Lately I have noticed a change in myself. Something shifted. I no longer automatically refer to Mike as "my late husband". There are a lot of people who don't even know that I was once married. When he comes up in anticdote I sometimes refer to him as "my first husband". But always with a smile.

A year ago, I couldn't imagine not speaking about Mike. Not making sure that EVERYONE knew that I was once married, he had left and now I was a widow. Doctors, grocers who inquired about my crying over the produce, mechanics who questioned my inability to make a decision without staring at my phone - wanting to call Mike but not knowing the number to heaven: all of them heard that I USED to have my act together, and death ripped it apart.

Maybe its because I'm less "apart" these days. I don't feel conflicted, or even guilty about living. I don't feel mad at Mike the way I used to. And I don't feel like I need to justify his absence with the shock word "widowed".

This doesn't mean that I feel any less widowed, I guess I don't feel just widowed anymore. I've been married to Mike in death longer than I was in life. We spent 8 (mostly) happy years of our lives intertwined. That may be a lie. We probably spent 6 1/2 (mostly) happy years and 1 1/2 insanely hellish (with blotches of joy) years.

I believe that being with Mike was the most revolutionary force in my life to date. But that doesn't mean he, or even his death, has been the only force. The sands of the desert are scarred by wind, sun and water. Etching deep samskara or scars/grooves that show the next rounds of breath and tears the paths that have already been carved.

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There will be more pain, there will be more loss. There are more arguments, more relationships. Though each is affected by the existing scars, the new experiences shape the scenery and are constantly changing it into something new.

My landscape has now been shaped by so much since the loss of Mike, that though the chasms of his death remain, the lines are no longer sharp and the edges not so steep. They have been weathered and worn with time and patience.

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Here's a song that I heard that completely expresses how I feel about Mike and our marriage. It brings happy, contented tears to my eyes every time. No Regrets.

 Darling, no regrets
I'm so glad we met
Even though we made a mess
I'm glad we said yes
Darling, no regrets

You know I love you still
and I always will.
Love is not a test,
I know we did our best.
darling, no regrets

oh darling,
no regrets
oh darling,
no regrets

Darling, no regrets
Here's to your success
may all you do be blessed
i wish you every happiness
darling, no regrets

oh darling,
no regrets
oh darling,
no regrets

- "No Regrets"  Forest Sun

With Love and Light,
Jess

I'm stuck on a post that I feel like I should write, but can't. So in the meantime a few people have suggested that I pull out of my writing slump by writing about something that I love. Writing-candy if you will.

So what is my cotton candy of the blogging world......

CORGIS!

Via Creative Commons

I freaking love corgis. I don't know if I have ever even met one in person. I think I might burst. Like the feeling when I got to give Jane Goodall a hug! But maybe even bigger. And if you know my love of Jane Goodall, you can extrapolate how much I have the experience of playing with a corgi built up in my heart/head.

What would I do if I got to play with a corgi? I'd pretty much do this.....

Via Creative Commons

Then go for a swim at the lake

via Creative Commons

Maybe a drive to the park

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Where we would play with some toys

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My buddy and I would have to hike in the mountains

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And definitely not settle down until someone dragged us home!

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How are you feeling after some corgi lovins?
I'm feeling a bit better. Still don't know how to write about the AFSP and why I'm walking for the OUT OF THE DARKNESS Suicide Prevention walk this weekend.


So just cut me some slack and join our team or donate to our cause.....the corgis would do it.

via creative commons

With Love and Light, 
Jess

Christmas 08
Mike, Me & my fav. nephew opening stockings

Muscle Memories

When I first lost Mike I didn't know how he smelled, tasted or felt.
I couldn't remember. 

I worried that I had lost those feelings forever. 

When I started dating, and then falling in love again, it felt even further away. 

It seemed like when I tried to think of holding Mike's hand, all I could conjure was "hand", 

this was indistinguishable from my new man's hand. 

I stumbled on the above picture today and it took my breath away. 

I could smell that sweatshirt, 

feel that day old scruff on my neck, 

taste those earlobes,

run my fingers through that wiry hair, 

feel what his giant hand feels like, 

stretching my fingers apart in an attempt to interlock. 

I could feel Mike again. 

This is an amazing realization. It feels like muscle memory. Akin to getting on a bike for the first time in a decade. I can truly feel Mike again. It took getting over two years away from the trauma of losing him to realize that he hasn't entirely left. 

