Feeling Adrift ......

                                                                        source
                     

...... like someone alone in a canoe ...... with no oar, no compass.

I feel as though I'm living in some kind of in-between layer of life.  It feels like I don't belong anywhere anymore ...... like a tree that's been cut away from its roots.
No place feels like "home" right now, or whatever "home" used to feel like.

My house in Texas is on the market and most of the time I feel like that's the right decision.  But then the shadow of doubt creeps in and starts to cloud my mind and I don't know what's right for me.

I love NY, but I wonder if I'll be too lonely in the long run.  I know that sounds crazy to most people ...... how can you feel lonely in a place where almost 8 million other people live?
I also know that I don't have to explain that feeling here.  You get that.  You have most likely felt the same dark loneliness in a room full of people.
I used to feel that way often in the first year or two of grieving.  I thought that it had passed.
I was wrong.

I seem to feel lonely no matter where I am.  Not all of the time, but definitely more lately.  Home is no longer "home", but then ...... neither is anywhere else.
I miss my roots.

I have no doubt that I'd be feeling something quite like this if Jim were alive.  After all, our youngest child left for college 2 months ago.  I know that this is partly "empty nest syndrome".
But I also know that this "rootless" feeling is another result of his death.
In a world full of couples, of shifted relationships, of empty bedrooms ...... the person I most belonged with is missing.  The one relationship here on earth that I knew was as solid as stone no longer grounds me ...... no longer helps me feel that I belong.

Experience tells me that this feeling will most likely pass.
It also tells me that it may take some time.
It does not, however, tell me what I should decide.
Or where I should put down new roots.

That's where hope comes in.
I hope that this loneliness will fade soon and that I'll be able to decide what my next step should be.

And I hope that I will once again feel a sense of belonging.
Wherever my canoe lands.

Like a Wheel Within a Wheel ......

...... these are our wedding rings.  A circle in a circle.
I had them put together like this at about 9 - 10 months out.  I wear them on a necklace.
I haven't worn them in a while, but lately, I've felt a strong pull to wear them.  A lot.
I don't know why and I've learned to not question things that I feel pulled to do.
I have also felt the missing of him stronger lately.
I'm sure that one thing is connected with the other.
I don't know why, I just know.

Even now, at almost 6 years out, the thought of how very much I still miss him makes me cry.  I cannot speak (or type) the words, "I miss him" without crying.
Ever.

Grief, and my "after", are like a circle within a circle.  They are intertwined with each other ...... forever.  The missing of him will never end.  Like a never ending circle.  I will always miss him and I suppose that I will always cry at the depth of the hole he left behind.  Within me.

Don't get me wrong.  My life is good.
Yes, it could be better, but I'll take good.
Because I can't have him.

I am happy.
It's a different happy, but I'll take happy ...... however it looks and feels.
Because I can't have him.
And I can't live miserably ...... missing him.

But I can continue to live, feel happiness, feel joy when it comes ...... and feel love in many different ways.
Even if I can't have him.
Because I can't have him.

I'll continue to love, live, be happy ...... and feel peace, even while I sometimes feel grief.
And miss him.
And cry.

It's a circle.
Within a circle.
And I'm blessed to live in that circle.
Because I was blessed to have him.









Windmills of Your mind

Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnaval balloon
Like a carousell that's turning
Running rings around the moon

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it's own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walking allong the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

One More Day ...

...... though I'd much rather be on my way to Texas than sitting here, feeling what I'm feeling.

