Grief. Love. Magic. A new road. A new life~

Writing From the Depths of my Heart~

My dearest love, my beloved husband.  D.

It’s 4 years since you and I drove to the ER at Eisenhower Medical Center in Palm Springs.  It is now 4 years since you and I began our final Happily Homeless travels, travels that began on a sunny May day in NJ in 2009, as you got into the UHaul truck with the few of our belongings that we’d kept after the sale of our home, and I got in our car, having just signed the papers and closed on our house, and we headed west to drop those few things into a storage unit in Indiana and visit with your mom for a few days.

And then we headed south and west and our adventures began.

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Getting my Footing. Not.

Groundhog Day.  Do you ever feel that widowhood is like Groundhog Day?

A wide and conflicting range of emotions exist in widowhood.  As many as you can name, from A-Z, and many more that can’t be named, only felt.  Emotions that veer wildly about in one’s mind and heart and body.

For most of us, over time, the hardest ones seemingly dissipate.  If I were new to this grief thing, that would lead me to think whew done with that tornado!  But I’m not new to this unwelcome game, so I know that because one emotion seems to be done and finished…well…no.  Not.  It lies dormant, waiting to express itself again, maybe and hopefully not as intensely, but fully realizing that it can come roaring back at the most unexpected moments, possibly disguised as emotion, or buried beneath another emotion, or as itself, with possibly less intensity but hey, you never know maybe with even more intensity than the original.

Jesus, tornado roller coaster hurricane tsunami cyclone twister earthquake!

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  • commented on A Light In the Dark - My Tribute to Soaring Spirits International 2016-05-27 19:01:10 -0700
    Kelley…I cried reading this. And I’ll read it again, and share it, and cry again. Because yes, I was met, you were met, we are all met, exactly where we fucking are, and that is the most beautiful thing of all. Here’s to Soaring Spirits, and Michele and all of my widow brothers and sisters…every fucking one of us…standing together, wherever and everywhere we are~

  • commented on Free To Be Me 2016-03-18 15:05:40 -0700
    Sing it loud, Kelley! My sister, bless her heart…who has been wonderful and supportive and so many things, says to me every so often, when I speak of getting more involved with my widowed community, that I need to get away from the grief, find something not connected to it. As if there is anything I can do henceforth that will not be somehow shaded by Chuck’s absence, or the grief connected to his absence. I too, need my widow sisters and brothers because I don’t have to say a damn thing in explanation or defense, and for that, I am beyond grateful. And grateful, too, that I can come to this site and read what my tribe is writing and what is going on with them and feel more normal than ever. Thank you for this~

  • commented on Entering the Cave of Fears 2016-01-11 19:23:22 -0800
    Sarah, Sarah, Sarah….I think and you write exactly what I’m thinking and eloquently state exactly where I am right now, with life, with this grief. I know, when I slow down my head, that I’m in the midst, have been in the midst, of creating something…I know not what yet…but something, since Chuck died and I went on the road. I’m building a foundation for something, but in the meanwhile, mostly I too feel as if I’m just doing hit or miss and I’m trying to feel passionate about something but don’t feel passionate about anything other than staying on the road. I, too, like you and so many other widows, must find a way to be financially secure, and I will somehow, and I know it has to have something to do with this experience because after this experience, after living on the road for almost 7 years, how can I bear to return to an average, normal, life? Reading your blog this week was opportune for me, widow sister, and I thank you for writing it. I’ve been getting myself crazy with stuff and this offered me some reassurance~

  • donated 2016-11-29 18:50:28 -0800

  • commented on Echo 2015-11-19 21:40:28 -0800
    Oh, God, Kelley-yes, yes, yes, to all of this! Chuck was very much my person who helped me make any kind of sense on a daily basis, never mind when the world was falling to shit. He was active duty during the First Gulf War, and civil service on 9/11, working at McGuire AFB in Jersey and I didn’t see him much during those times since he had to be at work, but I knew he was near, and the minute he put his arms around me, I was always ok. My heart goes out to you, it breaks for all of us who have to deal with the shattered silence of missing-ness. Nothing replaces the voice of our someone special, the one who made us feel special on a daily basis. Thank you for your words, for writing what is in my heart, for just being present, so that I know that there is another widow somewhere out there, who knows this agony. May you be blessed, always~

  • commented on Happy for You, In Pain for Me 2015-08-07 19:10:39 -0700
    Kelley, once again, you’ve written letters into words and words into sentences that brought me directly into the moments with you.

    Death is so hard. And life after death is, yes, harder still.

    I’m so glad you write for you, and for me and for the great big “us” that is out there in this widowed world.

    Because your words help me feel, not less alone, but “with” others. And that matters~

  • commented on Grieving the Grief Years 2015-08-04 16:00:21 -0700
    Oh, Jeez, Sarah, you nailed it down hard with this. I’m not where you are, really, but I’ve had the thought in my head that at some point even these deeply grieving years will be behind me and I panic because does that mean that Chuck will truly be just a memory in my past and that sends me into such panic that I have to stop thinking at all.

    These couple years since his death have been…continue to be…devastating and horrifying and your blog makes me wonder at how it’s possible to miss them but I expect I will. Because, as you say, these are sacred times…

  • commented on Dying 2015-07-17 17:23:12 -0700
    I swear, Kelley, that grief is really nothing more than complete insanity, don’t you think? Or at least, we end up feeling like we’re insane. I so get what you’re saying, about the anxiety, the wild imaginings, all of it. The first time I went to the gyn after Chuck died, she walked in the room and asked how I was doing and I went into meltdown. I don’t know how we get through this with any sense of normalcy left. The smallest things can loom so largely in our minds. Panic attacks were a regularly scheduled event in the first year and so after Chuck’s death, and I’ve been getting them again lately, so I carry my homeopathic remedies for grief/trauma with me. (on a side note that I just thought about, it’s weird but I find it strangely soothing to be able to take a remedy that is for trauma. Somehow it helps me not feel like I’m imagining all of this).

    Anyways, girl, I’m out here in this world and I read what you write and I know you’re there, and I’m standing with you and somehow we’ll all get the fuck through this clusterfuck. (on another side note, that’s one of my favorite military terms that Chuck taught me).

    Sending love to you always,
    alison

  • commented on Hey Bud 2015-07-07 15:04:20 -0700
    Jesus almighty, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. Like Kelly, I’m a puddle of tears. I can only hope I find someone wonderful like you someday, who will love that I’m Chuck’s widow, who will find a place in his heart for the man I love still, even as I love him. Bless you both in this next part of your lives. Your story here is the first thing that’s given me hope since Chuck’s death~

Just me, trying to figure this shit out, after the firestorm of my beloved husband's death~
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