A Widow’s Many “Firsts”

Elaine Williams copyright 2008

The left side of the bed where my husband used to sleep remains neatly made, hardly a ripple disturbing the quilted surface. I sleep on the right side each night, where I had slept the twenty-plus years we were together.  With time, I developed a habit of reading in bed. The left side remained neatly made, but on top of the quilted cover a mound of reading material gradually grew. I read about feng shui in the bedroom and wondered was I preventing another partner from entering my life by allowing that pile to grow? Was there a part of me that would rather be entertained by books than another partner?
I sorted through and cleared away my husband’s clothes a few months after his passing, following an inexplicable but strong urge that struck me. Our bedroom was on the second floor, and with his illness, he had not been in that room at least six months prior to his passing. I went through the bedroom like a whirlwind, clearing out every corner, drawer and shoe box, getting rid of anything that resembled clutter or hadn’t been used in years. I cleared all but the barest essentials for living.
At night, I would lie in bed and stare into the dark, feeling the emptiness of the room, as it matched the emptiness in my heart.
When I took off my wedding ring the first time, I put it on my opposite hand. It felt strange to be on a finger where it didn’t belong. I got used to it after a few weeks, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for widows and rings. After several months, I took the ring off and put it on my dresser, but then months later, I resumed wearing it again on my right hand.
Switching the wedding band around felt awkward. After several more months, I removed it for the final time, wondering if my kids would notice. My youngest son one day remarked that my ring was gone and I told him I’d put it as a keepsake in my jewelry box. The last time I wore it was two and a half years after my husband’s death.
The first time I went to a social event without my husband felt incredibly awkward, as if I were an imposter masquerading as someone single. Two of my children went with me, but I wondered how many people there, most of whom I knew, wondered about my state of mind since I’d been a widow a scant two months. Did I look happy, sad, ready to cry? Inside I was shaky and struck with inadequacy, as if half of me was missing and the remaining half didn’t know how to act. I certainly didn’t want anyone’s pity, but I had this crazy notion people were feeling bad for me. I didn’t stay long, but somehow I felt it was important that I had gone.
My first lunch by myself I slipped into the diner booth hoping no one would notice me. I sat there self-consciously, wishing I had brought something to read so I could keep my head down, my own way of hiding. I had gone in there just to see if I could do it by myself, a test, if you will.
As I waited for my food I looked at the television showing the weather, the other patrons, some of whom I knew by sight, and out the window at the rain. My food arrived and after I ate and paid the bill. I walked out of there feeling as if I’d cleared a monumental hurdle, ultimately relieved that I had taken another step forward.
It sounds trivial, and yet these little steps were my daily leaps forward. Progress was measured some days by how long it had been since I’d cried. Was it silly to drive down the road and suddenly hear a song that made you cry? Not because it was “your” song, but because the poignant lyrics poked at something hurting inside.
My first date in twenty plus years felt as foreign as if I was cheating on my husband. How do you pick up the pieces of a life gone awry, where it feels like you’re a stranger in your own world? Where does loneliness end and desperation take over? How do you control the craving for human attention and affection? Many days I had questions and no answers.
The first wedding anniversary, birthday, holiday, Valentines day and the first anniversary of his death I told myself I was okay, these were merely days on a calendar. I lied to myself and on bright sunny days I walked into our woods and cried. Even with the sun’s warmth on my face, I felt an emotional mess. The biggest sustaining factor in my life was my kids. I knew they needed me as they faced their own “firsts” without their father in their lives.
Gradually, time, healing and loved ones’ support made all the “firsts” bearable. Four years down the road, I realize I’ve successfully jumped many hurdles. It had not always been with perfect execution, but with overall strength and dignity. I’ve come into my own power once more as I applaud my accomplishments big and small.
http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

Dating After Loss of a Spouse

Elaine Williams copyright 2008

When a relationship ends due to one partner dying, what is the correct time period to begin dating again? Grief is such a funny, unpredictable animal. Many people in years’ past think a year is a suitable time to wait before incorporating life changes, and yet for many of us, a year into our loss – we’re barely getting started on our grief journey. My experience has been that people and perhaps society as a whole, do not allow enough time or thought to the actual grief process. There is no quick fix or “getting over it” and moving on. We all move through grief in our own ways and means. There is nothing by formula that we can follow or hope to happen. Talking with others who have experienced a similar loss is definitely a plus.

