It's Us Against the World

I heard this song by Coldplay recently and it made me think of all of us. Thought I'd share it. Hugs to all of you. Don't let go.

Oh morning come bursting the clouds amen
Lift off this blindfold let me see again
Bring back the water let your ships roll in
In my heart she left a hole

The tightrope that I’m walking just sways and ties
The devil as he’s talking to those angel’s eyes
And I just want to be there when the lightening strikes
And the saints go marching in

And sing
Slow it down
Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

Like a river to a raindrop I lost a friend
My drunken hazard Daniel in a lion's den
And tonight I know it all has to begin again
So whatever you do, don’t let go

If we could float away
Fly up to the surface and just start again
Lift off before trouble just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us and see roses in the rain saying

Slow it down
Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGlqmn2HSTk

a blessing for all things

Photo from here.....

The unthankful heart discovers no mercies; but the thankful heart will find, in every hour, some heavenly blessings.

-- Henry Ward Beecher

I have found that at times, I am a whiny, ungrateful little sap. I moan at life's injustice and cry out at the lot I have been given. I beat my fists against fate and want to scream when I hear "It happened for a reason". What the hell reason could it be that I had to lose my love so early? What reason is there that my children have to go to bed without their daddy's furry kiss?

But this quote and a few others like it help me to remember that perhaps there isn't a "reason" but a blessing for all things.

I am not blessed that Jeff is gone. But I am stronger, more empathetic and kinder since losing such a huge piece of my heart and life. And I am thankful for this....

I am thankful for my community and friends who support me with their love and generosity, reminding me that I am not alone.

I am thankful for the other widows I know and continue to meet for although we are all broken, we all seem to share a wicked sense of humour and an understanding of the truly important things in life.

I am thankful for every day that I am able to spend holding our small children's hands for I could have been the one who died.

I am thankful for the love he gave me and memories I have stored in my heart available when I need him close. It is NOT the same as having him here, but I am thankful that I did for a time.

And I am thankful for the opportunity to learn, grow and become who I am.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!

Counting My Blessings ....

.... and there are six of them.
Well, I have way more than six blessings .... but the main ones, the biggest ones .... are the six people who are now home with me.
My .... our .... six children.

Only two of them live at home now .... and one of those is leaving in January.  He's going to boot camp.  For the Marines.
But I'm not going to think about that right now.
That tends to make me cry.

Where was I?
Oh, yes .... six blessings.
And so very thankful that the sixth one made it in today.
They are all home now.
All here safe and sound.
All is as it should be.

Well, not as it should be.
It's a far cry from how it should be.

It's been a while since that thought ran through my head ...... "This is not how it's supposed to be. This is not supposed to be my .... our .... life."
That thought used to make me cry, too.  Quite a lot.
It still can sometimes.
Today has been one of those times.

Thanksgiving is very, very hard.
I thought it would be different this year.
I thought it would be better.
I thought I would be .... better.
It seems I am not.

Thanksgiving starts some internal clock inside of my head .... inside of my heart, really.  You know the one.  You probably have one, too.
The one that starts the countdown to the day he died.

I have no idea why it's Thanksgiving.  Other than it's the day that kicks off this whole holiday season .... and he died in the middle of the season .... one week before Christmas.
Strangely enough, we did not spend that last Thanksgiving together as a family.  Well, not so strangely.
I had just returned from a mission trip to Africa the Sunday before.  I was exhausted.  And the girls were traveling home and didn't have much time off.  So I told Jim that he should take the three boys and go spend Thanksgiving with his parents in Oklahoma.  The girls and I would relax at home ..... and his parents would get the chance to just have him (without me ..... for the first time since we'd married) .... and just three of the kids.
It was to be the first .... and last such holiday they would have together.

And it begins the countdown ..... the "heretofore" mentioned .... "death march" .... in my heart.
No matter how I try to approach it.
No matter how I think it will be different.
It still counts down.

But .... as it counts down this year, I'm going to try to focus on what I have to be thankful for now .... today.

Which brings me back to six.

