Things are not better, but they are different.

To my dearest Nathan,
One of the things I heard over and over directly after you died was that it would get easier and the pain would lessen.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news but that cliche is bullshit.  I thought for a moment that I should apologize to anyone reading this for the expletive but honestly I write these letters for myself and to you, and you would have just chuckled so I'm not going to.  For that reason and because there isn't anything that accurately describes my thoughts on "things will get better" than that.  They absolutely without a doubt do not get better and the pain doesn't lessen.  It doesn't do either of those things but it does get different, though I am not even sure that's the right word.  It's more that you learn to live with it than anything else.  You learn to lean on Jesus and to figure out what makes you feel the most joy in a really awful and sad life that you didn't ask for but were handed anyway.

I still miss you as much as the day it happened and the pain in my heart is still as real and intense as it was back then.  The difference is that I have learned to smile and laugh with our children and do it genuinely most days.   I get up and I clean the house, I run errands, and I spend time with friends.  I pray and I read my bible and on the hard days I pray some more.  I am still super angry with God, sometimes more so than others, but I am working on it.  I get asked often how I am and I always say that I am okay, sometimes I mean it and sometimes I'm lying, but that's okay because at least I am surviving.   I am sometimes okay, but I am never better than okay and I think that things may be like that for a long time and I think I'm fine with that.  I read once that the size of your pain is equal to that of the size of your love and if that's the case than my pain will be infinite just as my love for you was, is and will be forevermore.

I laugh without guilt anymore and most days I can say honestly that this wasn't my fault though sometimes in the stillness of the night the guilt and the questions and the what ifs creep up and I find myself wrestling with them as hard as I did in the beginning.  For the most part, I have released that burden.  I have given myself permission to say that this was your choice, not mine and that had I know, I obviously would have done anything in my power to prevent it.  I have allowed myself to find peace in the fact that you had a frontal lobe brain injury that impaired your judgement and decision making and that, that injury was likely at least 90% of the reason that you made the decision that you did.  It's utterly heartbreaking, but at least I know it's not something that you sat there and thought about for months, weeks, or hours.  In fact you probably only thought about it for mere seconds and had you thought about it a bit longer and let thoughts of the children and myself run through your mind, you'd still be here.

I am able to talk about you and smile instead of crying the majority of the time and I talk about you a lot.  Too much maybe, I am sure there are many that are tired of hearing about you, but I won't ever stop.  I embrace and find thankfulness for our memories and our good times.  Our marriage was short, but our friendship was so long and I am so grateful for that.  I still cry but not as often as I did and I find so much joy in hearing Sawyer talk about you to people especially his sister and it makes my heart swell when he tells me how happy you are and that you are with us. And although my heart breaks into a thousand pieces when he says he misses you and wants you to come back, and even though those pieces break even more when I remind him that you can't and his little voice sweetly says please mama,  I love that he still loves you  so damn much.

Things are not better. Things are okay and they are different but they are not better.  Things are not better, but we are learning to live again and find the joy in the small moments even if that joy is fleeting, and that's more than we were doing a month ago.

We miss you.  We love you.  Forever.

Basic things are still hard some days, but at least I'm able to breathe without being reminded which I suppose is something to applaud

Dearest Nathan, 

I recently read an open letter titled "To the New Suicide Survivor", I felt like whomever the author was, she had lived my life and was writing down all my thoughts and it forced me to remember and reconcile with those first few days and weeks that my brain has done a damned good job forgetting. A defense mechanism I think. 

In the letter she kept saying that the new survivor would be okay. I don't know if I agree with that. I am certainly not okay, but I am surviving. I'm getting through my new normal relatively unscathed which is more than I could have even begun to hope for in the beginning. I think that's as good as it's going to get for me though and even though I am not okay, that is okay. 

I still remember the sound of the gun. I still remember the moment our eyes locked for the final moment. I remember the pain in my heart when the officer said "I'm so so very sorry". I remember not having a clue where or what our children were doing but knowing that our neighbors were taking care of them.  I remember telling my dad and Tahnya both I wasn't sure I believed that God existed anymore. I remember hugging both your brothers, almost hyperventilating when I saw your dad, calling Lindsey and being stone cold sober as I told her the news, and even thetears Cory   and I shared as we discussed what we would do about Sawyer. 

I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone. I know you had a traumatic brain injury and I know you also believed that we deserved more than you could give us. If you could have seen him yourself through our eyes you would have known that we thought you were a hero. You didn't just have mine and our children's hearts, you were our hearts and they permanently broke when we lost you. So many other hearts shattered when you died too. I think if you would have realized the torment and utter wreckage you would leave behind, you never would have left. I don't believe you would have done it had you known how broken the kids and I would be. God how I wish you would have known. 

