A Horrible Common Thread

Putting my girls to bed is the hardest part of my day, I think. Well, maybe other than the 500 IEPs and meetings that happen throughout my day. But honestly, I know there are many moms that count down the minutes to when they can tuck their little monsters into bed. And I'm not saying that I don't also have those days where I'd like to maybe change the clock or just start the bath-bed routine a little bit earlier. But, most nights I dread tucking them away into their beds and turning off the lights and walking away. Why? Because I like spending time with them. I like playing with them. I like listening to their fits of giggles as they dress up or dance or draw together. When I tuck them into bed, the house is quiet. So quiet. Most nights too quiet. 

Then, without the distraction of a four-year-old and a seven-year-old, I start to think. And wonder. And daydream. And that almost always turns into anxiety. Or panic. Or sadness. You see, it's hard to experience loss in life and not have that be a constant thing just hanging in the back of your mind. People often want to know when I'm going to be over that. It's been four years since Brian died and life as I knew it started unravelling. I should be over it. I should be done with that. But, that's not how grief works. And that's really not how complicated grief works. 

Something that is difficult and has made it hard for me is that after loss, after going through the death of Brian, I began to be hyper-aware of other people's grief. You almost "take on" another person's sadness and pain as they go through it. News of tragedy or death or loss sends me reeling into my whole process again. My heart aches for that person. I know pain. I know loss. I know not wanting to get out of bed, but also wanting whatever the new normal is going to be to carry on as soon as possible. I grieve for that person. I grieve for their loss. And I grieve for my loss all over again. 

My story never matches anyone else's story. And I doubt it ever will, but even that doesn't matter. Loss in general is loss. And it is difficult. It is hard. There is a horrible commonality that you share and that is that a piece of your life was sucked away. A piece of your family, your hopes, your dreams is gone. That hole is permanent. That hole is damaging. That hole is devastating. And that hole, for me, is exposed every time I have a friend or a coworker or a loved one go through the process of loss. 

The other side to that for me is my mission to help. My mission to hold them and protect them and give them advice in how to survive whatever stage they may be in. I have no idea if it is helpful. I have no idea if it is wanted. But my personality has always been to fix things. To make things right. To help wherever I can. And I have to believe that God has placed me on this path at this very time to help others who are experiencing loss. I have to believe that He has a higher purpose for all of this, for taking my husband when he did. So, I try and find the good in this situation and help. Giving advice to those that have felt loss, when needed. Helping those who surround those who have experienced loss understand this horrible process and how to bolster them up.

So, when my friend's husband was killed in a car accident a couple years ago, I sank into my office chair and cried at my desk. And then I did my best to love and care and support her through her time. And I try to watch her to see if there are still times when she needs me. 

And this summer when I heard that my friend's son passed away, I volunteered to cook a dinner for her. I wept the entire time I baked bread and shredded chicken and drove to her house, but not before I messaged her to let her know that if she didn't want to answer the door, that was ok because that was the hardest part for me when people delivered meals...visiting and smiling and thanking people for their kindness. It was appreciated for sure, but another exhausting piece. 

And this school year when a friend had a miscarriage I sobbed in the bathroom at work and had such a hard time and I eventually took dinner to her. (What's up with our need to make food for people that are grieving by the way?! I appreciated it, but stopped it as quick as I could. After week three of casseroles I really just wanted some chicken mcnuggets!) I was so happy to help and I hugged her and hugged her some more and then sobbed some more in her living room. 

There are many other stories it seems. And with each story, with each new story of loss, my heart breaks. So many people are going through too much. And I can't fix it all! I can't make it better for everyone. I am the admin of a Facebook group for young widows. There are over 300 women that are part of this group, in all stages of loss. And it is staggering to me to hear some of their stories. To know that they too have sadness. And I do my best to make sure that I answer everyone  that posts to the best of my ability. Because, like I said before, God's plan and mission for me is much bigger than to just have had it end four years ago when I heard that my husband was dead. That is not how my story ends. My story ends with helping people. On both sides of the grief fence!

So, if you are grieving or in the process of loss or losing someone, I will be here for you if you need me. And, if you are on the other side and are unsure how to help or what to do or what to say, I will be here for you if you need me. Just don't mind me when I cry because I can only be the one to try and fix it because I have been through it. And going through it once usually means that you go through it again as your friends and family are experiencing it. 

Grief sucks! It is not linear like I wish it would be. It is not predictable. It can't just go away, even though many of us would like it to. So, be kind! Be understanding. Just listen. Don't be afraid of us that have experienced loss. Don't rush us through our process, no matter where we are at, whether it's four hours, or four years. Don't assume all is fine just because we are upright and at work and smiling. But also don't assume that we are depressed or continually grieving or hiding our true feelings. It takes a while but the smiles become sincere again. Don't ignore us because you think we need space or you're afraid that you'll upset us, but also don't necessarily hug us out of the blue, especially at work when we have to hold it together. But send us messages letting us know you care. Write us post it notes letting us know you are praying. Send Facebook messages offering help or a shoulder to cry on. Text an occasional "I love you!" Cook us dinner, sometimes...or offer to take us out for McNuggets!

My purpose is greater than my husband dying. That's not how my story ends. I get to be here for others! I get to know more about death and suicide and other topics that I can't bring myself to talk about quite yet, but someday maybe I will. And that may open a whole new realm for me to try and fix. I hope that I get to help others! And I hope the people that I try and help now know how deeply I love them. How deeply I feel their pain and their loss, even though it is so different. We are connected by a horrible common thread. But I prefer to see it not as a horrible common thread, but as a human moment where we get to reach out and help each other heal souls! Thank you, dear friends, for helping me just as much as I hope I am helping you. 

So, tonight, I write this post and I find myself sobbing as I write, thinking about another friend today who has suffered the loss of a husband. And I pray, and post a message of love and prayer on her Facebook page. I grieve for her and her family. And once again, I grieve for myself. But, I look forward to a new tomorrow where I can maybe help. And try to fix things the best I can. And just offer up knowing that I am here...whenever you need me...