 Grieving is such a personal thing - even when engaging in this process with other friends and family around there is still so much that is tackled independently. This work is a heart issue and a head issue. It takes physical strength and time — so much time, and it can easily become “all about me.” On a recent trip down memory lane when visiting familiar sites in Arkansas, I found myself really wrestling with all the thoughts. Here are a few questions that filtered through my mind … “Will I ever get over this” “Can I move forward?” “Will I never stop missing you?” “Why can’t I get this grief door to close a little more?” “Am I making progress?” “Am I actually helping anyone else with my experience?” As you can see there is one recurring item in each question -- I. With this realization, I started to wonder if at times I am too self-absorbed within my own narrative. How can I turn this around and use my story to encourage someone else. How do I encourage a new widow whose spouse passed away this week, or maybe even today? After a day of moping a bit and trying to figure out what’s happening, a new thought hit me this morning. I can chose to let my grief define me or refine me. Looking at the big story of God, I know that He is always trying to work through me to refine me (and us). This process means looking more like Christ than ourselves and it means caring more about other people than ourselves - not always easy!
Don’t get me wrong, self care and honest introspection is important, but while we work on our hearts and minds, there is room and opportunity to see other people and care for them also. This isn’t easy because our own grief really takes a toll and can take over. We can also try to counterbalance too much where we focus on others so much that we fail to do our own grief work - also not good. Here I am somewhere in the middle, realizing a need to have a little more of a grief strategy - if there is such a thing. Here are a couple things I am going to try to shift the focus in a different way. This means doing two things for others and one for myself (with hopes of it going beyond this week). This week specifically, I am going to do a random act of kindness for someone whose spouse is in the hospital and send a card (or two) to a fellow widow. For myself, I’m going to focus on truth from God's word that is both a reminder that God has seen the good and hard parts of life and still is with me (us) going forward. Psalm 42:8 (The Message) When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you, From Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar. Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers crash and crush me. Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night! My life is God’s prayer. (Sidebar: Interestingly this was the verse of the day when I sat down to write this! I was going to use another one but this seem 100% perfect! This whole chapter wrestles with doubt and hope.)
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 The scene opens with us parting ways. For some reason, we had to take two different flights to reach our final destination. We’re flexible people so sure, why not? You head to the gate to catch your flight and I head to mine. I don’t recall us even saying, “Goodbye,” but we surely did. The scene shifts and suddenly I’m rushing around to catch my own plane after learning the departure gate is in another terminal. I run to where it should be and see the gate coming down from the top and do the only logical thing . . . I run faster and try to slide under it like a baseball player trying to slide into home plate. My bag and arms make it but the rest of me – not so much. On the other side of the gate, a flight attendant shakes their head and says, “Nice try.” I beg and ask if there is anyway I can get on the flight. Her response, “No, I’m sorry.” . . . “But I have to meet my husband.” /// END SCENE /// Waking from this vivid dream, I can’t help but feel it deeply. Beyond this, I can’t help but see its connection within my own grief narrative. At the time of first composing this post it had been 675 days since our departure from one another. Much has changed in this time but the ache of the separation still resonates. I have made progress, become stronger, found independence and healing in new ways. I’ve navigated new conversations and relationships, but the emotion of grief still ignites easily. Sometimes the trigger comes from music, sometimes by sharing a bit of our story - telling a stranger about you and us; it is easy to find the undercurrent. I can even try and justify the dream and emotion with logic (although grief isn’t logical but humor me). Obviously, this dream sprung from singing two songs before bed - “Leaving on a Jet Plane” and another one called “Loving Her (You) Was Easier” by Kris Kristofferson. (Sidebar: in this new season of life, I’ve taken up singing old country songs at a random jamboree and find myself practicing them often). Anyway . . . singing the final refrain to the Kristofferson song before falling asleep had already filled my heart with emotion . . . Talking of tomorrow and the money, love and team we’d have to spend. Loving you was easier than anything I’ll ever do again. “That’s true.” I said outloud as I set the guitar down. In the tenure of Josh and I’s relationship that spanned two decades, not every moment was easy. But here today, I can confirm this melodic line was mostly true. Loving Josh was easy because we figured out how to do it along the way in all seasons - good and bad. Loving Josh was easy because we had learned to trust, flex, forgive, adventure and so much more. Now, Josh has traveled on to his final destination and I am still here trying to figure out what’s the next step in the plan and how it was so easy. Can it be THAT easy again? This new season feels different than anything I’ve ever experienced - it's far from easy. Often It feels unsettling and I don’t always like it. I still imagine what it might look like when we reunite, and at the same time I want to also learn how to love with ease in the uncomfortable. Is this possible? I question, "What will it take to sing these words again?" The answer: it will take time God, hope, trust and more. All I can do with this is pray for God’s help and guidance and remember that I am still on a journey that has not yet been defined. Meanwhile, I can still pause to say a word of thanksgiving for the adventure and love that was shared and know that it was a true gift. (A few photos of our time in airports and planes included in this post)  Grief stretches you often.