The week after you died is a blur, I received more hugs, phone calls, letters, and meals than I have ever received in my life. So many loving words and even some unnecessary and mean words from people who sought to hurt me and tarnish your memory. I gave my Facebook password to Tiya and she sifted through some messages trying her best to keep me from seeing anything that was less than helpful. 

My sister and Lindsey force fed me all week, Tahnya messaged me at least three times a day on the days she wasn't able to come be with me and my parents made sure I didn't feel alone. Angela did my hair and nails because otherwise I would have looked like an unkept bum at your service.  Chanda drove all the way from California to be with me and her presence did my heart wonders. Erin and Jenn did entirely more than I can write here or thank them for. And Kate. God. She didn't even know me and she dropped everything for me on more than one occasion to be with me. The one person who really understood. 

I am not a hugger. I don't want to be touched. Outside of you and our children their are only a few who are exceptions to this rule, however I am so thankful for the hugs I received in the first few weeks because a hug is a person's way of physically telling you that you are loved and I needed to feel that in those first few weeks. 

I needed to especially feel that in the first week because in that first week I had some scary thoughts. Very scary thoughts and although having your own suicidal thoughts is normal in the wake of your spouses suicide, I am thankful that I was never left alone long enough to truly realize those thoughts because had I been, those first days were dark enough I likely would have followed behind you with little to no hesitation. 

Basic things were so hard. Lindsey and Christie and so many others kept reminding me to breathe and I think if they hadn't I might have literally forgotten how. Basic things are still hard some days, but at least I'm able to breathe without being reminded which I suppose is something to applaud. 

I still remember the sound of your work van being towed and the way the glass looked on the ground. I could stop staring at it. A part of me died that day but the part of me that survived, she's still surviving and I think you'd be proud of that. 

Had someone told me this would happen I would have laughed in their face. I never would have believed it and if I'm honest, even six months later there are still moments when I still can't convince myself that you're actually gone and never coming home.  I still cry at least once a day. I've decided that, that is both healthy and also a testament to the love that we shared and the love that I still have for you. 

I don't think I'll ever be fully okay but I am better than I was in the beginning and some progress is better than nothing at all. 

I love you. I miss you. Forever. 

this idea is often offered as a solution to their broken heart. Simply find another and the pain will cease... as if losing a spouse and then finding a new one is like trading in an old car.

Dearest Nathan, 

It's been so long since I've written. Part of that is I still haven't gotten internet set up at the house and it's a pain to do from my phone. The other part is I'm just tired and emotionally drained and so usually by the time I have a moment I just go to sleep. I'm going to be better about writing to you though because it's good for me and I feel like it keeps our connection intact. 

National Widow’s Day was a few days ago.  May 3rd to be exact, just three days before the 6 month marker of losing you and International Widows Day will be on June 23rd. Fifteen days after what should have been your thirtieth birthday.  These are days that I didn't even realize existed until I was made a widow myself and two days that I have turbulently mixed emotions

One half of my heart is screaming that I hate those days. I hate them with every fiber of that half of my broken heart. It's a reminder of what I desperately wish I could forget. It's a reminder that this nightmare I walk in, isn't one I'm going to be able to wake up from. It's a reminder that the life I had, the one I chose and built with you, the one I loved even in the ugly times was snatched away in mere seconds and without my input at all. It's a reminder that I have lost not only my husband but my best friend and that 26 years has been reduced to loss and heartache. 

These days are a painful reminder that I am different from my peers. I am separate from them. It is isolating in an already isolating situation, particularly as a very young widow. 

Yeah, half of my heart loathes this. It loathes that there is even a reason for a day like this to exist. A day for society as a whole to recognize the widows in the world for their achievement of not only enduring but somehow surviving the inexplicably  soul shaking, heart crushing, earth shaking, life changing, all consuming pain that comes with the loss of ones better half. From losing half of yourself.

And yet... the other half of my heart appreciates it. The other half of my heart realizes that it's nice to be acknowledged and thought of.  I know that probably reads a little funny, but the truth is that widows are very easily pushed aside, even forgotten sometimes.  It's not done with menacing intention. In fact sometimes I'm not even sure it's done on purpose, it's simply that where our lives stopped theirs continued but more than that it's that we are an unwanted reminder that pain and fear are very real and that mortality is a huge part of life. No one is immune from or can escape death. To really acknowledge and embrace a widow you must also acknowledge and embrace their grief, this is something that takes strength, courage, and understanding and not everyone has those things within themselves. 

