The Real Lisa Bain

The Wandering Widow

Survivor

What John Wick Teaches Us About Bereavement

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**Spoiler Alert! If you haven’t seen Parabellum yet, bookmark and come back to this later.**

A Keeping It Real Post

John Wick 3
The John Wick series is the ultimate love, loss, and grief recovery story. (p/c Lionsgate)

I just watched John Wick: Chapter 3 -Parabellum, which I’ve re-subtitled Revenge of the Dogs, with my favorite movie date. (For those of you that are new readers, that’s my nephew.) I loved every shoot ’em up minute of it, and not just because I’ve had a crush on Keanu Reeves since his Bill and Ted days. Soooo dreamy. Wait. Where was I?

Oh yes. I feel you, John Wick, I really do. I’ve had several chats with people about why I identify so strongly with this character: an assassin who pretty much kills everyone over the course of three (now four, woohoo) movies. No, I don’t have a secret life as an assassin. I love John Wick because it’s the ultimate love, loss, and grief journey story! How can anyone not see that? So obvious!

John Wick ReCap

Let’s review. John McDreamy Wick is a widower. In the first movie, we learn he’s just lost his wife to cancer. His grief is palpable and only gets worse. The bad guys kill the puppy his late wife had delivered to him after her funeral. She’d arranged this sweet furry gift to help him get through his grief. A cuddly puppy!!!!!! Yeah, those bastards deserved to die, and in the worst ways possible.

The second movie began with the bad guys blowing up his house, the last place he shared with his beloved wife and aforementioned puppy. You guys! They destroyed the safe haven of all his happy memories of the life he and his wife shared. (FYI, those bad guys got what was coming to them.)

In the third movie, our grieving and traumatized John Wick has to figure out who he is going to be without them. He has to decide whether to run from or confront his grief demons. And he’s kinda pissed off about it. Oh yeah, the puppy is avenged by its elders. Good doggos.

Again, so obviously a love story. But what can John Wick teach us about the bereavement process? I’m so glad you asked.

Everyone Has A Breaking Point

I can speak to the multiple losses: beloved, dog, the loss of the life and future they’d created together. The sadness and anger when you feel you have no reasons left to live. For new readers, I lost my Dad, my husband, and my sweet puppy, all in a span of twelve months. No one killed my dog, but if they had, I would probably have gone all ape $hit until SWAT arrived. Like John Wick, I’d reached my breaking point.

So yeah, the bereaved can only take so much. It’s why the secondary losses of friends and family hurt so damned much more than they would otherwise.

We All Deal With the Pain Differently

I was drunk for months. (I don’t recommend that option but won’t judge.) John Wick kills everyone. (Again, don’t recommend that option.) Some of the bereaved repress it all together. (Also not recommended.) We’re all different. The pain is real, though. I think that’s one reason I love John Wick so much. Watching him rain hellfire down on the bad guys, it felt like he was shooting the f*k out of my grief demons as well. You go, John Wick!

Our Friends Help Get Us Through It

Yep. No matter if they don’t always get it right, our friends are there for us, just like Winston, Charon, and Sofia did for John Wick. We walk a fine line of letting some go, welcoming new ones, and cherishing those who go to battle with us. We can’t do it alone.

It Takes Time

No one wakes up one day and is “over” the bereavement period. Heck, John Wick spent two hours and eleven minutes in Parabellum facing his grief demons and still needs a fourth movie to figure it out.

We all go at our own pace, and there is no timeline. Be kind to yourself, and your W’s, no matter how long it takes.

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

P.S. Keanu Reeves, I <3 you.

Post Soundtrack

Bullet Holes, Bush (John Wick: Chapter 3 Parabellum soundtrack)

I’m on the highway, I’m walking ‘cross America
Sweat stain in my blue suede shoes
Race wars, Star Wars, planet wars, mind wars
Tryna find ways to get to you
Always on the precipice, candy wish
So what would you prescribe?
‘Cause every moment’s something sacred, yeah
It’s such a wild ride

Higher than I’ve ever been

Bullet holes
All you leave behind
Now I know
I see you cut and dried
I used to wish in symphonies
Higher than I’ve ever been

Left in the rain to the sound of the sirens
Jet planes with the battle blues
Lifeblood, bad blood, my blood, your blood
The state of danger in this human zoo
Just caught in the wheels of machinery
Fragments to construct a core, yeah
Wish I could sleep more easily
Are you the one I’ve been waiting for?