Last night, at some time after midnight, Daughter #1's cat made his way into my bedroom, which I almost always keep shut so that he can't come in.  I was in the rest room, getting ready for bed and I suddenly heard the window shade make a loud noise.  I looked over there and immediately knew what had happened.  Jack had come in, jumped up on the window sill and either jumped or fell out of the window.  I couldn't see him down there, but a guy was looking up at me, not saying anything or pointing at anything, just looking.
I started praying out loud, grabbed my shoes and my keys and flew out of the door, down the elevator and outside.  I looked all over but couldn't see him.  Then I started to hear his meow.  I couldn't tell if he was in a tree, or down on the ground.  The more I called his name, the louder is meow became.  I finally dropped to my hands and knees and crawled around and between newspaper machines and parked cars and there I found him ...... underneath a car.  He wouldn't' come to me but just kept meowing.  I could tell that his mouth was hurt and that he was bleeding.  I spoke soothingly to him and petted him as I crawled as close as I could under that car.  Then I managed to grab his tail and started gently pulling to try to get him to back out.  All four feet were clawed into the ground as much as he could manage, so I had to pull harder on his tail, hoping that I wasn't causing any further injuries, and hoping that he wouldn't turn on me and use those claws and his teeth.
He didn't and I was able to get him out.  I cradled him close to me and went back into my building and up into my room.  I grabbed a soft towel and wrapped him in it and then walked into Daughter #1's bedroom to do what I dreaded doing ..... waking her up to tell her what happened.
That's when I started crying.

She held him and talked to him while I got on the internet and searched for a nearby 24 hour vet hospital.  I called one, left a message and was told that a dr would return my call in 15 minutes.  We both felt that was too long to wait so after a few minutes I got back on line and called the next place.  A woman actually answered the phone because they really were open all night.  So we got the address, jumped into a cab and headed over.

D1 turned Jack over to the nurse who let us in and said the dr would be up as soon as he'd examined him.
D1 and I sat in a small exam room and cried and cried, saying very little to each other, other than the "I'm so sorry" that came out every 5 minutes or so.  She wouldn't even meet my eye.

The vet came in pretty quickly and said that Jack's jaw had been broken in several places. Part of the bone under his cheek had broken and it seemed to have gone behind his right eye, which explained the bleeding we had seen there.  He said that he didn't seem to have any other orthopedic problems, so that was good.  He was breathing very rapidly, which we had known, but that could be due to the pain and the stress and hopefully not a lung injury.  He said that there may be neurological  damage but that we wouldn't know that for another 24 hours or so.  They had sedated him, and given him pain meds, which makes it hard to assess his neuro condition.  But at least he was out of pain.

Then he started talking about the cost that it would take to fix him.  He was a very, very nice man.  He said that it would not be inexpensive, but that there are programs we could apply for to see if we could get financial help for this.  The problem with that was the time it would take and he needed help that night.  The hospital didn't want to start spending a large amount of money on him if the treatment could not be continued.  He said that he'd work up an estimate for the cost for overnight and then we could decide what to do after that.
He also said that, if we could not afford it, another choice was to go ahead and put him down.  It would be humane and painless and he'd support that.
I think that's pretty much when D1 stopped looking at me altogether.
The dr. left to go get the estimate, leaving us alone in the room.
And even though we didn't have eye contact I assured her that Jack would not be put to sleep.

I paid the estimate for the overnight bill, we went down to see him for a bit.  He was asleep and pain-free, but still a difficult site for D1.
Then we caught a cab back to the apartment and still managed to not look at each other.

I just bought window fans that day.  I had installed 2 in the living room and one in my bedroom.  The one in my bedroom fits perfectly and leaves no room for a cat to get out.  The two in the living room are less fitted, but they seemed secure enough to me to not let a cat over them.
It wasn't one of those windows that he jumped from ..... it was my window that was open about 4 inches.
D1 had expressed her fear of the cat falling when I had told her weeks ago that we weren't going to run the AC when the air outside was cool.  It would be too expensive and just crazy.  She wanted me to install screens on the windows, which would be astronomical and isn't all that easy to find around here.  So I opted for opening the windows a crack, except for in my room, because the cat wasn't allowed in there and the door was always (usually) kept shut.

Then I saw the window fans at Beth's house and thought that those would work.  We could have the window open, yet blocked because a fan was set in it.

This morning, after D1 left for work, I removed the fans from the living room windows and went back to opening them a crack.  I'm sure that they'll be completely shut if and when Jack comes back.

So hopefully you can see why I completely see this as my fault.  As I'm sure she does.
Which is why, when she stopped by the hospital this morning to get the astronomical estimate for what the surgery and after care would cost, I said, "OK."
Because what else could I say?

