There were two really meaningful things about Thanksgiving for me this year. Firstly, I was at my sister’s house in upstate New York. For the first time in our adult lives, we now live close enough to each other that we can do the holidays together. This is an enormous deal for me… one that makes me wish our mom was alive to be a part of it all. God, she would be so happy to see it all.
As much as I try to escape it, that day has been on replay in my mind for the past few weeks. The lead up to the one year mark of the day life changed.
Terrified at the thought of what emotions this day will bring me. Angry that this day has a place in my life at all. And an overshadowing sadness that engulfs and strangles me with the thought that this is real. That it has almost been a full year since I last held him, spoke to him and kissed his warm lips. As much as I try nothing can prepare me for what this day will bring. A huge part of me wants to spend this day alone in my sorrow, hoping for my life to end. I don’t want anyone to witness what may unfold on this day. Then the other part of me screams, get out and live for him! Breathe for him, like you promised you would. He wants you to smile, but even writing about this day brings me to tears because sometimes it just hurts too much to smile.
I wrote him a letter last night in hope that it would help release some of this pain but with each day that brings me closer to one year without him, well the pain cuts deeper. And although this is my new normal life, I am angry that this is normal now. It shouldn’t be normal that every aspect of my life is affected by grief!
It’s unfair and I would give anything to have the normal that I knew before. The death of a spouse is rated the number one most difficult, stressful, life changing event a person can go through. No shit! It’s never ending and unfair is an understatement.
With this journey I have had the fortunate, yet unfortunate privilege to make many new friends in grief. These women will be lifelong friends. Some of which I speak to every day. We laugh and cry and vent our anger. And share the dry and messed up humour that comes with this grief. We share with one another what we cannot share with anyone else. We understand each other. So for this post of what a widows grief is like I will share from not just my own grief, but theirs also. In the effort and hope that it helps other women like us to express this grief.
At 357 days this is how my grief feels… and how it feels for so many others.Read more
In a few weeks, Mike will be going on his first major backpacking trip since I have moved here. This is a big deal for me. Drew died while he was away on a trip. Mike is going to be alone in the woods, in potentially dangerous cold temperatures, with zero cell service, for several days. One of the reasons that he hasn’t been on any solo backpacking trips since I moved here in fact is because of his fear of triggering me. Of knowing what it will mean for me in that moment when he leaves for the trip and we are saying our goodbyes. It may just be a few days, not a few weeks, as Drew’s trip was supposed to be… but there is no way that the thoughts will not still cross my mind: What if you don’t come back.
I had those thoughts when Drew left too. His job was dangerous, and we always knew there was a chance he wouldn’t come home, or that the next time he stepped into a helicopter could be his last. But back then, I didn’t REALLY think about it. Because I hadn’t lived through it. Back then, it was more of a vague fear that didn’t really have a huge amount of weight to it. I believed he was coming back. I had faith. Until two weeks into his trip when that faith was destroyed. When his body was delivered back to us from the crash in Washington state, without his beautiful soul inside it. I cannot erase any of that. I cannot unknow what I now know, which is that death is always possible. Every single day.Read more
I learned this morning that a good friend of Johns passed away yesterday afternoon, in the same way that he passed. Her passing is all too familiar and stirs up so many emotions. Following the shock I was overwhelmed with sadness for her and her family, the future they no longer have and that she no longer has. Grief consumes and there are no words to ease the pain her family are feeling. The time I had spent with her was brief, but I felt close to her because she was close to John. She grieved with me and supported me. She grieved for the love of my life and her dear friend. Now I grieve for her.
Similar to the emotions I felt during the early stages of my grief, I can’t get her smile to leave my mind. I remember laughing with her and sharing stories of our families together. She was so enthusiastic and bubbly, childlike and upbeat, and from the first day that I met her she greeted me with a smile and a hug. I can vividly see her baking cupcakes in our kitchen and lying on the floor in the lounge room writing letters to her friends, with a smile so wide. And as though it were yesterday I remember the last conversation we had. She showed me nothing but love, gratitude, humour, kindness and her huge vibrant personality.Read more
How many times can I write of the same pain? The same silent cries and the screams without sound. The aches I allow no one to witness and the angry and afraid version of myself no one would believe really exists. It’s a perspective I wish the world knew and a reality no one should have to live with. Choosing to show friends, only the side of grief I’m comfortable with them seeing. Explained with words like “I had a rough night” or “Yesterday was hard” followed with an “I’m okay now” and a smile. Because as much as I have tried to explain it, my words don’t come close.Read more
One month till one year, it’s difficult to find the words. Disbelief sums it up well. Disbelief that only one year ago we were living out our dreams together, both so insanely happy and in love. Never could I have imagined our happiness was just a mere month from being ripped away. Its eleven months today. On this day last year he was at work and I remember as though it were present time, the giddy butterflies and how much love I felt for him. I couldn’t help but send him multiple messages throughout the day because I missed him every second that we were not together.
