I'm Sorry to Meet You ....

.... ummmm, what?  Doesn't that sound a bit rude?  I'm SORRY to meet you?  

     Well, one would assume that the above statement is very rude indeed ...... if one is a person who is not reading this blog because they are not on this "path".

For the women (and men) who read this blog because you are on this path, I am very, very sorry to meet you.

    Let me introduce myself ..... I am Janine Eggers and I have been walking this path for 15 months.  My husband, Jim, died suddenly and horrifically on December 18, 2007.  One week before Christmas.  Three weeks before his 48th birthday.  Five months before our 25th wedding anniversary.

    He woke up early on the morning of December 17th, with pain in his throat.  It turned out to be a tear in his aorta.  My children and I had about 7 hours with him before they took him into surgery that would "save his life" (80 - 90% chance ... or so I was told).  He never made it out.

    So now I walk this path.  Some people refer to it as a club, but I think the word "club" implies something a bit more .... fun.  Something you choose to join.  Something that makes you happy when new members join.

    This path .... not so much.  I hate it.  You hate it.  We did not choose to be here and we would give up everything we own, everyone we love, to get back off of it.

   So yes, I am sorry to meet you.  My heart breaks every single time I meet, or hear of, a new widow.

     I have 6 children who are learning to walk on their own path, too.  They seem to be doing much better than I am, but then .... they have suffered a different kind of loss, so it doesn't help to try to make comparisons.

     Our oldest three children are girls, 24, 21 & 21 (identical girls) and then we have 3 boys, 18, 16 and 14.

Yes, my hands have always been full ..... but in such a wonderful way.

     

      So now I walk this path.  And as horrible as it is ..... I have found some spots of light along the way.  And surprise, surprise ..... these spots of light are each one of you who are on it with me.  

     In the horribleness that is my life ..... I have seen good.  And the good happens whenever I "meet" one of you.  Yes, I'm sorry you have any reason to find this blog.  Yes, my heart breaks for the pain you now have ...... but after I get past that part .... I find amazement.

     I have met the most amazing people on this path.  And the thing I find the most amazing is how truly quickly and deeply we connect with one another.  My broken, grieving heart can instantly recognize another broken and grieving heart --- and they each reach out to the other. It's not something I have any control over ..... it's not a decision I make.  It just happens.  My heart leads the way.  

Grief has softened my heart and given it eyes and ears for other hearts in pain.

And I am amazed every single time it happens.  I am amazed at the depth of love I can feel for a complete stranger ....... just because she is grieving.  I want to reach out through my computer screen and hug that person .... long and hard.

I miss those hugs.

    So .... although I am so very sorry to meet you, I'm glad that we've met..  I'm looking forward to meeting new people, making new friends and sharing what I've learned on this path (as well as learning from each of you).

I am honored to be a writer on this blog.  I know, without a doubt, that my life has taken a new twist here in my "after" (I describe my life as "before" and "after").  I look forward to meeting more of you .... especially (and hopefully) at the conference in July in San Diego.

     Again .....  I would never, ever choose to be on this path .... if given the choice.  But it seems that it was not my choice to choose.  And so I put one foot in front of the other ..... sometimes it's 3 steps forwards, 5 steps back, but it is what it is.

And I am so grateful for the people I've met along the way.  People who let me know that I'm not crazy,  or ready to be placed in an institution.

I didn't get "the book" on how to deal with this, as none of you did.

And so we move forward, one step at a time ..... one breath at a time.

And if, in meeting you .... and seeing your light, God shows me just a wee bit of light in my life and in my circumstances..... then I am more grateful than words can say. 

So ..... even though I'm sorry to meet you ...... I'm glad that we've found each other.

Very, very glad.

Janine Eggers

Monday, Monday...

Yesterday was one of those days. The kind that finds you hitting the snooze button, feeling a bit under the weather, and wishing like crazy it wasn’t Monday morning. Regardless of my wish, the demands of life motivated me to drag my tired butt out of bed and get going. Money doesn’t make itself, and little boys don’t take themselves to school, these are facts.

One hour later, I dropped off my chatty little morning child safely at school. Hot coffee in hand, I headed for the toll road and the 30 minute commute to the office. Usually I chat with a friend on the way in (yes, recklessly talking on the phone while potentially endangering the lives of innocent people in their cars along side me. I know, I know, I shouldn't, but it’s still legal in Texas. :) This Monday morning, I just wasn’t in the mood. I listened to some music and tried to lift my spirits.