Six blessings that he left me.
Six amazing, unique individuals.
Six hearts that beat with part of him, and part of me.
Six .... which really isn't six at all, but is multiplied infinitely by how much each one continues to bless me .... and others.

I am blessed.
Even when I hurt.

And sometimes .... especially when I hurt.

The F Word

Amanda is closing out the school year in Australia this week, and guest writer Wendy Doyle Diez is filling in for her on WV today...thanks Wendy!

F…A…T.

I’m a fat widow. 

Yes I am. 

You don’t need to give me an awkward smile and insist that I’m not a fat widow. 

I am and I own it.

I give other widowed people a bad name. I shatter the image of the grief-ridden widow/widower by eating and actually enjoying it.  And I’ve been doing this for nearly three years now.  I feel guilty not just because I should have better eating habits to begin with but because somewhere in my subconscious, I believe that I should have lost interest in anything food related when I became a widow.  This seems to be the norm for others I know.  And some still have trouble eating even after a couple of years.  Who are these people?!  I know.  They are the ones who insist they are full after eating half an apple.  I apologize if you are one of them but I need a minute to be truly confounded by you.

Don’t all widows drastically lose weight in the beginning of the grief process?  For the love of chocolate peanut butter ice cream, why didn’t I? 

As someone who has struggled with weight issues for a good number of years, I must confess that a small part of me searched for the silver lining when Chris died.  I thought I would for sure lose my appetite and shrink down a few sizes.  Never did I think that my new normal would include 40 extra pounds. 

To be fair to myself, I had just had a baby when Chris died and I knew I needed to eat because I was nursing a newborn.  I don’t recall the pediatrician or any of the baby books suggesting that I eat several meals a day of chocolate products to ensure proper nutrition for Claire.  But I do remember feeling like nothing in the world made me feel better than snuggling up with a candy bar late at night once my kids were in bed.

What this all comes down to is that I’ve realized I have been judging myself and others on this one particular aspect of widowhood.  

Skinny = proper widow/widower for grieving correctly by not being able to eat.

Fat = widow/widower who must not have cared enough about their spouse since they indulge in whatever food is pushed in front of them (and sometimes even aggressively go after it).

Our community is often outraged at the unreasonable judgments that those who’ve never walked in our shoes cast upon us.  And yet, here I am casting those same judgments not only on my peers but upon myself.  I think I need to give our community and myself a break.  Because defining what is an appropriate widow is, um, a weighty issue.  

At this point in my grief journey, I am actively working on being healthier (with some stumbling along the way).  But I’m also working on letting go of the stereotypes that are holding me back.  Now if I could only let go of the chocolate bars too, I’ll really be on my way.

Good Bye

Good bye.

Words we are familiar with.
We have, in one way or another, said goodbye to spouses/partners. In tears, begging for forgiveness, in resolution. We have thought, uttered, whispered those words.

Good bye.

Good bye for me, now holds so much more. I get that I may not see a person again. I get that there isn't a reason for death. It sweeps in, takes what it wants and leaves.

I also see that every day is full of good byes. Langston grows another inch (good bye to childhood), a friendship ends with silence, I stand up for myself in a new situation. They are all good byes. The leaving of of something behind. The moving forward, the passing, the stepping away from.

Today it is my turn to say good bye.

This is my final post for Widows-Voice.

A few weeks ago I told Michele I wanted to stop writing for Widows Voice. I am still not sure why but I know it’s time for me to close this door, stand in the dark and decided which new door to open next.

I’ve been working on this post for days, trying to come up with something eloquent, meaningful and poised.

Every time I try, I fail.

So I will leave you with this.

Thank you.

Thank you for humoring my absurd obsession to vomit my widow truth every week over the last year and a half.

Thank you for reading my posts and for going to my blog to read my story. (www.artnagle.blogspot.com)

Thank you for making me reflect, in writing, about this journey into loss and growth and hope. Without you, I would not be the brave widow that I have become.

