A Letter

Dear Reader,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know things haven’t been easy for you. That’s probably an understatement. I have thought about you often. I have worried and wondered how you are doing. I never wanted you to think you were alone. I had to wait for you to find me. The important thing is you are here now. And, you definitely are not alone.

I know you are a strong, capable person. I am confident you can handle anything that comes your way. Sometimes, it’s just nice to know you don’t have to do it alone. It feels good to know you have someone to walk along side you. I wish had answers. I wish I could tell you how to make it hurt less or how to make it all go away. Unfortunately, that’s something no one can do.

People will try to solve your problems, or at least make you feel better. There are many reasons they do this. Most of them care about you deeply. The rest, well, they are probably carrying their own pain. Your pain and their pain may be too much for them to bear. They will tell you all those clichés people say to each other during hard times. You know the ones I am talking about. Try to be patient with them. Try to remember they do care about you, even if it isn’t in the way you need them to.

Firsts. Oh, there are going to be many of these. Usually we view firsts as exhilarating. They make us nervous, anxious, and excited all at once. The firsts you have now will probably bring you little more than apprehension, sorrow, and pain. Even the simplest task might make you weep. At least, that’s how it felt to me. Firsts are hard for another reason. They don’t all happen in a certain time frame. It might be 10 years down the line and you might experience a first. And, just so you know, it doesn’t feel any better than the first time you slept in your bed without him. Those are things that always bring you back to the pain.

The first dance our daughter went to, I cried. He was supposed to be there. The first baseball game our son ever played, I wept like a baby. The first time our youngest won a swim meet sent me to a room where I sat in tears. Those moments were all firsts for me, even though they were years later.  And they hurt just as bad as if they had happened right after his death.

Now you know; time does not heal all wounds. It does make it easier. It’s easier for a lot of reasons. Those moments that bring you to your knees come less often. And when you find yourself on the ground, getting up isn’t as difficult. And most importantly, time allows you to be happy more often than you are sad. It allows you to find yourself again. It allows you to sleep at night. It allows you to love and be loved once again. Time is a beautiful thing, and it does help.  Just don’t expect too much. It will not separate you from your past. It cannot build a wall between you and pain.

Time is only as good as its accomplice—you. It won’t happen overnight, or even over a month. It will happen. It will happen when you are ready for it to happen. There is no rule book. No one can tell you to do it this way or that. There are tricks and tips that can help you walk through the process, but nothing that can replace.

I can tell you what I went through and I can tell you how I got through. You might find comfort in knowing though, our experiences are different, many of our feelings are the same. Perhaps you will want to try some of my tips and hopefully they will work for you. I should tell you, I didn’t do this alone either.

I found a grief counselor. I never thought I would be a person to share my pain with someone so openly. I have to say, not only did I share with a stranger, but I’m not sure what I would have done without her. I used my husband’s Employer Assistance Plan to help me find the one I used. It’s something to consider.

Please don’t let fear inhibit your healing. I remember being terrified. I was afraid of forgetting him. What he sounded like. Afraid of not remembering his voice, or the way held me at night. I never dreamed that healing actually allowed me to remember him better. Randy is never a closed subject here. Sometimes it still brings tears, but those tears are sweet tears. I can think of him, talk about him, and still be okay. That is what time and healing can do for you. It isn’t the way I had imagined our lives together, but it is all I have. I feel thankful to have that. It’s a good feeling.

I am so proud of the path you are on. You have already made great strides towards recovery. There is a lot of road left to travel, but please don’t be discouraged. Like I said before, you are strong and capable. And, when you feel like you are not strong enough to take one more step, ask for a hand. If we walk this path together, we can learn from each other. We can lean on each other. We are not alone.

I hope to hear from you soon. Until then, please, take care of yourself.

Your new friend,

Sara

Uniquely Young.

My first post was a long and emotional. It was as hard to write as it was to read and living it was almost unbearable. The whole process of grieving is absolutely complicated. Every person, even in similar circumstances, have very different grieving experiences. That’s perfectly normal.

I couldn’t lean on my family. When someone young dies (he had just turned twenty-five 4 days before that), it shakes everyone’s foundation. Young people are not supposed to die. My in-laws were devastated beyond comprehension. I’m not sure what I would do if I lost a child. Probably wish i were gone too.My parents and grandparents felt like he was a son, so they had a similar reaction. Plus, watching me, their own child, suffer was probably almost worse than their grief. For my friends, his death was hard because they could see themselves widowed, with children. They felt grief for Randy, sorrow for me and our families, and worry for their own families. My kids and I talked about missing Daddy and how sad we were. I wanted them to know it was okay to be sad. I couldn’t share my burden with them though. I truly had no one I felt I could share that burden with, besides God.

Believe me, I know that God carried me on days when I couldn’t find the strength to walk. There were many of those days. I did grow deeper in my faith. I needed to find my path and do the work. No one could do that for me, not even God. I looked for resources to help me. I couldn’t find any that were designed for young widows or young widows with children. I felt like I had to do it on my own. I don’t want you, or anyone, to go through this alone.

Don’t get me wrong. People stepped in to help me. More than I could have ever asked for. All of my stuff had to be moved back from the new house. My brother-in-law and friends did that. Before the move we had given away some furniture because we were replacing it with new when we moved. My family helped us do that. People watched my children whenever I wanted so I could go be by myself and do what I wanted. I just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, dump my emotional garbage on them and leave it for them to sort through. They had their own.

