I sat in a dark basement unsure how to operate a complex power tool when Mike approaches and I ask him why he bought so many complex things. He knows what I really mean,

"Why did you die and leave me with so many complex things to figure out?"

For once we aren't rushing into each other's arms, we aren't clasping to the wisps of each other that still linger in our subconscious. We just stand and talk, face to face. Like the soul mates we once were.

"When I had the choice to die, I couldn't resist. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities".

I huff a little air out of my nose. My mind goes back, almost 3 years back. To the morning he lay on the couch, between this world and the next. He had survived before: I had revived him, others had revived him. But this time he chose to float further down the stream of nothingness. Losing his full consciousness to the void.

I tell him I understand. I can't hide the pain, but it doesn't boil on the surface like fresh blisters anymore. He leans down and looks me in the eye, "I am sorry I don't get to visit like I'd wanted, I don't get to see you grow up. I left a lot of pain, you and Mark took the brunt of it."

I remember last year at the cemetery - 2 years after. The only person who seemed to ache like I did was his closest brother. The sight of each other was almost too much for either of us to bear. The only other person his little brother Mikey loved as much as him, was me - and vice versa.

One last thing strikes me as my alarm starts robbing my time with Mike short: he isn't magically better. I am not talking to the Mike I fell in love with at 17, or the Mike that sits atop the pedestal in my memories: the one carved of the good times and not the bad. I am talking, albeit rationally, to the Mike that left.

There is no illusion that the mental illness and brain injuries that sold our time short would have reversed and graciously re-instituted our marriage.

Regardless of his decision to float away, we would never have lived the life we had planned. Those dreams were not meant for us. Even if he had chose to live, our marriage and love story had already died.





Thank you for joining June's Widowed Blog Hop. I hope you'll stop by the other widowed bloggers and send them some love. 

http://samanthalightgallagher.wordpress.com/widowed-blog-hop/


Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Janine of One Breath At A Time
Red’s The M3 Blog
Christine of Widow Island
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
The Widow’s Mite: Encouragement for Widows
Widowed Yogi
Choosing Grace Today

I have been graced with the opportunity to be a part of One Billion Rising Salt Lake City from the ground up. I have encouraged women and men to share their stories of why they rise. But I've been fearful to write my own story. There are so many reasons why I rise that it makes it difficult to identify just one. I've written and rewritten several posts, accounting the deep dark secrets that lie in my heart, and the cobwebbed mazes of my brain. But I am realizing that the real reason that I am moved to rise - is because I can. I have a group of friends and supporters that are stronger and more supportive than I've ever had in my life. I've always been scared of being "that girl" or labeled a feminist. Guess what? I am one. I am tired of pretending that women are treated equally in hopes of being treated equally myself - it doesn't work. I will stand up and say that it is not ok to say "you learned from that didn't you?" instead of "that was wrong, what he did to you is not acceptable and I stand by you."

We as women are called man-haters if we breed natural distrust and fear from being beaten & raped. But we are also playing the victim if we admit that infidelity, sexual assault and domestic violence has shaped our outlook on the world. This fear of judgment and constant minimization plays its own part in perpetuating the cycles. We don't get the help we need. We sit in the corner crying when the lives we want to live seem out of our reach because we can't control the demons in our own mind. So today, I'm breaking my own fear - and telling you why I will RISE!






I rise because it feels good.
I dance because it lifts my soul.
I strike because inequality exists, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not.





I will rise on February 14, 2013 because I didn't rise up homecoming night 2000 when I was assaulted by a friend's brother whom I had also trusted with my first kiss. When my PTSD from my early childhood became so strong that I didn't fight back. For years, I accepted this complacency and fear as guilt and my own personal culpability.

I will rise on February 14, 2013 because I never had the chance to kick the ass of the boyfriend I trusted to be my "first" who cheated on me and left before I spent 4 years, 2 surgeries and 5 biopsies to clear myself of the cancer he left as reciprocation for my trust and fidelity.

I will rise on February 14, 2013 because I didn't rise up when my 350 lb husband had difficulties with his mental illness, picked me up and threw me into a chair while I kicked and clawed and tried to escape. Only one of the many times I feared for my life in my own house. I will rise because I lived in the shadows for too long, believing my mother in law that this was my fault and I was culpable for every mistake he made, dollar he spent and his own life that he took.

I will rise on February 14, 2013 because my education is as good as those possessed by men. I studied as hard, read the same books, held a full time job and cared for my family to afford to pay as much as the men who graduated with me. I dare say I might have learned more from it, because I also had to learn how to work in groups that didn't want to "be 'the team with a girl'" when "I don't even LET my wife have a credit card, I just bought her a new minivan - she should be thanking me" was what I heard on the first day of my program.

