Where the Hell are you Going?

Do you ever have one of those moments that jolts you awake...even though you're not sleeping?

I do.

I love it when that happens.  There's just something that clicks in my head and lets me knows that it's something important and I suddenly feel awake.

And both the feeling of something important happening and feeling truly awake are kind of rare occurrences.

I enjoy my laziness and my sleep.  Especially at the same time.

Anyway, I was sitting with my family the other night, enjoying the Lyle Lovett concert at Red Rocks (I don't care what your musical tastes are...that man is a song-writing genius) when he introduced his fiddle player and asked him to play a song on his own.

Luke Bulla took over the microphone and in a voice as clear as a bell began to sing while strumming his fiddle.  For the life of me, I can't remember the name of the song, but one line made me sit up straighter. And it went something like....

I won't know where I'm going until I know where I've been.

And I don't think one sentence could have summed up this summer for me better than that.

~

Here's the hard part.  You have to embrace your past in order to get on with the future.  But sometimes the past is like the person you're trying to save in the deep end of the pool:  You can either allow it to take you both down or you can smack it in the face and take control in order to save you both.

Okay.  That was a weird analogy.  I just came up with it.  So roll with me.

I didn't realize until recently what a strangle-hold my past has had on me.  How paralyzed I was.  How it took making major changes, personally and professionally, to find the release I needed.

But you can't completely escape your past.  I know that and I don't want to.  It's just a matter of deciding how much power I'm going to allow it to have.

Am I going to sink or swim?

~

It's been eight years.  And I know exactly what's happened to me.  I can tell you the story of how my husband died.  I can tell you how the kids and I have survived. 

I see it now and I understand it more.  And I get it.  I really can't know where I'm going until I know where I've been.  And that takes perspective.  And in many ways...it has nothing to do with widowhood.
 

I can see my past as a mother and I can appreciate where that experience is sending me.

I can see who I've dated and can understand their places (not too many places, Mom) in my life.

I can see all of the memories I thought were so unimportant when they happened as the pieces of my life that I should appreciate the most.

Because those memories aren't just my past.  

They're where I've been.

The Truth Behind the Considerate Griever

Throughout the last few years, I have thought a lot about how we all handle widowhood differently.  We all move at our own pace and grieve within our own comfort zone.

It’s been interesting to me the way I’ve grieved.  For the most part, I consider myself a pretty private person when it comes to just letting go.  I’ve never even really cried during group “therapy” because I was afraid of looking “stupid” (I know…that’s stupid, but there you have it).  In fact, I remember being at one ceremony with a young widows group that was really meant to be emotional and I was so mortified that I was there and that I might cry, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I don’t even like crying in my therapist’s office when it’s just the two of us.

Weird.

There are very few people I will get upset in front of (and even then it usually takes a few glasses of wine).  But for so long, even at the beginning, I was very focused on making the people around me feel comfortable.  No one ever knew how shallow my breathing got at the college football games my husband was missing.  No one knew how I was swallowing a lump in my throat during my first Boy Scout meeting. No one ever knew how hard it was to go to parties and events on my own…when everyone else was a couple.

No one knew how I used to lay on my bedroom floor and just sob with my pictures.

It wasn’t their fault.  I didn’t let them know.

I guess this tendency makes me a pretty considerate griever, but the truth is I’ve always been jealous of the people who have just let it all out there, not really caring what other people think.  I know that many of them have felt like a “freak” and may have possibly lost friends who didn’t understand why they’re still grieving after the first 4 weeks of widowhood…but I can’t tell you how freeing that sounds.  And for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t one of those people. 

But now I think I’ve got it.

It’s a fear of abandonment.

Being a “pleaser” and someone who tries her hardest to make others feel comfortable in any situation, I have had a fear all of these years that if I just cry and let it all out there…people would get uncomfortable.  And then they would leave and not come back.

It’s not like this is such a random concept.  I’ve been to parties where I’ve told people, during the course of the conversation, what’s happened and we all know what the usual response is to that:

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

And then I’ve brightly said, “Oh, that’s okay!  We’re totally fine now!  So tell me more about that problem you’re having at work!”

