Grief Recovery

The Duality of Widowhood

July 16, 2019 By Lisa Bain Leave a Comment

“A mermaid is not frightened by her own duality. She is a walking contradiction of piety and lust, sobriety and ecstasy, brilliance and stubbornness, the sacred and the scandalous…so dance with your own inner paradox.”
Margot Datz, A Survival Guide for Landlocked Mermaids

A Keeping It Real Post

Cologne-Germany-Hohenzollernbrucke — Sunrise over Cologne.

A few weeks ago, I sat on the sundeck of my cruise ship, as we sailed into Cologne, Germany. Watching the sun warm the Cathedral that towers over the city, negated the chill of the morning breeze that allowed me the deck almost all to myself. The sun glinting off the locks on Hohenzollern Bridge turned all those symbols of eternal love to gold. It was incredible, and I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Reminiscing

Tears streamed down my face, and I was grateful for the solitude. Dan was stationed in Germany in his youth and had talked for years about bringing me to Germany. While the timing of this particular trip wasn’t deliberate, it could have been. A year ago on that day (thanks Facebook memory reminder), we were returning home from our first and last trip with our extended family.

That trip was the rally before the end. Just a few days after our return, Dan’s doctors told us there was nothing more they could do, and sent us home on hospice. I’ll never forget the look of confusion on his face as he looked at me, helpless to process what they were saying; we were out of time. My heart broke that day.

It didn’t take long. It was just a few more days before Dan fell into a coma. And then a few more days and he was gone. Forever. I often say that the moment he took his last breath was the worst moment of my life. That’s a lie, by the way. The worst moment of my life came a few days earlier, before the coma. It was the moment that, thanks to the brain tumors, he looked at me and didn’t know who I was. (Fuck you, cancer.)

The Duality of Widowhood

Hohenzollern Bridge-Locks of Love-Cologne-Germany — Locks of Love on Hohenzollern Bridge.

But I digress. Today’s post is about the duality of widowhood. It’s essential to understand the depth of the despair before you can accept the significance of today’s happiness and the duality that both the light and the dark will forever be intertwined.

I have thrown myself into every minute of this new life, embracing it for all its beauty and ugliness. I feel all the feelings, and don’t dwell on the past. So I was surprised that morning, sitting on that breezy sun deck, to suddenly remember D’s enthusiastic proclamation that he was going to take me to Germany.

I sat there, musing into my morning coffee, and proclaimed aloud that he should be proud of me, that I’d made it to Germany after all. And that’s when my heart seized up into a ball full of muscle memory, and the waterworks started.

And that was okay. “You have to feel the feelings!”

So I did. As much as I wish we’d have had the opportunity to visit Germany together, I’m grateful to have been there. And I love the F*k out of my life. That’s the duality. He’ll always be in my heart, even though it always has more room for love and life. I can be so happy my heart feels like it will burst, and still feel the ache of his absence.

The Double Helix

People often think bereavement is a long dark cloud of pain and suffering. But that is only half the story. Grieving can also be full of moments of life and love and happiness. The two strands circle each other like a double helix, both the light and the dark. They aren’t mutually exclusive, and I’ve learned that the bereaved can feel both intensely, often at the same time.

Confusing? Try living it.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Shout out to my friend Marni Henderson of Sunrise Retreats for first introducing me to the concept of the duality of widowhood.

POST SOUNDTRACK

The Chase, Tori Amos

Out there are hunters
Let’s say predators
I have weapons
That could destroy them
You must out-create
It’s the only way

I am the hunter
And the hunted
Joined together
You create duality
And neutrality
I must leave you
With the Fire muse
Show her the riddle
It is serious
If you lose
Out there

I’ll be the hare
Then I’m the greyhound
Chasing after you
Then I will change my frequency
To a fish that thinks
Then you will find yourself
In the paws
Of the otter
Near her jaws
Then I’ll grow my wings
As a flying thing
Flying thing, you be warned

I’m the falcon
Watch me change
Into a grain of corn
A grain of corn
Hear the alarm
In your head
I’m the hen
Black and red
And you’re in my barn
They would have won
Use your head or you’ll be dead

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Tori Ellen Amos
The Chase lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing

Top 5 Widow Lessons Learned: Year 3

July 9, 2019 By Lisa Bain 6 Comments

Language alert! Sorry, Mom.

A Keeping It Real Post

Year 3 — Made it! There were many days I didn’t think I’d survive this long. Back then, I never dreamed I could thrive.

Today marks three years since Dan died. Holy fuck, dudes! It feels like an eternity has passed (haha) since that awful morning where I watched him take his last breath. Today I sit here, back in England, where this nomadic adventure began. I’m looking in the rearview mirror in amazement at how far I’ve come. I continue to learn about the bereavement process daily but have narrowed down my top five lessons learned in this Widowhood reality. If you’re new to the W Club, I promise you it does get better. I won’t lie. It doesn’t get easier; we get better at coping with it.

