I never really stopped…

I talked to someone a few weeks back. She had been in the widow and widower group I’d joined. 

She asked where I’d been— why did I stop writing? How am I feeling with the holidays coming?

The short answer; I didn’t stop writing. I just stopped sharing.

The journey was public to help save someone, anyone. But, the healing. The grieving. That I wanted to be private. I wanted some control back after over twenty months of not an ounce of it. 

The process is so different for everyone. When I lost my husband, I also lost the father of my children. My girl’s were one and five; they kept me beyond busy. It leaves no time to dwell, and even less time to grieve. The goal becomes to keep everything status quo. Which is impossible, but you want so badly for them to be spared the weight of what’s happening. 

Our last holiday was Thanksgiving. It was a day that will probably remain unbearable all the Thanksgiving’s to come. 

Then he was gone.

The first of December was the first day of forever without him.

The first week after his death, I sat in silence. Matt’s Aunt came in like Mary Poppins; while the rest of us were numb and I couldn’t have been more grateful. I started building out my nonprofit. In my mind the faster I could help someone else; the quicker I could ignore I needed help. The second week they called me on my wedding anniversary to tell me Matt’s ashes were ready. I sat in the funeral home parking lot telling him I’d never forgive him.  

The third week— I went back to work. By midweek you could find me on the floor of my closet after bedtime. I distinctly remember crying into a glass of red wine surrounded by glitter reindeer wrapping paper. Everyone had gotten back to their lives, their normal, their holiday routines. I didn’t even know what normal was anymore. 

Christmas came and as expected it was devastating. I wanted everything perfect. Nothing was perfect. I had the decorations packed up and put away before the sun came up on December 26th, 2022. 

In the following weeks, I remember there were days I didn’t want to get out of bed, other days I didn’t want to go home. I had no choice in either. The bills weren’t going to pay themselves. The kids weren’t going to feed themselves. The house wasn’t going to tidy itself. 

People tell you that your strength is “admirable”. But, I think they forget you really don’t have much choice unless you want to lose everything you have left— after months nonstop losses. You don’t want to sound rude or ungrateful. You don’t really know what to say. 

I took on a full second career in real estate while Matt had been in hospice. I sold my first two houses just  weeks after his death. I couldn’t even find it in me to be proud of myself.  I just wished he’d been there to watch me do it.  

I remember after a few months, slowly finding small pieces of myself. I’d never be the same. And that was more than okay. I was someone else now. I’d finished my first lifetime. 

But, I knew I’d never stop loving him. Or missing him. Or grieving the life I’d had. 

I made sure I never missed a bedtime. I had a group of some of the most beautiful women, surrounding me even when I was in such a different phase of life. I was impossible to relate to. They didn’t care. They met me on my own little planet. I was lucky to have them.

I started delivering care packages to widows. I held my girls tighter. I traveled. I started laughing. 

By the close of the first year; you could find me dancing at a bar where there was no dance floor for a few hours on a Friday night, with some mom friends. Then still racing home for bedtime. Then laying sometimes in silent tears while I got my miniatures to sleep. But, it was progress. 

They said things like “You’re so young! You’re pretty. You’ll find love again!”

I usually fought the urge to tell them they were hysterical. I didn’t want to find love. I needed to find clean pants and the energy to keep burning the candle at both ends. 

Then shortly, after that first year closed I found what I thought was love, but I was sorely mistaken. In a matter of months I lost pieces of myself, it had just taken me over a year to find. And then another holiday season was approaching; the second year without Matt was coming to a close. The unbearable weight set back in; as it does every November. 

This time, I was determined to keep it merry and bright. I had decided I was better off solo. 

Yet by early December— I found myself seeing someone. I couldn’t have planned it if I’d tried. But, the best things always seem to come when you’re not looking for them. And if you ask the girls, he’s on the list of the best things. Now it’s been over a year and another Christmas is on the horizon. 

 I learned someone could come in and love the girls as if they were their own. When you’re in a second lifetime you need someone who wipes tears, tries to find ways to be supportive and stands by as you endure more milestones. 

We’ve lost a lot. We’ve been through a lot. But, we’ve also been blessed. Every widow and woman alike needs a tribe. The people around you that show up— they are your people. The people that reach out— keep them close. The journey isn’t meant to be faced alone.

So to answer the original question I should’ve said:  I didn’t stop doing anything. I actually started doing more. It hasn’t gotten easier, but I’m getting better at it.