My Wedding Ring

I confess... I am an American Idol fan. I know, I know, but I love the show. So, for those of you who don't watch, this year in the finals there is a young widower named Danny Goeke. As the season has progressed I have watched Danny with interest as he grows as an artist, and I can sometimes imagine that I see him processing his grief.

In the early episodes of AI, Danny wore his wedding band. One evening I noticed he didn't have his ring on. I wondered what the impetus had been for him to take it off...personal, professional, on someones advice, or because he needed to? As I have listened to him sing, watched his awed face as he discovers he will continue on the show for another week, I always watch for signs that he is thinking of his wife. They were young maybe this was a dream they shared? Perhaps she was his biggest supporter? Or maybe not, but because he has walked the widow road, I feel I know him somehow.

So when Danny came on this week's show to sing "Endless Love," by Lionel Richie I noticed right away that he was wearing his wedding band. And I also noticed that he looked into the heavens as he sang the final words of the song...my endless love. The performance gave me chills, and it reminded me of the power of the jewelry we wear as symbols of our love.

Today I share with you my wedding ring. I took it off four months after Phil's death because I found it so painful to look at my hand and be reminded that I was no longer a wife; my husband wasn't coming home. But as time passed I found myself taking out my ring and wearing it when I wanted to feel Phil close to me. And I still do. On the anniversary of his death I often wear my beautiful ring. Sometimes I wear it when I am afraid, other times when I want to honor our love, and still other times just because. For me, taking my wedding ring off wasn't a permanent decision. That ring is mine no matter where the person who gave it to me resides, and it will always represent the promise Phil and I made to each other.

Death did part us, but my ring~and our love~remains.

So Danny, I totally get it. And she is really proud of you.

La Vie en Rose

It's just one of those days, where the sun can't shine enough to get me out of this funk. One of those days where my bed held me hostage, and I didn't mind. One of those days where I don't feel like doing much, and you know what...............

I'm totally ok with that!

I've learned that at first I dreaded these days, they were a reminder that not all is viewed through rose colored glasses. I'd try and fight against the current to get out of these funks.

I now know, that by giving myself freedom to embrace these days as they come, it's a whole lot easier to embrace the good days that follow!

So here's to the "blah" days. Without the bitter how would I never know the sweet.

“May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past”

-Irish Blessing

A Widow's Brain....

Dear Wonderful Widows!

When Anneke was eight, a year after Mike died, I dropped her off at her Tae Kwon Do lesson and I was so relieved to have time alone that I forgot to pick her up. Forty-five minutes later as I unpacked the groceries she walked in the house having gotten a ride home from her instructor. She was incredulous and outraged. “You forgot me! You actually forgot me!” I was speechless. My daughter who forgives almost anything did not forgive this for a long time. A child who has been abandoned by her father does not take well to being forgotten by her mother. I had visions of the instructor reporting me to DSS.

Even worse, a year later I forgot her again. She was at summer camp. I remembered 45 minutes after closing time and burned rubber to get there. The fact that I almost got a speeding ticket did not make up for my forgetting. She is now 15 and still talks about being forgotten. I tell her that widowhood messes with a woman’s brain. That was my excuse for years and nine years later, it still comes in handy.

Widowhood does mess with ones brain.

That was also the year that I lost the telephone while it was in my hand. It rang and rang, and everywhere I looked I heard it loud and clear. The bathroom, the kitchen, under the couch…Only when I finally put it down did I realize that it had been in my hand.

It was like looking for my glasses when they were on my head. Once I had 2 pairs of glasses on the top of my head.
I have learned not to be amazed at what widowhood does to us.

But is surely messes with our brains.

Mie Elmhirst. Widows Breathe

My Valley

It's Thursday. As I lay in my bed pondering all the emotions I've traveled through this week... I can't help but smile and shake my head... Wow. Where the heck did I go this week?? And how did I get back?!

