What I wanted to say...

The strawberry blond hair was what I noticed first. Noticed because of its beauty as the afternoon sun shined on it. Also noticed because it was closer to the ground than it should have been.

We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.

The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.

As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.

I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.

As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.

To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.

To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…