I've felt shocked by my ability to recall Mike with my senses once before. When packing for Golden, Colorado's thewiddahood.com retreat I pulled out Mike's old sweatshirt from the box of clothing I kept hidden in the office closet. I put it up to my face and smelled. Inhaled all of the molecules of that sweaty neckband. I almost vomited, or passed out - or passed out in my vomit. Holy cow. It was overwhelming. I went to text a widda friend, and accidentally texted my boyfriend in my shaking haste. (He was a little stunned, but recovered gracefully.) 

I sat in my office and sobbed, truly sobbed. For one of the few times since Mike's death I allowed myself to cry alone. I usually didn't trust myself to really breakdown when alone. I knew what Mike's demons had led him to, and I extrapolated that to mean that I could never really let my grief, PTSD and heartache rule the show. As such, I tried to have a safety net if I really needed to break down.  I would either wait until I had to leave in 30 min,  someone was coming over shortly, or there was someone in the other room so I couldn't really be alone with the nitty gritty freak out indefinitely. But not this afternoon. I cried unabashedly. I wasn't alone. I had Mike there holding me. I held his sweatshirt, breathed him in, felt his presence, allowed myself to feel his love, and allowed myself to miss him. 

I look back on this day with fond memory actually. I remember having a glimpse of Mike again, not the "background task" of grief, but a front and center show of the man I missed and loved. I wasn't mourning a loss, I was missing a man. A flesh and blood person who truly existed. Smelling him again brought his actual existence into focus. 

This is what I experienced an hour ago when I found this picture. A "holy sh*t!! I loved a man that existed. A man who loved me, and I loved him. It really happened. I can feel/smell/taste and touch it again." Thank you muscles for remembering Mike, even when my crazy brain thought I had lost him for good. Thank you for saving pieces for me to find again later. Breadcrumbs back to memories. 

With Love and Light, 

Jess

I hope this message finds you well and happy. Anyone had similar circumstances? A picture that brought back memories that other pictures failed to elicit? A smell that took you to a moment in time? 

I had another visit from a sweet recent widowed employee George. This was my third visit since his wife passed 4 weeks ago. I really had never met the man before this.

He came in to change more forms and pulled me aside hurridly and whispered "But I have one more question too."
"Sure George, whats up"
He is obviously upset and keeps wringing his hands, then he looks at me: "What do I do with this?" Pulling at his wedding ring, "Someone asked me when I was going to take it off, and I didn't know the rule. Do I have to take it off?"

Ughh! He nearly broke my poor widowed overly-sensitive heart!
"George! You do whatever the hell you want to do."

"Ohh, ok. Someone asked me, and I didn't know the answer and I thought I'd ask you." He's still nervously fidgeting with his ring. Obviously not satisfied that he was doing the "right thing". **But I am a little flattered that I have suddenly become the how-to-be-widowed expert to a man 2.5 times my age.**

I inhale a deep breath and realize that attacking him into standing up for himself probably isn't the best technique (though usually my go-to method regardless).

"George," I ask, a bit more gently. "Do you still feel married?"
"Well, yes...."
"Then you are still married. Until you want to take that ring off, or move it to the other hand - you have no obligation. Some people leave their wedding rings on for months, some leave it on for years - some only days. Its completely up to you."

He seems relieved that he doesn't have to leave behind his precious ring. We continue on with the rest of the meeting.

...

I really love that he comes and visits me as often as possible. He always shares his achievements in the grief world.
"I made it past one month!"  "I figured out the washing machine!"
We all need a cheerleader sometimes

...

I have struggled with ring issues in my own life too. I used to get really excited when I had a "widows event" because it was the only time I gave myself permission to wear my wedding rings. I had convinced myself that my new boyfriend wouldn't care for me and wouldn't accept me if I was wearing Mike's wedding rings. (I had no basis in reality for this, but it was a really big fear - deepened every time someone asked me... "well what does "E" think about that?" Now I realize that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks about it - as long as I'm being true to myself.)
I LOVE my wedding set - it is very similar to my grandmothers - because it was her mother's. I knew the second that I saw it that it would be my wedding ring. My grandmother had just returned from visiting my cousins and passing out family heirlooms *like grandmas do* and she asked me if I'd like "this". And she pulled out the most perfect wedding set I'd ever seen. It had a unique "crown-like" setting that held the stone close instead of putting it on display and a simple white gold band. It currently had a crystal in it because it was my great-grandmother's "traveling set". This was even more perfect! Mike and I got to pick out the stone we wanted and make it our own. This ring, it just means so much to me, even if I only got to wear it for less than 3 years.

