaven constantly. I longed to see Jeremy again with an ache that was so intense, I couldn't think about anything else. I remember writing multiple blog posts about Heaven - it was the first time in my life where I had actually spent any significant amount of time thinking about what Heaven would be like.

One thing that changed when Jer died was that I no longer feared death. No matter how excited I am about the future, no matter how many things left unfinished here, no matter how much my kids need me here...I know that I'm ready to go whenever. But the thing I feared for awhile was wether or not I would get my reunion with Jeremy in Heaven. I've dreamt about it and thought about it so frequently that the idea that I might not get my moment in Heaven with Jeremy was one that made me feel so sick.

As Steve and I were reading this book together, there's a chapter in which Colten (the little boy) asked his parents about his sister that died in his mommy's belly. It is a chilling account since Colten had never been told about the miscarriage his mother had, nor had his parents known the sex of the baby. But Colten tells them he saw her in Heaven and that she was waiting for them and couldn't wait to see them. I was reading the book out loud in the car, and I had to put it down because I couldn't hold my emotions in.

Even though the story was compelling, that's not what got me. It was the idea that Jeremy was waiting for me in Heaven, that his anticipation to see me was as strong as mine to see him. But not just him...my brother popped in my head and the thought of seeing him and giving him a hug also tugged at my heart in a heavy way.

It's weird that something that seems so hopeful and peaceful can be so emotional - that so much pain is tied in with it. But I know the emotion is really just the pain of having to wait. The pain of knowing I can't see them now. It was a painful yet peaceful thought. I'm not a cooky person and up until I experienced it, I would have never believed that Jeremy's presence would be so strong in my life after he died. But I've heard him, I felt him watch over me, I felt his blessing over my relationship with Steve - I feel him protecting me and loving me through my relationships. And in that moment, through the story of someone else, I felt his anticipation to my arrival.

I can't wait for our reunion.