Have you ever traveled through the depths of the "valley" of grief and lost recognition of who you are? I think and say things that surprise even myself while I'm making my way through the dark. I speak of doubt and my thoughts are easily consumed by hopelessness. I become lazy as the remote control becomes my best ally, my social skills go down the tubes, and I see no end.

Convinced that the past 8 years have been nothing more then my imagination, I doubted David. I doubted his very existence. I doubted his love. I doubted us. Sinking deeper into my couch cushions, I began to ask myself: Did you ever really know him? Did he really love you? The possibility that I exaggerated the strength of our love... the connection of our souls... My valley got darker before I saw even a flicker of light. I can't even count how many times I've thrown in the towel while curled in my ball of pain. Still, I survive. Still... I'm here. Why??

I called David's mother... to make sure he was real- that I didn't make him up. And I began to sift through the emails... emails he wrote to me. I laughed out loud, smiled childishly, and cried my eyes out. This time, my tears were not tears of hopelessness, rather tears of comfort and hope. He is real. I remember now... He is real.
"...We were meant from the very beginning of time to love each other."
-David, from an email in August 2003-
I held on tight to his words...HIS words and began making my way out of my valley.

I decided that I have a mission- a purpose. I have NO idea what, but I'm trusting that the moment my "mission" is complete that I too will return to eternity... return to "the very beginning of time," where our souls were destined to be united. This is what pulled me from my darkness this week... This is my hope.

My Circle ...

This picture is from our last vacation .... we went to Alaska in June of 2007.  Jim died in December, 5 months later.  I love this picture because it really "shows" us.  We didn't know it was being taken and were just enjoying some quiet time together.  We held hands .... all of the time.  

I hate how empty my hand feels now.

And this is the last family picture taken of our Crew.  It was Thanksgiving of 2006.  Once the kids start heading off to college it gets much more difficult to get "family pictures".

     I think it took me about 4 to 6 months to come out of the black fog that came with Jim's death.  Maybe it was less .... it's hard to remember anything back from that time, even though it was only a little over a year ago.

     But I do remember when I knew it was time to take Son #2 to a counselor because of the problems we were having with school.  Jim and I had decided to send him to a military school (for 9th grade) in January of 2008.   We couldn't find the way to motivate him and feared he would drop out if he stayed at home.  This was our last-ditch effort.  Papers were signed, money was sent.

And then ..... a few weeks before Son #2 would have left ..... Jim died.

And I could not send my Son away.  Selfishly .... I wanted him close to me.  And I told him it was an additional chance for him to raise his grades, do his work, show some interest .... anything, so that he could stay home the next year.

He did not.

And do I sought out counseling for him ..... for both of us.

She ended up counseling me a lot more than she counseled him.

And in the end, Son #2 left for military school this past August (and hated it the first sememster, continually begged to come home, but still didn't study.  THIS semester, he's a different young man: he's motivated, he's more mature, he's confident, and he knows he' smart enough to make decent grades).  So he'll be coming home for good at the end of this semester, as was promised .... if he improved his attitude and his grades.  

     That decision .... to send him away to school, was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  And it was the first time I found myself angry at Jim .... really angry.  How could he have left me here with all this ...... this ....  CRAP?!  This is NOT how it was supposed to be.

     The counselor was wonderful and she kept validating the decision that Jim AND I had made ... together. She could also see what I could not ..... this change for Son #2 WOULD be for the better, in the end.

    So I kept seeing her and relied on her counsel.

One of the things she suggested was that I try going to a grief support group that was located weekly at our community hospital.  She thought it might be time.

And so I went .... that very evening, in fact.

It was difficult.  To say the least.  It was for all kinds of grief ..... the death of a spouse, a child, a family member.  I was not comfortable, but I could "hear"the same feeling being talked about that I felt.  I didn't talk much.

I was, by far, the youngest, or next to the youngest person there.  The other widows and widowers were well into their late 60's and up.

But I went.

And I went back.

But I was till uncomfortable and knew that it was not meeting my needs.

I cried all the way home from that second meeting.  