Some days the road is more difficult than others days. At times, you feel enveloped in a mist of uncertainty. Even small decisions can sometimes stretch past your point of coping.

Personal decisions are just that, personal. What is suitable for anyone must be decided  individually. Sometimes you have to let go of preconceived notions of the correct way to act and grieve.

I began dating too early, about a year after my husband passed away. I was incredibly lonely and in a real oxymoron, I was determined to be happy again, at any cost to myself. So, I started dating through online sites and I kept attracting the wrong type of man. Takers, emotionally unavailable, surface daters, serial daters, men who mirrored my own uncertainty about my readiness to date again.

None of these connections turned out to be anything substantial. In a fog of grief, I yearned to find someone to love, and yet I knew these men were wrong for me. They were just a short ride on a ferry to nowhere special. It was brought home to me gradually, through my dating experiences, that I had to value myself more than what I was doing. I couldn’t settle with a partner just to have someone in my life. I deserved more. My dates deserved more than someone still traveling through grief.

In those early days, I was as unavailable as the men I dated. If I had realized this, perhaps I would have run fast in the opposite direction, but in two instances I hung on to a flagging relationship, hoping things would change. Of course they did not.

Gradually, I came to realize that I had to stop setting myself up for disappointment in relationships. How could I attract the right partner, unless I was equally ready for a commitment?

I made the decision to bring my standards up to a new level and part of this process involved not dating for over a year. Only then did I start meeting the quality of man that my higher consciousness demanded. I was no longer wasting my time, or theirs, in surface dating, where both of us knows after one date there is no chemistry or real interest.

We all deserve better for ourselves than settling in a relationship just to alleviate the loneliness. It is difficult being alone when you are used to so much more, but I have chosen to remain so until the right partner comes along. For me, there is no other choice. http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com
 

Dreams in Healing Grief

Elaine Williams copyright 2008

There were many nights as a new widow, I fell into an exhausted, restless sleep. In the first two years after my husband’s death, I had countless dreams in which he appeared. My dreaming seemed to revolve around day-to-day issues with my kids, money, fear of failure, and later, reentering the dating world. Often I would awake from a dream and try to decipher the meaning. I had been doing this for years, but having lost my husband, the dreams now held special significance.

If a dream felt particularly vivid, I would write it down. Sometimes bits and pieces would be recalled at a later point in the day, almost like a déjà vu moment. I sometimes experienced an “ah-ha” moment, and yet other times I wondered why I had crazy and confusing dreams. Then there were the comforting dreams. I speculated was it really my husband communicating with me, or was my subconscious responsible for the messages received?
 
Whatever the source, dreams wove all through my healing process. There were nights I went to bed feeling on the edge of despair, only to awaken and recall a dream offering hope and new meaning. On the days I felt frail in my grief, hopeful messages were held tightly to my heart. Perhaps I was too busy during the day to pay attention to my own fears, so during sleep, some of the answers were provided.
 
Some mornings I recalled only a snippet of a dream. I went through a period of incredible stress regarding one of my children’s relationship issues. In a dream during that period, when my son seemed to be floundering, I woke with these words in my head, “He rose to the top.” There was immediate comfort and I knew my son would be okay.

When career opportunities went nowhere, I fell into inertia, feeling as if I was suspended in limbo. I was afraid my life would never feel right. I had a dream one night that I stood naked before a blank wall. My husband entered the room, fully dressed with a knapsack on his back. In the dream he asked me was I happy to see him. I exclaimed with joy, jumped on him, and said of course I was. He laughed and hugged me.

In thinking about the dream later, I realized that I was ready to move forward with my life, but there was part of me still unhealed and hugging his memory to me. That dream made it clear to me that he was moving on to where he needed to be. I, too, had to move on, but not force anything or rush myself. I had a fresh life ahead of me and when the time was right, it would all fall into place. I also realized I couldn’t let the past keep me at a standstill, staring at a blank wall.

