All is Well. | Personal

I consider myself very much of a word nerd.  I’ve always been drawn to words whether they’re in the form of lyrics, a poem, sayings, written or otherwise.  It really doesn’t matter.  But after my husband Jeff died, I came to honestly fear certain words and I kept them bottled up and wrapped tightly in a very far away and very dusty shelf in my heart.  I don’t visit them often, and you’ll barely hear them roll off my lips, but these words will come to me every once in awhile out of nowhere.

widow death heart attack autopsy sherriff

Naturally, these aren’t pretty words to begin with.  They don’t even deserve to be italicized, centered or put in a bold font. But for any widow or widower, to say them feels so much different. I’m sure the set of words varies by circumstance, yet they’re all the same.

Today, I was going about my normal morning routine of guzzling coffee, laundry, checking e-mails when one of these words landed in my mind and just wouldn’t quit until I gave it my attention. It was actually today’s date (August 2nd) that brought me to his birthdate (August 23rd), that brought me to the thought “Wow, Jeff.  We’re going on two entire birthdays without you here… since your … death.” And there sat that word … death … heavy on my mind and just wouldn’t go away.  I went searching for a release.  And for me, that’s writing. (Of course I also had the other option of grabbing a glass of wine or crying at my desk or running up the stairs, climbing under the covers and crying my eyeballs out until Joey got home from work to scoop me up and put me back on my feet.  And that would be a solid plan if my schedule weren’t filled with two busy kids and clients who deserve my undivided attention.)  But instead I chose to face this damn word head on instead and write until my mind is emptied.  So here goes.

Death.

Your death changed my whole entire universe.

Every single thing around us changed.  The people, our home, our friendships, the city we lived in, my relationships with our families.  All of it changed.

In one single breath.

Your death taught me who will be here for us until the very end.

But also taught us who will not.

Your death also softened my edges.

And taught me so much about myself. So much.

Your death taught me that tomorrow may not happen.

And to take chances today. Especially when my heart is leading the way.

It taught me how to love deeper than I ever thought possible.

It taught me to trust that we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

Your death did not define me. But made me stronger although some days I feel weak.

Death taught me how to live without regret.

It also taught us how to make big, important decisions without you here.

Your death also changed the way I see the world around me.

It made me question every single thing about my belief system.

Your death taught me about soul mates.  And what it feels like when one is taken away.

It also taught me that the people that are closest to our hearts are also our soul mates.

Our loves, our children, our family, our friends. These are all soul mates.

And that it’s ok to have many.

It taught me that we have all been brought together for a reason.

To love.

Your death also taught me that there is a bigger plan for Joe & I. For Jillian & Nash.

And that plan is still filled with love, compassion, adventure.

Sometimes, the crazy thought steps into my mind that death doesn’t always have to be a scary thing, as painful as it is.  It’s only painful because we physically can’t be with you anymore, or hear you laugh or hug & kiss you. But truly death is only a temporary stop in our soul’s journey. We will all live many lives together, not just this one.  But for now, my human mind can only wrap around this one here in this lifetime.  And grow from all I’ve learned from your death.  I mean, do I have any other choice? When I’m at my darkest point there is a poem that comes to mind.  And I keep it in the forefront of my heart and go to it whenever I need to.

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.