the glamourous and lovely world of the widow

photo from here....

I went to the movie store last night to rent a mind-numbing and entertaining movie that would transport me to another existence temporarily. It's not that mine life is so bad or that I'd like to replace it. However, there are times that I seem to missing the "plot' of my own life and seeing the finite moral in a movie is comforting.
After after asking the woman behind the counter for some recommendations, I noticed that there are a fair few movies with either a heart-broken widower in need of love and understanding or a young, hot-bodied widow with a huge life-insurance pay-out as the protagonist. I suppose that they introduce these characters that have lost their spouses as a way to have a character who is hurt but not angry? Or to add a twist to the single status they wear aside from "single because there is a flaw here that does not make for good television"?
The clerk went on to tell me that "P.S. I Love You" was one of her favourite movies of all time. After making a mental note to never ask for recommendations from her again, I launched into, seemingly, 50 million reasons why this movie sucked. Hard.

I told her that in the first stages of grief, you NEVER look good. Your eyes are so swollen from crying you look as if you've been in a prize fight. There is one heck of a lot of snot involved and your hair never falls in romantic waves on your shoulders....more in a tangled rat's nest at the base of your skull.
I told her that although it was a lovely and romantic idea that this woman's husband had written her ten letters, it is highly unlikely that he was able to have the energy or the ability with a terribly invasive brain tumour clogging up his brain.
Also, I've been to Scotland. Yes, it's not Ireland....but they have great whiskey and fabulous accents too. And not every "bloke" in the pubs were charming and good-looking. In fact, a fair amount were missing teeth and had trouble keeping upright on their stools.

In real life, many of us widows/ers are left either without a life insurance policy or a loop-hole which allows the company to forgo payout. The "fortunate" of us who do receive payment are often bogged down with bills, payments or family issues requiring so very much energy and money.
I did love that the movie portrayed a growth and a fearlessness that occurs when you have lost the love of your life. That you shed a piece of yourself that is not necessary and tend to hold onto and rekindle the parts that require nurturing.
Now, looking back over the time I have spend as a young, not-so-hot-bodied widow, I see have truly grown and I can see my own plot....snot and all. But it is not at all glamourous and maybe I am just truly jealous of those last ten messages....

Wake me up when December ends

It’s December 1, 2011.

I bought a new car today.

My very first new car ever.

The very first car I have bought all by myself.

Something bright and shiny and new to replace the old and falling apart, frustrating and faded.

I should feel happy.

But I don’t.

I am gripped by the worst grief I have felt in months.

“A new car – you are so lucky” she said.

“I am not lucky” I wanted to shout. “The only reason I have to buy this is because Greg is dead. If he were alive, he would have fixed the old car.”

“...and all that bright, shiny money I paid for the new car wouldn’t have been available because it would have still been sitting in his superannuation account.”

This conversation never took place though.

The second half of it ... my half of it... took place in the shower as I washed off the dirt of the day like so much armour surrounding my heart.

...and I broke.

By the time I dragged myself from under the hot water, big, fat, salty tears were plopping onto the bath mat at my feet.

I gripped the door frame for support as drop after drop fell from my eyelashes to puddle onto the floor.

My whole body was heaving with silent sobs as I crawled into our (my) cold bed, and as I lay down the tears ran in a steady rivulet down my face to soak the pillow behind my head.

...and I wonder if I am feeling this way because today marks 21 months since Greg’s head and chest were destroyed so badly by the bulbar of a truck, that I never saw him again.

... or am I feeling this way because I am having to face my second Christmas alone.
....my second Christmas as a sole parent.
...trying to put some sparkle into the children’s lives to make a semblance of a happy childhood.
...trying to fake a joy that I don’t feel and trying to summon a belief in God and goodness that has long since gone.

I don’t know.

Right now, all I want to do is to sleep through this horrible season and wake up when there is some light back in my world.

Just wake me up when December ends....

Last Person Standing

A week ago I showed up for a meeting in a different state, that was planned over a month before, to find that the person who was in charge of the agenda was missing. The reason for her absence was that she just found out her best friend has cancer, and her dear friend's diagnosis was delivered to her around the first anniversary of the death of her brother from the same awful disease.

Later that day,  I was able to sit with my fellow non-profit director and listen to her tell the story of her friend's diagnosis, the heavy reality of the prognosis, and witness the stubborn look in her eye that said, "I will be there until the very end." I just sat in awe of the strength and grace that is required to be the last person standing....the one who will empty the bed pan; the one who will read or joke or sit quietly depending on what the mood calls for; the one who will give a pedicure, wash the hair, and brush the teeth of the person they love; the one who will relish the 'good' days and stay steady through the bad ones. What a priceless gift to give to your loved one, caregivers are heroes. I realized as we talked that I was not only looking at a person who was capable of this courage, but that I have become that person as well.

You see I literally watched my husband die, but I did not have a chance to nurse him or feed him or comfort him. In fact, up until a year ago I was almost sure he felt no pain when the car hit him. I believed his life was literally knocked out of him. But through the trial process I discovered that in the moments after his death one tear rolled down his cheek. I wish I knew what that tear meant, and more than anything I wish I could have been there to wipe it away. But that was not our course.

I have been asked countless times which is worse...to suffer a long good-bye or to get no good-bye at all. To be honest this question makes my stomach turn. Death is a personal tragedy, time and time again. Who am I to say what is more or less painful? People argue about this, because our logical minds want to make some sense of death, when there is none to be made. The eternal question of why will not be answered in this lifetime, nor will comparing one death to the next mitigate the pain of either party. Death sucks in every form and someone somewhere will be left reeling in its mighty wake each time a life ends.

So though I never uttered a good bye to my Phil, I know for sure that given the opportunity to say a long good-bye to someone I love in the future that I will not hesitate. I won't waste time wondering if I am strong enough, because I am. That crazy truth is another lesson learned through grief. I know the meaning of courage. I know the value of facing my fears. I know that avoiding the end won't avoid any of the pain of loss. I know that I will want to be the last person standing. Thanks for that strength grief, before I met you I didn't know I had it in me.

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I am filling in for Michelle today because she is in the hospital after having her appendix removed. I will confess to many moments of anxiety (because of all the lovely lessons grief has taught me!!) as I awaited the news that she was out of surgery and recovering well, but I am happy to report that she is and if you'd like to leave her some get well wishes please do in the comments and I will pass them on!