tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1410599077591449670.post1835904427799068596..comments2024-01-20T20:13:48.901-07:00Comments on Widow Chick: Normal is the New CrazyWidow Chickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15830496557976820633noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1410599077591449670.post-14260573572487950862014-04-17T14:00:12.672-06:002014-04-17T14:00:12.672-06:00This sounds so much like me. I never thought of gr...This sounds so much like me. I never thought of grieving "backwards". So true.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05436887351792810598noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1410599077591449670.post-63554442319994901632014-04-11T09:22:59.496-06:002014-04-11T09:22:59.496-06:00It's always amazing to me how your experience ...It's always amazing to me how your experience is so similar to mine as a widow, even though we have such different backgrounds and stories! I also remember feeling like I knew where life was taking me right after my husband died, and now I am approaching the two-year mark and have realized that i have no idea. Part of what I learned by his early death is that there are NO guarantees, so if I try to set up an image of where I want to be in a year or 5 years, all I'm truly doing is setting myself up for disappointment. In a way it is liberating to be able to look at life and say, "YEP, I'm 100% sure that I have no clue what is going to happen tomorrow...but I'm enjoying today to it's fullest just in case tomorrow doesn't come". I guess that is one beautiful gift my hubby left me with, which is a great trade off for the mountain of responsibilities that he left too! Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06134767741706142522noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1410599077591449670.post-38577770100344472882014-04-11T07:26:49.303-06:002014-04-11T07:26:49.303-06:00Elaine, like you...no clue of the big picture of m...Elaine, like you...no clue of the big picture of my life and for the most part, I have let go of knowing. <br /><br />The early on widow sobbed and wailed because death had ripped my heart right out of my chest. The day after Bill died, I efficiently organized friend/volunteers so they could distribute the next month's issue of the magazine I published, the one Bill and I did together originally - the one I did while taking care of him during a five year trek through Alzheimer's. I planned his funeral, typed up the funeral program, drove 100 miles to pick out a Trappist made wooden casket, sorted pictures for a slide show, wrote an obituary...and so much more. After the funeral I got to work on the next issue of Voice sobbing my way through it. I went to lunch with people I can't even recall now and do not even know; read at least 50 books on grief searching desperately for stories about people who lost what I lost and felt as I felt. I was out of my mind with grief and I simultaneously functioned while sobbing-screaming inside. It was many months before I began to realize I needed to settle down and just allow my grief to be...before I quit pushing the Grief River. <br /><br />Now four years later I know I may never figure out what I want to do with my life so I do what feels right at the moment. I have returned to my clinical practice of 38 years but now see a small handful of people, mostly clients I saw in the past who are themselves now dealing with loss or changes. I question whether I want to continue a practice until I get into a session with a client and then I know for sure I want to do this forever. I blog, help friends who are grieving, read and read articles on grief educating myself, study for ADEC's CT (Certified Thanatologist) exam, paint sometimes (something I started 4 months after Bill died), and care for our dog Bentley. Do I have it all figured out? Nope. Do I still do too much? Yep. Do I wish I could see a path/life that I would get excited about? For sure. What I do see is that I no longer wail though I do sob on and off; I also smile and make more sense than I did early on. I am still on an emotional roller coaster but the dips are not as deep now and I have learned to ride them instead of fight them (mostly) and function pretty well at the same time. I know I want a simpler life less cluttered with 'doing' and more filled with nature, quiet times, peace and friends who are real. Thank goodness, for my real friends. <br />Mary Friedel-Hunthttp://www.personalgrowthandgriefsupportcenter.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1410599077591449670.post-42679777946032193632014-04-10T18:29:19.842-06:002014-04-10T18:29:19.842-06:00The new widow me was deep down calm. She cried on ...The new widow me was deep down calm. She cried on the outside, but inside there was stunned silence. She walked three times a day with her dog (you can do that when you don't have little kids and when you stopped working during your husband's long illness). She grew vegetables and gave them away. She read a few grief books (not many) and went to her therapist and spent lots of time alone with her dog. She waited for the tears to stop. She waited for the ache to soften and her life to return. She knew it wouldn't be long.<br /><br />The new widow me knows the old life is gone and struggles to create a new one that feels right and a little happy. Thoughts fly in every direction. In the middle of the night, I obsess over goals that probably won't be met. I'm my old frantic self of 8 years ago before my husband got sick, not waiting, but working. Not crying, but obsessing. <br /><br />Thanks for your reflections and giving space for mine. I have no idea what the big picture is, but I submitted an article today and planted wildflower seeds in the bare earth, so maybe that's plenty.Elaine Mansfieldhttp://elainemansfield.com/noreply@blogger.com