Blessings surround Winterpast. Ollie and the Wookie are having the time of their lives racing through the first leaves of fall. I’ve put the first bit of water in the greenhouse, which is just now cool enough to use. There are roses to trim and trees to feed. MM and I continue to plan our upcoming nuptials. But, a sense of loss looms large.
A dear friend has now been a widow for seven long days. I met her while VST was still alive. In fact, it was she who introduced us to the magic of Winterpast. Her expertise as a realtor helped me through my first week of widowhood while I was selling one home and moving into another. We both lost our husbands suddenly in violent and tragic ways. I know exactly how I felt when it happened to me. I haven’t a clue of what she is experiencing right now, but I’m pretty sure it’s hell.
This weekend, I decided to put together some gifts for her because at this time, words are clumsy. There’s no advice. No magic wand that can given her a short cut. Time WILL make things better, but the question is “How much?”. In her case, their love will last until the 12th of never, and that’s a long, long time.
Remembering back to April 2020, there were some things that kept me moving forward. They weren’t given to me through the advice of a counselor. All the grief specialists were hiding behind their locked doors, fearing the virus. They were little things I dreamed up that worked.
My first comfort, then and forever more, has been God. Plain and simple. God. I began studying the Bible. The most fascinating book on the planet. Real miracles changed my life after I was baptized December 12, 2021.
There were earthly rituals and items that helped, as well.
This very friend, now in anguish and shock gave me a special gift when I was a new widow. A garden angel that would light the night. For four years, this solar angel has glowed throughout the night, reminding me that real angels surround my life and keep me safe.
Another friend had given me a solar rainbow-maker for my window. Just when I’d least expect it, little rainbows would appear throughout the house. Little promises that life won’t remain dark and daunting.
For twelve long months, released balloons on 8th day of the month at 10:30 AM. You’d find me on the back lawn crying as I watched balloons ascend towards the heavens. Each month, there’d be one more added to the bunch. Making my fingers release the string became easier with time. 111 balloons released over 365 days carried a lot of grief heavenward.
I bought very soft, comfy pajamas in which to quarantine and hermitize. In some ways, Covid came at the perfect time for me. There didn’t need to be an excuse to stay home and avoid others. It was provided by the government. In those early days, I spent time unpacking and organizing, two chores that showed obvious results. About the only two things I could control as I started on my journey as one.
I chose a focus word a month. Single words described my life with VST. Friendship. Love. Adventure. Each time I became overwhelmed, the word of the month would remind me of countless memories, all precious and cherished. After remembering all the reasons I chose the word, I’d feel better and could continue on.
Each month, I bought one Christmas gift that represented the monthly word. On Christmas Eve, 2020, VST and I shared a private party. I’d written a letter to myself each month which reflected a life headed on a healthy journey.
Writing is life. Remember that. I journaled. Even if I had nothing to report on but the weather, I journaled. The time I got up. The time I went to bed. Everything in between. It’s all there. Some of it is cringeworthy. Other bits hilarious. There are a few books wrapped up in those journals that are neatly tucked away, unlike Grievinggardener.com, which also helped.
Yesterday, I filled a bag for my friend with items to help her begin her journey. Included was the little garden angel. She has a new job watching over her rightful owner. I put a ribbon on the rainbow maker, because everyone needs a promise of hope during their darkest days. A soft comfy nightgown will warm her on the crisp fall nights. A journal and pretty pen will help her put her thoughts on paper. And finally, a canister of helium and a box of tissues.
The sadness I feel for her is deep. Sometimes, it’s necessary to do something because nothing else that can be done. Right?
Whatever you do today, contact one widow and brighten her day. Tell her a new joke. Find out the latest news on her end. Spend time listening to her. Let her know you love her. Widowhood isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes courage, fortitude, resilience, and a community of best friends.
More tomorrow.