Finally...

Yep - that's me at the steering thingy, getting ready to park the boat. I mean moor it or anchor it or whatever it was that we were doing.

Anyhow, it finally happened. Our first fight. On the boat. Our first honest-to-goodness fight. After it was over, and we had both listened, (at least I think I listened), I said to him "Wasn't that great? We had our first fight!"

He looked at me like I was from Neptune, rolled his eyes, shook his head a little and squeezed my hand. He loves me.

My man has no idea what a real, fair, argument means to me, an argument where we don't injure each other, an argument during which we get mad, state our case, talk and listen. As far as I am concerned, it is OK that he doesn't know. But I know.

This is how it went. He was wrong and I was right. (Of course!)

OK, OK maybe that doesn't tell the whole story.

We were on the boat and…. for those of who whose husband had a boat, I am sure you already know the story… a man and his boat, and all…

Before we even went on this trip he promised "what ever goes wrong on the boat, I promise right now it is not your fault. No matter what I say when it happens." Hmmmm.
So you know already he has a certain amount of self-awareness. And he understands that on his boat he is a changed man.

Anyhow something did happen, (the boat didn't start) and he got mad…and then, we had our fight. I swear you don't really know a man until his boat breaks down in the middle of the Pacific. (OK, maybe it was not the middle of the Pacific, maybe it was 30 minutes from shore, but for this landlubber it might as well have been half way to Japan.)

Now deep down, I am a make-love-not-war kind of person. I will do anything to keep the peace. Or at least that used to be me. I didn't fight when I was married because Mike was trying to stay alive and to argue with him felt like hitting a man when he was down.

This time, however, he is not sick and I am willing. Willing to really get to know someone, even the not-so-fun stuff and I am willing to be seen. Really seen.

So, sometimes, I wish I had done it differently in my marriage...I wish that I had dug in with Mike and fought just a little. I wish that I had been willing to risk more for the sake of intimacy. But I also understand why I didn't.

I was at Quaker Meeting about six months ago and an elder spoke about her belief that our loved ones continue to mature after they die just like we do here on earth. I would like to think that this is true and that as I grow in understanding and compassion for Mike and I, and our marriage, so does he. I feel, somehow, that this might be true.

It has been almost 9 years and strange as it sounds even to me, I feel even closer to Mike now than I did right after he died, like he might be loving me and cheering me on as I learn the lessons I missed with him.

Gratefully, Mie Elmhirst

Widows Breathe Coaching

The 3 Amigos

After David died the quantity of my friends were seriously reduced. Most feared approaching me, most didn't know what to say when they did... Some pretended like his death never happened. It was a filtering process. At first, the filtering process surprised me. I didn't want to lose friends... especially those who knew David... but it was inevitable.

What I didn't know was that I would gain many more.

For the past week I've been with 2 special friends. We've gone shopping, went out to dinner, stayed up till all hours of the night and watched reality shows... We're all very different in many ways and alike in some. One likes the outdoors and country things... the other likes antiques and plaid... and I like the city and contemporary. All three of us come from very different back grounds... military, college, and missions. We all married the loves of our lives... all military wives. And all military widows. We met through the American Widow Project. We call ourselves... The 3 Amigos!

I never pictured myself in Florida with 2 other military widows but I'm so glad that I am. These women have given me so much... courage, support, and inspiration. I think we all know how important another widow is to our growth as a widow but I just had to say it one more time... I'm so grateful for the widows in my life.

Thank you, Amigos, I had an awesome week.

Another First .....

.... with less waves and more new memories. At least for today.
And that's how I take my days ..... one at a time.

Today I drove with Daughter #3 to Austin (after a very full, very tiring day) to help her move into and get settled in her new apartment.
This is something that I should have done with Jim .... but ..... you know the end of that story.

Anyway, there were far less waves today than I had expected. We talked a lot in the car .... and we talked very openly and honestly about friends, expectations, the end of friendships, masks, etc.
I love this young woman more than I am able to express.
There may have been a few tears, but not many.
I think we were both feeling stronger in the presence of each other.
We "get it".

We got here tonight and unloaded the car and then promptly drove out to find the nearest grocery store to buy some wine.
We really "get it".

And then we came home, popped in a chick flick ("High Society", which if you haven't ever seen .... please don't tell me), drank our wine and unpacked boxes.

It's been a good night.
A night of firsts but also a night of new memories for us.