Around my 1 year mark I got myself a present, a "widows ring" . I wore it every day....For about 6 months. Then that didn't feel right anymore either. I felt strangely smothered. I felt stuck, and the ring that brought me closer to Mike when I bought it, felt like it was holding me in the past. So I took it off and added it to the ever-growing pile of unworn Mike-related jewelry.

Band of black stones on a gold side for Mike,
and a band of white diamonds on a white gold band for myself.

I used to carry Mike's wedding ring in my coin purse. I would pull it out occasionally to see the inscription of "My Favorite". It would make me smile to remember that mine says "My Only". Complete with the quotation marks because the form asked what you wanted inscribed and I wrote "my only" and "my favorite". When they arrived, just days before the wedding, and no time to fix it - I had to learn to live with "  ". Much to my own dismay.

I think I may replace the diamond in my great-grandmother's setting with a sapphire someday so it can be reclaimed as my own and worn on my right hand. I'm not really in an expensive-jewelry-wearing place right now. So we'll just wait and see. I also wish I wouldn't have been so timid about listening to my heart and its desires with my ring in the beginning.

I hereby give permission
(because sometimes we feel as if we need to be granted permission)
to anyone to do anything they want
with respect to their wedding rings and their own grief.
Tell them "some crazy widow who calls herself 'button and beans' told me I could!"

What have you done with your ring? 

I've seen beautiful tennis bracelets made, new rings, necklaces....feel free to share your story here - it gives hope and validation to other people who are fighting the same fight.

With Love and Light, 
Jess

I was reading an inspiring book today about creating a world beyond poverty called The Blue Sweater. I was highlighting quote after quote on my kindle.
The words on the page were speaking to me:
not only giving respect but insisting on respect, 
how much crueler the poverty of a broken spirit can be than the poverty of income alone,
listening as the key to leadership, 
action over talk as the catalyst of change. 

Then as I read I came to a line where I *gently* tossed the kindle aside and went running for the laptop because today's blog post had made itself known:
"My first-grade nun had instructed me that from those to whom much is given, much is expected. I was learning that this lesson had to be combined with Shakespeare's wisdom that one must 'to thine own self be true.' "

To thine own self be true.

That is the difference between the Jessica that stands and writes and bears her soul in front of you today and the Jessica of years and situations past.

I used to be too afraid to write, even a month ago - I couldn't comprehend who would care what I'm saying, and who would read. The fear of rejection was terrifying, so was the fear of success.

Who am I to write? Who am I to ask people to read what I write?

Then I realized....it didn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

If nobody reads this blog, it doesn't matter.

If someone dislikes this blog - still doesn't matter.

Will I embarrass my family, myself....doesn't matter.

I learned something from a dear widow friend of mine almost 2 years ago - Don't go along with something if it is not being true to yourself. You can only grieve, recover, flourish and thrive if you are true to yourself first. This was again reaffirmed a year ago when I met another radiant widow who again had vibrancy, purity and a spirit that was unmistakable. I asked her about her secret, for a second time I heard...following/finding your own north star.

The best part of being true to yourself is that you have nothing to apologize for.

Since I started on the journey of living for myself
I have never cried so purely,
I have never laughed so freely,
I have never loved so deeply,
I have never swam so naked,
I have never danced so confidently
as I do now that the only thing that matters is that I am being true to myself.

I have built a fence,
traveled internationally,
studied yoga,
gained control over my food allergies,
buried a husband - but remained open enough to love again,
counseled friends,
attended a music festival with 80,000 other people,
cried in public,
sold my house,
Most importantly I have released old dreams so that new ones could take seed.

It doesn't bother me if someone doesn't like that I am writing, or what I am writing. Because I don't write for them (obviously!) If what I write doesn't speak to their soul as something they need to hear, so what? That fact does not negate the fact that it may speak to another person's soul.

In the past 2 weeks I have seen that I can instil confidence, inspire self-reflection, encourage peace. Just by being willing to find myself in the open.*Who would have thought?*

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are we not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone.
And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fears, our presence automatically liberates others.
Source: A Return to Love-Marianne Williamson, 
as quoted by Nelson Mandela in his inaugural speech (1994)

My purpose in writing this blog is not to be pigeonholed into any category (widow, activist, yogi), or to break any stereotype (that of the young widow, that of the bleeding heart, or the granola hippie).  Instead, it is to be true to myself. To honestly convey the feelings and motivations and inspirations that drive my day.
Hopefully to inspire and encourage even one more person to do the same.
I used to shy away and hide myself - for fear of being judged, for fear of not being good enough.
I will fear these things no more as long as I am true.

