My Grief Observed - Post 3

On we go to the introduction, written by Douglas Gresham (Lewis' stepson).  In comparing his grief at losing his mother to the grief Jack experienced in losing his soul mate, Gresham states:

"... for me there would be other loves to find and no doubt in time to lose or be lost by. But for Jack this was the end of so much which life had for so long denied him and then briefly held out to him like a barren promise. For Jack there were none of the hopes (however dimly I might see them) of bright sunlit meadows and life-light and laughter. I had Jack to lean upon, poor Jack only had me."

How often have I been asked (but really told) "aren't you so grateful to have Em? What would you do without her? She must be such a solace to you, a true blessing."

"So true, definitely, for sure" is how I usually reply. I mean it, I really do. Em is our miracle. Hank had surgery to remove his cancer and the doctors said there was a good chance he'd be sterile. Em made her entrance on the stage of this life with flourish and style and surprised us all. She really is one of our miracles. She does bring me great solace and comfort. Having her has forced me to get out of myself and serve her needs (both physical and emotional).

Although she is the greatest gift Hank ever gave me, I've never really looked at her and thought, "wow, there is a little bit of Hank" or "his DNA lives through her" or "I didn't really lose him because I have him in her." She is not Hank. I hear others suggest such things and I just don't understand it. What does that mean? I don't even begin to know.

There have been times that I've thought something along the lines of "Em has me to lean upon, poor Merry only has Em." Not really that sentiment in its entirety, but something in that realm of feeling. I've sometimes wondered if parenting a fatherless child who is grieving (albeit very healthily) has somehow detracted from my own grief process.

We talk about Hank and she knows I miss him terribly and love him deeply. She has seen me cry, but I don't think it is good for her to see a mom who is sobbing uncontrollably. Not her personality anyway. She is a mature spirit and she would understand and think it her responsibility to make it all better (she's heard people say she is my solace and she takes it seriously). I've had friends offer to take her so I can have a cry-fest but my emotions don't work on-demand like that. It isn't that I've bottled it all up (I've had nights of tears after she's sleeping) but it is something I've controlled more than I would have without the responsibilities of motherhood. I suppose that would be true even if I wasn't a widow.

That brings up another issue. I don't know what it is like to be a mother without also being a widow. Em was only 2 when her daddy died. She never knew life without cancer in the family. I've never known motherhood without death. Sometimes I find myself attributing things she does or that I do to our "situation" and then I realize that we would probably be going through the same things even if Hank were coming home from work every night. I just don't know. It all gets blended into some impressionistic water color life. Where does widowhood end and single-parenthood begin? For that matter, where does widowhood end and life begin?

That's it though isn't it? Life is hard no matter what your "situation" is. Mine (at this moment) happens to be widowhood and single-parenthood. I'm just grateful that through this experience I do have Em to lean upon. She's amazing and whatever the added hardship, getting to associate with her is definitely worth it.

My Grief Observed - Post 2

Before I even started into the actual book by C.S. Lewis, I found some interesting nuggets in the foreword by Madeleine L'Engle (another favorite author - I love A Wrinkle in Time). She wrote the foreword after her own husband passed. She expressed how different her experience was. She and her husband had been married a long time and he died after having lived a full life. She thinks those things made her loss easier to deal with than that of C.S. Lewis. Interesting. I just think everyone is different and what could be a blessing for one might be a struggle for the next.

I really liked this statement:
"For the true consolations of religion are not rosy and cozy, but comforting in the true meaning of that word: com-fort: with strength."

My experience has truly been one of comfort. I have felt so strengthened, beyond my own inclination. I have been strengthened in making big decisions without much second-guessing (a bad habit I've struggled with since my youth). I've been strengthened in my parenting and in being a daughter to Hank's parents and a sister to his siblings. I've been strengthened in my own journey of faith.

Fort is Latin for strength and is the root for fortify, fortification, and of course: fort. When I think of those words, I think of walls. High, solid walls to keep the enemy out. Of course there must also be a path and entrance to allow friends in.

Who are my enemies and who are my friends?

