Happy Easter?

Wishing someone a good day or a nice holiday weekend seems innocuous enough most of the time...but as a new widow well meant wishes from family, friends or strangers struck me like arrows. How exactly am I supposed to have a good day? Why do I care about this holiday? Have you forgotten for a moment that my husband is dead? Some days I could accept the kind words for what they were, other days I lashed out at unsuspecting humans with no screen for the kind of pain I was in.

So today, at my own personal risk, I am going to wish those of you who celebrate this day a Happy Easter. Yes, you heard me right, Happy Easter.

I brave the horrid looks you would throw my way if you could see me to wish you a happy day because you deserve one. It took me a long time to come to that realization. Grief, sadness, loneliness, desperation...those were all easy emotions to embrace. In fact, I reveled in them. Happiness was not only banned from my heart, it was taboo, disloyal, impossible. Any hint of fun was tarnished by the idea that if I was feeling good I must be recovering from the experience of losing Phil, and in my mind any step towards the dreaded "stage of acceptance" was a tettering step on the slippery slope of forgetting the man I loved. So I avoided pleasant things, tortured myself with sharp memories often, and cried into my journal every night. All this misery I piled on top of the obvious and unavoidable fact that Phil was dead.

But love and gratitude snuck in and saved me. As time passed I came to see that I was still a very, very lucky girl. My husband was dead, but I have a beyond fabulous family. My husband wasn't coming home, but I have three amazing children. Phil would not be celebrating Easter with us, but my mom was still making homemade bread. The rest of my siblings leave holidays with their spouse by their side, but though I leave the party a single mom...I return to a home I love and get to keep. And the best surprise of all, when I allowed a little happiness into my life the brightness of the love I shared with Phil was not dimmed by my dark despair, instead I was reminded of the depth and constancy of a love that is mine forever. Not only did I not forget him, I loved him even more.

So, on this day of family fun, Easter egg hunts, giggling children, too much chocolate, and bittersweet moments associated with the empty spot at the family table...I wish you happiness. Don't be afraid, you won't forget.

See You In My Dreams

Dreams take on a whole new meaning after the loss of your soul mate. They are a realm you travel to each night, with their population and surroundings always a mystery. Sometimes I have dreams in which I see my love; that smile, that face, that counterpart of my being. There have been times I've been able to speak with him and other times in which I feel as if he cannot see me. There are times in which I am conscious of the fact that he is not alive and times when I feel that I've been thrown into a time machine taking me to a time when he was still here.

After encountering theses night encounters I may wake up with a smile on my face and a drive like no other to take on the world, then there are the times in which I wake up in tears or just with the need to stay curled up in the enveloping warmth of my comforter. I've come to terms that these dreams may not all have a special meaning or happy ending. There are no dream dictionaries that can decipher their hidden message or let me know which ones may actually be Michael visiting me, or just my imagination feeding into my never ending want to be near him.

I still will wake each morning and face this new chapter that I never thought I'd be the author of. I still will be go to bed each evening not knowing what will come, but unafraid to shut my eyes..... and I will still see you in my dreams.

I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can play together all night. ~Bill Watterson

I saw him...

I saw him. Seven months after he died, I saw him. I was standing outside the Coffee Obsession, and I swear to God, I saw him. It was Mike. He was about three blocks away and talking to a lady. I couldn’t see who she was, but it looked like he was giving her directions as he pointed down the street.

I stood frozen. I knew it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. He was gone and I had cried for seven months.

But there he was. It was Mike. It seemed like they talked forever. I was sure he was smiling.

I wanted to get a closer look.

Don’t go, I told myself. Don’t go. You know it can’t be him. If you go, it will mean you have stepped over the line, that you really are crazy.

I waited, desperate to talk to him, terrified that it might be him and terrified that it wasn't him. And then, I saw him turn and walk in the opposite direction.

I took off.

I ran three blocks, dodging sightseers and shoppers, saying “please excuse me” and “I’m sorry” over and over. I knew it couldn’t be Mike, but still I ran after him.

When I was close, I stopped.

My husband had been 6’2”, 185 pounds. He was bald from chemo and 52 years old when he died. He was handsome.

This man was old. He had gray hair and he was skinny. Almost wizened. He was 5’6”-ish and he looked nothing like my Mike. Nothing at all.

I starred, incredulous and gasping for air. How could this be? How could I have mistaken this man for my husband?

I looked at the people around me.

Did they see me? Did they see what I had just done ? Did they see me run down Main Street chasing my dead husband?

But, no one noticed. They were busy.

Thankful they didn't see but also wishing that they had, that I wasn't so alone, I slowly walked back to my coffee shop, again amazed at what grief can do.

The above happened over 8 years ago. I am re-telling the story because
1. I can finally laugh at myself. (And I do!)
2. I know that I am not the only woman to whom this has happened. (OK, maybe you were smart enough not to run after him...)
3. Because sometimes it is good to look back and see how far you have come. (A long, long way!!!)
Blessings.
Mie Elmhirst Widows Breathe

The truth?