I will dance on February 14, 2013 because on August 6, 2010 I learned what it meant to be in a community of women for the first time. As a widow at 25 I learned to trust, confide in and depend on other women to heal me, help me and share in my joy and sorrow. I learned friendship and the power of women. I have never met a more powerful and passionate group of women than those who have endured the loss of a spouse and still wake up to greet the new morning. 

I will RISE STRIKE and DANCE because I am a vibrant, beautiful and strong woman who isn't about ready to take any more crap and smile and say thank you. I learned that for myself - and I want to share it with women everywhere. WE DESERVE MORE. I want to change the world so my little sister, and eventually my daughters don't have to worry about what NOT to wear so as to stay safe when they go out with friends or walk home from school. Instead I will teach my brother and my sons to treat people fairly and be cognizant of the words they use, and always stand up for what they believe. And when I remarry it will be to a partner who values my safety, who respects my voice, hears my soul and loves who I am.

If you would like to be involved with One Billion Rising please go to onebillionrising.org. If you are in the Salt Lake area please connect with us at www.obrslc.blogspot.com and www.facebook.com/obrslc. We will be DANCING on the University of Utah Campus (Feb 14th noon), we will STRIKE the Ikea Draper store with a flash mob (Feb 14th 7pm) and we will RISE with a reception to fund-raise for a great cause and connect women and those who love and support them on February 15th. Please look up the information and support us. Support me. It would mean a lot. You might be surprised how it might empower you.

With love and light,
Jess

 Baby widows, trying to find humor in "deer widows weekend"
I tell you - we have dark senses of humor!

(Post Publishing Note: I wrote this over a year ago and it has had well over a thousand page views, people who, like yourself, or someone you know searched for "baby" or "young widow" please don't feel as isolated and scared as you do. You are not alone.)

I identify myself as a baby widow.
Why?
Well probably because I made up the term.
But the story is simple...

The day after I received the horrible call I sat at a computer and tried to search "whats next?"
Mr Google didn't seem to know what I meant.
I tried searching for "young widow", hoping to find direction.
Instead I was horrified -
a "young widow" is one who loses their spouse before age 50.

EXCUSE ME! I am 25! 
I turn 26 next week, 
tomorrow is our 2 year wedding anniversary, 
what do you mean 50? 
My parents aren't even 50!

What does that make me -
a baby widow?

Yes, a baby widow.

I sent a text to my cousin
(married the same day, widowed one year earlier)
What are we - baby widows?!
She replied back that she still didn't know what we were,
But she was sorry I joined her ranks
"Baby Widow" fit as well as anything else.

So who is a baby widow?
Someone whose heart was broken before it was even fully developed.
A baby widow lost her future before she had even begun to live it.
A baby widow cries about the children she never got to have,
the legacy that has been lost, the connection severed.

Mike's 27th birthday - taken by my first "baby widow sister"

Baby widows cry next to grave sites,
and onlookers carefully ask if you are visiting your parents.

Baby widows get "hit on" when they transition their wedding ring to the other hand -
young lustful men sense the opportunity and assume divorce.
But baby widows are cunning, and a little bit spiteful of innocence -
they quietly savor the shock of putting a cocky gent in his place with words like:
"dead husband", "widow" or "cemetery".
Even better if you can sneak "autopsy", "cancer", "corpse" or "suicide" in there,
but those opportunities are harder to come by.

Baby widows become crusaders.
Their youth and feelings of powerlessness revolt against the sadness
they can't allow this world to push them so far down.
They rise back up
with a vengance they fight for anything they can:
better FMLA coverage, cancer screenings, suicide prevention, MS treatment, widow's support.

They tirelessly support each other.
There is nothing more important to a baby widow -
than the well being of another baby widow.
It is why we show up with bottles of wine to "help" clean out garages.
Why we hold each other while we sob about the sale of a house.
We offer to pick up each other's kids from ballet -
because we know the betrayal of the heart that comes from one more family member not getting why we don't "have it all together yet". 

A baby widow is isolated.
Not because she necessarily wants to be,
but at an age when your friends are either partying hard, or having their second planned child
who could possibly relate?

Friends have barely begun to lose grandparents,
and a few unfortunate ones have lost parent(s)
You start identifying those friends who "get it".
Those whom you don't have to tire yourself out
by trying to put on your "public face".
Death eyes I called it.
Those who had looked death in the eyes,
and were daring to continue living. 

Baby widow hear thoughtless things:
"you're pretty, you'll be remarried soon"
"at least you didn't have kids"
"this is all for the best"
"haven't you moved on yet"

The worst is when its from your own family.
The ones who supported you and celebrated at your wedding,
now barely 3 years later, struggle to look you in the eye
as you prepare your husband's grave for its one year memorial.
They wonder why you return.
Why you wipe the dirt, leaves and snow away.
Why you swear at his parents every time you come here.
Why can't you just let it go?
When in your heart you can't let go the one thing you were supposed to do
as his wife, was to ensure he was cremated - and scattered.
You curse his family every time the snow is deep, it means they haven't visited.
The cold hard earth that they interned him in.
Now he's lonely, not free on the breath of the plateau.