Higher than I’ve ever been

Bullet holes
All you leave behind
Now I know
I see you cut and dried
I used to wish in symphonies
Higher than I’ve ever been

They closed our path through deserted streets
Downtown ghosts shuffling in their feet
I will never stop fighting for you
Never stop fighting

Bullet holes
All you leave behind
Now I know
I see you cut and dried
Bullet holes
I thought I was inside
I used to wish, I used to wish in symphonies
Higher than I’ve ever been

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Full Circle (Never Say Never)

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A Keeping It Real Post

Last year when I was in Romania, a new friend and I were comparing notes. I’d finally met someone as addicted to travel as I was, but even he couldn’t imagine traveling for so long without someplace to call home. I can’t remember exactly how he put it, but he asked if I was tired of never having a place to rest and regroup.

I was a bit taken aback and brushed off the question. After all, I’d spent a long time running from home. I loved the freedom of being a nomad, and not being tied to anything, anyone, or any place. But something about the question got under my skin. And one day, to my great annoyance, I realized he was right. I was tired, and I did need to find a home base somewhere.

Now What?

Never-Say-Never
All right already! I get it! Never say never.

Fast forward to today. I write this in an empty house. My empty house. The one I said I’d NEVER live in again. The one in the town I said I’d NEVER live in again. Tomorrow the stuff arrives and will bring with it all the chaos of moving day, but for the moment it’s just me in this quiet, empty house. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I’m ready to nest a bit and rediscover what it feels like to have a place to call home.

Never Say Never

I like to think I’ve learned to stop challenging the Universe by including the word NEVER in any sentence. As soon as I hear that word leave my lips, I cringe as I can almost feel the Universe laugh and say, “Here. Hold my beer.”

The last year has been full of Old Lisa’s NEVERs getting blown to smithereens. Each one was full of lessons I needed to learn, but damn some of them were painful to acknowledge. The hardest was that there were parts of my old life that were good and needed to be embraced by the new me.

For example:

I’ll never come back to Idaho to live.

Wrong. My family and friends are here. And the cost of living makes for a good home base for my travels, despite the horrid air quality Boise endures a good portion of the year. So Idaho it is. At least until I find the right place in Belfast. (Or Hawaii, or someplace I haven’t thought of yet, or maybe I’ll just stay here?)

I’ll never move back to my old neighborhood, the one in which I watched D, and all our dreams die.

Ha! I couch-surfed at a friend’s house and drove by The House That Love Built every week for months, visiting our favorite restaurants and old haunts until they no longer hurt to be near. I even quit judging the new owners of our dream home for their lack of attention to the garden. (Seriously?!? How could you let the Japanese maple get in that condition?!?! And how much hoarder crap do you have in the garage that your cars have to park in the driveway? Okay, so maybe I still judge a little.)

I’ll never move back into my “starting over” house.

*shrug*

I’m sitting here right this second trying to decide if it’s time to rename it. Yeah. I’m that girl. I name stuff, including houses.

I’ll never again own more STUFF than I can pack and move in a few hours.

*sigh*

Remember-Me-Amanda-Braun
“Remember Me” will be the first piece to go up tomorrow.

Furniture is being delivered tomorrow to replace all the furniture I sold or gave away when I left town. A car licensed to me is parked in the garage. I’m putting down roots, and that comes with stuff. I try not to look at the stuff as anchors holding me down, and instead look for the silver lining. After two years of sitting safely in storage, I finally get to see my favorite paintings again. I can also add to my collection. I’m celebrating my return home with a few new pieces by Canadian artist Amanda Braun. (We met in Belfast last year and her work is amazing! Check her out, she ships worldwide.)

I’ll never have roommates.

I know. A woman my age with roommates? Totally weird. But, after almost two years on the road solo, I’ve realized I’m tired of living alone. So I found super cool roommates. You guys! They bake and share their dog and dad with me. And their dad reminds me of mine, whom I miss terribly.  So when he comes over it secretly makes me very happy.

Recovering Control Freak

So there you have it. Heavy use of the word NEVER is a sign of control issues. This recovering control freak may be a slow learner, but I’ve gotten pretty good at removing NEVER from my vocabulary. And when I can feel one of those NEVERs from my old life getting busted, all I can do is laugh.