I cried because I even had to be in this position in the first place -- looking for a damn grief group.

I cried because I didn't fit.

I cried because I wanted to fit ..... somewhere.

And so when I was done crying I came to a decision.  I knew that I needed other women around me.  Other women who are walking on this "path".  Other YOUNG women, who have children at home and who had long, great dreams ahead of them that included their husbands.

So I decided that if I needed that kind of support, it would be up to me to get it going.

It was a G0d-thing, because starting up some kind of group is not something that would come naturally to me.

But I had no doubt that I would do this ..... though I had no idea how to begin.

One night I was sitting with a friend and this whole frustrating story came pouring out of me.  I told her that I knew there were more of "us" out there .... I knew that, in our elementary school alone, at least 4 families had lost their fathers in the past 2 years.  I needed to find those women.  I needed to get us together.

Well, it just so happened that my vented-upon friend knew one of these women.  And so she called her and asked for her thoughts.  This  young widow, of course, jumped right on board and got all of my contact information.

About the same time that was happening I was out having dinner with a large group of people one night.  I happened to glance over my shoulder and saw a young woman, enjoying the band and a glass of wine ..... alone.

She looked very familiar to me ...... and then it hit me where I knew her from .... and my heart started racing.  My blood pressure went up and I felt sick to my stomach.  

I had seen this woman at the hospital support group, only briefly, and we'd never spoken.  But here she was ..... and God was inside of my head saying, "There ya go, Janine.  You said you'd put this group together.  There she is.  I've put the two of you here tonight for a reason ... now let's see if you can walk the talk."

It took me a good 20 minutes to control my shaking and my breathing before I pushed back my chair and went over to her and introduced myself to her puzzled face.  She looked a bit wary at first, until she realized what, not who, I was ...... someone on this path.

In fact, our husbands died only a month apart .... and of the same extremely rare cause:  an aortic dissection.  We were stunned.  I pulled up a chair and we talked and cried for over an hour.  We were like a life line for each other that night.  We had each heard about the other (it's a small community and news like that travels) but had never met.

And yes, she very much wanted to help start a group of us to support each other.

And so we did.

By word of mouth.

One woman at a time.

There are now 8 of us .... in less than a year .... and I expect there will be more.

We meet for dinner once a week and we get so much healing from each other, that we physically miss the nights one of us can't make it.

Five of us are going to the Conference in San Diego in July.

We are a "Circle".

A circle of friends ...... that stays tightly bound, but can always expand to make the circle bigger. We are bound by our grief and by our love for each other.  We can say anything to each other, and I do mean ANYTHING.  We can say all of the things that we can't say to our other friends, because those friends wouldn't "get it", thankfully for them.  We can talk about wanting to die, having no hope, depression, anger, blaming God ..... all the normal things that grieving woman talk about, without feeling that we will be judged.  Because we "get" each other.  We are "safe" for each other.  And many times .... we don't even need words to understand each other.

We hope and pray that we are Circle for the rest of our lives .... so that we can be there for each other not only in our grief, but in the days to come when we'll be celebrating for each other, celebrating new love, weddings (ours and/or our children's) grandchildren, trips, fun, ...... life.

We want to celebrate.

All of our children and friends know about our "Circle".  My kids often ask me how my Circle is doing.  My friends often ask what night is the Circle meeting this week?

If you don't have a "Circle" and live in the Houston area .... I invite you to join ours.  We will welcome you with open and loving arms.

If you don't have a Circle and you live no where near here, then I challenge you to start one.

It's not has difficult as it seems ..... unfortunately.  There are a lot of us out there ..... way too many.

All it takes is word of mouth. Just ask a few friends if they know of any  young widows.  Start with sharing your e-mail (is the "safest" way to put yourself out there to connect) and/or your phone number.

Then set a date.  Go to dinner.  Drink some wine (lots and lots of wine!).

We started with 2.

And now we have 8.

