Showing posts with label Blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blog. Show all posts

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Hope for Hope

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This week, I completed the camp widow survey (see it here)

There was one question that made me think.. made me wonder. Without spilling the details of the survey and question, here’s what my answer was…

I hope to have hope again. The hope for hope, brings me hope.

I realized, I still have a long ways to go in my quest for hope. I realized it’s a little sad that I all I have is to hope for hope.

But I do.

I hope for hope.

Because hope makes me hope for a better for tomorrow.
Makes me hope for a less grief stricken life.
Hope that one day I will “get over it”, “move on” or “forget about it”, in the words of the none experienced.
Hoping for hope, keeps me going. Keeps me pushing. Keeps me from giving up.
Because hope matters.
And if all you can do is hope for hope that is enough.

Soaring spirits (If you are unfamiliar with them, see them here), brings me hope.

They keep me strong.

They have picked me up, wiped my tears, and told me, that one day.. it will be okay. Not “I accept it - okay” but kind of like “this isn't going to kill me after all, and that’s okay.”

I was talking to Michele this week and she said something to the effect of “I am grateful for the courageous honesty you show week after week on WV. You are a widowed rock star.”

I’ll be honest, I don’t feel like a widowed rock star (really, what is that?)

I have struggled… wondering if my blog helps and supports anyone. Or if it’s just me spilling my emotions every week to the written land of never never. I have had writers block like no other. I have scrapped the bottom of my soul barrel, trying to put my struggles into words. Trying to make my struggles make sense to the outside world.

I have had a friend (that is really good at writing) take my written ball of shit, and turn it into writing that makes sense to everyone else. But I write every week, because I made a commitment. A commitment to share my experience and struggles every Sunday, no matter what… that commitment gives me hope. Because come Sunday, I know I have a job that needs to be done.

Having Michele believe in me, gives me hope. Hope that my experience can help someone, if even in a teeny, tiny way. Having someone believe in you, when you don’t believe in yourself, matters.

This life matters. Even in the most shitty of shitty situations… there is a reason to go on.

Even if I don’t know what that reason is (yet) I hope to figure out that reason.

Because well, hope matters.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Dear Me

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Writing has been a lifeline since Dave died.

Once I started my personal blog, writing every morning right after I awoke became a ritual I depended on. Writing was how I figured out how I felt. Verbalizing it made it tangible and sometimes uncovered feelings I hadn't realized I'd had.

I realized that by writing on a blog I'd become for other people the kind of lifeline that I'd depended on in the beginning and that was healing too.

To get even more healing out of this writing magic, I found a women's memoir writing group in my new city and began sharing my writing in a circle of supportive, talented women. I didn't think writing could bring me more gifts than it already had, but the gifts just multiplied.

Now, I host a women's writing group in my home every week and it brings me so much fulfillment.
Last week, the prompt was - What would your older self write to your present self in a letter? I wrote to this prompt as though I was actually channeling an older me. I didn't have to think. The words flowed out of me without restraint. The result was self-love I didn't know I possessed.

I feel like sharing it with you here because of all the writing I've done since Dave died, this one felt the most powerful and healing. Maybe you might like to try it yourself. I think it will surprise you. I certainly didn't expect it to be as illuminating as it was.


Dear younger me:

I want you to listen carefully. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you look like or smell like or sound like or dress like. 

It matters how much you love. 

But don’t love just anyone, honey. Love someone who makes you better than you would be without him or her. Love someone who makes you laugh until you pee. Love someone who thrills you and teaches you and honors you. Love someone who shares him or herself with you without hesitation. 

Don’t waste your time with the people who don’t love you back or who hurt you even though they love you. You can love them from afar but don’t let them stop you from living fully. Don’t let anyone get in your way. 

You know all those times you worried about what you said and how it might be the final straw that would turn that person away from you? Remember all those times you thought people would see right through your facade right down to the dark, selfish, ignorant, judgey, small and petty you? 