I haven't stopped crying since this happened.  It's unbelievable how much guilt a heart can hold.

But you want to know the kicker?  The real heart-splitting thing that I canNOT get out of my head? The thing that causes just as many tears today?

The doctor said this: "We need to wait for the swelling to go down before we can operate."

And though this is in NO WAY the same ...... and very very INSANE ...... those are the exact words I was told 5 years and almost 9 months ago..
EX.
ACT.

And those words are killing me all over again.

It's not about the cat.  Or whether or not he lives.
It's about D1, and what this will do to her, and her partner, whom I care for very much.
And what it will do it us.

But more than that ..... it's about Jim.  It's about waiting all that damn day before taking him into surgery.  It's about not being able to wait, in the end.
And it's about none of that mattering ...... in the end.
Because it was the end.

It's about some things that never end.
No matter how much you wish they would.

Taking a Moment ......

...... amidst the joy, the laughs, the tears (feeling very teary this morning), the friendships - new and old, the chaos and the wonderfulness that is Camp Widow ...... to write a bit.

I'm sitting on a comfortable sofa watching the women and men around me interact, laugh, and have all kinds of discussions.  In the last 15 minutes I've heard snippets of conversations centered around how to tell if your toddler is having developmental problems, meditation, awesome trips to India, what to expect when the "flash mob dance" occurs later this afternoon, and "Damnit Dolls".

So as not to leave you hanging, these are the Damnit Dolls:

A friend sells them and yes, I have one.  The purpose of the doll is to help you vent your frustration.  It's a very sturdy, stuffed doll that you hit against the wall or something solid, while you say, "Damnit, dammit, dammit!!".
You'd be surprised at how extremely satisfying that can be.
Not that I'd ever say that while I used it.
A-hem.

It's been a great Camp in just the one day we've had.  Since it's the 5th anniversary of Soaring Spirits many of the people who haven't attended in the last year or so have come to this one.  It's been like "old home week".  I love seeing their faces and sharing those long, hard hugs.
Love.
It.

Yesterday the mayor of San Diego signed a declaration making July 28th 2013 "Camp Widow Day".  He was to come to our reception last night and give us the framed declaration himself.  Those of us who either live near here or have been watching the local news here over the past week or so (like me) were guessing what the odds were that he'd show.
I thought they were extremely low.
Too bad I couldn't put money on that because he didn't show.
Some guy from his security team came (late) to tell us.  We made him take the place of the mayor and speak to the crowd, awarding us the declaration.
Poor guy.
He even had to take a photo with us.
Maybe he'll be elected next time instead of his boss.

One would think that if one's public office job wasn't going so well at the moment, one might consider a photo op with 250 or so widowed people to be a pretty good thing to do.
One might also think that standing up a crowd of 250 or so widowed people is definitely not a good idea.
One might want to be looking for a new job, doncha think?
: )

This morning we had our key note address and we had a big surprise for the group.  Someone had decided to contact the White House about Camp, and about the declaration.  Less than 5 days after she sent an email we received a letter.
A personal letter.
From Vice President Joe Biden.
Who is himself a widower.

It was very thoughtful.
And brought tears to my eyes.
There are way too many of us, and that never ceases to make me sad.
Our ranks grow every day.
Unfortunately.

There are people walking around today, enjoying life and their relationships ...... and have no idea that in the next day or so they, too, will join this club.
That really sucks.

Anyway, this is always a happy/sad/joyful/tearful weekend.
It's a balance for me ...... and finely tuning that balance each time.
That's getting easier with each camp, thankfully, and with time.
This is never a weekend I dread, but one I look forward to tremendously.

It's a weekend where all of our hard work helps other men and women to feel normal ...... some for the first time since their loved one died.
And trust me, when you're widowed you long to feel normal.
Even if it's only for a weekend.

Happy Saturday, Peeps.
: )

This Was One Hell of a ......

...... day.

I am exhausted.  Physically as well as emotionally.
I have been teetering on the edge all day long, and was pushed right over it a couple of times.