Thank you to the readers in:

Albania
Algeria
Angola
Argentina
Armenia
Aruba
Australia
Austria
Azerbaijan
Bahamas
Bahrain
Bangladesh
Barbados
Belarus
Belgium
Belize
Bermuda
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Botswana
Brazil
Brunei
Budapest
Bulgaria
Cameroon
Canada
Cayman Islands
Chile
China
Colombia
Costa Rica
Croatia
Cyprus
Czech Republic
Denmark
Dominican Republic
Ecuador
Egypt
Estonia
Faroe Islands
Fiji
Finland
France
Georgia
Germany
Ghana
Greece
Guam
Guernsey
Guyana
Haiti
Hong Kong
Hungary
Iceland
India
Indonesia
Iran
Iraq
Ireland
Israel
Italy
Jamaica
Japan
Jordan
Kenya
Kuwait
Laos
Latvia
Lebanon
Lithuania
Luxembourg
Macedonia
Malaysia
Maldives
Malta
Mauritius
Mexico
Moldova
Moroco
Myanmar [Burma]
Namibia
Nepal
Netherlands
Netherlands Antilles
New Zealand
Nicaragua
Nigeria
Norway
Oman
Pakistan
Panama
Peru
Philippines
Poland
Portugal
Puerto Rico
Qatar
Reunion
Romania
Russia
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saudi Arabia
Scotland
Serbia
Sierra Leone
Singapore
Slovakia
Slovenia
South Africa
South Korea
Spain
Sri Lanka
Sudan
Sweden
Switzerland
Taiwan
Tanzania
Thailand
Trinidad and Tobago
Tunisia
Turkey
Uganda
Ukraine
United Arab Emirates
United Kingdom
United States
Uruguay
Venezuela
Vietnam
Zambia
Zimbabwe

(Yes…holy crude!! This blog is read ALL over the world!!)

Thank you for those brave enough (or who could figure out how ) to comment. Doing so reminded me that my experience as a widow is not unique (thank God!), that isolation is an option, not the truth.

Thank you, for showing me the simple act of putting one big toe in front of the other (or on the bad days when hands and knees, one middle finger in front of the other was as far as I could get) is moving forward, is dealing with loss, is learning how to survive. And eventually, those toes (or middle fingers) got me to a place where I thrive.

If you are new to this widow club, man, truly, truly how I wish I could short cut this journey for you. I'd show you the secret combinations and share the passwords with you so that you would not have to walk through the thick, heavy, murky sludge of grief. All of us who come before you want nothing more than to do that for you.

But we cannot. We cannot take away your pain. The worst part about “doing” widowhood is that it has to be "done," experienced, which.... frankly, totally sucks.

Know that those of us who have come before you, cry with you. We remember the pain, the doubt, the fear, the surprise and the confusion. We remember it and we will hold the rope until you are ready to climb again. You will be ready to climb again.

It gets easier and yes, even better. The loss you feel is real and crippling and
it
will
not
last
forever.

I promise.

Stay here.
Keep coming back. Keep reading because in these word on this blog you will find yourself.

If you are looking for proof there is life in grief, (not after grief because it morphs but never disappears), I am it. In the grief, I have found a light that guides me to beautiful places I never thought I’d see.

Thank you because I am the lucky one. To have been asked to write here, to have had the opportunity to share my feelings, my loss and to have you say “Yes Kim. We hear you.” That is a powerful gift. To be heard. I think, it is all any of us really want.

It is a gift that will stay with me until I take my last breath.

I heard this today on NPR – can’t remember who said it or when, but it is perfect.

The sun goes down.
Every day there is loss and
every day there is newness.
I am glad I came.

I love you all.

With Grace and Endless Gratitude,

Kim

www.exactlywhattheyneed.com
www.artnagle.blogspot.com

Thankful

Two Thanksgiving celebrations down, and one to go.

It's been an interesting couple of days. Friday night I hosted an office Thanksgiving potluck at my home. Almost every person from the office came, along with their families. There was so much food, wine and desert, and everyone was in a very good mood. Most had hoped to meet Abel, and since he had to work, I was explaining all night as to why he wasn't present.