It can feel like a rubber band that continues to stretch one way then another. The latest movement has me at a baseball game. A beloved KC Royals game to be specific. A team adored by late husband and also my now boyfriend. Throughout the drive up to the Kansas City many memories flash through my mind of the last time I drove the same highway. Two plus years ago with Josh - on our way to the Mayo Clinic - to see if there were answers. We didn’t stop for baseball in KC, but had enjoyed a game six months before. Reality Stretch … Back to present day, tonight the royals are playing the Twins. The last time I watched the twins, was with Josh in Minnesota at their stadium. It was the last ballgame we attended together and it was special to fit in another stadium on MLB list. Stretch… Oh wow!! The Royals just hit a home right at us!! How fun! New first time memories with new friends…I am back to today. It’s good to be here but I have to push myself … “stay in the moment Jenn!” Living in both realities is challenging. There is good to experience. There was good experience. There is a thread that links - in this case a love of royals baseball - but that isn’t the thing on which to focus. In an attempt to be here and there, I take a moment to text baseball friends - some who Josh would often message when we visited any stadium. It’s a nod to the what was, who he was. Grieving on continues to be an acknowledgment of what was and what is. Sticking with the baseball and rubber band maybe it’s just a big ol’ seventh inning stretch.  If you’ve ever spent time playing in the ocean, you probably know it is unpredictable. One moment you’re having fun jumping the big, yet manageable waves and then suddenly. . . a big one comes along . . . and smashes you right in the face knocking off your sunnies. The water carries you back toward shore or possibly knocks you deeper into the water.
It seems this is such a great example of the grief process, as well. This week, I am on vacation with my late husband’s family. It’s been a beautiful time in many ways from the scenery to family fun and new memories. Of course there have been moments when I was reminded that the person who connects me to this family officially isn’t present, but these thoughts have been manageable. At one point on the trip, I even thought about how I have gotten somewhat used to the fact that Josh is no longer part of my daily life or the person I call and share stories with - other people get this attention. Yet, a sneaker wave still hit midway on this trip during family picture time. I was doing fine for the initial large group shots by the back-porch pool, but then something changed inside me when the smaller group pictures involving Josh's brother and sister started -- and it must have shown. My sister-in-law spotted the change, and asked the simple question, “You doing ok?” I immediately choked up and couldn’t speak. We left the scene, trying to find a distraction. A few moments later I landed on the front porch sharing more tears with a brother-in-law, along with the acknowledgment that, “Yeah, this is still tough at times. He is still missing.” I miss him. We miss him. And our family photos will look different this year and every year from now on. Life in general will look different. (Even though I technically already know that!) As I take strides toward health and healing, and feel stronger with each milestone, grief still follows me and hurts. There are times when I wonder if I will ever fully recover. Maybe not - but I’ll keep grieving on and enjoying life, knowing that there will be times when grief hits without warning. It might annoy me, but it is also a reminder of something beautiful. The beauty that comes with the encouraging hugs and reminders that love is both deep and wide and is past and future. I also am not alone in my grief. And just like the spectacular sunset view that concluded this evening, there are new scenes being painted. The final hours of my night conclude with me writing this in my solo oversized bunk-bed room - still feeling rattled by this grief wave. I know I’ll be ok, but am not feeling "top-notch!" Tomorrow's a new day. And God is still good. I am thankful for this dear family that still sees me in the hard moments, hugs me, and makes sure I'm not wandering alone. Family that walks to see the sunset with me (sometimes literally and sometimes metaphorically). It is a special thing when two families come together, sometimes complicated and layered but still special. I am no longer married. That’s a given right? I mean I wouldn’t be dating someone if I was married. And you can’t be married to someone who is no longer living. I could go with the thought of, “You’ll always be married in your heart” but that doesn’t seem quite right either . . .