Grief and heartache. Depression and anxiety. They're all things that are uncomfortable and so with time, people begin to view a widow's widowness on a diminishing scale. The more time that goes by, the less that many people choose to allow a widow time, space, and patience to feel those things. We put a time limit on pain.   And the fact is the younger that the widow is the more that this becomes truth. People decide that because a widow is young they have the time and potential to find another spouse to settle down and share life with. Not only is it assumed that they can but it is assumed that they will.  In fact this idea is often offered as a solution to their broken heart. Simply find another and the pain will cease... as if losing a spouse and then finding a new one is like trading in an old car. 

It seems to be forgotten that the love they had, they still have, it didn't vanish simply because their soulmate died. It is forgotten that the loss is no less painful or significant than it would be if it had happened when they were old and grey. In fact in someways the grief might be more treacherous because they not only grieve for what was but also what should have been. It is a different loss, yes but it is certainly not less. 

I've heard so many times that I should be over it. I should move on. The words used are often different but insinuation is apparent.  I hear "time to get out there" or "you can't live in the past" or the one I hear most "you're only thirty, you'll meet Prince Charming and he'll adore you and your kids"

It's enough to make your head spin. I want to scream at them to shut their foul mouth or push them away. I don't do either because the truth is people don't know any better. They think what they're saying is helpful.  They can't truly understand either the magnitude of my pain or their words because they haven't experienced this type of loss. They have not walked this road and thus don't really know how to navigate.  And it'd be unfair of me to hold their ignorance against them. In fact I'm jealous of them. I used to be them and I pray they stay blissfully ignorant until they are old and grey. 

I can't hold it against them because if this had happened to someone else instead of me, I would likely have said and done the wrong thing too. I wouldn't have gotten it right because I wouldn't have understood either. If this hadn't happened to me but rather someone else I too probably would have forgotten that your level of widowhood doesn't depend on age and that a widow doesn't cease being a widow after a certain number of months.  Not because I'm cold or cruel but simply because like it is for the vast majority, it would simply be difficult to relate to and empathize with such an unthinkable situation. Why? Because when you're young you mistakenly fall into the trap that you'll always have more time and that nothing like this could happen to you. 

Yes. I recognize an acknowledge that it is difficult to be around a widow. Especially a young widow. I understand that it's hard to watch her cry and grieve and sometimes supporting her feels like too big of a burden for one person or friendship to handle and carry.  I acknowledge and accept that as truth. However, here's the thing... as hard as it is to support the widow, it's a thousand times more difficult to BE the widow. Until you are a widow you can't fathom the amount of tears that are cried. The heaviness of grieving and single parenting at the same time or grasp the harshness of the deep loneliness that comes with losing a spouse and best friend. 

Suffice all this to say, I think a bigger part of my heart is in favor of widow's day. I think you would be too, Nathan,  because it's the one day out of the year in which the awkwardness and the fear is removed and people are able to embrace and acknowledge my loss and the loss of other widows. It's the one day when I can grieve without judgement or time limit because the significance of the loss can be felt simply through the deceleration of a day called widow's day.  

The day takes away the ability to ignore the widow and for that I appreciate the day because to ignore the widow, to demand she move on and forget is to ignore the person that she lost and I refuse to allow you to be forgotten or ignored. You mattered.  You still matter. You were important. You are still important. Not only to me but to our amazing children and I'll be damned if that's brushed aside because people are uncomfortable by grief. The world would be a better place if we'd all get a little uncomfortable. 

The truth is, and people don't like it when I say this, but I will always ache. For the life that we had that was snatched away both quickly and traumatically. I will always have times of sorrow and tears for not only what was but for what should and could have been. I will grieve for as long as I loved you. I will grieve because I still love you. I will never stop loving you and I wish people could understand that and yet I am relieved that they don't. 

I am not pathetic for any of this. My life is not pathetic for the pain it holds. My life is hard and unique. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even my truest enemy, but with this life I have been granted a profound ability to understand, empathize and offer compassion to others.  I have been given a deeply rooted knowledge of life, love, and even death that is hard to adequately put into words. I have been given the opportunity to speak out about things like grief and suicide. To educate and make people aware even if it's uncomfortable and I will do it because your memory deserves that. 

Speaking of National Widow's Day, Tahnya brought me flowers and a card. She's one of the few not afraid of my grief. One that doesn't demand I move on. I am blessed to have her and I know you're glad that if I can't have you that I have her.  

Anyway, my hope is that whomever reads this letter will make a mental note that International Widow's day is June 23 and that they will remember a widow in their life on that day. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but widow's often feel lonely and forgotten so my prayer is that they are allowed this day to be remembered and embraced and loved for the treasure that they are. 

