We are enjoying springtime in West Virginia. We are supposed to get some big storms in the next day or so…storms that would more than likely produce large amounts of heavy wet snow in Colorado elevations. Another reason why I chose to live here. My spirit just couldn’t take any more traditionally “spring” months filled with unpredictable snowstorms. You are neither here nor there in a Rocky Mountain March.
Mr. FixIt called me into the living room last night to see this little guy on the front door. This is the “peeper”…the tiny little tree frog that sings its love song on warm evenings in March and April here in the Mountain State. It is truly the harbinger of spring. As I sit here propped up on pillow in the back bedroom, lap desk and iPad on my knees, I’m listening to these little critters out along the creek and low, wet places on our property. Between that, the rain on the dried leaves that sounds like sizzling bacon, and the window wide open…I know exactly what season I am in.
Seasons don’t just come with the change in the orientation of the sun on the earth. Seasons also come with the changes in life. We all have passages through these seasons that seem to divide our journey into distinct chunks of time…childhood, young adult, family, career, empty nest, retirement. In general…aging. Within those divisions are distinct events that become benchmarks of our lives. Coupling, or not. Parenting, or not. Career, or not. Retirement, or not. And within those, we have the monumental moments that can come to define who we are.
My two most positive pivotal moments in my life were birthing my children. They fill me with love and joy…and occasionally, worry. My two most negative pivotal moments were the overdose…and losing Mr. Virgo. How I carry all four of these events define who I am today.
I have a sweet friend who is a fairly new widow. She has been doing an incredible job, going through all the typical widow stuff, but add in some natural disasters and she has discovered “intermittent mattress surfing”. Those are the rare days when the waves of grief hit so hard you can do nothing but lay in bed and cry. I had those days, too. I’m not worried about her…she knows not to buy real estate there. I have another friend who is marking the sixth angelversary of her husband’s death with her annual solo pilgrimage to the ocean for some solitary meditation. The manner in which we honor and remember changes with the tides of life.
Just as each one of us are fearfully and wonderfully made and totally unique from one another physically, so we are emotionally. Not everyone feels pain in the same way. My daughter broke her ankle, had a plate and seven screws placed, and never took more than an ibuprofen. Some people get a hangnail and you never hear the end of it. In the same way, everyone experiences grief in totally different ways. I used to try to compare where others were in their journey and wonder what was wrong with me. Maybe I was not as far along. Or maybe what was my biggest stumbling block seemed a piece of cake for others.
By submersing myself in writing this blog in the early days of grief, I learned I was perfectly normal…as was everyone else. We just didn’t all do it the same way. Grief is tough. There is nothing about it that is fun. There is growth you go through that can only be attained through a certain experience, but to say your spouse’s death is responsible for the growth you attain from it is horrifying. You would never wish such a tragedy in the name of personal growth.
That being said, I do watch the differences in the way widows (and widowers) lead their long term lives after their loss. Some never, ever date or marry again and wouldn’t even consider it. Some might consider it, but don’t ever make a move toward making that happen. Some may have not had a happy marriage so, while the death was difficult, the resultant escape from abuse keeps them firmly planted in freedom. Some cannot stand the thoughts of ever being alone and get hooked up with someone quickly.
I’m a mixture of these, I think. Early on, I told my daughters I would never, ever get married again because I would never put myself through such a loss again. Then I turned around and tried dating a couple of times…WAY too soon and Lord, I’m telling you….what a fiasco either one of those would have been if I would have stuck with them. For me, I came to the conclusion at around four or five years that I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my days alone. It’s not that I don’t love my own company, but I get bored really easily and I love the give and take of marriage. There is always a challenge and there is always a joy. It keeps life interesting.
For me, the trade off of marrying again has been a sort of “letting go” of Mr. Virgo. My memories of him are not painful now. I still have occasional pangs of sadness when I think of the actual loss but I think that’s remembering the pain, not the person. When I think of the person Mr. Virgo is/was to me, I am filled with warm and loving memories of a handsome man who carried my heart on a velvet pillow. Moving forward in life is not abdicating your love for your person. It is learning how to carry them gently in your heart without collapsing.
There was that tipping point where I was neither here, nor there. I was no longer married…I was widowed. Yet, he was my husband…dead or alive. Now I know…I can have both. I can have a living, breathing husband to share my life and love with AND I can have my late husband who will always and forever hold a piece of my heart because I know the very source of the love that I feel comes from God and that will never, ever change. This is how it has worked for me.
I am here.
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“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.”
Isaiah 26:3-4 ESV