Things I'll Never Have Again...

Last night my son and I went on a date night. We went to dinner at Applebee's and then to watch the new Jason Bourne movie. Yes, a full on "man movie" is most often what we choose for date nights. They are movies his dad would have liked. 

I was in a funk the entire evening, well the entire day really. See, my heart and mind like to remind me every hour of what I'll never have again. And it consumes my soul enough that true happiness is something I know that I'll never have again. 

I'll never have a date night with my husband again. He won't hold my hand, guide me into the theater or restaurant with his hand on the small of my back. We won't sit and flirt and laugh all through dinner, and my goodness how I miss his laugh. 

I'll never have a sense of confidence. Ever again. He was the only man who has ever squashed my self-esteem issues, and I don't mean to the point that I was like, "oh, look at me, I'm hot and have an awesome body." I mean, to the point that even though I KNOW my body has "issues" (stretch marks, cellulite, ya know), he complimented me enough to make me feel sexy even with all my flaws. He had a way of doing that with just a look. Sometimes it was with his silly grin, his smoldering eyes, and a little "ck-ck " noise. It was as if he actually worshipped my body; no man will ever do that again. Mike actually looked at it and relished every second; he boosted my confidence as a wife and as a woman more than anyone. 

I'll never have a completely relaxed and comfortable demeanor again. I know that may sound weird, but in the world of widowhood, it's not weird. I'm always on edge and it's almost like I'm looking for Mike's face in a crowd. It is the strangest, most heart wrenching thing to do but I can't stop it. Or it's like I'm afraid I'm doing the wrong thing, or that something will go wrong if it hasn't already.  It also happens because I'm overwhelmed with estate happenings, probate court, bills, vehicle maintenance, raising my son...alone...ya know. 

I'll also not ever have a clean slate wherever I go. If I go anywhere, and I mean ANYWHERE that I have been already, holy cow do the memories flood my mind. For 13 years I did everything with him. Everywhere I went he had been with me at some point; ballparks, shopping malls, restaurants, recreation parks, etc... It is insane. But when I am somewhere I've been before with Mike, regardless who I am with, my mind wanders to those memories. And I'm trying my hardest to make new memories and to meet new people and to have new experiences, but unless I move somewhere across the country, I'll never have a place without memories. And at this moment in time (could totally change in a second), I've no intention of ever leaving our home. 

I'll never have Mike to help with this whole parenting thing. I needed him to talk to through fears, sicknesses, stitches, school work, and everything in between. We made decisions together and together we would all sit at the kitchen table for homework time. I did the English and Reading, Social Studies, and usually Science, and Mike handled the Math. We worked as a team on organizing Conner's folder and backpack, on signing parent documents, and so on. It'll just be me from here on out. And I suck at Math, FYI. So, I'm sorry son. 

But what so desperately hurts and literally keeps me awake many nights, is the realization that I'll never have my husband and Conner will never have his dad for all the big things there are to come. I'll not be able to look into Mike's eyes as we both swell with pride, and I am moved to tears, when our boy does something great. And I'll not be able to "fix it" when Conner makes eye contact with me, gives me a forced smile, and we both will know what he will be thinking: my gosh, I wish Dad was here. I can't even go into detail about what moments I can imagine because my stomach instantly knots. 

I'm trying desperately to build a life for Conner and me. A new start if you will, but it's just not happening. It's not coming together. I just keep realizing what I'll never have again, what Conner will never have again, and I cannot get a grip on it. I cannot force it deep down inside enough to ignore it and move forward. Sure, I have moments of what everyone else calls "strength", but they actually seem to be lessening lately. I don't know why; I guess it's just the continuing cycle of grief. The one I'll repeat over and over and over again until I get to see my husband. 

Pray for the widows/widowers and their children. We all need it and appreciate it. I hope you know what you have and appreciate every second of it, for one day you may realize what you'll never have again as well. I hope not, but just in case, don't waste one second without proving your love and appreciation for those in your life. 

God Bless...

NFAxI...#stillhis

Love,

Veronica 

Dear Wister, (another letter)...

Dear Wister, 

I have more to say to you about these terribly troubling times. 

Your first few days will feel like they are going to break you in half. You will feel moments of numbness to everyone and everything around you. It will be surreal and your soul will not accept the reality of your spouse's death. Honest. It is such a strange realm; like an out of body experience where you stand from afar watching yourself crumble to a million pieces over and over again. 

