A Widow’s Conundrum

A month had passed since the funeral.  I had stayed strong on the outside for all to see and succeeded in getting through it. Now, each morning when I arose, the reality seeped in a little more each day and the shock receded, leaving me raw and vulnerable.

I went from wanting someone to mention him or console me, to wanting to hurt in silence and avoid everyone. In this stormy sea, the squalls frequently came with drenching tears or became the doldrums of not feeling anything.

There was no direction. No goals. No plans for the future. I was adrift with no forward movement.  The only constant was the ache and the knowledge it would never be the same. I was bitter that life marched on, dragging me with it.

This stage, or whatever you want to call it, differs for everyone. I know this after spending hours talking with others who, like me, have gone through it. I wanted to hurry up this stage, get it over quickly, thinking the sooner I did; I could capture some normalcy again.  Now all I can do is record my journey and know that no two are alike.

Before Darrell passed, I had ample warning he would go before I would.  We talked.  I thought we covered it all. Finances, kids, what I would do after he passed. But no amount of planning or talking helps you prepare for the actual journey and the tidal wave of confusing emotions.

I thought it would go this way. I would grieve, hurt and then rebound.  I would become a missionary in Africa or serve the homeless at a local soup kitchen.  I would devote my life to my Lord. I would be a pillar of strength and guidance to my family.  I would go on living because I thought I could handle being alone. I would be a good widow in everyone’s eyes, holding my love for him like a beacon. I would be the example of true love that never dies.

Then one night in the ER when I was deathly ill, it all came crashing down around me. I finally admitted to myself there is a difference between alone and being lonely.

I was depressed. I had isolated myself in our winter home in Yuma.  I had lost weight due to not eating and sleeping. I couldn’t see a way forward because I was so wrapped up in my grief. Ending up in the same emergency room Darrell had on the same day a year later was a wake-up call.  A stern ER doctor lectured me on what I needed to do to get myself healthy.  I listened.

I reconnected with friends. Joined chat sites. Came home to the kids and started working on the house. I picked up writing again. Went out into the community and found volunteer work at the local cancer clinic. And ran into someone I wasn’t looking for.

At first, we just chatted. Then I tried to pushing him away in a panic because I didn’t want anything more than a friend. He firmly explained it was just an offer of friendship. Since he was four years out from his loss, I wanted to know about his journey in hopes I could glean from it some kernel of wisdom, a vision of hope.

So began a wonderful friendship and the year passed. On the anniversary of my husband’s death, family and friends helped light Chinese lanterns to remember the man who loved us all. The one I released hovered over the house as if he was saying he missed me.  I was gaining more peace every day, moving forward sluggishly, but still not wanting to release the life I had shared with him entirely.

His clothes still hung in the closet. I felt I lost more of him with each change, with each item of his that slipped away. But I also knew it was healthy and to heal I needed to move on with life.

My husband and I had blended a family. Three of his kids and two of mine from previous marriages had bonded well. In fact, the kids had done far better than I had. Still, I worried about them going forward. So I tried to be a good example.

Except then, my new friend proposed. We had slowly begun to date, even though we didn’t think of it that way. We met for coffee, had lunch, even a few dinners. All the while talking about our former spouses and growing closer.

What should I do? Darrell and I had never talked about having someone else in our lives if one of us passed on. I loved him so much I never entertained the idea there would be anyone else.  What would happen now? How could I replace the love I felt for one man with another? Where was my narrative of carrying my love for my husband until the day I died?  What would the kids think? What would my friends think?  What did I think?

It seemed a widow’s conundrum. It is not that I will ever love Darrell less, nor can I. And I could never, ever replace him. In fact, I struggled with the idea I could even love another man. But I had this same panic before my second child was born.  I remember watching my daughter sleep one night while her sister stirred in my belly.  I was worried.  How could I ever love another baby as much as I had loved my first? Yet, when the second daughter was born, I fell in love immediately. Not with the same love, but a love that was hers and hers alone.

I had forgotten the heart is inflatable. It can stretch to love many. The thing is – each love is different – because each person is different.

How could I explain to those who were still grieving the loss of their father or friend, that I could still love Darrell? That the love I felt for him was there and it would never go away. It left a permanent scar that would ache every time there was a family gathering, and he wasn’t there. Or I visited a place that we had shared, and I remembered our past life together. Every holiday, every memory that crossed my mind would have a bittersweet twinge of melancholy.