I managed to pull myself back up on that ledge, but I'll be glad to go to bed and hopefully get a good night's sleep (ha!) and start anew tomorrow.

I didn't sleep well last night.  Son #3 didn't get home until sometime around 2:00 a.m. or so.  I was asleep when he came home.
But then I was wide awake at 5:30, so that's what time my day started.
And it started off most crappily.

I won't go into the reason why, but emotions are running high around here at the thought of selling this house.
I know it doesn't matter when I sell it ...... the emotions will run high no matter when that occurs.  I know that I will be shedding many, many tears as the final day here approaches.  I'm already shedding tears at just the thought of that.
I know that I'm ready to sell it and to move forward.  This house that used to be a "home" has started to become something I resent.  It's too big, it's too much work, it's too expensive to keep up with, and it's too difficult to do all of the upkeep.
By myself.
So it's time to move forward.

But as I wrote on Widow's Voice, moving forward isn't as "black and white" as I'd like it to be.  Just because I'm ready doesn't mean that it won't be painful. Hell, it's already painful.    And that pain doesn't mean that I'm not ready.
That pain is a natural part of my moving forward.  And while I am most times ready for that, and sometimes happy and hopeful for it, I'm never ready for the pain that it brings.
Because sometimes ...... moving forward means leaving a part of me behind.
And worse, leaving a part of us.

Today was a teary day.

I'm not good at starting the day off very early in the morning, and very negatively.  No matter how I tried to turn the day around, it just kept going down hill.

I was so exhausted from tossing and turning all night long, and constantly looking at the clock, that becoming wide awake at 5:30 a.m. just seemed to set things into motion.

I had to call a plumber to come and replace a pipe under one of the bathroom sinks.  I didn't think it would be very expensive.
I was wrong.
$500 dollars later I have a new pipe and two new valves.
I think I should've at least had a free lunch thrown in there.

And then there's my refrigerator.
That would be the fridge that I bought 3 years ago when I had my kitchen remodeled.
Evidently it's quite a lemon.
A lemon whose warranty ran out after the first 12 months.
Kudos to you, General Electric.  I will never buy another product from you.

The ice maker has died.  Bit the bullet. Kicked the bucket. Keeled over.  Is no more.
Moved on to its final resting place.  Crossed the river Jordan.
Joined the choir eternal.
(what's that from?)

So I get to pay almost $500 for a new one.
Indeed.
And then there's the leak in said fridge.  A leak that the repairman had never seen happen with this type of fridge.  He's stumped.
Which means that when he comes back, hopefully Friday ... before I leave town on Saturday ... we'll get to take every single item out of that fridge.  Shelves and all.
So that he can try to find a leak that seems to be running down the back of it.  On the inside.
That involves removing paneling.  And trying to find the water line to see if it's clogged.  And pulling the fridge away from the wall (gag me with a spoon!).
And all of that will cost way more than I even want to think about.  All because it's not been done before.
I mean, he's worked on GE fridges before.  LOADS of them.  Especially after the first 12 months.
But this ...... this he has never seen, or never heard of.  Nor had anyone back in the office.
I can only imagine the ticket price they'll assign to this job.
I think I can buy a new one for less than this may cost.
So I'm going to look into that.

And it won't be by GE.
Or any of those other similarly built.
Because they all cut off the warranty after 12 months.

Except for LG, who, the repairman said, has really good warranties.

That would've been nice to know 3 years ago.

So I had 3 repairmen in my home working on 2 items that will cost me way more than I had anticipated.

And then, THEN ...... I was pretty much yelled at by someone who wasn't even calling for me.  But I was the mom, so I was the one to receive the full impact of his frustration with his job, his life, and the kids he works with.
Or at least that's what it felt like.
He apologized about 10 minutes after blasting me.
But it was too late.
The edge had been reached.
And breached.
And I fell right over it and cried all the way down.

It was just one of those days.
Not enough sleep.
Not enough kindness early in the morning.
Feeling taken advantage of by repairmen who seem to charge way, way too much.
Being the whipping post for a frustrated government worker.
And having very much to do before I leave Saturday to go to San Diego.
Camp Widow is right around the corner.  I have much to do beforehand.

