.... because I am starting to realize that not everyone on this path .... "gets it". Yes, that's a broad term, but I've used it and seen it used hundreds of times amongst widowed people. Since Jim died I have discovered that when widowed people are together (or writing to one another) many words don't have to spoken. Most emotions and feelings don't have to be explained. Most behaviors don't need to be defended.
We "get" each other.
"Hi, it’s me. I forgot to ask you to be sure you ride in the second or third car of the train. Thanks."
"Wow, you are awfully close to the side of the road. Don't get hit by a car."
"Bike ride? Um, sure that sounds like a good idea. Are you going out alone?"
"Hi, you said you'd be home around three and it is three-thirty now. Just checking in. Can you call me as soon as you get this? Thanks."
"Have fun. Be careful. Drive Safely. Call me when you get there. Love you. Don't forget to call."
otherwise perfect, this
moment became something
when the words
drifted from her lips.
well, i shouldn't say
that it was
wholly unexpected, but the
timing most certainly was.
Friday, August 27th
I put Langston and Pallas on a bus today to attend Camp Erin, a weekend camp for grieving kids.
I drive away before the bus does.
And on the 10 heading west, in traffic (thankfully) I cry.
Putting them on a bus is…
Tonight, I took Liv to a meeting. It just so happened to be at a place that I haven't been to in 19 months and 12 days. The place Liv was baptised. The place we were married. The place Jeff's funeral was held.
I didn't think it would affect me much. I thought I had grown stronger and more resilient. I knew it would sting a bit, but I hadn't anticipated this.
Fear is the voice in your head that tells you things are impossible, the doubts that creep into your mind when you're up late and the kids are asleep, the voice that tells you that hope is for patsies. Fear is not an emotion that I experience very often. It's not in my make-up. Call it ignorance, call it bravado, there isn't much that makes me afraid. Until recently.Read more
Did Art die before or after Pallas hit five feet?
Did he die before I bought the new underwear or after?
Was he alive when Google offered that new earth maps feature?
Was I friends with her before or after Art died?
Was he alive when Langton said __________ or Ezra did ______?
... is different.
Very, very different.
I wish I had known that.
I wish I had known a widow who could have told me that.
Someone who could have warned me.
Warning: This post may be unsettling to many. It was written 8 days ago.
I thought about it today.
And actually been thinking about it for 5 days straight.
Considering different ways to do it. Quick, painless ways to do it.
As a widow, how many times have you said, "when/since/because _____ died"? Even after two years, three months and six days, I regularly use this phrase. Does widowhood define me this much or is it that the loss of my husband has been so life-altered, self-forming, world-shifting to me that I can attribute most of the occurrences in my present life to the event?Read more