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

P.S. The Universe knows when you’re trying to cheat. “I’ll NEVER win the lottery” or “Keanu Reeves will NEVER call and ask me out” don’t work. Although I did win $16 on a ticket today, so who knows. A girl’s gotta dream.

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He Gave Me His Blessing (His Final Gift)

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A Keeping It Real Post

While I was in Hawai’i, I was lucky enough to catch up with an old friend; one who both knew me before I became Mrs. Bain, and also knew D. As we sat at the family dinner table, catching up on all that’s happened in the last decade, the topic of life AD eventually came up. It was a strange sense of déjà vu as we sat there once again discussing my dating life. (My buddy gave me hilarious Bro Tips worthy dating advice back when Dan was courting me.) When we got to the weirdness of it all, I shared how D had given me his blessing to find love again before he died.

My friend, who is in the military and stares death in the face regularly, interrupted me, saying that he could never give his wife that blessing; he was too jealous and selfish to do that. My buddy loves his wife but can’t bring himself to envision a life without both of them in it. He shook his head, demanding, “How did he do it?” He paused a moment to think, then he said, “I wish Dan were here so I could talk to him about this.”

In Theory

I suddenly had that intense desire, too. I’d appreciated what a rare gift D had given me, but until that moment I hadn’t considered that giving it to me was painful for him.  Like many couples, we’d talked about our desire for the other to find love again if we died. That was all fine and dandy when it was theoretical and part of a life insurance conversation.

When D accepted he was going to die, it moved from theoretical to practical. I knew he was going to die, too, but I refused to have the conversation. In hindsight, that was unfair of me not to allow him to talk about it. But I was already grieving his loss and couldn’t bear it.

The Last Word

Flowers
His blessing was his final gift to me.
(p/c Pixabay)

D respected that boundary, throwing in a few, “wait a few weeks before hooking up with the cabana boy” jokes, but sparing me the heavy conversation about moving forward in a world without him. But, just like in life, he was sure as hell going to have the last word on the topic.

D had one-on-one conversations with those closest to us, including his siblings and his daughter. He instructed them that when the time came for me to start dating, that they were to support me in that decision. D made sure they knew he didn’t want me to be alone forever; that he loved me and wanted me to be happy, even if it couldn’t be with him.

Don’t Shoot the Messengers

As I put a toe in the water of the murky dating pool, they all came to me privately to share D’s message and their support. At first, I was livid. How dare they intrude on this new phase of my life by delivering his message? This was hard enough without anyone else’s input, especially that of my dead husband. (F@#$%^g Daniel! This was all your fault!) I didn’t think I needed or wanted their support. I was wrong. (Yeah, D, I’m publicly admitting I was wrong. Write it down.)

When I waffled about trying a relationship on for size, they were once again there to assure me D would want this, and that I had their support. I can’t imagine how hard it was for them to hear me talk about someone that wasn’t him, but they’ve always put on a smile for me.

Most of them, anyway. Those that haven’t been able to, have been phased out of my inner circle. Our relationship is protected because this area of my life is now off limits. And that’s okay. It all goes back to that theoretical vs. practical conflict; the theoretical support of the idea of my dating vs. the practical reality that no one I choose to love will ever be D. I get it, and I hold no ill will towards them. They loved him, too. Their issues belong to them and have nothing to do with me.

Blessed

I’ve spoken to many widows who have always doubted whether they’d have their late husband’s support in their pursuit of life and love after loss. I’ve even met widows whose late husbands were so angry they were dying, they forbade their soon-to-be-widows from dating again. Wow. I can’t even imagine trying to move forward in life with that. Fortunately, I don’t have to.

In life, D was an epic gift giver. He put a lot of time and thought into whatever he chose for me, even with the smallest things. At the center of it all was his desire to make me happy. I am blessed D loved me, and knew me well enough to know he was doing the right thing. I’m grateful to have been loved so much, he wanted me to find love and happiness without him. And I’ll treasure that night around the dinner table in Hawai’i for the realization D’s final gift broke his heart so I could one day heal mine.

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

P.S. If you are still lucky enough to have your partner with you, please consider taking time to have this conversation while you still can.

