After

“A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.”

--Unknown

My friend’s husband died last night after a long battle with cancer.  But as we all know...it doesn’t matter how long you’ve “known”...it’s always a shock when that moment comes.

We were always meant to be friends and I think we were always meant to have a place in each others lives.  Our friendship is unusual because in the two years we’ve known each other...I’ve never once met her husband. 

He has been sick the entire time I’ve known her, but since I had never met him, that made me 100% her friend.  Someone who knew her and her struggles and could be there completely for her...without feeling disloyal to her husband.

He knew about our friendship and at times I got the feeling that he wasn’t crazy about it.  My presence in her life probably reminded him that terrible things were possible.  And that there was a chance I might be here to help her when he couldn’t be.

We met 2 years ago at a church fundraiser.  I had been looking for a photographer to take pictures of my kids and she had a booth in the Narthex.  My sister told me later that it was strange how I went straight to her booth without looking anywhere else.  But when I saw the pictures and the magic she could create...I had no doubt that she was the person who was meant capture my children at that playful age.

As we were setting up our appointment and emailing back and forth, she asked me if the session was going to be all about the kids or if there would be some family pictures taken.  I emailed her back and told her that I mainly wanted the pictures to be taken of the kids, but that I’d like a few taken of me with them.  I told her that these would be the first pictures we would have taken as a family since I lost my husband.

The response I received from her later that evening gave me chills and somehow cemented our friendship right away.  She told me that her husband was battling cancer, but that they knew it was terminal.  And that she had two small children.

We made our session appointment and I enjoyed watching her work and interact with my kids...she really worked magic and had all kinds of tricks up her sleeve.  But I think we were both anxious to get that initial meeting out of the way so that we could make plans to get margaritas and really get to what would be the meat of our relationship.

During our first dinner, she asked me a million questions about benefits and raising children alone and after every question, she apologized and told me that she felt terrible for asking me these questions before her husband was even gone.

I finally said, “You have to quit apologizing.  We’re women and we’re mothers.  You think that if I had known my husband was going to die, I wouldn’t have asked someone questions who had already been through it so that I could be as prepared as possible?”

During the last couple of years, we’ve talked, texted, and gotten together when we can.  A 4-year-old and a 2-year-old along with a business and a terminally ill husband kept her beyond busy and single parenting and my own projects kept me on my toes.  In the last few months, knowing that the end was probably near, I would leave her messages, reminding her that I was here if she ever needed me. 

More often than not, her response would be, “I’m going to need you.  I’m going to need you after.”

And so here we are.  After.

As I deal with loss after my husband’s death, I find myself less sad about the person who is gone and more affected when I think about the people who are left behind.  I don’t necessarily always mourn the loss, I mourn the loss of the life that they thought they would have and the memories that will never be.

While I read her blog, something that I’m jealous that she had the presence of mind to keep up so well while she dealt the many things she had going on, I am instantly reminded of my own moments, telling my children and making arrangements.  Knowing what a blur it will be in the upcoming days, weeks, and months...I cry with the knowledge that there will be some things I will be able to ease.  And some things she will have to go through alone.

The first day we met at that photo session, I asked her to do me a favor.  As a tribute to my husband, I asked her to take pictures of my kids releasing balloons.  I wanted to remember them at that age and have something to remind me that such a simple act provided the four of us some peace for a moment.

She teared up for a minute and then aimed her camera at my children.  She took those pictures knowing that some day, it would be her standing there with a little fist in one hand and some curly ribbon in the other.

Waiting for the right moment to release.



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


© Catherine Tidd 2011

"Dad died?? But Mom! That's so unfair!"

“I tend to live in the past because most of my life is there.”

                     ---Herb Caen

I had a moment last night that just made me so damn sad. 

What started out as an innocent conversation with my children about the upcoming Jump Rope for Heart fundraiser turned into a very painful flashback.

My son (who is in first grade) asked me if I would give him $25 and sponsor him for the fundraiser.  I didn’t hesitate and said, “Of course!”