I always see myself, my Circle friends .... and you, my blog widow friends as walking on this "path" (my name for widowhood).  But I also see all of us ...... each one of you ...... in this Circle.

Our Circle.

It's big enough to hold all of us ...... and it holds a lot of love and support ..... and tears.

It does what it does best ..... what we most need .........

It holds us.

Still Looking for Signs

The weather on the day of Daniel's funeral was spectacular. It was early November, 75 degrees and beautifully sunny. When they covered his grave, all of the funeral flowers were placed on top of it. Although the service was long over, family and friends still lingered, and no one seemed ready to leave. I know for me it was a finality I wasn't yet ready to experience. The kids were playing in the cemetery, picking flowers, running around the headstones, finding the joy in the situation as kids tend to do. I have a very clear memory of watching my son with his cousins as they each picked a flower to keep in Daniel's memory.

As I watched the kids, I noticed the flowers on the grave were covered in butterflies. I have never seen so many butterflies in one place. I must have stood there for quite a while, just quietly staring. One of my girlfriends, Megan, noticed too, and explained to me that in the Aztec culture, butterflies were believed to be the souls of warriors. At the time I remember thinking it was very appropriate, and if I'd ever seen a warrior in action it was Daniel as he battled cancer. It seemed fitting that Daniel's warrior soul was receiving an escort to heaven. It made sense in a way, and I held on to that idea.

Since then, butterflies have been my personal sign of Daniel and they have accompanied me in the craziest places: fluttering around my head at Disneyland, landing on my arm while I cry driving down the highway, flying next to Grayson at odd moments, and recently dive bombing me while I walked a pipeline right-of-way (that one was a request, I told him I needed a sign and within a minute a huge butterfly almost hit me in the head! :). I still feel the need to know he's with me and watching over us. It may be crazy and sheer coincidence, but I'm okay with it. I'll take the signs that come my way as gifts regardless. I need all the gifts like that I can get.

Happy Tuesday, see you next week. - Michelle (dippel)

What My Kids Have Taught Me

There is not much I wouldn't do for my three kids. You know, jump in front of an on-coming train to save their lives, feed them first from my last ration of bread, offer myself as a meal for the hungry bear that is chasing them...pretty much anything.

In the normal course of life moms feed, bathe, clothe, soothe, encourage, celebrate, hold, hug, and protect their little ones through the bumps and bruises associated with living, learning and loving. But when death came knocking, I couldn't protect them.

The night Phil died, I rode in the back seat of a car with my three kids crying in my arms. They asked question, after question...why did that man hit him, Mom? Where was Phil's bike? Wasn't he wearing a helmet? I thought you said he probably broke some bones. Why did he die? I remember these moments like you recall a dream, vivid and yet out of focus and somehow backwards. However, one feeling from that night is crystal clear...the terrifying sensation of being completely helpless. For the first time in their young lives there was not one thing I could do to take away my children's pain. Being powerless to alter the course my children were about to travel, I became certain that all I could offer them was a hand to hold as we walked the road that lay before us. And so we grieved, together. Some days were ugly. Some days I yelled more than I should have. Some days we cried, others we laughed. They went back to school, I sat on the couch and stared into space. They did homework, I tried to pay attention. Dinner was sometimes from a box, and other times from the drive through. We went to the beach, we slept in when we felt like it, and we said Phil's name often. We kept some of our previous family traditions, and we created some new ones. We slowly built a new life one day at a time.

What my kids taught me in the wake of our tragedy was that just because they are young does not mean they are weak. They taught me that time together is the foundation for the memories that hold us up in times of loss. Their laughter reminded me that being happy was necessary, too. Their love was unconditional...so I didn't have to be perfect. They showed everyone around them that step-parents are real parents, too. They memorialized Phil in writing, painting, music, and dedications of important events; always striving to make him proud. My kids taught me that I could lean on them, the whole world didn't have to rest on my shoulders alone.

My three teenage angels taught me to be a better mother, and to see the world as it can be if we believe all those things we teach them...love much, laugh often, live well.