Have you ever had to lie to protect yourself? To protect what's left of you?

I thought I was ready to go back to work 3 months after David was killed. I have no particular logic as to why I thought it was time to mingle with the "others" but I assumed if I just refused eye contact I'd be OK.

In my line of work, you see the same people maybe once a month or once every few months, so there's plenty of small talk... "How's the family" "What are you up to" .... When I got to work, I realized no one knew. No one knew what I had just gone through only 3 short months ago, what I still go through every day. They had no idea nor did I think they cared that my soul mate was killed in Iraq.

I kept to myself. Sticking to the plan: NO EYE CONTACT. I had my cell phone in my hand at all times and the moment I felt a conversation heading my direction I used it. But, of course, this plan didn't work all day. An elderly gentleman began a polite conversation with me... He noticed my wedding ring and began the routine:

"Wow. You look so young... Are you really married?" (Blah Blah Blah)
"Yes, I am"

I knew it was coming... the dreaded questions... about David.

"What does you husband do?"
"He's in the military. Army."
"Oh! Where is stationed?"

...... I took a huge deep breath... this was it...

"He was killed in Iraq 3 months ago."

It surprised me how flat the words came out of my mouth. I said them fast, as if ripping a band aid off. But it didn't help, right at that moment I wanted to run away. Run home. Allow my bed to swallow me whole!

He began, "Well, your heart should be healed by now... You're so young... When do you think you'll start dating again?"

Oh, this poor unsuspecting man never saw me coming. I finished this conversation and I finished it well... giving him no chance to interrupt me, I told him exactly what I was thinking. When I walked away from the man (now 5 inches shorter) I felt like collapsing. I was exhausted! It took so much out of me, more than I thought remained, to fight... to defend my love. I realised I couldn't do this all day long.

So when the next innocent person began the routine conversation... "Are you married? What does your husband do? Where is he?".... I'd answer,

"He's in Iraq."

This seemed to go over better then telling the truth. So this is what I did instead. I lied. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in denial about David... I knew very well that he was gone... not in Iraq. But I couldn't stand the comments, the casualness... the dismissal. I had to protect myself. There were those rare people I entrusted with the truth but I always chose who to tell my story to, our story, very carefully.

This week I found myself in a position to continue my lie or tell them the truth. I hadn't seen this group of people in about a year and last thing I told them was David "was in Iraq." I decided, whoever asked would get an honest answer. They asked. I casually briefed them on the past 15 months of my life. They nodded. Giving a "wow" every now and then. And it was over. Nothing special. No tears, no hugs, no "you poor thing..." I didn't feel particularly ecstatic about their emotionless reaction but... now they knew.

I began this journey scrambling for "support." I was unable to speak the truth, because at the end of the day I was left alone with my thoughts... with their piercing words... with my pain. Now... I can look to the east and west and see... another widow's journey... I could look in front of me and see those ahead in their walk... I could look in back of me, to see those entering the doors I've opened. This among other things gives me strength to tell undeserving ears the truth. Our story is mine to tell, and I reserve the right to withhold it if needed... but I'm less scared at this point to share it with those who can not relate.

The truth is: My gorgeous husband sacrificed his life to protect me and his men... He served this country. Our story? Ask me. I'm proud to share it.

The Inconsistency of Consistency ....

     If there's one thing you can count on while on this road through widowhood (and there's not much!) ..... it's how constantly inconsistent everything seems to be ....... especially, but not limited to, our emotions.

 

     I used to think I was crazy ..... early on the path.  I mean, after the first few months of black blurriness, I started to emerge once in a while.  And then I'd realize, at the end of a day, that that day had not been too bad.  If fact, I might have almost called it "good" if that word hadn't seemed so inappropriate!

     And then, wonder of wonders, the next day went by and it was almost "good".  Two days of almost "good"?  "Well," I'd think to myself, "I must be getting better!"

(ummmm ..... yes ..... like I had the flu or something ....... this was, remember, the "early days" on the path).

     And then I'd wake up the next day ....... and ...... WHAM!!!!  I'd be blindsided by a huge wave of grief that I never saw coming.  No reason.  No one to blame.  No finger to point.

It just hit.

And it hit hard.

And dropped me to my knees.

     And there I' be, soaking wet, coughing, choking on the salty water of grief, crying and wondering ..... "what the hell .....?   I thought I was doing better ........?"

     And that, my sisters on this path, is the one consistent thing I've found ...... you never know when the next wave will hit.

     Note that I didn't say "you never know IF the next wave will hit" ...... because it will. 

Sometimes we will be able to see the wave coming ..... we can expect it and watch it as it approaches, building in size as it gets closer and closer.  But on those occasions, when we know it's coming, we can prepare ourselves.  We can change our stance, planting our feet as firmly as we can in the shifting sand of the ocean.  We can bend our knees so that our strength is centered lower in our bodies and we can manage to stay upright as the wave crashes over us.  We might teeter a bit, but it's easier for us to keep our balance, shake off the water and stand back up.