I think feeling like you have no one to share the burden with happens more for young widows than other widows. A young widow is also responsible for her children’s healing too.  The moment he died I was a single mom of three children under 7 years old. I didn’t have an education. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t know how long we would have healthcare. On top of that, I was dealing with lawyers to get bills paid that my insurance denied (I had to SUE my OWN insurance company to make them pay our bills from the accident that was caused by someone else, even though we had carried uninsured and under insured insurance for many years). Plus, there was a criminal case since he was ticketed for drunk driving. He (who is to remain nameless so I don’t somehow get in trouble)was charged with reckless homicide. He plead guilty. He was sentenced to probation (yes, probation), loss his license for 2 years, and would carry a felony conviction with him forever. I also started receiving nasty phone calls. I had tracing devices on my line and had to have a security system installed. That’s a lot for a person who wasn’t sure how to put both feet on the floor in the morning and cried herself to sleep at night.

I did find THREE things that helped me:

First, I donated my time to a Christian Pregnancy Center. Another passion of mine is teen moms because I was one. That was tough even with support. There are so many girls who do not have that support and I wanted to help. I couldn’t make myself feel better, so I thought I could help someone else feel better. Being there did help.

Secondly, I sought counseling. I was already reeling from Randy’s death when Sept. 11th happened It was less than a month later. I found myself sitting on my bed while the kids were in school, rocking and crying as I watched footage of people jumping from towers.

In my mind, I had just lost my past and my entire future and now, the world was on fire and people were jumping from sky scrapers. I knew my situation was bad, but those people and their families, had it worse. I felt like I was drowning. I was having panic attacks, although I didn’t know what they were at the time. I called Randy’s EAP and found a counselor in my area. She turned out to be a Godsend! Her sister had also lost a husband to a drunk driver. The kids went when they wanted. I went alone when I felt I needed to. The anxiety would build up every week, every appointment had its challenges, and every time I left that building, I felt better. We continued counseling for over a year. My counselor navigated everything WITH me, even the beginning stage of dating.

Later, about month 2 maybe, I did one more thing. I started working out. I had gained weight. It’s amazing how that year went. In January I was still pregnant and I gave birth towards the end of that month. By May, he thought he had a job over an hour away. By June, he was in his new job, we had found a brand new house (wasn’t even finished yet), and we were preparing ours for the market. By the weekend of August 14th, kids were registered in new school and all of our stuff was in the new house waiting to close. On that Saturday, August 18, Randy died.

I was having trouble with my periods. I thought it was all stress related, but all my kids had was me now. I had to be the best me I could be. Plus, I wasn’t sleeping and had SO much anger. I thought maybe working out would let me release some anger, take off some weight, and wear me out enough that I would fall asleep. It worked, on all accounts. I did get back on track and so did my periods.

Every experience has things happen that you could never predict. For me, some of these were amazing and restored my faith in humanity. Others, left me hurt.

I never could have predicted the wake  would be comforting. The outpouring of support was so uplifting. They estimated about 475 people waited in line for over an hour and a half to see me. I expected this to be torture. I cried, but not as much as I had expected. What I found was he was loved by many. What an impact we have on others. They all had their own message to relay and usually involved a story or three about Randy. How amazing. Comforting. Also, many people donated money to help us through. Amazing donations from people who might not even be able to afford it. It restored my faith in humanity. It showed me that when the chips are down, people, even strangers will step in.

On the flip side of that, there were some things that happened that broke my heart. I would go to the grocery store and see people I knew. It was a blessing and a curse. Part of me didn’t want to talk. I was just miserable. Part of me felt comfort when they would over to talk.  I can’t count the number of times I saw a person that normally would come talk to me, but instead, they looked at me and walked the other way. Hurtful. They didn’t mean to hurt me. I later would talk to some of them and say, ‘Hey, noticed you at Wal-Mart a while back, but I guess you didn’t see me’. Many said that they wanted to talk to me, but they didn’t know what to say to me and that it was just too painful to look at me. They explained that there was so much pain in me that it couldn’t be hidden.

As you move towards living again, you start wearing a smile. It’s fake, but you wear it because it makes other people feel better. People have preconceived ideas of how long a person should grieve. Some think you can grieve, but you have to be ‘normal’ again. They have no idea the depth of grief that lives in us. At first, people will call and they will make an effort to stop by. By the 6 month mark for me, I stopped getting visitors and calls. I actually had some people tell me that I needed to get my act together, it had been a long time. Who in the world are they to tell me how I should feel or for how long? It’s hard not to let that kind of stuff bother you.  It’s just as important to not let that kind of stuff bother you. This is your journey on your time and if you want to go the long way instead of taking the short cut, you should do it. In fact, I recommend it.

I don’t want to bore you with little details or every single step I made.  I don’t plan on taking you day by day account through my grief. Or even month by month. I would like to take you through some important aspects of my process. Just giving the highlights makes for an emotional and long read. I have some things I wrote way back then. I plan on sharing those, too. It’s interesting to look back at where my heart was then. There is something very unique about being a young widow.  We may be different and walking on different paths, but we share that bond. There are those who came before you, those who walk with you, and those who will follow you. May you find kinship and comfort in that.