Add that to the list above ...... and you get one very frustrated, completely overwhelmed, weepy woman who just wishes, for only a nano second because that's all she ever allows herself to wish this ......
that her "before" was still her "present".
And that she could open the door at 6:00 p.m. and welcome Jim home.  And then sit down with him, almost in his lap, and just cry while he holds her.
Just to be held while I cry everything out.

But that can't happen so it's best to wipe away those tears, stop wishing for something that will never be, and get back to the work of being in charge and prepared and ready.
And never, ever hurt.
There's no time to be hurt.

So I just plan to move forward.
Knowing that Jim is inside my heart, so I can't really leave him ... or part of us ... behind.

But it sure as hell feels that way.



P.S.  I also realize that the hardest part of all of this will be walking out of this house for the very last time.  But I know that I will feel nothing but relief the moment I walk into my next home.  A home for me.  A home for the next phase.  And for moving forward.

The End of May ......

...... has always brought my family many new beginnings over the years.

Our twin daughters were born on Memorial Day weekend.
Our oldest son was born on Memorial Day weekend.
All of our children graduated from high school on Memorial Day weekend.
In fact, our youngest son graduated this past Saturday.

But the biggest beginning for our family ...... began 30 years ago ...... on Memorial Day weekend.
Thirty years ago ...... today. (This Wednesday post is actually being written on Tuesday.)

Jim and I were married thirty years ago.
Today.

And so what was once viewed by me as a month full of beginnings ...... is now a reminder of the biggest ending I've ever experienced.

Today should have been my 30th anniversary.
But it was not.

Jim should've been here for Son #3's graduation.
But he was not.
Exactly like he wasn't here for Son #1's or Son #2's, not to mention the various college graduations that we've celebrated without him.

Thirty years ago today I cried.
I was nervous.  I was scared.  I was nauseous.
But mostly ...... I was so in love with him, that those feelings were short-lived.
And the tears I shed were tears of love, joy and relief.

I know that I wasn't the only one who cried that day.
Jim also cried as we spoke our vows to love each other until the only thing that parted us was death.

We fulfilled those vows.

And thirty years later, I still cry ...... although the tears I shed today were very different from the ones I cried that day.
The day of our new beginning.

I didn't expect to cry today.
But then, after five and a half years of living without him, I rarely expect the tears that come.
Which, as usual, seems to make them worse.

I shed more tears this weekend than I have in a long time.
I never stop missing him, but sometimes the missing feels larger than usual.
It felt very large as I watched our "baby" walk across that stage Saturday night.
It felt enormous this morning, as it occurred to me two hours after I awoke, what this day used to be. And it grew as I realized that on this day ...... 30 years later ...... I was the only one crying.

As time goes by, I do cry less.
I am happy much more often than I am sad.
 And I'm starting to recognize the days that symbolize the new beginnings in our lives.

But I think that I will most likely always feel, that the 28th day of May ...... feels more like an end.

Please visit these wonderful blogs today.  It's our monthly Widowed Blog Hop!

Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Red’s The M3 Blog
Christine of Widow Island
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
The Widow’s Mite: Encouragement for Widows
Widowed Yogi
Choosing Grace Today

One More Day ......

...... after a once-in-a-lifetime event for one of my children.

I managed to keep dry eyes.

Until this morning ......

...... when I looked at this picture:

That's Son #3 and the superintendent of our schools.
Jim worked with him before he was elected to the school board, and of course much more after that.  After Jim was elected for a second term he became the board president, which cemented an already easy friendship full of respect, admiration and loyalty.

That picture ...... speaks volumes.

I Miss Him ......

...... even now.
Especially now.

This is the third high school graduation I've had to do without him (and I've done 5 college graduations with Bachelors and Masters).
All 3 sons have had to go through this without him.
So sucky.

And while life has gotten better, and I am mostly happy, these days are still, and always will be, difficult.

Last night it hit me, because I stopped long enough to think about it.  I usually try to not do that.
Think, that is.
About that.
I cried.
Hopefully I'm done crying about it.
But I'm not taking any bets.

