First Delivery

Just gave my first message at widows club.  How the f*ck did I get here?

I found my group 8 years ago.  About the time I was thinking I got out of it what I could, our then-(local) leader put out a plea for cohosts - folks that could commit to showing up before and setting things up and cleaning up after.  Sure I can do that.  And this group did so much for me, why not?

Which, really, is how I’m still in that group 8 years later.

We have new leader.  We survived COVID. We’ve been thru a variety of meeting situations in the past 4 years. 

Our local leadership has changed.  It’s been pretty much all on one person for 2 years now.  If she’s going to connect with new widows (truly her strong point), she needs help on the planning logistics.

Oh I can do that.

Our national organization also shifted.  They went from a monthly video message to web resources.  Some people expressed they miss the monthly.  I said I can make a schedule- we can talk, or we can find an old monthly video.

Which is how I just found myself delivering my first message to my widows group.

A group I never thought I’d join.  A group no one ever wants to join, and def one I never thought I’d have enough wisdom to share with anyone.

People have flat out yelled at me over the years that yes I have stuff to share that’s gonna help others.

Which is how I just found myself delivering my first message to my widows group.

Year 14

I had a difficult April.  (Shock, I know 🙄)

John pointed out yesterday that the Twins just started their 14th season at Target Field.  Nate coincidentally died on the same day the Twins played their first game in that stadium.  This means I just started my 14th year of living with grief.

Interesting phrase.  Living with Grief.  Inasmuch as love didn’t die, grief doesn’t either.  What we hope and strive to do is live with grief and have a healthy relationship with grief, part of which is acknowledging her existence.

They say your body fully recreates every cell every 7 years.  That means I’m on my second body since Nate died.

7 years ago is when I started my slow exodus from a job I knew well, the lifestyle that was familiar, and the career I’d chosen when I was 18.  It was the right decision.  The industry evolved, I was different, I needed more peace and downtime than it allowed. 

We always miss our loved one more in times of conflict, strife, or uncertainty.  They were the one we went to for that support, after all, and regardless of who has come into our life since that loss, they cannot replicate the exact relationship we had with the person, nor the particular nuances with which that person would have responded.  (Related to my chaotic April this year: April 3 my best work buddy left us; this is also the person who handled 90% of the new accounts & transactions flow.  Absolutely the right decision for them, and I’ve been poorly muddling thru the fallout while also dealing with the worst widow brain fog and I-don’t-give-a-shit of my annual cycle.)

Going into my next 7 years, I don’t know who this next person is.  With distance comes perspective, and I can see that my first 7 years were surviving, discovering my physical life no longer fit me, landing where it does, then discovering the career no longer fit either who I was in my 20s nor who I want to be as a person living with grief.  I’ve been in this current job now long enough to be stable - and the job itself is far from stable, altho my employment is - and able to take a deep breath.

My next (last) 7 years I’ll term learning.  I don’t know that I’m thriving.  My last 7 years have been plugging into the grief communities that are available online and in person, learning that I’m not alone, this is normal, that there is great grief where there is great love, and coping mechanisms.  (Coping mechanisms!!! 🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻)  Learning to surf the waves, ride out the storm, etc etc.  Learning that memories don’t mean sadness, and moving forward doesn’t mean erasing or forgetting.  A Memorial Day can be a joyous occasion, and sometimes you’re simply celebrating your own survival.

I find it absolutely shocking and amazing that a couple of my posts this month have elicited “you are an inspiration” responses.  (And from women I admire!!)  I’ve definitely plugged back into my widows group in the past few years as opportunity has opened to help host and welcome new ladies, and never a month goes by that I don’t feel like I did something and received something from knowing this group of powerful ladies who refuse to roll over and play dead just because their partner has died, and instead choose to honor them, love them, and continue their lives.  It’s hard work.  I know.  We all do.  It’s amazing that we’re all doing it. 

I’ll never forget when a friend told me I was strong and I went off on her.  Seldom does a widow want to be called strong - you see that we woke up today, we know we almost didn’t.  You see us out at the party with a smile, we know we’re going home to a bottle of whiskey.  There’s a huge dark side that comes with this life that we don’t really share with anyone who’s not going thru it; because when you have to, we’ll be here for you, but we don’t want to scare you.  My friend convinced me she needed to believe in my strength, because if I was surviving my life, she could survive hers.

I don’t know what year 14 looks like.  14 is more than I thought I’d have.  I want peace, I want my house, my lake, my books, good food & Twins on the tv.  (In short, everything I had today 😁)  If life means I have to work to pay for a roof over my head and food in my kitchen, well I don’t have a bad job for that.

I found a quote the other day that small joys are as good as big joys, and that’s how I started back in my happiness journey, maybe 10 years ago.  Happiness lies more in all the small things than the huge things.  So I’m dialing back into my daily joys.  