They often feel expected to satisfy some unrealistic expectation of “happiness” that may or may not be reality simply because some amount of time has passed. They have often mastered the fake smile, talk the small talk, and tell you how well they have been doing, regardless of the truth that you may or may not want to hear. A widow knows that talk about sleepless nights, unstoppable tears, or the fears of living a life without the one they loved most are topics of conversation that will leave them feeling emptier than  before and more than that they know the awkwardness it brings the other person in the conversation and so instead we talk about anything that leaves you telling us how strong we are; a phrase most despised among the bereaved, but often brought on by our own decisions to put on the strong face. 

On June 23 I pray that whomever reads this letter will allow a widow in their life to be honest even if that means being weak for a moment and to love them through it because sometimes it's what they really need. 

Anyway, I know you've been visiting Sawyer and playing with him lately. He tells me about the things you guys have been doing and calls you silly all the time. I'm glad you're near because he misses you so badly. He keeps telling me that it's okay because daddy Nathan is happy. As much as I wish you were here with us I'm glad you have indescribable joy in Heaven. You deserve that.  I can't wait to be reunited with you someday in the presence of Jesus. 

Until that day though.... we love you. We miss you. Forever. 

Always, 

Jess 

It was there that I found out rock bottom had a basement. I don't think many people realize this, but I lingered in that basement for a while until I very clearly heard God whisper, "sweet daughter, I will carry you and eventually I will hold your hand and walk beside you, but you must carry on."

I still can't believe it's been almost half a year since my whole life changed from what it was, and what I thought it was going to be. Looking back, I try not to think about that night, but even still I sometimes try to rationalize with the days leading up. I frequently ask myself a number of rhetorical questions outloud; why , did I miss the signs, could a head injury have really contributed so drastically, and most importantly, how could you leave all of this, especially two kids and crazy Brittany to me to deal with alone?

I remember the last meal I made for you. I remember the last meal you made for me and I remember what you were supposed to cook that night but never had the opportunity.  I remember your last  laugh, it's gut wrenching now. I remember our final conversation and how your last day of work went, I remember the last set of plans that we made that never happened. I remember the last time I watched you play bass and hold the kids,  and I remember a number of other things that I won't bother mentioning here.

What I don't remember is how our last fight started or even the last time I saw you cry, which is surreal because you were always free with your emotions with me and let's be real I used to remember everything to the point that I could regurgitate everything you and I ever said word for word. I'm sure you're tired of watching me weep, but the hills on the rocky road of loss can be tiresome, lonely, and hard to navigate alone.

At one point, closer to the beginning of this journey but still not the very start, I will admit that I found myself in a very dark place. It was there that I found out rock bottom had a basement. I don't think many people realize this, but I lingered in that basement for a while until I very clearly heard God whisper, "sweet daughter, I will carry you and eventually I will hold your hand and walk beside you, but you must carry on."

Getting up and showering and eating and taking care of anything that's not our children is still challenging some days. I am still lonely and I still cry and I still struggle to navigate a great many of these grief mountains but I have found by continuing to do so daily, Jesus has begun to make His grace very obviously present through the people new and old that he's placed in my life and He showers me with not only his presence but with yours.

Your scent will randomly linger somewhere, you visit my dreams, and I have been given many blessings, in both the large things like buying a house and in the small things like Sawyer's continuing talk of memories shared with you and in our sweet daughter's eyes remaining the blue of yours, He and you are EVERYWHERE.

I know now that I can not let your passing define me, but rather I must let it remind me how short life truly is. So dance every chance I get, walk in the moon light, and most importantly LOVE. Love everything and extend grace to everyone even in the ugly moments. And I can use your passing to make a difference in the world. I can allow Jesus to use me and your passing to bring beauty from the ashes

I have walked  through the valley of the shadow of death  and I have survived through Jesus. I am still walking it some days but I am walking it with Jesus and I will hold that small bit of fortitude in my heart. I read a quote once, it said "It took me a while to realize but the little box of darkness you left me in the end,it to was a gift" and Nathan, although what we shared ended in darkness, given the opportunity, I'd still choose it every time because you and what we had was a gift.

 So, sweet love,  you keep the coffee hot and the fire burning because  we have alot to talk about when I get to Heaven. In the meantime, I will live here and I will live in a way that keeps your memory alive and untarnished.  I love you and I forgive you. I promise to own every moment and to teach our babies to do the same, to cling to Jesus, to  start moving forward and to be open to every opportunity, situation, and relationship that is made available to me. I will be gracious to everyone and I will do my best to respond to every situation whether good, bad, or ugly in love while still standing up for myself since you're not here to do it for me anymore.