And why have I done that?  Because the few times I’ve actually gone into how hard the situation is, I’ve run the risk of that person looking antsy and doing everything they can to get out of the conversation we’re having.

I needed people.  I’ve always needed people, even before my husband died.  I love being surrounded by people.  And I guess in my mind that has meant that I’ve had to be more reserved “in the moment”…only to release the grief monster in the privacy of my own bedroom later.

Because then I know…my pictures won’t walk away.

Boy Scouts and the Single Mom

Another milestone.

Last night I brought my son to his first Boy Scout meeting.  As a mom (and a not very handy mom), I have been nervous about this little venture (and got even more nervous when the leader brightly talked about how much fun it is so show your son how to use a saw.  Saw??? I can’t even sew.  Which, incidentally, also disqualifies me to be a Girl Scout mom). 

And as a single mom, I’ve been worried about the time commitment and whether I can commit to all of the kids’ activities and get them there on my own.  The logistics alone are something I should really send to the Pentagon to figure out.

But knowing that this is something my son wants to do and knowing that ultimately this will probably be something that will help him in his “manhood,” I’ve decided to give up whatever life I had before (not much) and sign him up.

Last night’s meeting was hard.  And what made it worse was that I wasn’t expecting it to be.  You guys know what I’m talking about:  I’ve gotten to where the “big” things don’t bother me as much because I’m expecting them.  It’s the little things that I’m not looking out for that come up and bite me in the ass.

Being a Boy Scout was a big deal to my husband growing up.  Both he and his brother are Eagle Scouts (and for someone who didn’t make it past year 2 of the Brownies...I understand that significance).  He was all about service to his country and his community, so when we moved to Colorado years and years ago, one of the first things he started doing was volunteering with the Boy Scouts who met at our church.

And we didn’t even have kids yet.

Listening to the leader last night talk about the projects, campouts, and family activities, I had that feeling that so many of us get:  Why oh why is he not here to do this with us???    How am I going to do this?  I can’t even sew on the badges!

I’ve been trying to remind myself this morning to take things one at a time and not borrow trouble and worry before it’s necessary (pre-worrying is just part of my DNA).  For goodness sake...the Boy Scouts are a service organization.  Surely I can borrow a dad every once in awhile if we need someone to show us how to build a cabin using nothing but chewing gum and a paperclip or how to trap dinner with our bare hands!

If there’s anything I can tell you for sure about widowhood is that it tests and completely disintegrates our comfort zone.  And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing.  Who knows??  Maybe I’ll be so handy with a saw that I’ll find my second career (although I will say...if you don’t hear from me for awhile it may be because I found out I’m not so handy with a saw and typing has become a thing of the past).

It’s nights like last night when I wonder if the situation were reversed...would he be doing this better than I am?  If I were gone, would he feel as “fish out of water” as I feel all the time?  And then I realized that if he were here right now instead of me, he’d be diving out of his own comfort zone this weekend with one of our daughters.

Bra shopping.

If Life Is Made Up Of Choices...Then How In The Heck Did I Get Here???

When I left the house this morning, I was itching to just turn around, sit down at my computer, and write what was on my mind.  And...this often happens to me...the events of my day sent my mind in a whole different direction.  So my blog about the humorous things I have had happen while internet dating will just have to wait.

But it gives me something to look forward to (tee hee).

When I left this morning, my destination was a luncheon with a group of professional women who meet once a month here in Denver.  I just joined this group (the Alliance for Professional Women of Denver) last fall because I felt like fate was leading me to them.  Not only has my own sister been a longtime member, but my web designer, estate attorney, and writing coach all belong.  So I felt like the planets were telling me to go forth and network.

Never one to question how the planets are aligned, I have gone forthed and lunched.

I signed up for this luncheon because I thought the speaker today sounded interesting.  Her topic today was:  “Is your BUT getting in your way?”  Meaning...what are you doing, what are you telling yourself, that could possibly be keeping you from getting what you want.

The speaker was fabulous...funny, thought-provoking, and had my mind racing.  Some of the things she brought up, I think I have in check and I’m doing the best that I can to set myself up for success.  And...even though I know you alll think I’m perfect (ha ha), some of the things she brought up I know I need to really work on.

But the thing that had me really thinking the entire way home, can really be summed up in one word.