I think my enemies include self-pity (this truly leads me into a pit of despair and is not fun or productive) Worldliness is a formidable enemy (sometimes it is so easy to be swept away by the emptiness popular culture has to offer). Self-doubt is definitely an enemy. Impatience is also a bitter enemy. How is it that I can expect Em to be patient when she wants something but then I can be so demanding when it is time to go or do? I need to be much more patient with her and with myself.

My friends are prayer, family, neighbors, the scriptures, faith, beauty, society, activity, writing, reading good things, service. I have so many friends. I must be careful to let them into my comfort.

There are times in my widow-haze that I have gone about the motions of living but I think I've had the drawbridge up and the doors locked tight. This hasn't been deliberate but I think the haze has created an aloofness that has kept other good people and things outside of my comfort.

Even grief, when observed, can be a friend. It is what is necessary to take us through this bitter place into the next phase, whatever that may be. I'm not talking about "getting over it." I'm talking about feeling it. We can't taste the sweet unless we are willing to taste the bitter.

I'm reading this book and doing some other things in my life to better observe my grief (which is very different than weekly trips to the cemetery or icons of Hank around my house). I think it is a great step on my continuing journey in widowhood.

I remain,
Merry Widow

Liberation and PJs

Today was a different kind of day than I've had in a long, long time.

After Hank died, there was so much to do: funerals to plan, finances to manage, a move for Em (my 4 year old daughter) and I. There were lots of decisions and I almost thrilled at having so many decisions in my life. It gave me back a sense of control that the cancer had taken away. Then when the move was complete and the gravestone was in place I realized that I was running out of decisions to make. I panicked a bit. So, I began to invent things to keep me busy. I made lists and then avoided those lists. It was as if I was trying to feel alive by feeling busy and stressed and even guilty (for not doing all the things I was supposed to do).

Last night as I went to bed I thought, "perhaps I will let Em play with friends and I will just read all day or whatever." It was a liberating thought. I didn't have anything planned and I was ok with that. Em did play with friends, we made Easter cookies, I stayed in my PJs until 4pm. But it wasn't in a cloud-over-my-head kind of way. It was truly just a liberating, peaceful day. A day that didn't include me feeling anxious or guilty or like I was putting off living. I was living and it felt great!

My Grief Observed - Post 1

I have always loved reading C.S. Lewis. When I was a young reader I devoured the Narnia series. Then as a young adult I rediscovered him and read many of his fiction and non-fiction. I was surprised to learn just a couple of weeks ago that he had written a grief journal after his wife, Joy, passed away. I immediately ordered it. It is only about 75 pages. He originally wrote it just for himself, then he published it under a different name. He is pretty courageous in how raw he displays his emotions. Grief is ugly and he doesn't pretend it is not.

As I've been reading it, I have marked many passages. I've cried in empathy and self-pity. So much of what he experiences seems similar to my own grief. So much is vastly different. It is interesting to me that he and Joy married later in life and came to know love in a non-traditional way. They connected intellectually, then spiritually, then emotionally, and lastly physically. That mirrors my experience with Hank (my husband). We connected in that order and each connection was deep and meaningful in its own time and place. Lewis and Joy were only married for a short time and the threat of cancer (she'd had it when they married) was always there. Again, Hank and I were only married for 3 1/2 years and he'd had tumors removed before we married. Even with the ever-present threat of death, C.S. Lewis and I both seem to have been caught off guard when our loved ones actually passed. How can that be? people wonder. I even wonder that sometimes. Yet, that is the truth of it. I never expected Hank to die so soon. I planned on a long life together.

Like C.S. Lewis, I have a deep faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ and in the resurrection of all. Like C.S. Lewis, I wonder what that really means for the departed. What are Joy and Hank doing? (C.S. Lewis, of course, knows by now).

I shall be making several posts related to my reading of this book. I plan to share passages and then my insights, questions, and thoughts regarding those passages. I look forward to this process. Writing is definitely a good way for me to process and even to exorcise grief.

I remain,
Merry Widow

Can a Widow be Merry?

I was reading something in an online journal (Slate) the other day. The author (Timothy Noah) mentioned that although there are many memoirs dealing with death and being a widow(er), there aren't any (that he knew of) that were humorous. He stated that this was probably for obvious reasons.

Maybe.

Even probably.

Yet, in the midst of my grief I laugh. I find joy and happiness and yes, even humor.

I am a Merry Widow.