Oh and remember the Einstein debate, E = MC2.. You were right.. It's only time and space between us.. ❤️💔

Happy Easter, we miss you 😘

I’ve had dreams about it. We’re just lying in bed and I’m telling you all about what the kids are doing and the milestones they're hitting. We both know that you're gone, but I’m filling you in anyway....

Dearest Nathan,

It's been so long since I've written. Not because I didn't have words. Not because I didn't want to and certainly not because I stopped thinking about you but rather because I lack the energy to do much of anything outside of taking care of the kids. I lack the energy and the time and if I'm honest probably the attention span too. The latter being an effect of widowhood. All I can say is I'm sorry. 

Loneliness is not a surprising aspect of widowhood.  In fact I'd like to think that even the people who have never been through this, know this to be true, it’s a no-brainer.  But frankly, I don't believe that lonely is a strong enough word.

Lonely doesn't adequately put a word to the deep silence that comes with losing a spouse. The quiet that I have felt since losing you.  And it doesn’t matter if I am standing in the middle of a crowded room or with my best friends or laughing with the kids, I still feel it.  It’s the quiet that comes when I don’t have that familiar voice whispering in my ear while we are out, “Can you believe she is wearing that?  I mean, where are her parents? Aria won't ever dress that way" It’s the missing sound of two glasses clinking together on our anniversary.  It’s the absence of you breathing soundly next to me as we go to sleep at night.

Our friends and family try to be good about making sure that I know that I am not alone.  And trust me I know,  I know that I am not friendless.  But I am alone. My marriage was amputated in the prime of my life and what many don't understand is that for me, there is no prosthesis.

I have, since losing you,  found comfort in an online support group and in people like Nikki and Kayla both of whom I've never met and that has helped relieve the discomfort of this loss of limb a little.  It’s like taking two over the counter strength Motrin after extensive surgery.  It eases the throbbing a bit, but when I look down, the limb is still missing.

I have found support from strangers who don’t know me but are as close as I can come to confiding in people who know exactly what I am dealing with. I tell these strangers some of the most intimate details of my life, knowing that out of thousands of people, they might actually understand and that out of thousands of people, they won't be heartless enough to say, “You did what?  You’re crazy!” Or "you think what? You're a lunatic". That they're one of a few that will never tell me they're tired of hearing about you. 

Because, if nothing else, we all have crazy and the insatiable desire to talk about our spouses in common. 

They get that a sleepless night with a newborn is one thing while a sleepless night with a dead spouse is a whole other monster and a sleepless night with an infant or a toddler or both and a dead husband? Especially one that died the way that you did? There's nothing more painfully cruel and unfair. They understand how guilt, anger, frustration, exhaustion, and unspeakable sadness all come in a beautifully wrapped package with our names on it, signed “With Love, Widowhood.”

They understand that with you gone, I have lost the person that I would have leaned on when the worst thing I could have possibly imagined happening…happened.  It’s almost like I need to roll over in bed and say in total disbelief, “Did you hear that you died?  And you were so young!”  This would be followed by a hug from you, a pat on the back, and the murmuring of some comforting words while I cried on your shoulder, but instead when I roll over, you already know that you've died and I realize that you're still gone and I am alone  and unfortunately, these women understand this. 

I don’t think that most people who haven’t experienced the loss of a spouse truly understand that element of solitude.  And that’s the very foundation of what makes this so lonely.  You are the one who cared when something really great or really bad happened and you are missing.  You, the person who was just as excited and saddened by the milestones of our kids is someplace else. You, who was just as invested in our lives and the decisions we made is now enjoying everlasting comfort while I slug it out down here on my own.

I can pinpoint the exact moment that I truly felt this change. I mean, the time when I realized that this was it, that I had catapulted from married to involuntarily widowed.  Sawyer looked outside and said "mama, daddy Nathan is here". I looked out the window and saw our car sitting out  front (they'd forgotten to tell me they brought it over) and I thought "oh good he's home early maybe we can go to the park..". 

I think there was an audible thud as reality came crashing down on me standing there staring out the window. It happened again last Sunday. I added Aria to the church system. The man said "so the family includes Nathan,Jessica, Sawyer, and now Aria-Lyn" and I said yes enthusiastically.

As I was walking down the stairs reality came down on me like a ton of bricks so earth shattering and soul crushing I'm surprised I didn't tumble the rest of the way down as I realized that no, the family only includes Jessica, Sawyer, and Aria-Lyn. 

I would walk through fire, give anything and do everything just for one more day, one more conversation with you, the love of my life.  I’ve had dreams about it.  We’re just lying in bed and I’m telling you all about what the kids are doing and the milestones they're hitting.  We both know that you're gone, but I’m filling you in anyway.