A song I’d never heard before came on, something about loving an old coffee shop and meeting someone there. For some reason, the song brought back a memory of Daniel, Grayson, and me walking to the Coffee Nut coffee shop in Buda, just a block from our house. Daniel and I are holding hands and Grayson is riding his little bike with the training wheels still on it. For just a flash I was there in that moment, feeling Daniel’s hand over mine, watching Grayson, so proud of himself on his big boy bike. It was a beautiful agonizing moment and it left me weak, crying, struggling to see the road as I drove myself into work.

So much for lifting my spirits! I needed some backup: I called my mom, cried on her shoulder, and we shared a laugh when I told her I was missing my husband and the PMS wasn’t helping the situation either. Sometimes the ability to laugh when it hurts can make all the difference. Thanks for laughing with me Mom! And the good news is: I survived. It is now Tuesday.

Happy Tuesday, I think it’s going to be a great day. - Michelle (dippel)

Team Dippel

When my husband received his third and final cancer diagnosis in the fall of 2005, he decided to formalize his support team and designed a T-shirt that he intended to make and pass out to his posse. His shirt read: “Team Dippel, Living to Fight - Fighting to Live” on the front and on the back it read: “Fight to be Cancer Free in 2006”. Unfortunately he died a week after he designed it and the shirt was never completed.

Part of the shirt idea lives on in the name Team Dippel. I adopted the name for our American Cancer Society Relay for Life (RFL) Team, which I formed in the spring of 2006. I had ball caps made for all of Team Dippel, and we wear them each year at RFL. Relay is coming up again in April, and we are fundraising like crazy. Our team is currently in 5th place, and I’m hoping we can maintain it. I can’t really speak for the other team members (sisters-in-law, cousins-in-law, brothers, parents, friends, nieces and nephews), but the RFL is an emotionally charged and bitter sweet event for me.

The first year, I was completely unprepared for the intensity of my emotions. As I watched the survivors take their honorary lap, I was struck by the unfairness of it all and wanted to cry out: “Why? Why these people and not him? Why isn’t he here holding my son’s hand and wearing his purple survivors t-shirt? Why?” I felt such raw and conflicting emotions at that moment: bitterness at our loss, happiness and awe for the survival of these other amazing people, guilt for feeling bitter, and also a terrible, terrible sadness.

We have done the relay event for three years now and are coming up on our fourth. I am still somewhat plagued by the same range of feelings although the bitterness has mellowed a bit. Why isn’t he here wearing his shirt? I think the why of it will follow me for the rest of my life, and that question will only be answered when I am no longer around to ask it. The RFL provides an outlet for me though. I feel less powerless in the face of a ruthless disease and feel like I am “Living to Fight” as Daniel had hoped to be. I am empowered by the possibility that I am making a small contribution that might change the path for someone else.

Who Am I?

Love vanquishes time. To lovers, a moment can be eternity, eternity can be the tick of a clock. Across the barriers of time and the ultimate destiny, love persists, for the home of the beloved, absent or present, is always in the mind and heart. Absence does not diminish love.

--Mary Parrish

Who am I?

At 21, life threw a wrench into the mechanics of my life. I had found all the parts that made me me, all the parts that kept my heart racing, all the parts that made my dreams come true. But on May 21, 2007 a phone call would take it all away.

Michael had been killed by multiple roadside bombs while serving in Baghdad, Iraq.

My soul mate, biggest fan and partner in crime had been taken from me by the most simplest of actions...the push of a detonator button.

I was lost, I was confused, I was broken hearted, I was torn, but for some reason I was still breathing. At first this was something I despised, the inhale, the exhale. As time passed I realized that there was still his love throbbing through my veins, and for that simple reason I could not give up.

I've embraced life, and even though my grip is not always the tightest, I will never let go.

I am a survivor.
I am a wife.
I am Michael's Widow.....

And that is who I am.

Meet Mie Elmhirst

Hello Wonderful Widows.

I often do things a little backwards…now is no exception.

Last week I wrote an article for this blog on widows and teens. I was a stranger in your midst. This week I will let you who I am.