Here’s Leo & a lake.  😁

(FTR, as I’m drafting and sharing this, I’m not drunk.  IYKYK.  😉)

Do I miss you?

Do I miss you?  Every single day of my life. 

I had a thought this weekend, as I discussed with John the rule of 7 years, wherein we reinvent ourselves every 7 years.

My first 7 was trying to get back to who I was before. My next 7 has been crafting a life of my own, without you but with who I am now.  Which could not have been without your death.

But is so amazing and remarkable and I love it so much, and I truly think you’d be so proud of me, that I want to share it with you.  I want to share it with you with every fiber of my being, as the person who knew every aspect of me best, saw me at my best and carried my through the worst. 

That makes sense, then, why I can be sitting here loving my day, my life, all of it…. And just be hit by wave of melancholy.  I want to share this with you. 

Golden Death Day

When you lose your person at 30, you also lose the entire future you were planning together.  The future that only works if he’s, you know, alive.

I had to dream up a new future for myself. I realized that early on, that not only was I grieving the loss of my best friend, my person, my everything, but I was also grieving the life that I will never have. It took me some time to figure out what this life looks like, and I’m still not there honestly. I struggle to enjoy it.  I focus on every little thing I can to make me smile.  But I’m light years from where I was 10 years ago.

It was around eight or nine years that I realized the grief I’m still dealing with has little to do with him, and everything to do with me processing that loss in my life, the loss of the life we were living together, and the loss of the future that we will never have.

So when I was asked a couple months ago how long has it been, and I realize it would be 12 years on 12 April, and in our society we have this thing called “golden birthdays” where your age matches the date of your birthdate… And is there such a thing as a golden death day?

Because widows have to have a certain sense of humor in order to survive the life in which we are living, we all thought yes. That should be a f@cking thing.

And that is how I come to find myself cooking golden Guinness cupcakes this weekend. Guinness cause if you knew Nate, Bailey’s in the cream cheese frosting, and well it’s a golden something day, so there you go.

Because the more I live the more I realize that my living is about my surviving. It’s about surviving something that I wasn’t expecting to happen to me, we weren’t expecting to happen to him, and it isn’t the life we were planning on together. The fact that I lost everything in about 10 seconds, and I am still on this earth is really a miracle. So as weird and disrespectful this may seem to some, I am going to celebrate my survival.

Values

A little more than a year ago, I got a new professional designation and settled into a 40 hour a week, weekends & holidays off, long term job.  

For the first time, I have portions of daily & weekly life cut out to simply be.  Me.

The first thing I did was quit drinking for a month.  That was educational.  Because staying off alcohol wasn’t the hard part - confronting the feelings alcohol had been hiding was. 

My sad was sadder than what I thought. My tolerance for people was significantly lower than what thought.  My joy in sitting in silence, thinking, was far greater than what I knew. 

That kicked off some long term (and constantly evolving) thinking on what makes my life.  Is it bar nights with friends?  Scheduled time with family? Twins games, Vikings games, and pretty vacations? 

All these things, that I’d counted on to add joy to my life for 10 years, felt vacant.

I realize I woke up feeling more exhausted, not less.  I carried stress going in, through, and needed a reward for getting through each event.  The stress of getting there was outweighing the joy of being there.

So I dialed it back.  Daily life joys became slow mornings that appeared when I didn’t wake up with a hangover.  Bar nights became chill nights on the couch and an early bedtime.  My body relaxed.

I focused on what added value to life - and what those values are.  I came up with a list of how I would choose to spend my days (meditating, eating, reading, unwinding) and what my values are (respect (including for myself), kindness (including for myself), wellness) and what pursing those things look like (peace, solitude, lake, home).

After a while of looking at those lists, I made it even simpler: eat, meditate, sleep.

I don’t find joy in others.  I’ve been let down too much in my life to expect others are going to carry me through.  I’ve been left on my own to fight my own battles.  The handful of people who answer when I call are now the only ones I check in with. It was painful process to realize that.

I got so much headspace back. 

Simply* by dialing into what my values are.

*over a span of more than a year, and will require constant examination to maintain or evolve 

I like my life

November 19, 2019

I kind of like my life.

I like my peace, my time.

I like that I have no one nagging me, that I’m answerable to no one.

I like my life, I love that I can do what I want when I want.

I love that I live on a lake, in the country.  It’s peaceful.  So peaceful.  And I can be downtown in 20 minutes.

I love that I’m engaged in life.  I didn’t tune out.  I want to know what’s going on and I keep myself informed. I get curious and find an answer.

I can take care of myself.  That, in itself, is a huge blessing.  I keep myself sane, and that allows me to work for a living and cover my bills.  Which in turn grants me the freedom I love, so really so much if it comes down to that resiliency.

Sobriety

May 21, 2019

I sat with myself.  I sat with my reasons and stripped it down.