Yet, I needed to move on. Continue to experience life. New loves would come in. Not to replace, but to reside alongside all the other loves that were already there.

It is lonely to live without your soul mate, the love of your life. But there are still people I love left in my life. The love that grew and was shared by two souls, who became one, now overflows, fills and touches all who are still in it. I realize I can choose to honor that love until we meet again, by living alone and always in its shadow. Or I can go out and experience continued growth to my heart and spread the love I have received.

I decided to honor my love for my husband by giving more love to another lonely heart. There are those who may think less of me or feel I didn’t love my husband enough to stay a grieving widow.  I can say I totally understand.

I understand because I once thought that way. I have learned that until you travel the road, you don’t know how the trip is going play out. I remember what I thought it would be like to go to Africa and when I did, it was nothing like the journey itself.

So it is with grief. It is the most singularly, loneliest path we will travel in life.  No one can walk it with us, and you never know where the path might lead, or what emotions you will experience.

Love those in your life who are grieving. Understand their choices may not always make sense to you. And remember one day you too will experience this path. There is no way to prepare for it except watching how others travel it.

Know that love continues to expand. It grows and flourishes when it is fed and understood. It is not meant to be locked away to die, never to be gifted again.

 

 

Compromise and Manners (for everyday life)

I’m going to digress from my normal postings about book writing and comment on everyday life.  I was thinking about my Grandfather, who lived to be 103 years old. I admired him most for his manners. Raised in a day and age where reputation meant everything and manners were a must, he was a gentleman to the day he died.

So what would this have to do with things like gun control and government budgets? First, let me state, to find peace in my life I always try to compromise, find the middle. Politics and religion are a volatile subject even in the best of times. So note here, I’m not taking sides.

But there is a thread of common sense that dictates there is always a fair solution if both sides were to look at them. I’m not fond of guns, nor do I own one. Yet, I have no issue with my husband who owns one, for the sake of hunting deer, elk and antelope. He handles the responsibility for it with great respect. I have no issue with anyone who is responsible with a weapon, whether it be guns, rocks or a box cutter.

I do take issue when the subject gets out of hand and battle lines drawn. Hence the thoughts about my Grandfather. How are the two related?  Compromise and Manners.  Though the human heart will always have an evil side, I believe we can balance that evil with teaching compromise and manners. Again, this is a broad subject that could be narrowed down into religion concepts, laws or control, but we aren’t going there. Let’s concentrate on the simple and you may add the coloring of your political choice later.

If we concentrate first on manners, that would dictate that we listen to one another with an open mind. Hearing and weighing what the other human has to say. Having empathy with their feelings and thoughts. Then comes compromise. The great thing about compromise is neither side gets it’s way totally, but you get some of what you want. Both sides listening, hearing, then acting upon a fair division,

In my Grandfather’s day  manners kept him from offending someone else yet allowed him dignity. He always said thank you, please and opened doors. He respected his elders, even if it was only his sister who was a year older. He had sympathy and empathy and kept his infamous temper under check. Always willing to compromise because he felt peace was the best feeling in the world.

Isn’t this at the core of our disputes? Think about this day and age. Just blurt out anything hateful to get your way. Demean and demoralize, beat them down until only the strongest is standing and wins. Compromising and manners does not mean you are a doormat. But corner an animal and you get attacked.  Give that animal some room, it is much easier to deal with.

Freedom can be abused. Compromise and manners guarantees everyone has freedom. No law can create freedom.  Let’s get back to the basics of common sense. Let us teach our children manners and compromise as the beginning basics. Giving each other respect is the first step to building a strong heart and giving nature.

And that’s what is at the heart of all the killing and strife. If I respect you, then you in return feel worthy. No need to go demand respect by taking other human life. You understand then what a human life is worth. If you feel respected, you don’t feel the need to bully.

We don’t need control and laws which punish the 90 percent who handle their issues with respect. This breeds unrest, pulling away the desire to have manners and compromise. It’s then a vicious circle. We need to get back to the basics of decent human behavior.

My grandfather died a peaceful death, in his sleep, with no ill will towards anyone.  For a man of 103 years old, you’d think his memorial service would have had few family and friends left to attend. It was not so. In the end compromise and manners paid off. All the people he treated with respect, in turn, did the same for him by packing the memorial service with their presence.

This is a legacy worth leaving behind.