Those are the mornings I wake up and feel the most alone, the most like I’m missing that appendage.  And even though there are so many people I could call who would commiserate with me, they’re just not in my head and in my heart living my life.  They want to understand and they do sympathize, some might even empathize, but they don't understand. 

And does it make sense when I say when I’m feeling this way sometimes I just want to be left alone? No? Well this is the crazy I was telling you about. 

The only non nutty thing I know for sure is that I miss you. And I love you.  Forever. 

Always, 

Jess

A dizzying amount of unanswerable questions....

Dearest Nathan,

It's been almost four months and this still doesn't always feel real.  I still look at pictures and wonder where you've gone and why it's been so long since I've last seen you.  Not in a demented sort of way, but in the sort of way where you know something is true but are having trouble convincing yourself that it's actually reality.   I still have moments where I wonder when you'll text me back or think that maybe tonight will be the night that you walk in and tell me it was all just a misunderstanding.  You'll beg me to forgive you for the pain that this caused and I will and we will go back to the life we were always meant to have.  I know that you are gone.  I have accepted that you are gone.  It's just that sometimes, some days...like today it just feels like I am living someone else's life.  I miss you so much it knocks the breath clear out of me sometimes.

I've grown accustomed to missing you. It is something that is always with me.  Something that has become just as much a part of me as a limb.  It is something that has come as easily to me as loving you did and I think that that in and of itself is a testament to exactly that, the ease to and depth of the love that we shared.  I hope you knew that I loved you in every moment, even in the hard moments or the moments where I struggled to like you, I still loved you.  I think you did, but if for some reason you did not,  I know that you know now and I am glad of that.  I am accustomed to all of this and I have mostly accepted that this will never go away.

I have also accepted that though I may live to old age, it is likely that the cause of death will still ultimately be heartbreak. I suppose this is what happens when someone means so much for so many years and then is ripped from your life in such a sudden and traumatic way. I have learned how to get through life, and though it may not be great or happy, I am surviving.

However, I have recently purchased a home (thanks to you) and I should close this week or next and instead of being happy, I am wishing you were here and am feeling a tremendous amount of sadness You should be here.  We should be planning how to decorate the kids room together and you should be gushing about how excited you are about not only having a garage but a two car garage.  We should be discussing BMX races and how Sawyer starts preschool next year and instead I am here alone, forced to navigate all of this by myself and that is not happy.  It is sad.  So so sad.   I know that  these feelings are all normal, but that doesn't make it suck any less.

I really want the life we had back.  I keep going over it all in my head.  All the happy moments and even the not so happy moments.   We had a few of the latter but we always came out of those stronger better more in love.  What could possibly have been so bad that you thought that the only way out was this.  Was leaving me.  Leaving the kids.  I will NEVER understand and frankly I doubt they will either.  I am not mad at you.   I just wish I didn't have so many questions.  So many questions that make me sick to my stomach and dizzy with wonder.  I just wish I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life asking questions that I'll never have answered.

The only answers I have are that I never expected this.  I never wanted this.  I still don't want this.  I will never stop loving you.  This wasn't the life we should have had. I miss you.  The kids miss you.  And unfortunately I think those are the only answers I will ever have.


Until we see you in Heaven.  We miss you.  We love you.

Always,
Jess

20 things not to say to a widow...

Dearest Nathan,

Panic attacks.   I'd had one once, maybe twice in my life up until this point and now I know them as well as I know myself.  They're like an old friend, that you don't really like but that just won't go away.  If I count out of order, that helps.  The brain simply cannot panic and count out of order at the same time:


1.....2.....3....5......7......11......

1......2......3.....5.....7........11......

1......2......3.....5.....7........11......

Then following that, I remind myself to just keep breathing, in and out.  I never thought I'd have to remind myself to do something that's meant to be innate within a human being.


Just keep breathing.  In, out, in, out.  Just keep breathing.

Just keep breathing.  In, out, in, out.  Just keep breathing.

Just keep breathing.  In, out, in, out.  Just keep breathing.

Honestly, these things are easier said than done and frankly there are many things I'd just soon not do anymore because even if they don't elicit a panic attack in the moment, they do later.  Usually at night while I am laying alone in bed going over the hours, minutes, and seconds of the day.  All spent without you.