THIS WILL BE MY 30 DAY CHALLENGE:

To write down something every day that is TRUE.
True to myself.
It might be funny, it might be insightful, it might be tough to say...but it will all be true.

“ Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is. ”
— Ernest Hemingway

After watching the video at the bottom of this blog I was inspired. And I thought this would be a great plan for me to get to know and bond with my friends & blog readers.

So here's the plan:

30 days of Small Sustainable Change

Its that simple.
30 days to add or remove something from your life. Something small, but sustainable.


Here are some ideas:

• Take a photo everyday
• Make a diet/exercise change, but don't weigh yourself for a whole month
• Walk 10 minutes each day
• Cook an at-home scratch meal every day
• Play one-on-one with each child for 10 minutes
• Eliminate processed sugars
• Remove the word "can't" "don't" or "&*(*&" from your vocabulary

Basically anything that you can do EACH day for 30 days. 

There's a group of us meeting for dinner tonight to discuss this further. What I'm hearing so far is exciting.....affirmations.

Do you think you could write down something positive about yourself each day?
I think it might be harder than I anticipate.

Challenge:

Design your own 30 day simple and sustainable change

Response:

Tell me about it! Lets inspire each other!

With Love and Light, 
Jess

Another musing from my yoga mat.

Source

I have an idea to bounce off of you. I heard these two phrases while in yoga class on Saturday:


"What did you offer of yourself to your practice."
"Observe what you have received/accomplished/reached during your practice."

These concepts have changed the way I've try to frame my day.

I believe that the energy you send into a day is your offering to the universe.

OH WOW! You're telling me that when I'm having a crappy day, I should look back at what I was offering to the day, and see if it was only giving my own steaming piles of grumpy right back at me?

Source

Sometimes we think that day after day is crap that is just beating us down. And some days are just crap - unfair piles of crap - we all have those. And nothing is going to change that. But what if some of it lies on our shoulders.....

What if we are accountable for what we are offering the universe. 

What if we can only observe the good, if we offered good?

I like to believe that there is a balance of good and bad in the universe. If I wake up and put more negativity into the world - running late, spilling the coffee, tripping over the cat, yelling at the other cars, and arriving like a giant grumpy face - what else is the world supposed to give me back?

Source

I have offset the balance with my own negativity.

BUT! If I sing in the shower, pet the cat when I wake him up, listen to happy music (even if I'm late) and try to take it all in stride....maybe the events of my day won't have been ANY DIFFERENT - but when I look back and reflect on my day - what will I remember? I'll remember the sweet kitty who licked me, the goofy looks I got from other drivers while I sang and danced in the car, and all the other mediocre details that made the day not so bad. 

Source

Your Challenge:

Take a second when things are calm tonight. Observe what kind of a day you had. Observe the good and the bad. Observe what you are offering the universe: but don't judge. If you don't think you put your best offerings forward today - set the intention of what kind of energy you want to offer tomorrow. Maybe even leave yourself a sticky note in the bathroom or on the fridge.

Your Response:

What is your intention for tomorrow?

What little things can you do to improve your day?

What did you observe that you'd like to remember?
Maybe make a list of little joys and happiness to remember on those days when the negativity won't stop flowing.

PS - My happiness of the day....Its my birthday and I'm listening to the new Joss Stone album!

Link

When to be a widow. 

(this was written in May 2012 when I was playing with a transition in my widowhood experience)
I am a firm believer in always being yourself. Also, I believe that you shouldn’t hide a part of yourself just because it makes you or someone else uncomfortable. I believe that this goes for the beauty and the quirks alike. However, it has come to my attention that now that I am a year and a half away from the death of my husband, maybe I don’t need to be a widow all the time.

This is difficult for me. First off, I guess I don’t even identify myself as a widow all the time, but I reserve the right to feel like one whenever I darn well please. (Weddings, funerals, grocery lines, doctors offices). I don’t like the idea of people saying that I’ve moved past my grief. I consciously know I have moved FORWARD in my grieving, but I don’t think I’ll ever move past it. It does consume less of my time, and when it does consume my time and attention it is in a much different manner.