Lesson 1: Sometimes Life is Shit For No Reason

One of my favorite memories of Ireland happened on my second visit to Killarney. For whatever reason I can’t remember, my last train wasn’t going to operate, so they loaded all of us on a bus to make the final leg of the journey. I was tired, but my seatmate cheered me right up. Sheila was beautiful and full of the wit and charm all Irish women have in spades. We chatted about our lives, our families, and our stories. But she said one thing to me that I will never forget, “sometimes life is shit for no reason.”

Whoah! I don’t know why this statement struck me as profound, but it was so monumentally important to me, I even wrote it into my first novel. After Dan died, I spent a lot of time screaming “Why?!?!?!” at the Universe, especially as that cluster bomb of losses continued to blow up. (If you’re new, my two-ish-year-long lousy country music song went something like this: my ex took his own life, Dad died, Dan died, my dog died, had to sue my snake of a builder, Mom started exhibiting signs of the Alzheimers, etc. Good times.)

Sheila helped me remember that sometimes, there is no Why. Sometimes life is just shit for no reason, and nothing we could have done would have changed the outcome. I still laugh when I think about that conversation and how it allowed me to let go of some of the anger that had been festering.

Lesson 2: Grief Hurts

Grief hurts physically. Few people will warn you that grief is an all-out assault on our bodies. The brain fog is just the tip of the bereavement iceberg. You may experience more illnesses and physical pain, as well as accidents.

Insomnia and malnutrition, both of which tag along for the grief party, exacerbate everything. I know, you probably won’t have much of an appetite, but try. When your friends and family ask what they can bring you, ask for vitamin and protein-packed smoothies or something similar. Try to protect your sleep hygiene and get as much sleep as possible.

As for self-medicating, I won’t lecture you on limiting your alcohol consumption since I dove face first into a bottle of bourbon every night for months. What I will tell you is that the numbing is temporary, and it makes the physical pain worse. You’re a big girl. Do what you must.

Lesson 3: Time Really Does Heal

I wanted to throat punch people who said that to me, so understand if you newbies feel the same. But that doesn’t stop it from being true. Nothing will ever make me not miss him. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make me forget him. But time has dulled the pain, and I’ve gotten used to the scars.

These days I can walk through the moments leading up to his death. I can openly share what it was like to be a raw gaping wound, without reliving the pain. And I did finally reach the point where I was more interested in looking forward than looking back. Time helped me rediscover the joy in life; including laughter, love, and peace. In time, those will find their way back to you, too.

Lesson 4: It Takes A Village

You don’t have to do it alone. I’ve gotten pretty good at letting people in and asking for help when I need it. That wasn’t the case three years ago, and I made things a lot more complicated than they needed to be. When you’re in crisis mode, it’s next to impossible to think of what you might need, so try to accept the offers of help. Get grief counseling. Talk about how you feel. Journal. Let someone babysit your kids. Whatever you need to do, don’t shut people who love you out of your life. Being a grease fire is okay, you don’t have to hide it.

Connect with other widows who understand your feelings, even if they haven’t walked your path. Let them love and guide you. Trust me; it will be all too soon before you’re the one helping another new widow get through it.

Lesson 5: There Is Beauty in All of It

Sunrise-Stonehenge — The sunrise will always symbolize the promise of the light to come. At least to me. The light and life DO return after the darkness of grief. I took this at Stonehenge last week.

If you had told me this three years ago, I would have told you where you could stick your advice. But here I am, a few years down the grief path, and I’m begging you to keep your eyes open for the beauty of it all. It’s there. You can find it in the sunrise, sunset, and unexpected rainbows. The love of those who stand with us in our worst possible moment brings beautiful light to the darkness. The friendship of those new people who come into our lives brings beautiful colors in hues that belong to us alone since they only know us as ME and not WE. Savor the beauty of the songs and memories that tug at your lips before tugging at your heartstrings. There is beauty in all of it. In time, you will find more moments of beauty than sadness.

How Far I’ll Go

Yes. Looking back, I can see how far I’ve come. It wasn’t pretty, but I made it. And I’m done looking back in that rearview mirror. It’s time to step on the gas and see how far I’ll go.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Thank You

I’d be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to thank everyone who has been part of my journey: my family, and my friends, old and new. I couldn’t have done it without you. To all of you who continue to follow along, thanks for reading. And to the one and only Dan Bain, thank you for all of it. But mostly, thank you for loving me.