I'm proud of Son #3.
It's been a very long road to here.

Happy Graduation, Son.
I love you.
And so does Dad.
:)

Camp Widow East ......

...... was amazing.
As always, but even more so.  I think it gets better every time.

Better and yet ...... sometimes more difficult.

It's so difficult to look into the eyes of someone who's been recently widowed.  We had several people who were only 3 months out.
And quite a few young women who became widowed while they were pregnant.
T.A.N.W.

There is never a shortage of widowed people.  Our ranks keep growing.
No matter how much we hate it and wish they wouldn't.
But at least we at Soaring Spirits are getting the word out:
You are not alone.

The eyes of the recently widowed are exactly how I remember mine looked.  How mine still look in my "after" photos:  empty, lifeless ...... dark.
And so very sad.

But it's interesting.  Their eyes look that way on Friday morning.
Their posture looks what way, too.
But by Sunday morning, only 48 hours later, things are different.  Most of them have a small spark in their eyes.  Not the same spark they had "before", to be sure, but a spark none the less.
And a small spark can grow and grow, over time, until it lights up the entire face.
And body.

Most of them wouldn't believe that.
But then most of them wouldn't have believed they'd feel differently on Sunday than they did on Friday.

And most of them wouldn't have believed how much fun they'd have Saturday night ...... dancing.  And taking goofy pictures in a photo booth.

This is the dress I wore this year:

I love this dress (and the red 4" heels that I had on!).  And not because it had no zipper and I could just pull it on over my head.  Which, I have to say, was a huge positive.
And not because it was sheer at the arms and below my thighs.  But I did love that I could show a little skin, without really showing skin.
I would never have guessed that I'd like that ...... 5 years ago.
Never.

The reason I loved this dress so much is ...... I found it at H&M.
Really.
For under $100.
No, I'm not kidding.
I know!

After Helen Hunt wore an H&M dress to the Oscars ...... I knew that anything was possible.
And that I had to go there and look at their formal dresses ...... dresses I didn't even know they sold.
Before seeing Helen ...... and loving her for being more like "the rest of us".

Here is my picture right before I turned in for the night/morning.  We used glo sticks again this year to light our way to the beach.
I was a beacon of leadership.
Ha!

Here are the pictures from the beach later that night.  It was pretty chilly so the hotel provided towels for us to wrap up in, which explains why we all look like we have blue blankets on.

This moved me ...... they wrote the names of their loved ones in the sand.  And it certainly felt like they were right there, with us.

It was a great weekend.
Not for every single person.
Grief is hard.
And sometimes it drags you so far down that you can't breathe.
Or be around anyone.
Or want to believe that you'll feel better some day.

Even though you will.
In time.

The thing I love most about Camp?
Seeing people returning.
And the spark in their eyes that's bigger than it was the year before.

Camp Widow West is only 2 months away.
And though I know there will be some difficult moments ......
...... I can hardly wait.
:)

Happy Friday, Peeps.
:)

My Weekend ......

...... through the eyes and words of someone else.  Someone newer to the "club".  And someone new to Camp Widow.
This post was written by Kelley Lynn, and I am proud and yet humbled to call her my friend.  She has a beautiful heart (and a beyond-witty sense of humor, which kind of makes us twins, except I was born first) and she's writes beautifully.  Hopefully she won't mind me posting her words here.  She wrote them on her blog, which you can find here.

Enjoy.  You really will.

Hope Comes Alive at “Camp Widow"

Two women are standing alongside the ocean in front of the Marriott Resort in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They are lingering behind about a hundred or so other widowed people who have started to go back inside – women, men, married, unmarried, engaged, same-sex partners, old, young, international. People of all kinds, from all over, with one very harsh thing in common: the person they intended to spend the rest of their life with is gone. They died. 

It is a little after midnight on Saturday, April 20th, and we have just finished a ceremonial “ocean letter release”, where we wrote love notes to our partners, attached them to ribbon and hearts (all biodegredable), and tossed them out to sea. Most have left the beach area by now, but some of us can’t just yet, because the moment is too big and too powerful, and we still aren’t done talking to our husbands. We never will be.

