I was writing my post Friday night as I always do. Then I schedule it to go live at 4:00am so you can sit down and have coffee “with” me. I checked my messages and a reader shared the following poem from the website, A Bed for My Heart.

— You Don’t Just Lose Someone Once —

You lose them over and over, 
sometimes many times a day.
When the loss, momentarily forgotten,
creeps up, 
and attacks you from behind.
Fresh waves of grief as the realisation hits home,
they are gone.
Again.

You don’t just lose someone once, 
you lose them every time you open your eyes to a new dawn,
and as you awaken, 
so does your memory, 
so does the jolting bolt of lightning that rips into your heart,
they are gone.
Again.

Losing someone is a journey,
not a one-off.
There is no end to the loss,
there is only a learned skill on how to stay afloat,
when it washes over.

Be kind to those who are sailing this stormy sea, 
they have a journey ahead of them,
and a daily shock to the system each time they realise,
they are gone,
Again.

You don’t just lose someone once, 
you lose them every day, 

for a lifetime.

© Donna Ashworth Words

She said it made her cry. I understand that. I know the sentiment of this poem. I’ve lived it. I still live it…even though I am very happily remarried. Even though I have a beautiful life I never dreamed possible. I’m still a widow. Not an actively grieving widow…but a widow nonetheless. I shared with her something that happened to me Friday.

I was sitting at the DMV, waiting for my number to be called, and decided to pick up my phone and scroll through Facebook. I came to a photo that puzzled me. It was a picture of a building, half torn down. The red dirt and scrub oak beyond the building were unmistakably Western Colorado. There was something vaguely familiar about that building but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked to see who posted it. It was someone I know in the town I lived in for many years. The caption said, “Let’s all do our own little Rivers dance…? in honor.” That is when it hit me. That far wall of windows. 

They were tearing down Rivers Restaurant in Glenwood Springs. Ohhhh, the memories. Years and years of memories. It was called Penelope’s when we first moved to the area in 1986. It was in this restaurant that Hubby #2 and I had dinner with the doctors who were interviewing him to join their practice. It was in this restaurant where we spent countless Happy Hours schmoozing with our friends and cohorts in the medical community. Birthday dinners. Dinners out for no other reason than to indulge in their Elk Medallions.

It was also the restaurant where Mr. Virgo and I got married. 

On the other side of those windows is…was…a large deck that overlooked the Roaring Fork River with a view of Mount Sopris up the valley. It was a chilly April Saturday, nestled between two snow storms…a day filled with sunshine and laughter and love. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful setting, a beautiful building.

And, now it’s gone. It’s just another thing…a page from a storybook…ripped away and floating off on some unseen breeze. The last time I stayed in Glenwood by myself, I went in and had dinner. I sat where I could see the area that held the reception. Sweet memories. I’m glad I got to dine in there one last time. I’d heard it sold, but I just assumed another restaurant would take it’s place.

There will always be losses and more losses tied to the death of a loved one. I am so very grateful time has softened the sharp edges of my grief and I’m left with warmth and gratitude that’s mixed in with that familiar little squeeze in my chest. 

?

“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken.”

Psalm 34:17-20 ESV