I used to spend hours at a time hiding in my office supply closet with a trash can and a box of tissues I kept hidden there (probably a significant factor in the end of my employment just a few months after Mike passed). Now my widowhood is expressed in spending hours at a time talking to other widows and widowers online, via text or on the phone, sharing my experiences and trying to help them see love and light in their own. I don’t sit and cry alone very often, but I often think about being a widow, what it means to be a widow, how to support other widows better, better outreach, better support, more funding, how to fundraise and how to help. I also think a lot about how to mesh the love that I have for my late husband with the love that I have for my new partner. How to be fair to both of them, more importantly how to be fair to my heart that won’t give up the ghost of the man that taught it to love but in turn wants to continue life with a man who reciprocates that love.

For example when I am helping a fellow widow move and her friends ask me how I know her, is that one of those moments when I am supposed to lie? She is moving to be with her new lover and mate, and I am no longer a “recent widow”, so are we now just “friends from a while back” so that nobody has to deal with the awkward “ohhh you’re too young to be a widow”... … … “yeah, I told God that and he didn’t listen”... … … “ok I’m going to move this box to the truck now”. But in some way, wouldn’t that also be denying who I am. I am not JUST a widow, but I am a widow.

And I think it is important for people to see that widows do grow up into [partially] functional individuals full of love and life and happiness. I am still a widow even if I’m not fresh and raw.

I don’t think of “widow” as a negative word anymore. I think it is one of the biggest POWER words in my arsenal. Widows are not weak and powerless. We are all, as humans, essentially powerless and widows are freaking amazing! We have loved and lost, and still have the gumption to rise out of bed in the morning. We know ourselves more intimately than those who have not lost because we have seen ourselves when we were mere shells and chose, yes CHOSE, to keep going. I love being a widow. I love the look of shock and awe that people get when they ask why I have a gap in my resume and I tell them I took some time off after my husband passed suddenly. But mostly, I love that I am still standing and that I am still living so I get to tell them all of this with an unabashed smile. I love that they get to see the beauty of a widow, not just the news story and fleeting thought of pity for the wife and kids left behind.

Wonderful women - All widows - All living life
Truly some of the best spirits I've been blessed with knowing. 

Why I love being a widow

It probably sounds morbid and crass
insensitive or uncouth to say,
but it is my story: “I love being a widow”.

I am lucky
I have found myself while still young
through primal and fundamental loss.
Loss of a husband at 25.

I do not like who I was before
before loss, before widow.
Turns out, Love isn’t enough
when mental illness is involved.

I was defining our relationship with negativity:
secrecy, isolation, guilt
short tempered, impatient, embarrassed
I missed the beauty
of what time we had left.

I “motivated” him with anger and intolerance.
Success and reprieve eluded him
the doctors were wrong,
nothing could bring back the boy I fell in love with
or the man he was trying to be.

Only substance offered moments of silence,
the last drops of a compressed can quieting the persistent chatter
that existed in the empty house.

Comfort wasn’t found in my arms,
the arms of his wife.
Only disapproval and hope for the future.

There was no future,
I wish I had loved
instead of trying to fix what couldn’t be.

After loss
I found myself.
No longer hiding
in the faults of others.
Bare and broken,
grieving and without purpose:
I chose to get back up

It was obvious that something was missing
something fundamental.
My life before had purpose,
but it was missing love and acceptance.  

I cannot control the darkness in others
I try not to try.
To do what I can to accept and love
in the moment.
Moments are all that is left
when our loved ones are only memories.

Weakness makes us human
acceptance of weakness makes us humble,
Humility allows us to ask for help
Asking for and receiving help is the pure beauty in this world.

Why do I love being a widow?
These words that I have written,
they did not belong to me two years ago.
I lived in fear of the inevitable
I lost my chance to love.

Now:
Now I love, Now I accept
I accept fear,
I love the inevitable darkness

When you hide from the darkness,
the demons only grow.
Standing in line like angry travelers at customs.
They are waiting for you to acknowledge them
to stamp their passport and invite them in.

You leave them in line,
they grow:
angrier, harrier and far more foul smelling.
Tempers flare and they stomp their feet.

Only once you have invited them in
Brought them tea and cookies and asked
“what business do you have here?”
Then you are loving your demon,
showing it respect. Giving it validation.
It is always there for a reason.

Only then are you open,
open to the universe and open enough to let the demons pass through.
And leave you in peace.

I love my demons,
I love myself,
I love the raw beauty of widowhood
and the opportunity to continue to love and accept others during their rawest time.

*Previously featured at http://www.griefproject.org/stories-list