Alas . . . this is a lot of rambling and rumbling just to acknowledge yet another step in the life of being a widow - changing your Facebook status. My process was gradual. I had started to change my status to widow but then had to figure out how to memorialize my late husband Josh’s account - which I haven’t done. So the next easiest thing was just to hide my relationship status - which worked really well for a while. I had posted pictures of my new “someone special” but not officially declared who HE was - until this weekend. And no, you don’t have to officially declare this to make it a real relationship, but we all know how that goes. So, after dating, we decided to officially let the world know that we are in fact in a relationship. How fun! What an exciting step. Generally, in life I love celebrating the big and small things - and it is quite fun to show cute couple pictures and to declare in fact, I do really care for this person. But hold the press . . . this excitement doesn’t take away the tender feeling that comes with officially changing my status to be “in a relationship with” another man! Doing this meant that my late husband's (not yet officially memorialized social media account) no longer lists me as his wife. Two days it ago his profile stated for all to see, “Josh B . . . married to Jennifer B .” Today, a day after changing my status, his profile simply says “married” but not to me. Now I am back to my opening line statement - insert :{ (weird emoji face) Of course, I am getting in the thick of the social media weeds here, but such is life today, seemingly. In a world where we all often declare our joys, struggles, frustrations, relationship status, etc . . ., many emotions can flare up. We can be so easy to compare our lives to others. We can use social media for good or bad or just for mind numbing. We can use it for affirmation (which isn’t a good idea) or just to communicate (which is good). I admit it’s fun to see the likes and love and know that friends still support me even in the transition. But trust me, I know it is still weird in parts, and the change doesn’t come without a nod to what was. One of the wonderful parts of my new relationship is that I can be very honest with my process and the grief that trails along the way. It’s not a secret that I was married and that we had a good marriage. It is not a secret that I hope to love, laugh and share life with someone again. I live in a world where both stories can exist. For any fellow widows/widowers out there wondering about dating, my encouragement is to keep being you and let your love story exist in both places. You are who you are because of what has happened to you, and the love you shared. You are where you are for those same reasons. Your story is still beautiful. You might have to take a risk and you might have to keep wrestling out the big and small pieces but you are strong and God’s love is even stronger.  No, I didn’t forget that today is our “would be” 19th wedding anniversary. But here it is late on the 18th of May and I am just now writing out my thoughts.
It seems my brain has been working overtime today - like it was deep in the recesses of my mind trying to wrestle out what to do with this mix of past and present emotions coexisting here and now. Last year, I took this day off work and was glad I did since I was an emotional wreck from the moment I awoke. I spent time writing and sharing songs about our great love, and spent several hours on a cry-hike feeling the depths of sorrow. By the end of the night I had somewhat recovered. This year, I didn’t start or end the day with tears. In fact, I even tried to listen to some of “our songs” thinking it would trigger some, but nothing. It’s not that I am not sad. It’s still sad Josh isn’t here to celebrate another year of our marriage. Yet, today with a little more time gone by, I am focusing more and more on other areas of life. I have come to terms to a degree with this loss and the new season I am in. The gut-wrenching heartache is healing. Even still, this anniversary definitely felt weird. What do you do with it? The amazing part is that I have people around me who sit with me in the weird, acknowledge and remind me that it’s okay for it just to be different. It’s also okay to celebrate this marriage relationship and the love and joy that it represented and still represents. Love, joy, grace, and hope are pieces of that relationship that continue on as attributes in the relationships I am experiencing today - this is actually quite a beautiful realization. Circling back to songs . . . of course several of “our songs” came from the soundtrack to the tragic Moulin Rouge film - which ends with the writer in the upstairs window typing out “their story” as he promised to do. What we don’t see is what happens next. Did this writer find love again? Who knows. What we do know is that he experienced great love and reminded us all through the beautiful and creative narrative that, “The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” I am so thankful to have experienced great love and to have the opportunity to do this again. Love is a many splendored thing Love lifts us up where we belong All you need is love! - Moulin Rouge, The Elephant Medley |
Author: JennHi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer. Archives
August 2021
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