Post Soundtrack

How Far I’ll Go (Moana Soundtrack)

I’ve been staring at the edge of the water
‘Long as I can remember, never really knowing why
I wish I could be the perfect daughter
But I come back to the water, no matter how hard I try

Every turn I take, every trail I track
Every path I make, every road leads back
To the place I know, where I can not go, where I long to be

See the line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me
And no one knows, how far it goes
If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me
One day I’ll know, if I go there’s just no telling how far I’ll go

I know everybody on this island, seems so happy on this island
Everything is by design
I know everybody on this island has a role on this island
So maybe I can roll with mine
I can lead with pride, I can make us strong
I’ll be satisfied if I play along
But the voice inside sings a different song
What is wrong with me?

See the light as it shines on the sea? It’s blinding
But no one knows, how deep it goes
And it seems like it’s calling out to me, so come find me
And let me know, what’s beyond that line, will I cross that line?
The line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me
And no one knows, how far it goes
If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me
One day I’ll know, how far I’ll go

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Lin-Manuel Miranda
How Far I’ll Go lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Leap Year (What Gardening Taught Me About Grief Recovery)

June 18, 2019 By Lisa Bain

A Coping With Grief Post

Gardens-Chateau-de-Nyon-Switzerland — Garden geeking at Chateau de Nyon in Nyon, Switzerland.

Back when I still had the house that LOVE built, I had an amazing garden. That’s not me Garden Goddess bragging. Strangers used to pull over and take photos of my flower beds. If they could have seen my organic raised vegetable beds in the back, I’m sure they’d have taken photos of those, too. Digging in the dirt and hanging out in my garden made me happy, and you could almost always find me there when I wasn’t at work.

Sleep, Creep, then Leap

So yeah, I love gardens. I seek them out in almost every city I visit. For those of you with brown thumbs, in gardening, there is a saying about transplants. “The first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps, and the third year it leaps.” I love this metaphor for my grief journey as I wrap up my third year as a survivor of the worst pain imaginable.

And lemme tell you, I’ve done all kinds of leaping this last year. There were many leaps of faith, including writing a book and making the decision to set up my home base in Boise. And then there was the literal leap of faith from a perfectly good airplane at 15 thousand feet.

Just like I did in my garden, I’ve cultivated memories, new friendships, and opportunities. And my favorite leaps are the leaps of joy that my heart remembered how to take.

Leap Year

I heard from many of my W sisters that the second year was harder than the first, but not a lot about the third year. So I’m putting this out there for those of you still in the first two years. This third year has been better than the first two. It’s also been hard and strange and sad and happy and wonderful and good and fun and most importantly, full of hope and optimism for the future. I’m keeping that in mind as I get ready to take a flying leap into Year Four.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Reclaiming All the Colors: Project WE to ME continues in Hawai’i

March 26, 2019 By Lisa Bain

Thank you to everyone who reached out to make sure I was okay. I took a few weeks off to go on a much needed holiday. XO, L

A Grief Recovery Project Post

If you’re a regular reader, you’ve heard me describe the grief recovery process as peeling back layers from an onion, an ugly grey onion. Those onion’y tears sting. They also steal the colors of life from our eyes, pushing us into a grey limbo bordered by before and after.

Onion vs. Spiral

Nature loves spirals, like the ones you see in this tree fern at Keahua Arboretum on Kauai.

As more time passes, I’ve started to think the grief process is actually a spiral. The grief path circles further and wider but always brings us back to the point of origin. Each time we circle back around we experience that loss differently, with new eyes and a stronger heart, both of which see the colors we lost when our husbands died. This time my spiral has brought me back to my point of origin. Literally.

Gone Girl

I’m currently in Hawai’i, the land where I was born. It was here I learned how to be a human. Hawai’i is where Dan asked me to marry him. It’s also the place I gleefully left as soon as I graduated from college. I spread my wings and never looked back. Despite my family and friends here, if it weren’t for my baby cousin’s wedding, I can’t say that I’d have returned. And that would have been a colossal mistake. While every memory I have here includes the people I’ve lost, I’d have missed out on the opportunity to make new ones that were just mine.

Home

BirdOfParadise_Kaneohe_Hawaii — I love all flowers, but the ones from my home state will always be my favorites.

As a military wife, HOME was wherever our orders sent us. In the last two years of my traveling nomad life, HOME was wherever my suitcase was. And while I’ve recently established a home base back in Boise, I haven’t been tied to any one place in a long time; not since I left Hawai’i all those years ago. So imagine my surprise as I stepped off the plane and had every cell in my body screaming at me that I was home. HOME!

It’s difficult to explain if you’ve never left your hometown. I’ll do my best. First, my skin and hair started smiling at the humidity. Even my lungs were breathing easier. Was that the humidity or the sweetness in the air? The melodic singsong voices made my ears happy. And I can’t wax poetic enough on how good it felt to enjoy island food again. (PRO-TIP: Never get between an island girl and her food.) But the best part was the peace and joy I felt in my bones. HOME.