3 months and 2 days.  93 total days.  2,232 hours.  133,920 minutes.  8,035,200 seconds.  8,035,200,000 nanoseconds.  All spent without you.  And all years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and nanoseconds following will continue to be spent without you.  I will never smile and laugh with you again.  I will never have a new memory or picture of you and the worst part?  Neither will our kids.  We are part of a club we never wanted to be a part of and one that we'd gladly revoke membership   People don't understand the pain that comes with that.  They try but they can't.  They can't even begin to imagine.  Hell, even another widow can't really understand.  Don't get me wrong, they understand the loss and the heartbreak that comes with losing your spouse, but they simply cannot relate entirely unless they have been widowed in such a horrifically traumatic and unexpected way.  There is a reason  that suicide grief is called complicated grief and there's just no  understanding it unless you're in it's ugly grip.  Even if a person loved your loved one they can't understand your pain because their world keeps going eventually while yours is 100 percent altered and likely stopped.  Even when you're not living in the horrendous night that changed everything, you're living in it.  Even when I appear fine, I can almost promise that some part of me is still living and stuck in the hours of November 06, 2016.  I can't leave the day.  Not permanently.  It's a part of that traumatic grief I told you about earlier and the PTSD that usually engulfs the griever.  The PTSD that consumes me in quiet moment that most people would find peaceful.

If nothing else, I have learned that there are many things that you should not say to a widow and they are what people say to them eighty percent of the time.

1. You're still young, you can/will remarry.  You'll find love again.
I realize people mean well when they say this.  They don't want you to be alone.  They don't want you to be sad.  The fact is though, I know I'm young and I know I probably could remarry.  However,  I also know that I don't WANT to remarry.  I had a great man and even in his flaws, he was the love of my life and my best friend.   I know it's hard for most people to grasp but I want to remain his wife for the rest of my days.  What we had can not be replicated or replaced and it cannot be forgotten.  If I were to move on, especially hastily it would be doing a disservice to what I shared with you.  It would be unfair to my heart and the heart of the new man because they would always be second fiddle and frankly, they'd know they were ONLY in my life because you had died.

Now this might not be true for all widow/widowers, many want to move on and that's good.  They should, but this still shouldn't be said, because it's likely that in the moment that it's being said they are neither ready nor thinking about the possibility and it just adds to the pain and even pressure that comes with the loss. Besides that, saying you'll find love again is like suggesting that spouses come and go quickly and easily as if they're Chinese takeout and even more than that you're telling someone they'll find love again when they're already in love,it didn't just go away when their spouse died.


2. You have children.
Duh.  I am well aware that I have children.  Any widow or widower that has children knows that they have them.  I lost you not my memory.  I am never even sure why they're saying this.  If they're trying to tell me that I have to be strong for them, they're stating the obvious.  I will do what I do what I have to in order to ensure that they are cared for and loved.  If they're stating it as if I should be counting them as a blessing, I am just rolling my eyes.  I know they are blessings.  I am thankful for them.  It doesn't change the grief in my heart.

3. At least he's not suffering anymore.
Yep.  They're right, you're not suffering anymore.  I am glad you are no longer mentally anguished, but they saying that doesn't change anything for me.  The common saying in suicide is that it doesn't end your pain, it simply hands it over to someone else and that's completely accurate.  You're not in pain.  You are whole and you are healed and being loved on by Jesus and your mom and I am thankful for that.  But I am irrevocably broken.  I am immersed in grief and pain.  You may not be suffering, which I am happy for, but I am suffering and I am not happy about that.

4. He wouldn't want you to be sad.
Again, they're not wrong.  You would not want me to be sad.  You did everything you could to ensure that I was happy and you always said that you could feel my pain when I was upset.  You would not want me to be sad, but the fact of the matter is that I am human and if I wasn't sad that you were gone, I'd have to question if what we shared was legitimate.  You would not want me to be sad but you would understand why I was and you wouldn't belittle those feelings or tell me that I was wrong for having them.

5. Everything happens for a reason.
This is probably one of my least favorite death cliche I've had said to me.  Everything does not happen for reason.   We live in a fallen world and this fact allows for bad things to happen.  Sometimes there is no reason that something happened other than that we have free will.  This did not happen for a reason.  There is no reason that you should have died and that we have to live lives without you now.  There is no reason that you won't be there to watch our kids graduate or get married or to enjoy our grandkids.  There is no reason for any of this but God will bring good from this pain.  He always brings good from the ashes, even the ashes that didn't have a reason.

6. Keep praying God will heal your pain.
This is inaccurate.  It's meant to bring comfort, but it's simply not true.   He might lessen my pain.  He might make it more bearable and he will help me to carry it, but he may NOT heal it.  People don't like it when I respond with this, but it's factual.   There is no promise that my pain will be healed in this lifetime.  There is only a promise that in Heaven it will be healed.  Just look at people with cancer, they aren't always healed.  In fact, often they are not healed. And emotional pain is no different.   Some things are meant to be carried and endured not healed.  I rest in the fact that someday, when I find myself in Heaven, in the arms of Jesus, my heart will be whole and healed and the emotional pain I carried here on earth will no longer be mine.