     

     But when we're standing upright, unaware, looking back at the shore ...... dreaming of what was back on that shore ..... and we can't see that wave building and building and getting closer and closer ...... we are slammed to the bottom of the ocean floor when it hits.  And then we are drug out further with the pull of that wave.  

Yes, we kick at it, we struggle against it and we claw our way back up to the surface, our eyes stinging, our throat burning ...... but we do manage to stand back up.  It just takes a bit longer when we're hit unaware.

     I'm not saying that we should always be aware ..... always scanning the horizon for the next wave.  That's impossible.  

We can't do that.  We each have a life to live, we have responsibilities, we have others who need us.  We can't possibly be anticipating every wave.

    But we can give ourselves grace.  The grace to know, and accept, that these waves will hit and they will drag us down once in a while.  The grace to say ....."That's OK.   Just because I'm brought down by a wave does not mean that I am weak, or that I am crazy, or that I am not grieving well."

     These waves are normal ..... whatever that word now means.  They will come.  And we will fall.  

     But hopefully, they will start to come less often.  Hopefully there will be longer times of peaceful waters between the waves.

     And ..... hopefully ..... they won't always knock us down.  Shake us up, yes.  Upset the balance for a bit ..... yes.  But knock us flat?  Hopefully not.

Or at least ....... hopefully not as often.

So, if a wave should catch you unaware today, or next week ..... or even next year ..... please remember ...... to give yourself the precious gift of GRACE ...... and know, without a doubt, that you are "normal", you are not alone ...... and that the waters will become calm again.

Pennies from Heaven

Years ago I was walking with a friend and we came upon a dime lying on the ground. Seeming disappointed, she stooped to pick up the coin saying she thought it was a penny. When I asked why she wanted a penny, she looked up at me and said, "Don't you know the story of pennies from heaven?" After I told her that I'd heard the phrase, but didn't know the story, she explained that anytime you found a penny someone in heaven was thinking of you. I laughed aloud and said that Phil so enjoyed being different I wouldn't doubt he would drop a dime from heaven instead of a penny...just on principle. She stopped in her tracks, looked me in the eye, handed me the dime, and said "Then this must be for you."

That small exchange has given pennies a new meaning for me. From that day forward (ignoring Phil's need to be different) every time I found a penny I thought of him. And of course I began finding those copper pieces in odd places. I found one on my pillow on the anniversary of his death. Once while having a very difficult day I found one perfectly centered on the seat of my car. While opening my Christmas stocking at my parents house I found a lone penny at the bottom of my stocking. My penny discoveries have continued since that day, and they always make me smile. I don't really care if they are a "sign" or not...they remind me of Phil and that is enough.

But I do have to say that every now and then the placement of these shiny tokens is unnerving. There are moments in my life when I am desperate for a bit of reassurance from Phil. I want to know he is proud of me. I wonder whether or not he would approve of a decision I have struggled to make. Sometimes I just want to know he hasn't forgotten me. Is it possible for finding a coin to be the thing that says...yes, I am still here? Can randomly discovered one cent pieces confirm that a decision made is a good one? Would Phil really use a penny instead of a dime to send his love? As with all things widow, the answer lies somewhere between of course and who knows. No matter how badly I wish it or what I would give up to change it...Phil isn't coming home. And though I do believe he would be proud of me today, I also know that at the end of each day I have to find a way to be proud of myself. And then for my own confidence in the decisions I make to be enough.

All that said, I am currently in Australia for the first time. Taking this trip was a big decision, and some life changing possibilities are being explored here. When getting out of the shower on the first morning after my arrival, I looked over on the counter and found a lone penny. American currency on the counter in an Australian home? Yep, I think things are going to be okay.

Birthday Thoughts

Tomorrow is Daniel's 39th birthday. I haven't seen him since he was 35, and that thought surprises me in a way that seems ridiculous. I know he's been gone three and a half years, but not seeing him since he was 35? "Inconceiveable!" The passage of time is a mystery to me. There are moments when it seems like he just left, and others when it feels like a lifetime since we last talked. Time passes regardless, and it appears to pick up speed with each year.

To celebrate this year, Grayson and I loaded up on Friday and headed to the Texas coast. Daniel loved the ocean and would try to escape to Rockport whenever he could. We have really wonderful old friends who live there and they are always game to celebrate with us, whatever the occasion. My father-in-law and his wife joined us for dinner last night, and we ended up sitting around the table telling old stories on each other and on Daniel in particular. There were some really great ones, and a few tears of laughter shared in response. It is always a comfort to me to be surrounded by friends and family who can remember and smile. We didn't used to be able to do that, it was too painful for everyone. Now, as time passes like a speeding bullet, we find it easier and easier to remember and celebrate the joy he brought us and laugh out loud at the crazy things he did while he was here.

My husband, though with us for a shorter time than any of us planned, lived a fantastic life and was a wonderful man. As I reflect on his birthday and on the millions of happy memories of us I have recorded in my brain, I am so grateful that I was given the opportunity to share his life. What a gift he was to me!

Happy Birthday Daniel. I hope you are playing Heaven's Augusta tomorrow and drinking a Jack and Coke.