When my middle son went through a tough time, similarly “stuck” in place, I dreamed he and I were driving down a country road and his father followed us in his own vehicle. A big tree fell across the road behind us, blocking my husband’s vehicle. We got out and my husband stood there on the other side of the tree. He said to us, “Go ahead without me. I’ll meet you later.” I felt the message was for both my son and I, to keep going ahead with life.

My last significant dream of my husband came at a time when I knew I had to veer off a path I was taking. In the dream, he wasn’t visiting or stopping by to say hello. He told me he had to leave, there was something he had to do. I knew with absolute certainty that he was dead.

I awoke from this dream crying, knowing this would be our last communication. This occurred at approximately two and a half years after his passing. From that point on, I dreamed only rarely of him, and the dreams were almost static, as if he was there, but not participating in the dream. He had moved on.

At about three years after his passing, I dreamed he was coming back for a short time, and I didn’t want him to come back. I had made myself a new life and evolved into a totally different person. I knew also that if he came back, temporarily, it would throw my children into turmoil when he left again.

I felt guilty over my perceived message in this dream, that I didn’t want him to come back. I went back and forth with myself for months over its possible meaning to me. Ultimately, I realized the truth was quite simple. I truly believe he had his own “work” to complete on the other side, just as I have many things to accomplish in my life.

We are both where we’re supposed to be.
http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

Advance Reviews on A Journey Well Taken: Life After Loss

I’ve been getting advance reviews on my book, some very generous reviews, so I’ll be posting them first to my website, then to my blogs. I’ve been busy working on new articles also, so looking forward to posting those. I’m planning on going to see “No Country for Old Men.” I heard it was a good movie, so we’ll see tonight.

Grief is a Journey, Not a Destination

Elaine Williams ©2008

There are days you sit in a chair and stare out the window because living seems to take too much energy. Even to think about what to make for dinner is an all-consuming task. It can be daunting, feeling as if there is nothing in this world that will ever hold your interest again. The mail order catalog with the Valentine’s Day gifts is a reminder there won’t be any lover’s keepsakes. No hiding in the cabinet those chocolate and peanut butter eggs my husband, gone two years, used to enjoy. How small and silly a thought, but how big a rip in my heart.

I had always been versatile and open to new ideas, but following my husband’s death, life became a narrow focus of work and children. The joy had flown from most of my days and I worried if this consuming disinterest in the world would be permanent.

Time could move excruciatingly slow, and yet other days I couldn’t account for the hours I’d lived through. On the dark days, I lamented that no one cared anymore about my worries, dreams or desires.

I hated being an empty vessel, and as I began dating, I expected that special someone to come along, fill me up, and make me happy. At that point, I mistakenly thought, things would return to normal. I’d be my old self. Little did I know at the beginning of my grief journey, my old self was forever gone. However, I wanted verification that I mattered to someone in some way. I wanted affection and caring, craving what I no longer had. My heart remained ever hopeful that I would find a happy ending, but due to some poor choices, I kept throwing myself on the rocks of dating disappointment.

With the loss of someone integral to mine and my children’s lives, my sense of normalcy had changed. Sometimes I wallowed in uncertainty about my life, and the tears would leak out of my eyes to run down my cheeks. I kept those emotions hidden most of the time. I couldn’t bear to have others see me so weak; it seemed too private to share. On rare occasions, I allowed myself to express my pain and anxiety. I wish now that I shared my grief more often.

One day I awoke and realized my life had never been a shipwreck and now was not the time to start. I was ever mindful that I was an example to my children, so I gathered my strength and took control of my destiny. Knowing the future was all in my hands was frightening and yet liberating. Becoming myself once more wasn’t an easy process, but a slow, methodical movement forward.

I am no longer the woman I was, but then having gone through this journey, how could I expect, or want, to return to who I had been? Indeed, as the years folded one into another, I had no need to rehash the past. It was behind me as it should be, neither forgotten nor dwelled upon.