“ORBS” appeared in this cool shot of our ocean-letter-release on the beach

One of these two women happens to be me, and this other woman, maybe about 5 or 10 years older than myself, comes walking up to me with tears in her eyes, and a few glasses of wine in her stomach. It is pitch black outside, and only the stars and the waves washing up on shore act as our light to see one another. “I don’t know who the hell you are, and I don’t really care”, she says to me matter-of-factly. Then she gives me a hug and starts to cry. We stand there together, arm in arm, looking out at the water. There are no other words. No explanations of any kind. There is no need for any of that. Because I already understand. In fact, everyone here understands. Welcome to Camp Widow.

New friends …

Just 21 months ago, in the life where my husband was alive and well and we were happily, joyfully married; I knew nothing of such a place, nor did I care to hear of such a place, quite frankly. But when you wake up in a new world one morning where a freight train dressed up as a massive heart-attack decides to kill your husband for no damn reason, what becomes important to you quickly changes. Writing and comedy have always been coping mechanisms and saviors for me, so I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, and then I wrote some more. I created this blog and started furiously typing out all of the ugly, painful, horrific, and often hilarious truths about what it’s like to lose your husband and the life you knew.

And then, a few months ago, an angel on earth disguised as a woman named Michele Neff Hernandez, found my blog and contacted me. She told me she runs an organization that connects widowed people worldwide, called Soaring Spirits. (www.sslf.org) Through that organization, she also founded and runs this amazing annual event called Camp Widow.She wondered if I would like to be one of the 7 featured writers for their website’s blog called Widow’s Voice, and she invited me to deliver a 75-minute comedy Workshop / Performance on grief and loss, at Camp Widow. Never in a million years did I imagine that saying yes to both of these wild ideas would have such an impact on my life. But then again, who ever imagined I would be widowed at age 39?

Me and Michele …

In a lot of ways, it is almost impossible to describe something like Camp Widow in writing. I could go into all the specifics about workshops and other people’s personal stories of loss and all of that, but I wouldnt ever be able to capture the feeling or the tone or the magic of what went on there, inside this blogpiece. It is one of those things in life that is simply an “experience”, and you really need to be there to understand the impact and the power of its existance. However, if you are a widowed person and you are reading this right now, try to picture the following:

Try to picture a place where complete strangers give you a hug or a smile or a comforting look, because they know where you’ve been, and they’ve walked where you’ve walked. A place that holds a formal and elegant Banquet Dinner Reception for it’s “campers”, and where the D.J. is specifically ordered not to play any slow songs the entire night – ever. A place where you can dance freely and openly and have fun, without worrying about how you look to others, or whether people will think that you must be “over it” or “getting better”, simply because you are out and you have dared to laugh or feel joy again. A place where every single person around you understands how you can go from exhausted to angry to elation – all in the course of one hour. A place where you meet men and women whom you have been talking with for weeks or months or years online, and when you see them in person, you feel that instant connection, that bond that brings you closer. A place where they hand out kleenex before Workshops and Seminars, and where people don’t look the other way or act all awkward when you bust out crying or when you mention your loved ones name. A place where you are no longer the misfit, because everyone is the misfit. Everyone is Rudolph, and you all get to hang out on The Island of Misfit Toys. Throw in 2 full days of wonderful speakers, presenters, Workshops, and Round-Table discussions (like a support-group, but with specified topics such as Sudden Death, Widowed Without Kids, Long-Term Illness, Finances and many other subjects), all held at a gorgeous beachfront Marriott hotel with cockail parties and social events put together just for us; and you’ve got yourself a truly unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience.

at the formal banquet with new friend Diane, who drove us to South Carolina

None of this would even exist without that Angel I mentioned before – the one named Michele who is walking around earth in a human costume. When her husband Phil went out for his evening bike ride on August 31, 2005, and was hit by a Suburban, her entire world flipped upside down in seconds. Left with their 3 children and a planned future stolen away by death, Michele used her pain and her struggle and her grief to help other people all over the world who were going through something just as lonely and isolating and frightening. She took something that is terrifying on every level, and with it, she created this place of hope and dreams and inspiration. She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to do a damn thing, if you really think about it. To me, the very idea that she didnt drown or hide inside of her grief, but chose to reach out with it in the most expanding way possible, while still raising a family alone, makes this woman one of the most heroic people I have ever met. 

