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.



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Ladies and Gentlemen...I'm back in the game!

Back in the non-profit, fundraising and event planning game that is.

Its nice to return to my roots.
Invigorating even.
I haven't been this excited about anything that took serious effort in a LOOOONG time!

Last night I had the opportunity to combine my social circles (widowed and non-widowed) to brainstorm how to support the cause of One Billion Rising.

One In Three Women On The Planet Will Be Raped Or Beaten In Her Lifetime.

One Billion Women Violated Is An Atrocity.

One Billion Women Dancing Is A Revolution.

I have my own story with the unique journey as a woman on this planet. I will find the strength to elaborate on those stories during this journey. But this project isn't about me. It also isn't about sorrow or being a victim. Its about rising up, dancing and claiming the happiness and peace that any woman - any human, deserves.

Please check out our page on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OBRSlc
And the new One Billion Rising SLC specific blog: www.obrslc.blogspot.com

I couldn't be more excited for the things we have planned. You should check it out!

In general I feel like I am able to fit into normal society with typical emotional and physical reactions to life. I can at least fake it until I get home. The auto shop is one of those places that, even 2 years later, invokes complete "widow brain".

feels like the world is coming at you like this

Widow Brain (noun): The state of complete disbelief and inability to remember facts or function logically after the death of spouse. See Also: break downs at grocery store, mechanics, car pool lane and any serious/mundane decisions points. Visualization can be seen at right:








Today I took my car to my usual mechanic's office, at the entire other edge of town, so running on my lunch break wasn't the brightest idea. This is the mechanic that I used when I lived on this side of town (read: when I lived with Mike in "Our House") (also note the inherent potential for underlying anxiety at getting off the exit which used to mean "home".) In spite of all of these things, I was cocky: I figured it would be a quick "nothing big" visit. I needed an oil change and my check engine light had come on over the weekend. But since I have a 13 year old Subaru, I wasn't worried about the check engine light, it wasn't flashing the impending-doom flash, and old Subarus are notorious for ghost lights.

Via

I was lucky enough that my little brother was headed to the same mechanic's for his emission and inspection. So he brought me a Pelligrino and I shared a bite of my lunch and we chatted and harassed each other like brothers and sisters do.

Then came the lecture from the mechanic:

• I apparently use the wrong gas (didn't know that was possible)
• I also apparently drive a legacy like a baja (whatever that means)
• not enough undercarriage washes (like I even knew that was a thing)
• dented exhaust (apparently, from a family reunion up a dirt road NOT meant for low clearance vehicles)
• leaking power steering (I don't want to deal with it!)
• leaking oil ("if its our fault I'll warranty it, but if you're adventures punctured something it'll be several hundred dollars")

And my not so composed responses:

• Uh huh
• huh?
• Sure
• Great
• Bring it in when?
• ok
• whatever
• Can I leave now?

I realized as soon as I pulled back onto the freeway to hurry back to work (after my now TWO HOUR lunch break) that I hadn't heard a thing. I called my brother = not that much help. So I called the mechanic back and explained that I had just been panicking instead of listening. He laughed and said "as soon as you left I turned to the other guy and told him you didn't get a word of that".

Its true. I panicked. I was shaking and in a cold sweat. Cars aren't my thing. Mike dealt with cars needing to go to the shop, he even dealt with oil changes. (I've learned that cars still need oil changes even when spouses die. ITS TRUE! Even when your husband dies, you're supposed to remember to take your car in for an oil change. Even if you haven't done that yourself in 6 years. Otherwise you have to pay to rebuild the engine. True, and pitiful story. )

I am reaching a new normal in so many areas of my life. But there are still these Kryptonite issues that humble my cocky-ass and remind me that I'm not so special. I can't defeat loss. I have good days and bad days, and sometimes both at once. In some ways I think its kind of (nice isn't the word) comforting maybe, to know that there are still places that Mike's life affects mine, for better or worse. Its good to be reminded that his impact in my life is still there. 

You can watch the tree today because it is still alive, but it is only alive because of the rain and the nutrients of all the years before. 

With Love and Light, 

Jess

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.

via

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.

via

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

via

Are you enough for you?

When was the last time you validated yourself?

You can live life looking for someone else to validate you, prove your worth:
the pat on the head for a job done well,
a hug of appreciation for helping out a friend,
warm fuzzies of doing "the right thing".

But when was the last time you told yourself
that you are enough,
that you are doing the right thing,
that you are the best you can be?
Right now. As you are!

Are you enough- for you?

I am not advocating indiscriminate selfishness.
But you should be selfish with validating yourself.
You don't need to be enough for someone else,
in fact its really hard to be enough for anyone else,
if you aren't enough for you.

Sad is ok.
Happy is ok.
Grumpy is ok.
In Love is ok.

All of it is ok if it is what you are feeling.

You aren't going to be able to pass THROUGH sad,
and onto whatever is next,
if you don't sit in sad-land and accept it.

Listen to yourself.
Why are you sad?
It is probably pretty logical to be sad
Can you tell yourself its ok to be sad?

On the other end of the emotional spectrum,
Why should you hide when you are happy?
Even if others are struggling.
You may feel like you should hide your "glow"
because it will make them more sad.