I now avidly pursue the future as I welcome life’s unexpected joys and experiences. A new life and outlook has emerged, and it is interwoven with bits and pieces of my former life. I am thankful to have found myself again. http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

The Last Breath

Elaine Williams ©2008

That last moment of my husband’s life, I stood beside his bed. It was the final moment of our twenty plus years together. My sister-in-law and my middle son were on the opposite side of the bed. My eldest son sat at the kitchen table. I had been sitting with my husband most of the morning. Just sitting, holding his left hand, letting him know I was there. He took a sharp breath and my sister-in-law asked me if he needed more medicine. I’d been battling for two days with his medicine dosages. He seemed to need more to keep the pain at bay, so when I called hospice, they told me how to give it to him so that it would get the pain to a controllable level.

I leaned over him and asked if he needed more pain medicine. He took one deep, shuddering breath and that was it. He stopped breathing with his hand in mine. He had always been strong throughout the years, but he lay there now so frail and gaunt. I was glad I stayed beside him almost constantly those last three days. One time in those last days, I remember he said, “Sit beside me, I’m so lonesome.”

Mixed emotions flooded through me. The pain of loss, yet relief that he is finally pain-free. Such a tumult of undefined pain. My husband had chosen not to go to a hospital, as he wanted to be in his own home with his family.

I often thought of the people who were there that last moment. Did we all have a special purpose and reason to be there? My parents, two of my children; my youngest was outside. A friend who was there had driven 1000 miles to see my husband one last time. Another friend sat silently supportive at our kitchen table with my oldest son. My husband’s sister. Her husband whom my husband had known since he was in his early teens.

Everyone was there, moving around, yet it seemed unreal, what happened in those last moments. He was lying there, the man I’d married almost 21 years before. I’d always thought we’d be together forever, or close to it. He’d been like a rock in our lives. A constant force. I didn’t think he’d leave us like this.

He died at 11 a.m. and was cognizant up to the last 18 hours. Months before he had signed a “do not resuscitate” order. There was no need to call anyone except hospice. I touched his forehead and I leaned over and kissed him there.

When the hospice nurse arrived, I watched her put the stethoscope to his sunken chest. It seemed to take forever while she listened for a heartbeat. I held my breath. Crazy thoughts went through my head. He is dead. His suffering is over. Don’t tell me he’s still alive. Don’t tell me there’s a heartbeat. The nurse wrote the official time of death as 12 p.m. There was no more heartbeat. The vibrant life that had been my husband was extinguished.

From then on, I had accelerated moments of feeling lost, like all the rules had changed in life and no one had told me what they were.

At various times after his passing, my life felt defined by how much time had elapsed since my husband died. It’s like I had a ticker in my head. I became consumed by finishing everything we had talked about doing the last several years around the house. We needed a new driveway so I hired a local contractor to assess and fix the water drainage problem, then redesign the driveway. The very large barn behind the house was badly in need of paint, since it had not been painted in thirty or so years. Considering the large size of the barn, this was a bit of an undertaking. It took me approximately a week to prime and paint that building with a professional sprayer, although I did hire someone at a very reasonable price to do the scraping.

Other projects soon occupied my time. We had removed many trees from our backyard years before, and those stumps were an eyesore that I decided also needed to be removed.

I recall before the end of that first summer, I had a sudden, inexplicable need to clean out the bedroom my husband and I had shared. I went through every nook and cranny and I offered the kids whatever they wanted of their father’s for keepsakes. Their father used to collect coins, so I split up his small silver dollar collection so they each had a stack of their own. My children were hesitant to take mementoes they still considered to be their father’s, but I told them their dad would want them to have it.

At some point I decided to put my own stamp on the house and property, so when I painted the barn, I also painted a mural on the large front doors. It was incredibly satisfying seeing the finished product every time I pulled into my driveway. Feeling good about this creative activity, I kept the momentum going and did several more paintings, which almost served as therapy.

In looking back, I kept myself busy so I didn’t have to think too much about my life and the emptiness invading every portion of it. But eventually, you wind down, because you can’t live on that adrenalin for long. I had health problems that surfaced about six months after his passing. Even though I was no longer caretaking, I was exhausted from the continued frenzy of activity. I had three boys under twenty who needed me.