Michele with Raffle Winner / camper at Banquet

 At Camp Widow, Michele delivers a Key Note Address to all the campers who traveled from all over the country, and the world, to be at this exciting event. In her speech this past weekend, she quoted from the beautiful poem A Summer Day by Mary Oliver, in asking us all this incredible question:

“Tell me – what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

It is a loaded question, especially when you are grieving the loss of your life-partner, and just trying to regain your footing. And when a non-widowed person tries to deliver me words of inspiration such as this, or tells me how strong I am, or some other cliche or cheesy thing – it just sounds like pointless words. Like the teacher’s voice from all the Charlie Brown specials, where you just heard that noise coming from the phone or loud-speaker: Waah waah wah wah waaa….

Walking the beach …

It is not that I dont appreciate friends and family trying to encourage me or believing in me. I do. I really do. However, when someone who hasn’t been through this stands there and tells you that things will get better or that you will be okay or that you will have joy again, it is very tough to believe them. Because truthfully – they just dont know. They havent walked through the fire, so how can they say how much it burns and when it will stop? They havent felt the torture of nails being pounded into their flesh over and over again, so how can they end the bleeding? They haven’t sat all curled up in their beds, with recurring visions of that horrible, traumatic day – flashing before them on an endless loop, asking themselves why they should bother to get up today and continue on with existing, so how can they possibly know about what it means to lose hope, and how scary and awful that feels?

But this woman. This Angel. This woman with the warm and inviting voice - this woman who said a casual goodbye to her husband and then never saw him again - this woman who somehow found the way to rebuild her life – this woman who created and invented a place for people like me to go, where we can feel wanted and loved and not ashamed or shunned by society or forgotten about, even if only for a weekend – this woman who embodies everything good and everything real – when this woman stands up on a stage and tells a crowd of widowed people that hope matters, or that we can still have an amazing life, even if its not the one we wanted or planned – I believe her. I believe her because she did it herself. I believe her because she is standing there in front of me, and she is made up of all her pain and strength and fear and love and grief, and she continues on. I believe her because her life will always be complicated and wonderful and joyful and tinged with sadness and loss, and because she married again, to a man who not only doesnt feel threatened that she will always love her late husband, but who fully supports her calling to help other widowed people throughout the world. I believe her – simply because she is alive.

For those that have been asking what Camp Widow did for me, or if Im “all better” now that I went there – as Ive said many times, there is simply no such thing as being “better”. There just isnt. However, there is such a thing as recreating your life, while always carrying your partner with you, deep inside of your soul. There is such a thing as finding hope where you thought there was none, and light where you saw only darkness, and tomorrow where you couldn’t see past today. There are new relationships and friendships to explore, and people to love, and things to learn, and beauty to see. And there is the fact that even though today I feel hopeful and inspired – tomorrow I will feel different. And then different once again. That’s just grief. And that’s okay. 

 And then, of course, there is that lingering and very important question that still needs to be thought about, pondered over, and answered:

What is it I plan to do with my one wild and precious life?

I have no idea. But then again, maybe I do. In a lot of ways, I think I am already doing it.

Soaring Spirits is a non-profit organization helping the widowed worldwide, and celebrating its 5 year anniversary of Camp Widow West (coming up in San Diego, June 28), and 2 year anniversary of Camp Widow East (last weekend in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.) If you know anyone who is widowed, please tell them about this magical place where they can begin to live their life again, one tiny moment at a time. Please donate towww.sslf.org , and also check out www.micheleneffhernandez.com. Thank you so much.

Thank you, Kelley, for saying it better than I could.
xoxoxo

Happy Wednesday, Peeps.
:)