Choices.

I’ve always considered myself a pretty self-aware person.  I mean, it’s not like I go through my entire day thinking about every decision I’ve made on an elevated level.  For example...I don’t sit there in the drive-thru at McDonald’s and ask myself, “Now, why did I choose an iced tea over a Diet Coke?  What does that mean?”

But I do for the most part try and think about what I’m doing and what it has to do with the bigger picture.  So, I guess I could have answered myself, “Because Diet Coke has a higher sodium content and you really don’t need that.”

I know.  I’m weird.

I’m careful about the people I choose to really let in.  I think who your friends are and who you choose to have influence over your life say a lot about who you are and what’s important to you.  I have chosen to keep my circle of friendship small and powerful in a positive way. 

That’s not to say that I only answer the phone when a select 3 people call.  I love people and nothing makes me happier than meeting new people.  And...the truth is...many times you can’t determine your inner circle until you get out and meet a lot of people. 

You can’t find who you need in your life without a little trial and error. 

There will be people who make the cut and people who don’t and there’s nothing wrong with that.  Your life is constantly evolving and choosing those people who can evolve with you is not a decision that happens overnight.

Since my husband died, I have been very aware of my choices in the past.  I have reflected a lot over the last 3 years about my life and what choices I have made that have led me up to this point.  I am a big believer in taking responsibility for my own life and, for better or for worse, dealing with the outcome.

Because, the truth is...no one is responsible for the life I have now more than me.

Now...don’t get me wrong.  I don’t try to rationalize the fact that I’m widowed.  That was a situation that was out of my control and I really had nothing to do with that.  There is a big difference between placing blame and taking responsibility. 

And there is very little time or energy that should be given to placing blame in a situation.  It really doesn’t help anyone.

But if I want to be really honest with myself...I did choose to get married.  I chose to get married at a young age.  I chose to have children and build a family.  And honestly...as benign as that sounds to most people...I chose open myself to love and to be loved. 

Which means that I also chose to accept the possibility of losing it.

At 20...I was not completely aware that I was making that choice.  But now...as I’m dealing with that loss...I am very aware.

As I choose to move forward and date, I realize that I’m choosing to open myself up, yet again.  And as a pretty self-aware person and knowing what I know now...that must mean I’m choosing to risk all over again.

That also means that love was important to me then.  And it must still be important to the “new me.” 

When I think about my professional life, I can think back (again) to when I was really too young to realize what a conscious choice I was making.  I chose to major in English for a very good and valid reason:  I couldn’t take multiple choice questions.

Now, I’ve blown that off for years, saying that I chose to major in something I knew wouldn’t get me flunked out of college.  But now that I think about it...wasn’t I choosing something I knew I would do well in?

I didn’t know, as I was madly punching in numbers on the phone in my dorm room, trying to get into the classes I needed (pre-online scheduling, of course) that I was choosing a path that would dictate how much of my life would be spent.  I didn’t know where it would lead.

And where has it all led?  Here.  Widowed, not by choice, but because of the path I chose to take.  Writing, opening myself and my life up to you...which has completely changed my life and how I look at the world.  And as “random” as I make starting the Widow Chick Facebook page and then theWiddahood.com sound...I was making a choice to help people and be helped in return.

The concept that we can choose our own lives is huge.  And I don’t ever want you to think that I believe we have complete control over what happens to us. 

What I do believe is that we have a choice about what we do next when an out-of-control thing happens.  How do we deal with it?  Where do we go from here?  How do we digest the fact that our lives are completely different...and then move forward so that we can still live? 

Yet again, I feel like we have a choice to make.  We can either be completely overwhelmed with the thought that we always have choices to make.  That alone is a thought big enough to paralyze most people.  Or we make little choices...right now...today...based on who we are now and where we would like to be in the future.  Do we want to be happy (no small task)?  Do we want to start building toward a new dream?  Do we just want to feel good for an hour so that maybe someday we’ll feel good for two?

And how are we going to get there?

I want to leave you with one of the best things the life coach talked about today.  When you’re driving at night...your headlights only allow you to see about 50-100 feet in front of you.  You navigate the road a little at a time.

And then get to your destination.

For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2011