So I finally listened to my inner voice and was forced to realize I needed to take care of me. My husband’s last breath had not been mine. I had many more years ahead of me. http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

Medical Treatment is a Personal Decision

By Elaine Williams ©2008

When my husband was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, we were shocked, never even having suspected this illness. He had always been relatively healthy, and then one day he couldn’t eat anymore.

It all began a few months before the diagnosis. He felt an uneasy heaviness in his chest, but he couldn’t quite explain what it was to the doctor. Since my husband was in his late fifties, the doctor sent him for a stress test to check his heart. The tests came back well within the normal range, so the doctor wasn’t concerned.

Fast forward three months later, my husband vomited a few times in a week and he lost some weight. Then, suddenly, he couldn’t keep food or liquid down. From the first time he vomited until we had our doctor appointment, ten days passed and he lost twelve pounds.

We discovered with esophagus cancer there can be few or hardly any symptoms, and the ones that show up, typically heartburn, are sometimes ignored. He had had some incidences of heartburn throughout the years, but nothing that seemed significant enough to go see a doctor about.

By the time the symptoms created the weight loss, the doctor immediately ordered tests and we found out within two days there was a good possibility it may be cancer. This diagnosis was confirmed upon further testing and we were told they suspected the cancer had spread to the lymph system.  There were two tumors on his esophagus and a larger tumor at the junction of the stomach and esophagus.

We were both incredibly shocked and stressed by the diagnosis, especially in lieu of the fact that we had three children, the youngest being eleven. We carefully weighed the options the doctors presented, and there were not many. There were traditional treatments, which both doctors recommended, and then there were alternative modalities which a friend of ours suggested. After meeting with the traditional doctors, we then met with a holistic doctor who outlined non-invasive treatments. My husband felt alternative medicine gave him a chance of having a better quality of life as opposed to doing the chemo and radiation treatments.

When friends and acquaintances found out we were not following the traditional medical route, some of their reactions took me by surprise. Even though medical treatment of any kind is a personal issue, we were openly questioned about our decision to pursue holistic methods. After being repeatedly questioned, I began to get defensive about my husband’s treatment any time it was brought up. We had decided what was best for him and I supported his choice 100 percent.

When people voiced their concern over our decision, I felt as if they were saying how dare we not do the best we could for him. I know in hindsight I was being overly sensitive, but I got into a few arguments—feeling as if I had to be on the defense. Due to my high stress level with the illness and being a full time caretaker, I was running on adrenalin all the time.

On one occasion, I even got in a yelling match with a friend of my husband’s in our house. The man had had too much to drink and questioned why we had decided not to do the chemo. He tried to convince us to reconsider. I told him it was our choice and we felt we were doing the best we would, but he would not drop the conversation. I told him that it wasn’t his business, and then he broke down and began to cry.

Sensing his real concern, all the fight left me as I put my arm around him while he cried. I had not wanted to fight with anyone, my whole concern was for my husband, but then I realized there were others who cared about us also, and who only wanted the best for him. They cared, but it didn’t make it any easier dealing with emotions pushed to the limits.

 Perhaps it may have been better to simply tell people we were doing the best we could, using traditional and holistic means. Sometimes people just don’t understand the strain a family is placed under, while in the throes of a terminal illness. http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

On Grief: What is normal anyway?

Elaine Williams ©2008

Is there such a thing as normal in grief? I believe we all have experiences that are similar, to a degree. But I also feel that grieving is an entirely personal thing. We all react to loss in our own way, in our own time and according to our own closely held beliefs. There is no schedule, no prescribed way to act or feel.

Many days after my husband passed, I could still laugh, feel joy over silly things, but for me a lot of it felt superficial. Laughing on the outside, crying inside. It sounds trite, but nothing in the grieving process is small or trivial. Our emotions and actions all mean something special to each of us. People think you’re brave or you’re doing fine because they don’t see the tears or the private anguish. Some of us are successful at keeping that hidden. We don’t feel comfortable sharing what’s really going on inside. I know for the most part I kept it all under wraps. I felt I had to be strong. Why whine about circumstances you can’t change?  Who, I thought, wants to hear how depressed or hopeless I feel? Why bring someone else down with my feelings of inadequacy and loneliness?