Oh, honey, don’t you know by now? You are worthy regardless. Every part of you and every cell of you is worthy and wonderful and the reason you sometimes feel so critical of others is because it’s YOU you’re so critical of. It’s just your own self-hate directed outward. Love yourself and and you’ll see good stuff in everyone else too. 

We’re all connected. The tiny 82 year old lady next door whose husband died when she was 50, the man in unit number 3 whose wife is clearly in the end stages of cancer or some other horrible disease. The gorgeous Greek guy who owns the restaurant on the corner and twinkles those blue eyes at you and makes you nervous and forget how to talk. The crazy hairstylist who channels old Chinese men. The beautiful, multifaceted women who come to your house to write each week. We find each other and we need each other and we’re all connected. We’re all worthy, faults and all. 
 
Remember what your beloved friend said to you? He said “I love you, bat-shit crazy and all”. 

That’s what I’m talking about, darling. That.

Remember to take good care of yourself, sweet pea. You have been through so much and your job now is to learn to give yourself what you need. The naps, the massages, the time to sit and think and cry. The chance to travel and meet new people and breathe and stop racing around trying to be better better better. 

If you can learn to give yourself that, you will make this loss a little less awful because something beautiful has arisen from its ashes. When you do, once again, find your days filled with work and possibly even a family, you might have the mindset of self-care a little more programmed in if you work on it now. 

Give yourself a chance honey. You deserve it. 

No one can take better care of you than you. Even if some wonderful man is worthy of your love and you find him, he can’t give you everything you need. You’ll need to pull from other sources to get all your needs met. The biggest source of all, the best source, hon, is you. 
 
Also, don’t go around so scared to lose. It’s something that will keep on happening. You can live in fear of it or not, and it’ll keep on happening. So then you’ve got loss and fear. Why have both? 

Live as fearlessly as you can. Walk right into the inevitable loss. There’s a whole lot of beauty along that road. And the loss? Well, you’ll survive it. Of course you will.

You’ll be very scared. Just remember to act anyway. Each time you do something that scares you, you’ll be a little stronger. You’ll build that courage muscle. Just treat yourself after you’ve done it. It’s a lot of work. I know it is. 

I know your core and I know you’ll be just fine. Just let in the love and light and do what scares you. Live and live and live until you fade away. You only have this one chance. Don’t ever forget that sweetheart.


Tuesday, November 15, 2011

I am not alone (why I am glad I blog)



I'm sitting here, calmly typing this and it's been 622 days since my husband died.
I know exactly how many days because of my regular blog.
But to think that I can type this without tears would have been unthinkable a year ago.

I began writing about my pain just over a month after the accident.

I blogged everything because I knew I'd always be able to find it ... the internet being forever and all.

Now I read those posts back and tears stream down my face.
Was that me?
How did I ever survive such pain?
How did I keep my kids functioning and how on earth did they get from those first jagged, razor-sharp days to these days of a duller, aching pain?
(Pain which still flares up both rapidly and unexpectedly but the jagged edges are not quite so sharp).

and the short answer is that I don't really know how we got here.

... but I do know that time has helped.
I do know that friends and family have helped.
I do know that routine has helped.
and I do know that blogging has helped.

My blog helped (and continues to help) me pour out the hurt, anger, fear, rage, devastation, worry and horror of this journey.
...and *this* blog helped me see that I am not alone in these feelings.

Widow's Voice was one of the first blogs I read in The After.

I've cried and nodded along to more posts than I can count.
I've marvelled at how brave other widows and widowers are.
I've recognised similarities and differences between my journey and the varying journeys we are all on (for our spouses were unique ... as we are ... so no two of us are on the exact same path).
I've laughed at the dark humour.
I've rejoiced at the finding of new love, but seen that it's not a magic bullet that takes away this pain.

But most of all, I've realised that

I
Am
Not
Alone.

...and nor are you.
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