I was widowed in 2000 when I was 47 and Mike was 52. Our daughter was 7 years-old, and his daughter, my step-daughter, was 25. Now they are a beautiful 15 and 33. Mike had breast cancer for the whole of our 10-year marriage, and very suddenly, 2 weeks before Christmas, he lost the battle.

I am a life coach. I began coaching in the corporate realm, as an executive coach 7 years ago. The money was great, but I hated wearing panty hose and pumps and I got tired of dry cleaning suits and I was so bored on the train to NYC that I actually got reprimanded for talking in the quiet car. Over the loud speaker!!! Truly. At the age of 49, I got in trouble for talking. It reminded me of 3rd grade when I had to stand out in the corridor. Humiliating.

We all know that we attract what we put our attention on, and I was no different. As I explored widowhood, the good, the bad, and the ugly, (and there WAS some good) I began to attract widows as clients. The the rest is history. I quit pantyhose, pumps, suits and the train, and I now work with intelligent, creative, brave women who are eager to explore “What’s next?”, and eager to break down the barriers of what is keeping them stuck as they sort out widowhood. I am a life coach for widows.

Widowhood has been quite a ride. It has included some of the very worst moments of my life, and surprisingly, some of the best. The process of self-discovery has led me down roads that I would not have dared explore when I was married and leaning on my husband. He was the brave one in our marriage. Now, I am now the brave one.

Of course, my story is not unique. There are many like me, ordinary women in less than ordinary circumstances, all becoming extraordinary, you and I.

I am grateful to Michelle and the co-creators of SSLF for bringing widows together. What began as one-widow-supporting-another is now becoming an astonishingly powerful assembly of creative, courageous women. I am grateful to be a part of it. I hope you will enjoy what I have to say, or at least think about it. And always, feel free to disagree with me and challenge me!

Warmly, Mie Elmhirst

Stronger than Death

I woke up the morning of January 8th, 2008 elated to be alive! I guess you can say David and I grew up together. We met when we were 12 years old. My soulmate. I've held only his strong hands, kissed only his beautiful lips, and sleep next to only his gorgeous body. My husband always said I was a "happy" morning person and that morning was no different. Still dark outside when my alarm went off,I gave my body a nice long stretch and as I released my breath the words, "I love you" effortlessly made their way off my lips. I was giddy! I couldn't wait to talk to him again! I checked my phone... No missed call... Ringer volume... on high. I turned my computer on, signed into my instant messenger and turned its volume also on high.

Throughout the day I'd casually checked my phone... no missed call. I wasn't worried. I never had to convince myself he was busy because I knew he was and he'd call as soon as he could... he always did. My phone rang!! ...My mother... I ignored it only to have to ignore it two more times. Finally, I called her back... on the other side of the phone was a quivering voice. I could tell she was trying to stay calm but something was wrong. She convinced me she "wasn't feeling good."

"My heart hurts. Please come home."
"You want me to tell them I'm not coming into work today?"
"Yes, please. Nicole, be careful driving. Drive slow."
"O-k..."

I began my drive to my parent's home, my mother's words replaying again and again in my head. Her "heart hurts"?! Confused, I rushed home. Got out of the car. Walk into the house. Dropped my bags. "What's going on guys? Is something wrong with Dad?" My brother was on the couch making no eye contact and my mother was shaking when she began to say, "Nicole, it could be nothing, but the Army is here." And they were. I turned around to find two uniformed soldiers walking up to the front door.


“…On behalf of the Secretary of Defense… On January 8th of 2008... SGT David Joseph Hart... died... in Balad, Iraq from wounds sustained while on a combat mission.” I couldn't believe those words just came out of a soldier’s mouth. I couldn’t believe they knew my husband’s name! Twenty minutes and a couple signatures later, they were gone. My husband, my best friend, and love of my life, died the morning of the 8th. He was killed while I was sleeping and I had no idea.


Papers! Papers! Papers! No one bothered me with the details of the paperwork, which I appreciated, they just told me to “sign here.” The following morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table when more papers were brought to me, I was signing where told... when I saw "it"... A box to be checked next to the word “WIDOW.” I lost it! Literally, I began to scream. My husband had only been dead for a day and at 22 years old I was having to check a “widow” box?!