Post Soundtrack

You’re Gonna Love Again, NERVO

Hearts run right to the end
People come home you don’t need to be scared
’Cause you gonna love
You gonna love again

Take a chance on a broken heart ’cause we’re starting again
We gotta try even if it’s hard
Try baby to understand
To find a rainbow in every storm, you gotta believe
Don’t ever doubt that you do belong now
‘Cause it started with you
It started with me

Hearts run right to the end
You’re gonna love
You’re gonna love again

People come home you don’t need to be scared
‘Cause you gonna love
You gonna love again

Songwriters: Miriam Nervo / Olivia Nervo / Tim Bergling
You’re Gonna Love Again lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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

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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

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How Did He Die?

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A What Not to Say Post

No-Trespassing-Keep-Out
How did he die? Don’t go there.

Okay, folks, it’s time to address this one. Again. I belong to a Facebook group, and recently someone posted wanting details on how two of our members died. Talk about an opportunity to remind people this is a big, fat, hairy what not to say to the bereaved.

I still get this question. I don’t mind it. Dan was young, so it was unlikely to have been natural causes, and people are curious. I DO mind when it’s followed by, “what kind of cancer?” I usually respond, “the rare and aggressive kind.” Here is where I get testy if the asker continues with, “But what kind exactly?” One hundred percent of the time, if I allow the conversation to get this far, I get, “Huh. Never heard of it.” That’s because it’s rare and aggressive. Argh!

Why Are You Asking?

I have a friend who has gently coached me into flipping it back, instead of flipping them off. “I’m curious why you’d ask that.” She’s learned over the years that people often have a personal reason for asking, usually a connection to someone with cancer. Or that flipping it back will end the interrogation if it’s just morbid curiosity. Karen is one of the smartest people I know, so I try to implement this when my brain is working at full capacity.

You Know What They Say About Assuming

And don’t assume the deceased died at their own hands just because the family doesn’t want to talk about it. There are lots of reasons they want to keep it private. I can vouch for the fact that sometimes, especially in the early days, it’s just too painful to process.

Believe it or not, I had people grill me during the worst of my grief, on the gruesome details of Dan’s last moments. It didn’t matter where I was, including at work. Some people just wouldn’t let it go. Thanks a lot for pouring lighter fluid on my gaping wounds and then setting it on fire. You probably had no clue that your insensitive, or intentionally sadistic, interrogation almost always resulted in a full-blown PTSD attack. Once that PTSD attack was so bad, it resulted in an overdose. Good times.

(FYI, Dan’s last few hours were so horrific that the five of us who were present that morning have never discussed it. I’m not sure we ever will.)

I’m Guilty

Despite my own experiences on the receiving end of this question, I still find myself wanting to know what happened when someone young dies. My reasons for wanting to know are a bit different, though. If I know a little about the circumstances, I may be able to be a better support for the bereaved. I know that survivors of suicide or overdose struggle with additional stigmas and feelings that they aren’t worthy to publicly grieve the loss of their loved one. That’s poppycock, by the way. Regardless of the circumstances, none of us asked to be Widows. Despite my curiosity, I keep that question to myself.

The Bottom Line

Here’s the bottom line: if the family wanted you to know, they’d have told you. It would have been in the obituary, or you’d have heard about it at the funeral. And it doesn’t matter how they died. They are gone. They aren’t coming back. The HOW doesn’t matter when we’ll never know the WHY.

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

POST SOUNDTRACK

No, Meghan Trainor

I think it’s so cute and I think it’s so sweet
How you let your friends encourage you to try and talk to me
But let me stop you there, oh, before you speak
My name is no
My sign is no
My number is no
You need to let it go
You need to let it go

First, you gonna say you ain’t runnin’ game, thinkin’ I’m believing every word
Call me beautiful, so original, telling me I’m not like other girls
I was in my zone before you came along, now I’m thinking maybe you should go
Blah, blah, blah, blah
I be like nah to the I, to the no, no, no
All my ladies listen up
If that boy ain’t giving up
Lick your lips and swing your hips
Girl all you gotta say is
My name is no
My sign is no
My number is no
You need to let it go

Thank you in advance, I don’t wanna dance
I don’t need your hands all over me
If I want a man, then Imma get a man
But it’s never my priority
I was in my zone before you came along, don’t want you to take this personal
Blah, blah, blah, I be like nah to the ah to the, no, no, no

Songwriters: Eric Frederic / Meghan Trainor / Jacob Kasher
NO lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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