So yes, the waves will still be coming ..... of that I have no doubt.
But I am relieved to see the days with new memories come, too, in place of the waves.
In fact, I am thrilled to see new memories in place of the waves.
I want to be happy.
I want to find joy.
Very, very much.

           This is Jim with D#2, D#3 and D#1 ..... when #2 & #3 were only a couple of months old:

                 This is D#2, me, Jim and D#3 the night of their Senior prom:

    This is D#3, Jim and D#2 on the day we moved them into their first dorm room in college:

     So .... a day that could have been filled with waves sucking me under with great strength, turned into a day full of first memories.

And for that I am very, very grateful.

      So here's to us, all of you wonderful, stronger-than-you-think women in this Circle ..... I raise my glass to you in a toast ....... to us ..... and to more first memories than waves.

Making New Footprints

This weekend would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Hard to believe this is the fourth one I will celebrate without him. Inconceivable really, and yet here it is. Another year passed. Our last anniversary together, lucky number 13, we went to dinner at our favorite restaurant (the Little Texas Bistro, damn I miss that place). The last three years I’ve done something on that day to celebrate, and this year will be no different. This year, I’m taking my 9 year old son Grayson to New Orleans. We went to New Orleans for our honeymoon 17 years ago, and for several anniversaries after. The last anniversary we spent in New Orleans was our 10th. We renewed our vows at our church in Houston, and headed to New Orleans with our great friends Kim and Jason, who were celebrating their 9th. It was a fantastic trip, so relaxing and such great fun. I’d love to relive that one a few hundred times.

This trip will be the first time I’ve taken Grayson to New Orleans. He’s heard so much about it, I think he feels like he’s been there before, but it will be the first. We have big plans: a riverboat ride, trolley ride, the aquarium, fancy dinner at Broussard’s (a personal favorite), café au lait and beignets at the Café du Monde, walking through the Quarter, mass at St. Louis Cathedral, rooftop swimming pool at our hotel, so many great things. He knows we went there for our honeymoon, and he knows it will be our anniversary. I’m looking forward to sharing some of those great memories with him, and he’s just looking forward to it with the joyfulness of a 9 year old boy: how many more days until we go Mom? Cutie pie, I feel the same way.

Happy Tuesday! Michelle D.

What Kind of Man?

What kind of man is capable of loving a widow? Would he always wonder if he measured up to the dead man whose image has a prominent place in my bedroom? How would he handle the mention of said dead husband in everyday conversation? At some point would he tire of having to be patient while a grief wave rolled, unannounced, over his girl? What would having a partner who was deeply in love with someone else be like? Um, could I do that? Could I love someone confidently knowing that they loved someone else with a deep, undying passion? How would standing beside a person who spends 90% of her time talking about, writing about, and thinking about her dead husband make me feel?

These are just a few of the questions with which my new partner has been peppered. And I do mean peppered. He has the patience of Job, seriously. So, let's take them one at a time. The kind of man who loves a widow is confident in himself. He understands that our hearts don't have a limited amount of love that needs to be divided among all the people in our lives. He knows that loving someone expands our ability to love...as in, did you love your first child less when number two came along? Or did you stop loving your grandmother when she died? This guy knows that the past shapes the present. A person doesn't become who they are without the influence of the people they have loved and those who have loved them...living or dead. And this man admires the courage it takes to grieve, and then the further courage required to risk loving again. Because at the end of the day loving is always a risk. I think widows know this better than most people.

My new man knows that Phil loved me and took good care of me, and of our love. He isn't afraid of the photos, in fact he has spent some time looking at them with me. Knowing that I will continue to love Phil gives him confidence that I will love him forever as well. Phil's name is mentioned often, both my me and by my guy. He never tires of hearing stories, and listens to them actively and with interest. I think this is because my love story with Phil reveals not just information about us as a couple, but about me as a person. When a tide of grief comes my way (and contrary to popular belief they don't stop when a new man comes along), he asks me what I need, and then acts accordingly. Sometimes I need space, sometimes I just need a moment, and sometimes I need a hug. Could I do this for someone else? Honestly, I don't know, but I hope so.

Lastly how does he feel about what I do? He is extremely proud. And he wonders how he can help. Even if helping means lying low sometimes, or peeking his head in to see how things look in my office, or just listening to my side of a conversation with a new widow. All of this he does without complaint and without any sign of distress. Is he perfect? No. Am I? Definitely not. Do we have issues around the aftermath of my loss experience...as in, you stay over there I am fine thank you very much...yes. Is being in a relationship still hard work...yes. But we love each other through it all, which is something I could never have imagined four years ago. When the time was right, my heart reluctantly (and in fits and starts!!) became willing to risk the unthinkable. You know what I mean...doing this all again. That is my greatest fear. What if I have to do this all again? What if I allow myself to love him, and then he dies, too?

