At Camp Widow I had the chance to meet some online friends who are now real-life friends. They have proven that life exists after widowhood. Blending their families totaling five kids, they have found a happiness that is apparent to the naked eye. Mike and Irene have what I want... an understanding love. Understanding in so many ways.
First, I have to mention my strong adoration for Irene. She helped me before, during, and after Bill's death. She answered questions for me that I couldn't ask anyone else on this planet. She just recently published her story and her book will be coming soon to a bookstore near you. I will have a dedicated post about Irene and her amazing book (that I was fortunate enough to read) very soon...
This post is about Mike.
He clearly loves Irene with his whole being. He is confident and doesn't cringe at Irene's blog titled My Sainted Dead Husband, like some men would. In fact, he is well aware that Bob (the saint) is a part of their family. He respects that the life Irene and Bob shared still exists. As the live husband, Mike is not jealous of the sainted dead one. I would like to think that Mike is not anomaly and one (or two, or three...) more Mike(s) are out there willing to pursue life with a widow.
I can only imagine that there always feels like another person in their marriage... albeit a very quiet person, but a trio nonetheless. A widow's situation is not chosen. We don't have an ex worthy of complaint. In fact, quite the contrary, we have a spouse that we still love and want. Seeing that it's possible to have that level of love gave us all hope that it still exists. It's not easy, for that I am certain, but seeing Mike and Irene together was a gift.
I want to find my very own Mike.
If you are sensitive or take offense easily, please skip this post. It is not for the faint of heart... These are funny, sad, happy quotes (by numerous people, not necessarily by me) from Camp Widow. Some are brutally honest and some are painfully sad. There may be some that don't make sense if you haven't lost a spouse. Some might make you cringe... IF you haven't lost a spouse. There are many, MANY more, but this gives an idea of why we (the attendees) loved our weekend.
*Fellow widows - feel free to add any I missed.*
Why wouldn't he date a widow??? It's not like I killed the guy."
You are my first choice for this life.
You can't say, 'Would you rather be with...' when it will never be an option.
Death ends a life... not a relationship.
I have graduated from MILF to WILF.It takes courage to leave the idea you once had for your life... behind.
'Ma'am, just have your husband carry it when you get home.'
'Well, that might be awhile... I don't think he's coming back.'
A 13 inch tumor??? Your tumor trumps my tumor.
I'm a DD... Since he Dropped Dead.
Widow party crashers.
I'm sorry you dropped your cell phone, and you think it's the worst thing in the world. It could be worse... your husband could have cancer... and die.
Taking out the trash was NOT supposed to be my job!
Drunk Widows Playing Bingo
Death sucks.
Widows rock.
Widowhood sucks.
I can honestly say that I miss my Camp Widow friends each and every day. Being one of many instead of the only one is a feeling that words can not describe. The weekend played a monumental role in my grief process. Although we all began the weekend in very different places; I think we all left a bit further along in our individual steps of grieving.
I truly believe I have reached a new level. Not a "high," but definitely not rock bottom, either.
Am I moving on? I'm not sure that is actually possible... but I am moving forward. I'd like to think that my emotions are leveling out, and my "sadness" is no longer echoing in the deepest hole on Earth.
I feel a bit like Goldilocks. It's not too hot, and not too cold... but just right. I feel just right with accepting that grief is a process, and I can't accelerate the outcome. There really is no finish line in this race. I will never be "over it" and I now realize (to quote Bill) that, "it is what it is," and oddly enough... I'm OK with that.
Today we are headed back to The City of Hope to visit. Sounds odd, I am sure, but it happens to be the mid-way point for a fellow widow and me. Her husband was treated there, as well. She has two young boys who have also spent quite a bit of time at the facility. I think it will help our boys see that other kids have also lost a parent... they aren't the only ones. I figured that if it helped me to see I wasn't alone, then Tyler could benefit, too. Since we don't know many divorced couples, he thinks he is the only child on the planet who doesn't have a dad.
When I told Tyler we were going back to visit, he was confused. I reassured him that we weren't visiting doctors, but meeting other kids who also lost their dad. I could see his wheels turning, and his next question was, "Could we PLEASE go to the cafeteria? I miss it SO much." Go figure...