My pseudo ceremony with fake fire-pit ashes, but real tears.

A baby widow fights these feelings of inadequacy
as she begins to put her life back together.
She tries to date, but finds the pedestal hard to see around. 
As is the glaring fact that she has already failed.
He died! How much worse of a wife can you find?
Who would possibly want to stand where a dead man stood.

But baby widows are nothing if not resilient.
Baby widows love as if there is nothing left in their souls.
They wake up and find the sunshine -
or put on a record and find some within their own smile that sneaks out.
Baby widows are a miraculous breed of impassioned, dedicated, beautiful souls.

They will always get back up.
They will even have the strength to give in,
to look inside,
to examine how to do it better.
They will always find a way through.

Baby widows inspire me.



PS. If you like this post - please consider following me (available to the upper left)

Bored - Moyan Brenn

I am bored with grief.
I want it to retire,
grief is tired. (or I'm tired of grief)
Its like the drive to work -
I know every turn,
every pothole, every advertisement.
And I'm bored.

I want to take a new road
The side street with lush trees
cute little houses,
and kids walking to school.

I'm so sick of grief.
Its not even really traumatic anymore,
just worn-out and tired.
I see it coming and I just sigh
"oh this again, really?! We've done this before"
can't we change the channel?

My grief is becoming similar to a video
not one that I like,
but one I know every word to regardless.
Like the favorite of my little brother that was always playing.

Akin to Beauty & the Beast - I know every word to my grief story.
I can recite it without even thinking.
It can run in the background for a while before I even notice.

I have lots of other emotions,
lots of other movies.
But time after time,
every month or two,
something happens
and that same old dingy film plays again.

Today I am bored with grief.
But it won't turn off,
and I can't find a good side road to take instead.



With Light and love, 
Jess

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

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

Yoga and real life tend to overlap. 

I get that moment of clarity and AH-HA! realization that I've been searching for all day/week.

The leadup:

I'm laying restlessly peacefully in shavasana (dead fish pose at the end of a yoga practice) and trying fiercely to clear my mind. *yeah because THAT works* The triumph and humbling nature of a butt kicking yoga class makes a difference. But I can't fool myself.... Its one week until "the day", the 2-year mark, and everything about my psyche and body can't be fooled into thinking its not coming. I'm not sleeping well, I'm not focusing well, my patience is low, my give-a-damn is busted, and I just want to be alone (but I also want to be held like a child at the same time - very confusing).

Then I hear the magical words of the day. The lean and beautiful yogi paces the room with a calm voice that floats into your resting head like where clouds meet ocean spray: "I want you to check in with yourself. Is there anything that you can let go of? Is there anywhere where you could be a little softer."

And it hits me. Damn! Maybe if I could let go of a few things, this would be easier. Maybe if I softened a few things, I would be more at peace. I stew on this for a while, making a mental note to write this all down when I leave class. *notice, I'm still thinking instead of resting*

Then the yogi strikes again. "Check in with the intentions you set, notice them without judgement. Let it pass back out of you."

She has returned to the one lesson I clung to most when I started practicing yoga....be present, be honest with what is going on, but DO NOT JUDGE YOURSELF. If I am overeating/ undereating/ drinking/ sleeping/ bitching, I try to realize it, realize what I am doing and *hopefully* why I am doing it without judgement. **This is the key, and I'll say it again: WITHOUT JUDGEMENT**

Here is my mantra of the moment, what I tell myself, and anyone else who will listen when they are having a down on themselves day: You are a logical, strong, smart person - everything you do (even the seemingly self-destructive things) probably have the best intentions at the root. And unless you fulfill these intentions through a different method, you are bound to repeat it. If you are trying to change, try doing it with love- not tough love.  

So this is my challenge, to myself and anyone else who would like to partake: What can you let go of? Where can you soften? Can you release it without judgement?

I know that there is a lot of this with my widow (and non-widow) friends: there is family, in-laws, friends, coworkers, even late spouses - and sometimes we have little nagging negativities that we are hanging on to. But it is only hurting us- the soul harboring that negativity/grudge, day in and out. Can we let it go? Or part of it go? Or send it some positive light and peace so the walls around it can break down and soften.

The person that said the thing that really hurt you. The co-workers that said they would be there, but promptly were busy with other things. The friend that got frustrated and let hurtful words slip. The dog that won't stop barking, the kid that won't stop whining, those pounds we can't loose. Can we let it all go?

While we do all of this, can we do it without judgement? We probably have those grudges for good reason. *Look for holding grudges vs. learning lessons in a future blog post....it is on the agenda. But that doesn't mean that the grudge, the negative part of the lesson, has any place on our journey of healing and happiness.

Your response:

What do you think? Can you do it? What little thing can you let go of today?


With love and light, 
Jess

PS - its my first post, on my first blog, leave me some lovins!