Truth is, they are already sad,
hiding happiness is no way to reinforce that happiness exists
that there is something more worth hoping for.

I see this often in widows who are moving forward,
when they find happiness they try to hide it, so others don't feel bad.
Its the silliest thing!
What could be better for a grieving soul,
than to see one that was once just as pained as our own
flourishing with life and happiness.

My favorite quote is by Marianne Williamson.
It is so awesome that it is even mis-attributed to Nelson Mandela's 1994 inaugural speech.

(please read with intention):
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 most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. 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 your own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Will you re-read that quote one more time? Please


"We are all meant to shine, as children do"
What imagery!
Children do not hide their happy, or their sad.
They exist as perfect expressions of themselves.

By epsos.de

Please accept the happy, the sad, the bitchy, the glamorous
They are all essential, they are all you.

I know that I can live a more fulfilling life:
one with more direction, worth and purpose.
When I live for ME
not you
not my partner.
Just live every day knowing that whatever I do
I am enough
for me.

Are you enough for you?




With Love and Light,
Jess

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've never been much of a cook. My elementary, Jr High and High school lunches were composed of peanutbutter sandwich crackers and an apple. Its a miracle I didn't starve in college.

In 2009 I posted a picture of my first attempt at handling raw chicken. This was my version of fajitas, I was 25 years old. I'm not lying, I had never handled raw chicken before this. Sad but true.

These fajitas weren't bad, but they were far from complex, or even really that good. It was literally pre-slicked chicken, peppers, onions and pre-made taco seasoning.

In July of 2011 (thank you FaceBook for giving me a timeline of my cooking adventures) I made a dinner with more than 3 ingredients for only one person...this was a huge step! I totally cheated used stew meat so I didn't have to man-handle raw beef and slice it into edible portions.

Again, this was edible, healthy even. But my seasoning was soy sauce, hoisin and garlic chili paste. A far cry from a complex flavor profile and probably had enough sodium to crystallize if left out overnight. 

However, my shopping trips now look like this:

Fresh organic veg from my local co-op

And I make things like this for work snacks:

kale chips

This weekend alone I made 2 loaves of bread, a homemade pizza (literally an amazing pizza that would have made local stores jealous), oven fries as a midnight snack, and I assisted on beef dumpling soup & breakfast potatoes. 

So where did these changes come from?

dun, dun da dun!

FOOD ALLERGIES!

You might have food allergies if:

• You have cried because you miss eating grilled cheese, and you can't find a bread you can eat.
• You eat before going out to eat with friends...just in case there is nothing on the menu that is safe.
• Half your suitcase is composed of backup safe food when you go on vacation.
• You have cried in the grocery store because "your flavor" is sold out or not stocked, and despite freezing your ta-tas off in the frozen case for 10 minutes you can't find an alternative that doesn't contain allergens.
• You have to have a designated partner in fitness classes, someone who agrees on "nut-free Wednesdays" so they don't kill you with their contaminated hands. (thank you Addie!)
• Your significant other jumps to block the table when the brings out an allergen, even if you aren't there, just out of habit.
• There are "rules" to your potlucks "Please come to our BBQ! Bring something! (as long as it isn't A, B, C-Z)" It doesn't have the same ring to it, trust me!
• Your international travels limited by your ability to pronounce your allergies in the native language, and their prevalence in local cuisine.
• Your friends could be professional "contaminant taste testers" because they try everything before you do in questionable situations....ESPECIALLY in bars where tired/flirty/creative bartenders don't know what "tequila and oj ONLY" means. 
• Have your friends ever had an argument in a bar about who was most qualified/sober to use your epi-pen given above situation?
• Your office have a "nut-free" floor (and no edible Christmas presents) because you stopped breathing when someone walked upstairs eating almonds?

Do you have any other hi-jinks from food allergies? I love relating to others, it makes me feel a little less crazy. 

Food allergies used to be the plague of my existence. Now? They still are, but I make some damn good food as a result! It first started when my (now) boyfriend insisting on making me dishes that I'd never had because of allergens. (Fried rice minus the egg, sesame, ginger and chestnuts). Then soups when I was sick, because everything in the store had celery. Recently, when yeast went out the window we started making our own pasta, biscuits, breads and pizza dough. 

Pasta rolling expedition.
It took 5 grown men to play with the pasta roller and make a noodle
that stretched several times the length of our kitchen!

This has allowed us to make delicious food, at low cost and high quality and share it with our friends and family. We even buy most of our produce and ingredients locally and can throw entirely local dinner parties.

I don't love my food allergies, but I do love the way that they have pushed me into a forum that I never thought I'd participate in. I now mix seasonings & ground beef into patties without gagging & washing my hands 8 times during the process. I can make a dough without getting nervous. I make dinner when I am home alone. I rarely eat out, even for lunches at work. I no longer rely on soy sauce or spice to make my asian dishes edible. OHH I even have a garden. And it loves me back....I know because it sends me tomatoes shaped like a heart!

Next up:

• Coconut free curry
• Sesame free teriyaki
• and more yeast free pizza - because that was AWESOME!

With Love and Light,

Jess