I've come a long way since my first encounter with the word "widow." It no longer makes my skin crawl or my heart drop. Instead, I can say it as proudly and as easily and I can say, "I am David's wife." There are days when I'm left shaking my head in complete disbelief... Days when I slip into my "dark place." But I am not alone. It's been over a year for me and I know my journey through widowhood has only just begun but -hands down- my greatest gift given to me while on this new journey with David has been having another widow by my side.

David always believed in something bigger/greater then himself. Having the honor of serving the American Widow Project as made that real to me. Love. Love is the life of my soul... Love is unstoppable. Love is bigger then me. I know with out a doubt my journey with David does not end with death. I am proud to be his wife and widow... to represent him, to hold his legacy and keep it alive. I would live this life the same again and again because I know he's mine for eternity. My love for him increases often! My husband, my soulmate, my warrior liked to say, "Our love is stronger than death..."

So much reminds me of David and of Hope... all things strong, beautiful, young, and pure. Today... my heart is confident. I am loved.

The Ongoing Challenges of the Only Parent

I think one of the bigger adjustments of all of my big adjustments to widowhood was the status as Only Parent. Only Parent is different from single parent in some situations, although very similar in lots of ways. I think one of the biggest differences is in the filling out of forms. Those damn forms. You know, the ones that say: married, single, widowed? I used to cry at the sight of that question. Legally I guess I’m required to pick Widow. Sometimes I am tempted to check all three – I am or have been all three, now it just depends on my mood. ;-)

The less humorous blanks on a form, even three years later, are the blanks that read: Father’s name, Father’s address, etc. For a while I would fill those in with Daniel’s name and information, out of sheer stubbornness. Unfortunately the end result of my mini-rebellion would be confusion and embarrassment as the person reading the form would then ask more questions, or ask if my husband wanted to volunteer, assistant coach, attend career day, etc. Finally, reality set in and I began to leave those blanks as they were: blank.

Just a few weeks ago, I was registering my 8 year old son for spring football. The registration was on-line and I entered all of my information and hit the “submit” button. An error message popped up informing me that my registration could not be completed without my husband’s information. Annoyed, I entered all of my information into the father’s section, erased the mother’s information and tried to submit it that way. Much to my relief, it couldn’t be submitted that way either. At least they were equal opportunity. I would have gone through the roof if the father’s information was required and the mother’s was optional!

So, back to my dilemma: I had to have some information in both the mother’s and father’s blanks in order to submit, but I didn’t want to put Daniel’s information in the blanks. In a week they’d be calling my number asking for him and hoping he’d be a coach. I definitely didn’t want to field that call, but I couldn’t leave it blank and submit, so what should I do? In a fit of self-righteous anger, I entered the words: “father deceased” in the blank and hit submit. Bingo, my submission was successful! “Jackasses” I thought to myself, “that will teach them to make that a required field.” I was really ticked off by the whole process and shared the ridiculous story with several friends.

Last week I received a team email from our new football coach. He was excited to be our coach, and much to my delight our team was going to be the Longhorns. Being a University of Texas alum, I was thrilled to be able to cheer for the longhorns this season. The coach had attached the team roster to the email and asked each parent to review their contact information and notify him of any necessary edits. Dutifully, I reviewed the roster to find this listing:

Player: Grayson Dippel
Mother: Michelle Dippel
Father: Father Deceased

My first thought was: “you have got to be kidding me.” My second thought was: “that poor coach, he’s going to hate getting my email.” I really did feel bad for him. The poor guy’s only fault in the situation was not reviewing the auto-generated list the league sent him before he sent it out. Obviously the online form fed a spreadsheet, and automatically recorded the mother’s and father’s names as they were submitted. I had to send him a very nice email asking him to please remove that entry from the form, to which he sent a very anxious and apologetic reply: “of course, Ms. Dippel, I am so sorry, we’ll have that removed right away!” Poor man, he was probably disturbed by that for more than a few moments.

I just can’t wait to get to our first practice! What fun! Coach Patrick will likely be terribly embarrassed and awkward, and I’ll have to try to put him at ease. Oh well, I’ve become a professional at that. At least because of this snafu I won’t have to answer the question: “And what about your husband, will he want to volunteer? I think they must have left his information off of the list…..” Not this time. That’s the upside: this time they know the score before the game even begins!

Happy Wednesday!