Twice I’ve heard others give advice to the newly widowed, about how with time you’ll get used to being alone. The first time I heard that, I didn’t understand the utter devastation of being in an empty house. The second time I heard someone say this, to a new widow, and being a widow of only 2 years myself, I understood. I was a little sharp when I told this single person giving advice, “It’s not the same as being single. It’s not easy or quick.”

However, based on my experience, I can say that with time it does get easier. I wish now, in looking back, that I had talked more about my feelings to someone. Family, friends, a therapist. Someone. I think it would have benefited me.

For quite a long time, when I thought I was healed, I realize I was suspended in some kind of limbo. In looking back over the last several years, it’s easier for me to see the whole picture of what was happening in my life. I decided to start dating about a year after my husband’s death. I felt I was ready to move forward. As a conscious gesture on my part, I moved my wedding band to my right hand. This symbolized to me I was taking action and saying, “Ok, ready to go.”

At this juncture I attracted emotionally unavailable men. Selfish men who wanted a booty call and that was the extent of their interest or capabilities at that time in their life. I missed intimacy, someone holding me, their attention focused on me because of the person I am. I desired a meaningful relationship. After all, I thought somewhat smugly, I had been married twenty years, I knew how relationships worked. I wanted one again to fill the gap in my life. I wanted it overnight.

I’m a big believer that if something keeps coming to you in a negative way, it’s because someone or something bigger than yourself is trying to get your attention. I kept having dates with men who were totally out of sync with me spiritually, mentally and emotionally. I can now decipher the message I ignored. I was the one attracting emotionally unavailable men because that’s who I was. That is what I projected for two and a half years until I called a stop to it. I made the decision to stop dating men who I knew were only a nice dinner date and nothing more. I made the decision not to get intimate with someone unless they really cared about me, because I cared too much about myself to do otherwise.

In the early dating period, I couldn’t see this. I was determined to do it my way. I was curious, I wanted some excitement to make up for the drabness that I felt was my life. My life in reality wasn’t drab, it was merely filled with loss and grief that I was trying to avoid thinking about.

For me, once I decided to think more clearly about what I wanted in a relationship, I stopped drawing in the wrong people. I became clear in my own heart what was best for me. It wasn’t an overnight fix. Some days I still feel I’m in the process, but I look back and know I am in a much more advanced place than I have ever been.

 I love my life, the opportunities that fall into place, the discovery of the real me who’s been waiting to be found. My life experiences have taught me so much, and a lot of it was due to grief. If I hadn’t had these exact life experiences and traumas, I don’t believe I would be the whole person I am today. http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

When the Memories Come Without Pain

By Elaine Williams ©2008

My youngest son was eleven when his father died.  For the longest time he would cling to me when we were parting company, giving hugs and more hugs. I know this was his way of working through the loss of his father and I knew that eventually this phase would pass. Many times he would talk about things he and his father and brothers had done and this too seemed to help him move through his grief. There were times he just didn’t want to talk to me about anything, but usually this was rare. I remember picking up his wallet one day and inside he had some old driver’s licenses that had belonged to his father. He also kept his father’s old bright orange work shirts and wore those for the longest time. One of them said, “I survived the blizzard of 1993.” This was particularly humorous since my son was born in 1992.

We would often talk about different funny things that had happened throughout the years. Like the time my husband and my kids were home and my husband drove the kid’s 4×4 up onto our deck and the plastic lawn chairs were flying everywhere. He cautioned them “not to tell Mom,” since he knew I’d probably not be too happy. A friend spilled the beans months after my husband was no longer with us and reminiscing about this event brought a laugh from all of us.

Another time we talked about was a day in late February, when it was bitter cold and ice  and snow lay on the ground. My husband and kids and I went down the street to help two elderly neighbors. Their car was stuck on ice with them inside the vehicle. My husband had a stomach tube in place, which at times could be troublesome, but he started shoveling snow with the rest of us and helped dig out the neighbor’s car. When the elderly lady was able to get out of her car, she exclaimed over him doing all that shoveling, since she knew he was ill. He just smiled at her and then we all laughed when she told him to come up to the house and she would give him a neck rub.

