I'm sitting here in my parent's beautiful backyard on this kind of surprisingly balmy early fall evening in Virginia wondering what on earth I can say about what's going on in my life right now. How can I describe the agony of change and decision and helplessness while keeping private things private? How can I honestly tell my dear fellow widows and widowers the truth of what we've been dealing with while also maintaining the dignity of my father? How do I reveal to my beautiful community of friends in Hawaii that I may be leaving? How do I reconcile the pain of the thought of that move with the many, many signs that are appearing that my future may lay elsewhere?Read more
I'm not sure how long I will be able to continue to write here at Widow’s Voice. It breaks my heart to think that, and to write that, but various things are moving at a seriously rapid pace and I can barely keep up.
Day of birth. A day to celebrate life, at least it use to be. The person I was prior to grief made a big fuss over birthdays. Now I only wish I could fast forward past the day all together. Escape the impending date somehow.
He would have turned 30.
I would have thrown a surprise party, filling our home with orange helium balloons, but more than that, fill his day with love.
How painful and unfair it is now that this day is no longer a celebration of life but rather a life lived…
The impending day is a punch in the gut and I feel sick at just the thought of it. There is nothing I can do to escape it as much as I try.
This week I am angry but at the same time I feel numb!Read more
I lost the house this week.
It's ok. Really. I've had a lot of time to think about it. My own personal faith tells me, well, this is where God/the Universe wants to move you.
So, here I go.
No one thinks about the prospect of being widowed when they get married. You are starting a brand new life together and things look shiny and new. But think about it. Fifty per cent of all people who get married (and stay married) will ultimately be widowed. Eventually, one of them will die. When I exclaimed to a friend how surprised I was about how many widowed friends I have, they said, well, people get married, and they die.
There's nothing special, or particular, about Saturdays. And I’m not sure when, how or why it started. Maybe a few months ago. Somewhere along the way I just started noticing how quickly the weeks seem to be speeding by. Yawn. Oh, wow, another Saturday morning already. How is that possible?
I lie there staring at the ceiling for a few moments before getting out of bed to let the dogs out. I try to fathom how much life I’ve lived without Mike already. I wonder how many more Saturdays I will wake without him.
15 years ago today, as I type this, Mike and I were awakened sometime after 3 AM Hawaii time by a phone call. In those days it was still landlines, so Mike groggily stumbled into the living room to answer it, and came back and woke me, handing me the phone, and saying, it’s your mom, I think there was a hurricane or something.
The house where I grew up, where my parents still live, is only a few miles from the Pentagon. So mom was calling to let us know she and dad were ok. I sat up in bed. Why, what’s wrong? I asked. Oh don’t you know, oh my gosh turn on your television right now.
For the past month it has been difficult to ignore the father's day cards that existed on stands in shopping centres almost everywhere I looked. Mentally trying to prepare for the day “it’s just another day, no different from any other”.
When the day arrived I woke with that mindset, it’s just another day. I called my dad to wish him a great day and with that the memories from last father’s day flooded in.
Leaving the house to visit family, tears flowed and my mood became dark. Families were out and about riding their bikes together down the street, having breakfast in the park and living out their lives.
It hurt! Seeing smiling faces everywhere, I felt angry that I no longer have what they have.
My complete family.
I wondered do they even know how lucky they are.
This has been a week during which my world has been dominated by Biology 101. I have to smile as I type that, because I never, ever imagined I would be excited about studying biology, of all things. You have to know, my mom was a biologist and spent most of her career as a college level teacher. She’s retired now, but she was always telling me about how people “of a certain age” would come through her doors preparing for a new career, and that it was never too late for me. I always shooed her and her science aside, me of the right brain-dominated world. So I think she’s a little surprised herself that I’ve taken this leap towards a healthcare field. And something feels right about it for me, that maybe I’m finally taking a little of my mom’s advice. And it’s nice to parley with her in that very specific lingo.
One of the often-discussed topics between widowed people, at least in my circles, regards dating and other relationships we develop after the death of our husbands or wives. Only we widowed people know the challenges surrounding that issue, and each and every one of us has different ways of approaching it.