7. I know how you feel.
No, they don't, unless they are a suicide widow yourself.  They might be able to imagine. They might even have an idea of how I feel, but they certainly do not know.  That said, I think people mean well and are trying to find ways to relate to me within an unrelatable situation.

8. When I got divorced......
No.  Not the same.  Not even close.  Divorce hurts.  It's loss.  It sucks.  It's still not the same, I wish that people would stop comparing the two.

9. Be kind to yourself/take it easy/rest.
While that is a nice thought and I know people mean well, it;s really not helping my situation.  I can't rest or take it easy or be kind to myself.  I have two children, a dog, and a house that still need taking care of.  I'd love a vacation to just grieve.  I'd love to ignore everything else, but I don't have that luxury and I have little people depending on me.

10. At least your bills are paid off
I think people are under the impression that everyone has a whole lot of money stashed away and that everyone's spouse has life insurance.  We had neither.  I was blessed by our community and was able to pay off some debt and get on my feet, but this is a ridiculous thing to say and assume.  I know many widows, particularly those widowed by suicide that were left with massive debt and a house entering foreclosure.

11. God needed another angel
Again, people are trying to bring about comfort.  Unfortunately what they're saying is absolutely inaccurate theology.  God created the angels to be his servants.  They are spiritual beings meant to do his will.  While on earth we are beneath the angels.  However, once we are in Heaven, we will be held higher than the angels.  1 Corinthians 6:3 is a good example of this.  You did not die because he needed an angel.  You died because you had pain and suffering and made a choice.  You died because we have free will within a fallen world.

12. How are you
If I told people how I really was they wouldn't know what to say or do.  It's not something I can or will answer truthfully and it's not something they really want the answer to.  It's a nicety and not a helpful one.

13. It sucks that you have two kids, it'll be hard to get remarried now
It doesn't suck that I have our kids.  It's hard and exhausting and I cry sometimes that I have them on my own.  It would be easier if I didn't have them, but I am not sorry that I do.  I also don't want to remarry and frankly I don't need to get remarried.  I wanted to do this with you.   Since I can't do it with you, I will do it on my own, and I am perfectly capable of doing so.

14. How long are you going to grieve or when are you going to go back to normal
I don't know.  I am going to grieve for as long as it takes, but I can tell you that I won't go back to "normal" or to "who i was before".  Your death has changed everything.  I've had to find a new normal, something different than anything else I've ever had.  Your death has changed me, I am not the same and I never will be.

15. I can't believe he left you like that
Well, you did.  However, I don't think you were thinking when you did it.  If you had been you wouldn't have left me.  They may not be able to believe it but it doesn't change that you're gone and the fact that you're gone changes nothing for me.  I still love you as much as I did before you died.  I simply miss you now when I didn't have to before.

16. What did you miss
I didn't miss anything.  You had no signs.  We talked all the time, about everything.  I don't think you planned this.  I think something happened in the moment and you made an irreversible and extremely impulsive decision.  I don't think that there were signs and even if there were, them saying that makes it seem like this was my fault and the fact is that it wasn't.  You made your choice, I didn't make it for you and the fact is that if it had been my choice, things would have gone in an entirely different way.

17. Aren't you so mad at him
No.  Like I said above, I don't think you planned this.  I think you were upset and you were always a bit impulsive when emotional.  I don't think you were malicious or trying to hurt me.  You made a choice and it sucks, but I could never be angry at you for it.

18. It could be worse
People that say this are making grief seem excessive.  My grief is not excessive and not only that but loss isn't really quantifiably measurable.  Maybe it seems like things could be worse to you.  Maybe you think you've suffered worse, but to me this is as bad as it gets.

19.  It'll get better in time
Grief doesn't have a time line.  A loss like this becomes a part of a person.  Losing you has become a part of me. It may get easier to bear, but it won't ever go away.  I will always miss you, I will always grieve you, and it will always hurt that you're not with me the way that you should be. It's not a broken leg, it doesn't just heal and go away.

20. You're so strong.
For the love of everything that is still good in this world.  I wish people would stop saying this.  I am not strong.  I am simply surviving and moving through life because I don't have any other choice.  To that people say, you do have a choice, but no I don't because the only other option is to end my own life, I can't put that pain on anyone nor can I leave my children that way.   They need me.  I am not strong, I am simply doing what has to be done.

So many things I never thought I'd hear, that I didn't want to hear, and that I still don't want to hear.  This is a life I neither wanted nor thought I'd have.  All I know for sure is that I love you.  I miss you.  Forever.

Always,
Jess