I fell apart so many times the first several months. The first few weeks I experienced my first and then subsequently, many panic attacks. When you do, have someone get you a cold damp washcloth and close your eyes and will your breaths to slow. It's going to take work, but you will come back. Just hold on. Those panic attacks are scary and terrible. Mine hit mostly out of anger or shock still that my husband was suddenly dead and my family for which I had prayed my entire life was gone. It was complete no more. 

I'm so terribly sorry, my sweet wister. I hate more than anything that anyone else is having to experience what I am. It sucks. Plain and simple, no sugar coating, it is a screwed up lifestyle to live. And worse--we didn't choose it!!!! We don't want to live the lifestyle of a widow! 

But let me tell you something...I know with all my Christian heart that God has a plan. I do. I fully and 100% believe that, but that belief and knowledge will do not ounce of good the first little while, honey. It won't. It won't bring you comfort. It won't settle your fears, or calm your churning stomach and shaking hands; it won't prevent your soul from imploding because you miss your spouse so much. It won't stop your tears from falling for a million hours, or your child's heart from being ripped out; it won't help you sleep at night or understand WHY. It won't. 

But what it will do is keep you praying. Even when I've become angry with God (and yes, I know I'm not supposed to be angry with him, but it's a natural human instinct to), I've never stopped praying. I don't understand His plan for robbing us of Mike. The world lost a good, hard working, handsome, smart as heck man that day. We lost out. God gained. 

I'll never understand why my child had to fall to his knees beside me in our gravel drive beside my truck that cold December day. I'll never understand why my life was finally what I had hoped and longed for my whole life, and then just in the blink of an eye it was all washed away. I'll never understand the ache that is and will remain in my soul for the rest of my life. 

Widowhood changes you. It changes where your mind wanders. Widowhood changes your perspective, your attitude, your speech, your fears...it changes all of you. In some ways you will be weaker. I was so weak in the beginning days and weeks; I had to be helped to walk almost everywhere I went. I couldn't drive myself anywhere; I slept during the day when I could because night time brought new sadness. I would reach across to feel Conner beside me and would cry because he was where his daddy should have been. I didn't wear makeup for months after Mike passed. It took me weeks to get back to work full time and I was more timid and quiet and so sad. My students were amazing though and still worked so hard for me; they gave me quiet when I needed it. I left my classroom to sob in my principal's office several times.  I am weaker in some ways still (and not all physically like breaking down in sobs or needing help to walk), like I feel like my voice is weaker. I don't talk as much or as loudly as I used too I don't go out with friends often and I'm not as extroverted as I once was. I haven't grown all the way back together and I never will. I'll be scarred and bruised from this tragedy for the rest of my life and so will you. But honey, one day...and it will take a long time, that weakness will give way to strength. I know it seems doubtful but I promise it will. 

Your strength will come from those countless prayers you have sent up, even in anger. It will come when you have to stand and walk to the casket before he is lowered into the ground. Strength will come when you sleep in your bed alone for the first time. It will come when you visit the local grocery store and make it out without breaking down. Strength will come when you fall to your knees to pray with your child who is so broken. Strength will come when you have to speak to different people about bills and what is owed and who is the beneficiary on life insurance policies. Strength will come when you return to work, even if it is only for a couple of hours at first. 

When weeks or months (and you take your time!!! You are on no one's terms but yours!) have passed and you clean out his drawers, strength will come. Strength will come when you go through the closet and fold his clothes nice and neat for the last time. Strength will come when you decide to either donate his clothing to goodwill or save them for your son, if you have one. Strength will come when you look at his face in the pictures on your walls and you whisper, "I love and miss you." You will do that every day.

When you decide to go to church, strength will come. It won't be easy because you will be washed with so many emotions, but go. I'm not saying you must go all the time, but go. Somewhere...sometime...go. Pray for strength and thank God for what strength you've been blessed with thus far. 

When months, or a year, or more than a year has passed and you decide to date again...strength will come.  When you take that first phone call or text asking if you'd like to go to dinner sometime, strength will come. Strength will come when you get dressed up for another man other than your husband. It will come when your hands are shaking with nerves and your stomach is doing flips, but you get dressed, do your makeup and fix your hair anyway. It will come when you look in the mirror and see such sadness and brokenness in your own eyes but want so desperately to live again. It will come when you walk out to him and he smiles and says, "how are you?" Strength will come when your nerves settle enough to laugh when he says something funny. Strength will come when you find yourself having a good time and the guilt sneaks in. Do NOT feel guilt! You did not choose to be a widow, honey, and you are doing NOTHING wrong by going on a date. Nothing. You are not cheating and people will talk about you anyway, so take that step in strength. Take that step back into life. It's totally fine if nothing comes of it...but it is equally fine if you find yourself falling in love again. 