When my husband passed away three months later, that elderly lady passed away the next day. Her daughter reminded us of the day my husband shoveled out the car, and said that they were in heaven together and her mother was giving my husband neck rubs.

After my husband’s memorial service, my sister-in-law went upstairs to the second floor of the funeral home to retrieve the urn with my husband’s ashes, since he had been cremated. I still remember watching her come down the long steep stairs with the urn held carefully in her hands. About a month later my sister-in-law called me to tell me about a dream she had had. In the dream, she was coming once again down those stairs with the urn, and my husband was saying to her, “Don’t drop me.” We laughed so hard when she told this dream. It was exactly the smart-alecky thing my husband would have said.

When I look back on our life together, there are many memories that are told and retold, and to me it seems further evidence of healing for myself and my children. The memories are there and fondly told, with a smile and reminiscent grin, without the pain that was once associated thinking of a loved one no longer there.

http://www.ajourneywelltaken.com

Something I Learned Last Year

By Elaine Williams ©2008

 

I know when I started the year out fresh in 2007, I felt incredibly lonely. I had been widowed for over two years, and found that when a spouse dies and you’re no longer part of a couple, it seems to affect the dynamics of previous friendships. Married friends no longer kept in touch in quite the same way, invitations sometimes fell by the wayside, and my entire social circle changed. Many of our friends were actually my husband’s friends, and therefore there wasn’t much in common between us, minus my husband. Some of it was due to my own outlook about myself, and feeling somewhat bereft without my spouse.

 

I began to develop other friendships, some of them likewise single women, but also new connections with other married couples. It was different though because these married couples were solely my new friends.

 

I had tried online dating and dating services while proactively enlarging my social life, but I kept coming up against a wall. During this time I wasn’t able to find someone that I felt connected to, who shared similar likes and dislikes. The dating scene at fifty years of age felt like a revolving door and some days, I allowed this fact to make me miserable.

 

In the Fall, I finished up a membership with a dating service that matches you with men who share your interests. The last fellow I met seemed interesting and promised to call. A few emails, more promises to call, and five weeks later, I asked myself why was I allowing this man to mess with my head? I took charge and emailed him, in response to another email saying he would like to get together. I politely said thank you, but since he had not called at all since we had met, I didn’t sense any real interest from him. Have a great day.

  

Many days life did not seem to be getting any easier or more comfortable. However, as the year progressed, a truth began to dawn on me. I was doing the best I could. I had begun to write again, something that had always been a big part of my life but that had been on hold since my husband’s illness and passing. Gradually, the part of me inside that felt numb began to tingle and come alive.

 

I took myself off on a nice vacation to the beaches of South Carolina, and a part of me that had been missing was suddenly found. It was a writer’s retreat with twelve other women. Suddenly, I felt energized and recharged. The void I’d been drifting in, was no longer there. My writing instincts were once more in full force and to have it suddenly back was a euphoric high. I began meditating regularly, even if it was only five or ten minutes before bed and upon wakening. My emotions felt more grounded and I knew something elemental had shifted within.

 

On what would have been my 24^th wedding anniversary, I didn’t feel shaky or have the notion to hide in my bedroom and cry. I felt okay. I accepted my life as it was and realized it was pretty good, and would only get better.

 

I love to dance, so I started taking swing dancing lessons and enjoyed myself tremendously. It became an ongoing vocation.  I also enjoy painting, so I signed up for a watercolor class and also plan to take instruction on sculpting, interests I’ve long held but never acted upon.

 

I deliver meals to the elderly, and this year it was brought home to me, as I visited the homes of others, how very lucky my three kids and I are to have a clean, warm house.

 

The times when I felt that little niggle of “why me” due to my own small misfortunes, I’d see someone else in far greater straights than anything I’d experienced.

 

Last year, I learned more about compassion from others than I have in a long time. Many of those lessons were observed from afar. My greatest inspiration came from a woman my own age, who had very little money, lived in less than ideal conditions, and yet always had a smile on her face because she had people who loved her, and she was convinced tomorrow would be better.

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