Michelle and I have a saying....are you ready to jump off the curb? That is the question we ask each other when one or the other of us is considering doing something that requires risk, and specifically when we are mulling over whether to stick to the safe spot grief has carved out for us or to step out into the unknown of what life still holds. Loving Michael has required jumping off of a really, really big curb. The landing was much softer than I expected, and the pay back has been the reawakening of my heart. And for that I will be eternally grateful.

What Kind of Closet?

There are lots of things we put in closets. There are things you expect to find inside like sweaters, dresses, and shoes. Then there are the other things that you can't find a place for like old yearbooks, memory boxes, or last year's tax returns. Perhaps there are mothballs, spiderwebs, or the odd price tag from a purchased item....all of this you might find behind the doors of your wardrobe.

The useful thing about closets is you can shut the door to cover up any messiness that might be found inside. I suppose that is why we also hide some feelings in places with doors that snap securely shut. No need to look at those fears we tuck behind shuttered doors or to share them with the world or to force ourselves to examine them too closely. At least that is how my emotional closet works. I have shoved a bunch of stuff in there over the last four years. Trouble is whenever I need a sweater (aka some emotional stamina) I have to peek inside and try to stick my arm between the doors without allowing any of the hidden items to find their way into the sunshine of my room.

One thing I stored way back behind the formal dresses, and the ridiculous high heels that kill my feet but look perfect with my dress, is my need to be in a loving partnership again. And there it is, out in the open. The need that took me almost two years to look in the face, almost three years to admit publicly, and close to four years to stop worrying about how having another man in my life would reflect on my love for Phil. So let's free a few more of the stowaways from my emotional closet...Am I betraying Phil by loving someone else? Does finding a new man give the world the false impression that I am, God forbid, "over it?" Will I ever stop feeling like the other shoe is going to drop, as in this new guy is going to die, too? How do I handle the fact that I was happy in my marriage and never wanted to see it end...but here I am husbandless? Why do some people think that grief ends when a new relationship begins? Will my widow community understand that loving someone else does not make me less of a widow? Because as much as I hated that word the first time I had to own it, I have come to realize that being Phil's widow is the only way I can still be his wife. And how in the world do I explain THAT to another man?!

Last week I told another widow that I have a boyfriend, a serious boyfriend actually. And I was shocked by her reply.....What a relief, finally, someone to talk to about this!!! While reading her response I realized that my fear of publicly owning my new life has kept me from serving you the best way I can. In my effort to meet each of you where you are (and these places are so widely varied) I have discovered that I have only told a portion of my story. I happily share my widow self, my mother self, my sister/daughter/friend self...but unless asked specifically about my current relationship status, I have not shared my whole self. I am a widow, I will love Phil forever, I have learned to accept that life will not be what he and I planned, and I have found a man who understands that my past, my loss, and especially my grief, have made me the woman I am today...and he loves the woman I have become in the aftermath of the death of a man who changed my life. If these words hurt or horrify you...please remember that true love is the only thing that never dies. I hold onto that knowledge with both hands as I learn to love again.

So there you have it, and you can meet "him" tomorrow.

Road Trip

It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. ~K.T. Jong

I recently ventured out on an 18 hour solo road trip. I have been on road trips and driven long hours but never to this length and by myself, so there were apprehensions. 18 hours of a task in which you have no other company but oneself can be a scary thing. Thoughts, memories, what-ifs all take full reign and can be exhausting and draining.

I hit the road mid afternoon and planned on 11 hours and then an overnight stop to conclude the other 7. I danced, listened to audiobooks, talked to myself, contemplated things and before I knew it I had arrived at my first destination.

Tired, I decided to hit the sack but found myself continuing down the road. At this point, self entertainment runs dry and you are left with nothing byt the bare bones of your being. At fist hesitant to face this being, I found myself enjoying this self- adventure. I laughed, cried, spoke to Michael and by 18 hours, smiling at all that I had done.

I had not only driven 18 hours, I had one intense session of self exploration....and I could not be any happier. As my feet touched ground I felt more in love with Michael, more in love with the person I was, and truly in love with the person I have become.