Camp Widow was this weekend in San Diego. It was coincidentally also my wedding anniversary. I figured it would either be really good to spend it with other widows, or it would be REALLY bad... Luckily, I took the chance, because it turned out to be the best situation possible (in a really crappy one).
I had the most amazing time at the conference and never once thought, "Gosh it's really hard to be here." For once, I didn't feel like "THE Widow" in the room. I actually felt a little normal. No one whispered, "That's the one who lost her husband," when I walked into the room. No one did the tilted head nod when I spoke to them. It was the proverbial happy place for a group of sad people. Only we weren't sad... Not. One. Bit.
It was a powerful weekend, and I left a better widow. I finally met some online friends and gained a few new ones along the way. It was like an exclusive club meeting where the dues are outrageously high and the initiation is life-changing. Even though not one of the 150+ attendees chose to join, we have a common sisterhood that is instantaneous and will bond us forever. The best part of the weekend (besides things already mentioned) was the ability to joke about death and the dying process. I know it sounds morbid, but there are a few things that only a fellow widow(er) can understand about this whole situation.
I am mentally writing so many different blog posts derived from the weekend. I guess my bout of writer's block is gone. ;)
Stay tuned...
It has finally happened...
I knew the questions were coming, and the first few broke my heart, but as with anything, you get used to it. Tyler consistently asks questions like, "Where did I do that when Dad was here?" and "What did I say when Dad was here?"
I never expected his memory to recall the little things, but deep down inside I was hoping that he would have a vague recollection of Bill before he was sick. I am afraid that isn't going to happen. Recently he saw a picture of Bill in his healthy state and didn't recognize him. I hate the fact that he won't remember the dad that Bill truly was.
No one ever said that life was fair.
Last year, Father's Day was a mere six days after Bill died. I so badly wanted to set up a ritual for Tyler to do each year on this holiday that was once shared with his dad. I struggled to find the perfect idea that would be permanently placed in his memory. I wanted it to be something visual that Tyler could possibly understand better than, "Dad lives in heaven now." Thankfully, I don't think he will ever remember my not-so-brilliant plan.
I decided to get a balloon that we would let go and send up to dad in heaven. It seemed like the perfect plan that we would recreate each year. We could gaze in wonder as the balloon drifted up into the blue sky. Memories would flood our minds as we reminisced about "Our Dad." Let's just say that it didn't really go as I had planned.
Me: We are getting this balloon to send to daddy... since he lives in heaven now.
Tyler: We are getting balloons???
Me: Well, just one. We are going to let it go in the backyard and dad will be able to get it. You can even watch it drift up to the sky.
Tyler: (silence)
At home...
Me: Let's tell dad that we love him before we send it.
Tyler: Can I water the flowers?
Me: No, we are telling dad how much we love and miss him.
Tyler: I don't want to... Can I hold the balloon?
Me: Sure. Do you want to say, "I love you," before you let it go?
Tyler: I am NOT letting the balloon go. NO WAY.
Me: You have to, it's for dad... it's not for you.
Tyler: It's MINE! Why can't I have it? I can't let it go. Dad doesn't want it.
Me: YES HE DOES! NOW LET IT GO!!
Tyler: (Crying) NO!!!!!!! (Crying)
Me: YES!!! GIVE IT TO ME! (Said as I took the balloon and forced him to let it go.)
Tyler continued to sob and jump after the balloon as it lifted to the sky. He cried, stomped, kicked, hit... you name it... he was slightly upset, to put it mildly. I realized at that moment that I wasn't going to be able to "create" the perfect moment. It would have to just transpire on its own.
I am one to stick to my guns regarding parenting and consistency. I believe in following-through and saying what you mean. This being said... I also believe that (in life) the big picture is vital and battles should be chosen wisely. Six days after Bill's death, the balloon war was NOT the battle I was willing to fight. So, we hopped back in the car, went to the store, and got Tyler a new balloon. Hopefully Bill got the first one, because I don't think we will be sending many more up.