Then suddenly my oldest daughter (who is in 4^th grade) asked me, “Why didn’t you sponsor me in first grade?  I wanted to bring in money and you never gave it to me.”

I was overcome with guilt.  Why didn’t I give her the money?

And then I realized.  When she was in first grade, my husband had just died.

There is no way to explain to anyone the pain and blurriness of loss until they’ve been through it.  That entire year is such a fog to me...the only moment I distinctly remember is when my parents came over, in the snow, to pick the kids up because I was so exhausted and shaking so bad I just about couldn’t function.

It’s impossible to explain to my 9-year-old daughter now what that year was like for me and how something as important to her as a fundraiser was not even on my radar.  At that point, I was doing what I could to remember to feed them and make sure they got to school.

I know that that’s a conversation we might have when she’s older and more able to understand.  That year, in that moment, I gave myself permission to do whatever I needed to do (as long as it didn’t hurt myself or my children) to get through each day. 

It’s funny how I forgave myself then, but that the “new me” feels terrible that I didn’t write her that check 3 years ago.

The tone of her voice last night was the typical “it’s not fair” tone and at that age...I completely understand why she feels that way.  She feels like it was favoritism when it was really just my inability to deal with life in general.  And because she’s the oldest and has the most memories...that time in our lives will seem the most unfair to her.

It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair that her younger sister had to wait longer to get her diaper changed sometimes because I was the only parent to do it.  It wasn’t fair that my oldest daughter had big birthday parties from ages 1-5 and her brother and sister really didn’t have any for a couple of years because I just wasn’t equipped to deal with it.  It wasn’t fair that in an instant, I had to restart my life when my life was really just beginning.

The whole damn thing just wasn’t fair.



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


© Catherine Tidd 2011

Your First February Quote. This One's Gonna Make You Think

So here it is.  February.  The month of quotes.  And I’ve decided to mess us all up by taking the same quote and phrasing it 3 different ways. 

I would love for you to choose which one means something to you.  Think about it.  Write about it if you wish.  And I’ll do the same.

“Sometimes you have to give yourself...what you want from him.”

“Sometimes you have to give yourself.  What you want from Him.”

“Sometimes you have to give.  Yourself.  What you want from him.”

Think about it.  Three different ways.  Each one is so different. 

One speaks of the past.

One speaks of eternity.

One speaks of the future.

I would love to go into what each one means to me.  But I since I try to keep my blogs as short as a widow’s attention span...I’ll only go into one.

First of all...it was sheer luck that I stumbled upon this quote.  It’s from Dr. Phil and I never watch Dr. Phil.  I tuned into my local channel to catch Oprah’s show on the Oscar nominees a little early the other day so that I wouldn’t miss the beginning.  It’s extremely rare that I have any time to watch any TV and I was treating myself.

So there I was...at the tail end of the Dr. Phil show...carting in loads of firewood because, like most of the U.S....I’m freezing my ass off...and I hear him talking to a man trying to forgive his father for (I think) killing his mother (like I said...I only caught the last few minutes).

As I’m stumbling through my living room in slip-on shoes, sweats, and unwashed hair, I hear that statement.

Well, shit.  That was good.

Sometimes I have to give myself...what I want from him.

What did I want from him?

I wanted a good life.  I had the beginnings of one but it wasn’t finished.  So what do I still want?

A good life.  And if he could be here, that’s what he would have given me.  But just because he’s not here doesn’t mean I don’t want it.

I wanted love.  I had love and comfort and I still want that from him.  But he’s not here.  The problem is...I still want it.  And I truly believe he wants me to have it.

I still want love.

I want good parenting.  And part of that “parenting” is gone.  But part of that parenting is here.  And doing the best damn job she can.  And part of her parenting is thinking about how the other parent would feel/do/act if he was here.

I am a good parent.

I want to dream.  That anything is possible.  And if he were here, he’d be giving me that, too.  But he’s not.  But I know that he would want me to shoot for the moon.

My list could go on and on. 

Sometimes I have to give myself what I wish from him.

I will remember that when I wake up tomorrow.