“Not much longer till I get to kiss your lips! It’s my favourite part of the day”
“I love you for all that you are, all that you have been and all you are yet to become. You are my everything, always and forever. I get butterflies just writing a text msg to you! Im so in love with you, I can’t wait to see you xoxox”
These were two of the many texts I sent him on this day last year.Read more
I have always loved Halloween. Drew and I both did. We were always sure to find the biggest and best haunted houses to go to each year. We spent weeks on our costumes, making everything by hand. We’d go out to parties in character and win costume contests, and enjoy the whole experience of it all. Since his death, each year, I think I have come to love and appreciate this holiday even more deeply.
The very first Halloween came just 4 months after his death. I was a wreck. Still in shock. Could barely function at all. And though there was no costume-making that year, I was determined not to miss one thing: haunted houses. So I planned to go with a girlfriend of mine, to a new one, near the town I had moved to after he died. Doing this somewhere new was extremely helpful. I don’t think I could have gone back to one of the haunted houses he and I had visited. So changing this up was crucial to carrying the tradition on.
When my friend and I entered through that dark and unknown first door… something really incredible happened. For the 20 minutes or so we were inside, I was not a widow. I was just a person running scared and laughing through a haunted house. That’s right, laughing! With my good friend by my side, and scares at every turn, I found myself laughing deep and full. I found myself feeling… alive. As we came bolting out the exit, we were both so full of electric energy, that euphoric adrenaline that all the sights and sounds and crazy lights and monsters gives you.
I vividly remember logging onto Facebook and staring at his messenger icon hoping he would come online. That it was all a misunderstanding and it wasn’t real. Last active… The hours ticked over into days, then into weeks. Now it has almost been 11 months. Remembering it as though it were yesterday. Today I still feel the longing, waiting and wishing just as before although it’s no longer as intense.
Time has moved so quickly. Hours, to weeks, to months, soon it will be a year. Disbelief at how quickly time has passed, the last 327 days of my life are mostly a blur. But the fog with time is lifting and no longer as heavy as before.
There are days that it feels as though my breath has been ripped from my chest, I struggle to breathe without him, days I don’t want to breathe without him. But those days are becoming less frequent and I cannot help but feel guilty about that.
Every thought and emotion I have now, whether it be happy, sad or guilty stems from my grief. I believe it always will, forever all-consuming but differently than before.Read more
This week, I went to the art museum by myself. This was a really big deal, or at least, I am deciding it is. Since moving to Ohio, I’ve been reluctant to get out on my own. I have only a handful of places I can even drive to without having to use a map to get me there. The shopping center by the house, the post office, the fancy grocery store 10 minutes north, and the shopping center 20 minutes south where I worked for a few months. That’s really it. It’s endlessly frustrating.
Instead of being more proactive about finding my way around a new city, I’ll admit I’ve avoided it. I have felt too vulnerable adjusting to a new place and lifestyle. I have felt a need to protect myself and not venture out. And that’s natural, I suppose.
As of this past week though, I officially added several new places to that list. I’ve taken Shelby to school enough times now that I finally didn’t use my phone to get me there this week. I’ve gone up to Mike’s work to take him lunch twice now, and drove the second time home without a map. After driving to my art class on Thursday nights for 4 weeks in a row, I made it there this past week on my own. And on Thursday afternoon, I went to the art museum for the first time, and thus downtown for the first time, and I drove the way back without a map.
It seems like such a small victory… but it’s definitely not. It means I’m starting to feel confident enough again to venture out. It means I’m beginning to adjust to this new life halfway across the country from where I grew up.Read more
I’ve had a couple of really beautiful, full-circle moments recently. The sort that have reminded me in such sweet ways how totally interconnected my old life and my life now still and always are.
This past week, we finally got my couch moved into Mike’s house from the garage. And by my couch, I really mean Drew’s. I have been dragging this thing around ever since he died… an enormous olive green couch. It is really the only piece of furniture of his I have. Since we didn’t live together, much of his bigger stuff ended up being given away or taken to Goodwill when he died, as there was no place to put it. But this couch, I was not letting go of it. It sat in a storage unit for 3 years after he died, before finally making the journey north with me from Texas to Ohio last fall.
So we finally get this thing moved into Mike’s basement, where we have made a cozy den next to my art studio area. Over the course of a few days, I watched as something really heartwarming took place.