Project WE to ME

Sunset_Lahaina_Maui_Hawaii — I try to watch the sunrise and sunset every day. This one was postcard perfect.

Hawai’i is so vibrant it makes the rest of the world look washed out. Everywhere you look, life is set to vivid. The ocean is extra blue, the mountains extra green and the daily rainbows are just extra. Everything exudes a “no filter” kinda beautiful. I love that and was determined to treat my home state like any other place I visit, diving into the nooks and crannies of Hawai’i life. I desperately needed to remember both this place and who I was when I was a girl.

After traveling solo for the better part of two years, it was a special gift to have a dear friend join me for part of this visit. Showing her “my Hawai’i” let me see it through her eyes. I heard my long-buried accent resurface as I described growing up in this multi-cultural paradise, and enjoyed explaining the meanings of words and traditions, just like my Daddy used to when mainlanders or Japanese family would visit. I wasn’t sure if I still qualified as a kama’aina (local) or not, but it sure felt like it.

Prodigal Daughter Returns

Rainbow_HanaleiBay_Kauai_Hawaii — Ever touch a rainbow? This one at Hanalei Bay on Kauai was the lowest I’ve ever seen.

The Hawai’ian word for family is ohana and, to quote Lilo, “Ohana means family, and family means no one is left behind or forgotten.” The absolute best part of this visit has been my friends and family, who welcomed me back with open arms as if I’d never left. To them, I’m the same, even though I’ve changed. They love me no matter what. And that love is the best color in life.

Yeah, I’m home and in full color. I think I’ll stay awhile.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Post Soundtrack

Where I’m From, Eels

Three Ghosts and I, sitting on the couch last night
Catching up on all the time
It’s been a while since we got together and
You know that it’s often on my mind

So long ago, I left it in the dust, well I was so young and dumb
Ran far away, but I have to admit, sometimes I miss where I’m from

Let’s have a drink, to everything that we went through
It wasn’t always so bad
We can’t forget, each other’s company
And all of the good times we had

So long ago, I left it in the dust, well I was so young and dumb
Ran far away, but I have to admit
Sometimes I miss where I’m from

Three ghosts and I, sitting on the couch last night
Catching up on all the time
It’s been a while since we got together and
You know that it’s often on my mind

So long ago, I left it in the dust, well I was so young and dumb
Ran far away, but I have to admit
Sometimes I miss where I’m from

Songwriters: EVERETT MARK O / SAWITZKE MICHAEL DAVID

How Did He Die? Part 2

February 26, 2019 By Lisa Bain

“Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.”
Voltaire

A What Not To Say Post

Mixed-Reviews — And the jury says, “it depends.”

Wowzers. Out of all the posts I’ve written, this one may have had the most feedback and debate. I only scratched one side of the surface of this bereavement iceberg.

Please Ask How He Died

Regular readers know I don’t profess to speak for all Widowkind, only from my own experiences and the conversations I’ve had with my W sisters. I’m grateful to see through other eyes and welcome the feedback. I heard from several Widows in the Twitterverse that they not only didn’t agree with me, but they also wanted people to ask how their husbands died. Silence and assumptions about how he died were worse than the questions. Point taken.

As I mentioned in last week’s post, I don’t mind if people ask how Dan died. He was young. I’ve learned to volunteer, preemptively, that he died of cancer. For most people that simple explanation is enough. But y’all let me know I’m not alone in being the recipient of the invasive interrogation questions.

None of Your Business

I heard back from other Widows who’d also been interrogated by the morbidly curious, especially when they’d lost their husbands by suicide or drug overdose. It’s painful enough when your inner circle asks these questions, but intolerable when “bystanders” get involved. Repeat after me, “Nunya!”

As for human resources and other business reps, grow some empathy. And don’t even get me started on the utility companies. That may warrant its own post. Yeah, Idaho Power I’m looking at you!

How To Ask

If the Widow doesn’t respond to your “He was so young, what a shock” or “I’m here if you ever want to talk about it” prompts, let it die. (Haha.)

If a Widow tells you it was <<fill in the blank name of disease>>, that’s all you need to know. Don’t continue to interrogate.

NEVER ask “Did he suffer?” or “How long did it take for him to die?” to someone who is clearly suffering their loss. Seriously? Detailed questions are unnecessary and painful.

And I shouldn’t have to repeat this, but questioning medical treatment decisions is always a no-no. Want to see me come unhinged? Come at me, bro, with your “should’ve given him green smoothies” or “shouldn’t have done chemo” nonsense.

Everyone Is Different

So there you have it. Like everything on the grief path, the official verdict of whether to ask a Widow how her husband died is, it depends. Use your best judgment. If your W seems open to talking, be gentle.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Grief Recovery

The Duality of Widowhood