Strength will come when you decide to go on a second date, and it will come as you smile when you see his name across your phone screen with a text to say hi. Strength will come when after a date you come home to see your husband's picture on the wall and you still tell him you love and miss him. That's ok! If the man you decide to date cannot accept and appreciate that you still love your husband, then he isn't worth having. If he is the right kind of man, he will know that there is no competition with a dead man; there is just an endless love that will remain for that marriage. You were in love when he died; you had no say in the end of your marriage and still love him. You always will, honey, but you have enough love inside of that beautiful beating heart of yours to love your husband and someone new. It's a different kind of love and a different kind of relationship, but both are beautiful. 

Strength will come when you visit your husband's headstone and tell him about this new man. You will sob on your knees while you talk to him and tell him about it. But it will be strength that brings those words to fruition. It will be scary and you'll be nervous to tell him, but it will be good for your soul. He wants you to be happy. He wants you to step forward in your life, for you and your children. He would do the same thing and he is proud of you for taking that step. And what is so strange but beautifully wonderful, is when you know it is the right guy, you will feel your husband smiling and nodding his head that it's good. I know you might think I am stone cold crazy right now, and part of me is, but I'm telling you the truth. When you start feeling something for this new man, I swear to you that you will receive some nod of affirmation from your husband; you will feel it! And that will bring you more strength. 

When you find yourself laughing a genuine laugh, strength will come. You'll find that strength is with you when you go to bed without crying, or when you wake with a smile on your face because you realize you're surviving what you though would kill you. Strength will come when you feel happiness again. 

Strength will come in so many ways and in so many things that you do and say, my sweet wister. I know exactly how you felt in the beginning, and you might still be in the beginning. And you might think I'm full of it! I know that's exactly what I thought when I read the "widow books" (too many of them are self-help...well seriously, you can barely breathe so you don't want to read a bunch of self-help crap), but just keep breathing and praying for strength and I promise, it will come. But this is not by any stretch a "self-help" reading--this is an honest experience from a young widow who thought her life was over the day her husband died. That's all. Just widow-to-widow talk about my experience in this crappy club. 

I love you my sweet wister, and wish so much strength and peace for you and your children. I really do. 

Remember to just keep breathing and pray for strength. Eventually...it will come. 

Much love and hugs,

Your wister...

Veronica 

A Letter to the New Widow...

Dearest Wister,

I know. 

I know how insanely scared and in shock you are. I know that you can't believe the world has just crashed down around you. Your home will be filled with lots of people. It is going to be overwhelming in so many ways: overwhelming love and gratitude for all of the people who care enough to show up; overwhelming sadness for the reason they are in your home; overwhelming because now that your home is finally overflowing with people you love, the most important person is missing. You're going to have to breathe. Just keep breathing. Say a prayer for strength. 

I know that your hands are shaking and that your heart is beating uncontrollably, yet in the same instance you fear it will stop beating. It won't stop. It will beat to a new rhythm one day. It will just take a while. I know you are sitting in a chair or on the couch and you just cannot grasp that this is the new reality. Honey, I'm so incredibly, unimaginably sorry. I truly truly am. Just keep breathing. And say a prayer for strength. 

When you see your husband or wife for the first time after, you're going to have to muster the strength to do it. I chose not to see Mike's face because I was told he took a pretty hard hit to the side of his face and head when he fell into the concrete mixer. I did not want to see him any other way than as his handsome, perfect self. But I did want to hold his hand. The funeral director, who is also a friend, covered Mike's face for me but pulled his hand free of the white sheet so that I could hold it. You do what you're comfortable with and the funeral director will be more than willing to oblige. Don't be afraid to hold his hand. Don't be afraid to lay your head on his chest. You will miss the sound of his heartbeat that used to be there when your head rested on him. I know that you will fall down, but someone will be there to pick you up. Don't worry about it. Fall if you need to. Scream if you need to. Pray if you need to. But just keep breathing. 

