Ever since that horrible day 4 years ago, I have been shoved into every imaginable situation of discomfort. Just like all of you. I’ve been thrust into an oblivion… a war zone of emotions… trying to fight my way through without even knowing which direction I am fighting towards. Fighting in the dark. Wandering. Scared. Trying to survive. Trying to figure out just what it is that I am actually fighting for. Trying to understand what is even worth it in this life, so that I can want to still be here.
The thing about all this, is that it changed me. All this struggle, all this fight to find reasons to be here, to still find the beauty in life, has changed me.
I’ve said it before, but his death taught me that fear is not a good enough reason anymore. He died in order to live his dreams as a helicopter pilot. He knew the risks, we both did… and he chose it anyway. You would think I would be mad about that (and I certainly went through a period of being really pissed that he didn’t have a more boring “safe” job). Instead, it is like his forever reminder to me to not let my fear get in the way.
If he could be willing to risk his life for what he loved doing, than I choose to honor him by trying to always do the same. So while my fears may still be there, I keep choosing to step outside my comfort zones and walk through the uncomfortable spaces. I’ve started to see that beauty and wonder are always just on the other side of fear. A recent experience has reminded me of that...
I have decided something huge in the past few weeks. Something I have been working to make space for in my heart for about the past 3 or 4 months. It’s time, much sooner than I’d planned (story of my life)... I am moving in with my new love, Mike.
As I spend most of my time at his house, it is getting harder and harder to live out of two different places. I’m constantly in search of various things, and they are usually at the other house when I need them. That and the now seven kids that live next door to me… and working for my landlord in place of a rent discount is getting to be very draining too. While I love my little house, and especially my art studio room, I’ve come to the conclusion that holding onto it is starting to add more stress than good now. Which means, it’s time to let go.
Are you kidding me? ANOTHER time of letting go and learning to grow? It seems that is all I have done these past few years. And it seems to always be in warp speed, dammit. I mean, I just moved my entire life across the country nine months ago, and now I have to box it all up and move again? *sigh* No matter how many times I go through a period of letting go, it never seems to get easier. It always feels like losing a piece of me. Moving in with Mike feels no different. It has nothing to do with my love for him, and everything to do with the countless losses I’ve had in my life. Loss hurts, whether it’s a person, your home, or a job you love… losing anything we love hurts.
It’s been a tough few days, hasn’t it?
For our country, I mean.
If you’re already grieving, seeing the ugliness that seems to suddenly be everywhere…even if you refuse to watch the news…it can easily exacerbate what is already in your heart.Read more
I’m certain that I’m not alone when I describe the confusion of widowhood. Not that many others in life don’t feel similar uncertainties as life changes happen. I guess it’s just that we, as widow/ers, have this sickening, stomach lurching rollercoaster thrown into the mix of our hearts and minds and souls as we face life alone.
The we we were before death.
The we we are after death.
And the confusing brain fuck of it all.Read more
It goes on, doesn’t it? Whether we wish it or not, whether we have the energy for it, or not. Life goes on after our husbands and wives and lovers and partners die.
It just goes on.Read more
I feel compelled, now that I’ve passed the 3 year mark of my widowhood (as of April 21), to write one of those numbered lists of what helped me get through to this mark...
Really, honestly, though, I couldn’t tell you how I’ve gotten here. All I can tell you is that I look in the mirror at myself and ask how the FUCK have you done this? How have you survived for 3 fucking years with Chuck’s absence when you couldn’t imagine one fucking minute without him?
How have you done this?Read more
I really am crazy.
I know it.
But I must do a fairly good job of appearing not only not crazy but really rational and okay, because nobody else thinks I’m crazy.
They would if they knew what my heart really looks like and what the inside of my mind looks like.
But none of that is evident on the outside.Read more
I wanted to share someone else's story today... one that she shared with me recently that I felt had such a powerful message for us all. I met Tara at my first Camp Widow back in 2014, and I remember having a great conversation with her one night over a few drinks out on the patio. She made an impression on me that night that has always stuck. A bit reserved at first, she seemed to me as someone who's trust you have to earn in order to get closer to. I'm a big believer in that myself (as many of us are now) and so I greatly respected this about her. We met up once again in Tampa for Camp this year... and had some time to visit again. I noticed her wearing a certain watch, and though I never got around to asking about it, I read the story she shared of it online after returning home. It's a powerful story that she and her husband have created together. In my mind, it is a way that he is still actively helping to guide her, and maybe even guide all the rest of us too. I'll let her tell it in her own words, because she wrote it with such passion and spirit:
"Stephen and I were on a cruise in 2003 and the man who never, I mean NEVER, asked for anything, said to me that he always wanted a Rolex watch. So, while we were in St. Thomas, we stopped at the Rolex store. We were there FOR EVER. He was anal about everything. Which I loved about him. So, after trying on almost all the watches in his price range, he picked out his "special" watch. We nearly missed the ship it took so long, but he had his "special" package in tow..."
I have to remind myself, as many of us do, I expect, that this widowhood is, as I learned in AA, a matter of progress, not perfection. Because I, for one, consistently seem to expect more of myself than is realistic. By which I mean, I continually scan my body and mind and heart to see where I am in this grief and why I’m not further along, even as my mind tells me to stop such nonsense and lays out all the reasons why I need to stop such nonsense.
Still it continues. But I’m getting better at just letting it be and not gauging my grief by anyone else’s grief.
So...progress, not perfection.Read more
Tuesdays used to be only about writing my WV blog. Now they’re also about my EMDR sessions, so please bear with me as my brain and heart work overtime.Read more