Since most of the folks I work with have never been to my home I took the time to give each of them the official tour. What I realized is that this crowd of people never knew Michael, or of my life with him. Of course many have likely heard that I am widowed, but it is something that is more historical information to them. As each entered my bedroom they were greeted by the large wedding photo of Michael and I, which is balanced across the room with his urn. To create a festive mood throughout the house I had votive candles everywhere. Two specific candles are often burning on each side of the urn. I think these images were a bit jarring for each guest, as it put some reality into what I have experienced over the years.

On Saturday I had another early Thanksgiving celebration, this time at my parents' home. All of my brothers and their families were present, and with each person that greeted me there was the same question, "where is Abel?" That part was very similar to the questions and responses on Friday night, only this crowd had a very personal perspective of not only my loss, but of theirs.

I was enjoying a glass of wine with my sister-in-law, and having a real heart to heart when she commented about how quickly life can change. She was remembering her weekend visit to my home at the end of the summer, and how I was expressing that I was now ready to begin dating. She pointed out that the expression on my face now is very different than times in the recent past. She said that I look happy for a change. As we spoke more about Abel she shared with me that even though she is happy for me, and Abel seems like a nice guy, it is very difficult to see me with somebody new. She told me that even though it's been two years, she still thinks about how much she and everyone loved Michael, and how she misses him. My sister-in-law said that Michael was such a special person, the type that doesn't come along very often.

I appreciated what my sister-in-law shared with me. It was a good reminder that others around me continue to be affected by Michael being taken so soon. I know that my family is pleased that I have found happiness with someone new, but they will need time to adjust, as they don't see me, or us, often.

Before we began to eat our Thanksgiving meal all of us formed a circle in the room. We joined hands for the Thanksgiving prayer. My father voiced a collective thanksgiving for all that we have, and for what God will continue to provide us. These words sort of took me to another place. Yes, I am thankful, yet part of me is still feeling the sting of personalizing that God took Michael from me. I know that this internal debate, did he take him, or was it just his time, is not something worth wrestling with. I know that if God did take him, it is not for me to know why. So for now I will focus on being thankful for what I have.

I am thankful for my children, and the love we share between us. I am thankful for all of my extended family, and for the many years my parents, and each of my brothers, have been given in their marriages. I am thankful for all of my widowed friends, and all those that come here to read, connect, and heal. And yes, I am thankful that for now, and for how ever long I am blessed with this new person in my life, I have companionship.

One more Thanksgiving to go, which will be just my kids, Abel and me. No explanations needed.

Deny

When loss strikes, we have a way of denying ourselves of things.

Whether it be the ability to smile since they can't smile. The ability to see all the impact that they're life left by focusing on the fact that they were taken so suddenly. The ability to celebrate life's happenings, since they are not there to celebrate it with you. Our ability to look ourselves in the mirror and like who we now are, because we're too focused on who we were before tragedy struck.

They're just a few things that I did and denied myself of.

I think I had to...it was necessary.

It was in denying myself of the life that I still had before me that I realized that I still wanted to live it.

Piece by piece, day and month and year by year, I find I'm not putting back together what should have or could have been....but embracing what is.

A part of me died the day Michael died, and I dragged that corpse behind me, letting its weight wear me down. But not all of me died.

It was with that knowledge that life has become one I oddly and peculiarly enjoy.

One case in point: I've recently picked up training. At the gym...outside...on my floor.

I was in such great shape when Michael was alive. I had him to look good for. I had a me I loved I wanted to take care of.

I never fully let myself go, as I always wanted to represent Michael in semi-decent shape. But I never pushed myself past that. Why should I?

But now, now I don't deny myself the ability to love me again. As I kind of like her. And I sweat. And I see myself changing physically and mentally. And I laugh that I ever denied myself of this. Yet I smile, as I now know just how much I'll cherish that I got to the place I am now.

Someone once said that in denying our suffering we may never know our strength or our greatness. I couldn't agree more, but it's in recognizing the suffering and denial we place on ourselves that I truly believe makes the journey one we look back on with a smile...with the knowledge we made it through.