When you visit the funeral home to make arrangements, lean on those next to you. Don't go alone and don't be afraid to go slow. I had to. Your thoughts will be sporadic so it will help to have family there.  It's going to be ridiculously difficult to choose your spouse's final resting place. I mean, no wife or husband should have to choose a casket for the love of your life. Don't go crazy expensive. What's the point? Your spouse cares not what he or she goes into. You will know when the right one appears: Mike's was an old barnwood casket with an image of a hayfield embroideried on the inside. It was him. You'll know. And when you know, it will bring you to your knees because it is real. But just keep breathing. And say a prayer for strength. 

When you sleep, and in the beginning sleep will not come without medication, you will have dreams. Some will be of sweet memories, some of being with him again and they will seem so real, and some will be the reality of how he died; all will be heart breaking and gut wrenching. You will awaken with tears streaming down your face. Your hands will again shake uncontrollably and you'll hyperventilate. Take your time and get your breath back. Just hang on tight, my dear wister. It all takes time...and breathing...and praying. 

The first morning after will be the strangest morning of your life. The old habits that the two of you shared will be hard to break. You'll roll over to see him laying there but there will only be an empty space that seems to stretch a mile. Your heart will break into a million pieces all over again. It's going to do that for a long, long time my wister. And I'm so sorry. 

You'll rise to an empty and silent room, and will literally have to relive the day you lost him. You will have to reaccept your new reality every single day for a long long time. You're going to need help. It's going to make you angry that you need help, but do not let your anger or pride get in your way. Accept the help. It just shows how much you're loved. 

If you have children, know that they will probably be stronger than you in the beginning. You will have so many friends and family around that you won't have to worry if your children are being fed or played with. They are. They are distracted for the first while. Children are resilient, but let me tell you, in the beginning their strength will surprise you but it is only because they are in shock. Grief will grab hold of your children sooner or later and it will kill a piece of you. But hold them tightly, take them to counseling, enlist their school counselor to help, and if need be ask your doctor about a mild anti-depressant. It took me a long while to move past the stigma of my son being on Prozac, but if it is what he needs to help him fight the suffering, then we will do it as long as necessary. We are grown people. We can mask much of our pain and suffering; we can grit our teeth, clench our jaw, scream every cuss word ever invented, get up, shower, and slap a sickeningly fake smile on our faces. Our beautiful, innocent children who have been robbed of one of their parents haven't mastered the art of faking it yet. Just hold on tight. Keep breathing and pray hard for strength. 

After the dust has settled, the funeral had passed, and the people are gone, is when things get real. Ugly, scary, messy, and so much more. But unfortunately you're not the first and you won't be the last. 

There is a whole community of us, my dear wister. We are in every town and city. We are in every school district and mall. We cover the walls of Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. We blog to get both the ugliness and hope out. Lean on us. Make connections. Read, listen, write, and speak. Speak your pain and your truth in the struggle to survive widowhood. Tell your story so that some other unsuspecting person can know that when it happens to him or her, it is totally normal to have all the roller coaster emotions and thoughts. 

You're not going to go crazy. 

You're not going to die.

Your children will grow into strong adults.

You will forge new paths and will come out the other side much wiser than you ever imagined.

You will learn to not plan long-term and that is actually a gift. Do what makes you happy when it makes you happy! 

If work sucks, then quit! Get a different job. 

You will learn to live for the moment with your family and friends. 

You will call them more, text more, visit more, and never part without saying "I love you". 

You will break down into uncontrollable sobs at the most inconvenient times, but who cares? NOBODY. 

You will lose weight in the beginning but eventually your appetite will return. 

You will be so incredibly tired that you can't muster the energy to exercise (unless you already had that habit fully developed). 

You will hear new meanings in certain songs. 

You will find there are some songs you can no longer listen to, or movies you can no longer watch. 

But then you will find new music and new movies. 

You will laugh again. And I mean that true side-splitting laugh. I know it seems impossible but I promise, you will. 

You will live again my sweet wister. It will take a long time; it will be a very difficult struggle. 

You will fall down many times, but keep praying even when you are angry. 

Keep praying even when you think you don't deserve anything good because of all the cussing you've done. 

Keep praying for strength--He won't disappoint. 

I can say that I love you because I do. I love you because we are sisters even though we never waned to be. I'll help love you through this hell if you need me to; we all will. 

Just keep breathing. 

And pray for strength. 

Much love and prayers,

Your wister,

Veronica