I drank for boredom, for stress, to relax, to have fun, to fit in.

It gave me a buffer on reality.

Turns out, my sad is sadder than I thought.

My sober mornings are more glorious than I thought.

My blinders were stronger than I knew and removing them showed me some sadness and disappointment I’d rather not see.

My blinders had me focusing on positivity so much I forgot to acknowledge the disappointments and the let downs

I forgot disappointment is a part of life, too, and it’s ok to feel that way.

The caveat, I doubt I could’ve handled the reality of disappointment, there was so much else I had to sort and figure out first.  This is simply the next stage of my being: people let you down, and that’s ok.

Being fully present in life is better than consistently being half dulled.

Allowing the complexities of human beings allows their full existence.

Solitude

Thoughts from a year ago:

Solitude: Apr 14, 2019

What would you want to do with all your time? 

Sit, read, meditate, look at the lake, not do yardwork or housework.  Go for walks and yoga.

You can say I’m a very low energy person, but my energy matches nature.  It matches the ebb and flow of the season, the growth and the dormancy.  I relish that.

I relish looking at nature and feeling connected and knowing there’s a greater reason, purpose, and connection to it all.  I appreciate being able to feel that connection - not everyone can.  A slow life and a reflective life allows me to feel that so deeply and that’s what erp gives meaning to my life.

Crazy.... it’s not the kids, the subs, the friends, they’re all fine and dandy and they do liven it up a bit, but really when I want my soul to be a peace and reassurance that none of it’s a waste, it all means something, and it’s going somewhere, I go to nature.  And I go alone

I go to Waldon Pond.  I sat on Waldon Pond (with “On Waldon Pond”!) and reflected.  That may be what I feel the most of on my lake.  The same lake that’s fed people body and mind for millennia feeds me.  I’m blessed to be able to live here, I blessed to have the finances to live the life I want to live, so I need to live the life that matters most to me.

Sober, reflective, meditative, worthy, trusting that my path is my way.

People are good entertainment, but so few actually add value.  It’s far better to live a life that rings true to the heart.

10 years

Hard to believe it’s been 10 years.  (And I’m still standing.)

10 years ago I was barely hanging on. 

9 years ago I was pushing myself to another job, so I could go back to fully supporting myself.

8 years ago I plugged into what would become one of my greatest joys.

7 years ago I transitioned back to full service restaurants, a space that felt familiar and let me be me.... while figuring out where the other pieces of me fit in this new life.

4 years ago I starting searching a for new piece of myself.

3 years ago I plopped myself into my forever home - my cabin on a lake. 

2 years ago I said good riddance to a 20-year career and found the peace I had been missing. 

Last year I solidified licensing in my new field and could lean into discovering myself again.  Or anew.  

This is not a life I wanted.  This is not a life I envisioned.  But it’s a good life.  It gives me space.  It lets me be me.  It makes few demands and surrounds me in gloriousness.  It gives me peace. 

That’s a lot of stuff I didn’t have 10 years ago.  

“Moving on”

Widows often hear “but are you moving on*?” meaning “but you’re not dating? I can stop worrying about you if you’re dating**.”  I may have found my answer last night. 

Off the cuff: “oh God yes!” *see confused face* “Oh my life never did revolve around a relationship.  That’s just not who I am.”

My moving forward was getting a job.  It was taking over complete responsibility for my bills.  It was moving to a house I wanted to live in.  That’s it, those were my big, concrete things in adjusting to widow life.  More to the point, moving forward is about learning to cook for one, plan for a future for one, and learn to enjoy things you used to do with him.  It’s about adjusting traditions and dreams that used to include him to just you. 

For some people, dating again IS a part of moving forward.  Some people meet someone organically that they fall in love with and remarry; some people genuinely enjoy dating and pursuing a relationship, so it fits for them.  The key is it fits their new life - they’re not looking to replace who or what was lost.

I met Nate organically, it evolved organically.  Neither one of us was looking for a relationship - much less marriage.  We simply met, and meshed.  I have looked at dating apps, and they simply hold no interest for me.  For a lot - A LOT - of people, they do fit.  That’s just not me.

About a year ago, I responded to the same question with “the problem with moving forward, is it doesn’t look like you think it does.  It doesn’t involve forgetting that he ever lived.”  I’d add to that, and it looks different for everyone.  There’s no one way to live life, thus for widows, there’s no one way to live life.

*we don’t “move on.” That implies we leave something in the past.  Our love for our spouse doesn’t die with them, and our grief does stick forever.  We “move forward” in life again. 

**no new relationship, no matter how spectacular, will ever replace what we lost.  A person is not a couch; you cannot simply go get a new one and have it replace what was lost.  You will always miss that particular person.  Thus, whether or not we are dating tells you nothing about how much you should worry about us.  The state of our home and fridge tells you much, much more.