The Glittery Part

"See grief, it's just like glitter
It's hard to brush away
Bright light and it still shimmers
Like it was yesterday
And it falls like confetti
All of the memories explode like a hand grenade
And it's sweet and it's bitter
Grief, it's like glitter
Oh, what a mess it makes
What a mess it makes" ~ Patrick Droney

Kerry always called glitter the herpes of arts and crafts. I think it's the herpes of grief too. This song so perfectly describes what it feels like to live after trauma. (I'll link the song at the end of this, because you definitely should listen to it.) It just creeps into everything at the weirdest times. Thank goodness my tribe is used to it. At any moment, something can make me cry - just for a second - then I'm back to normal. So weird.

I was going to wait till D day to blog, but I've realized that I just can't. Maybe that's because I was barely hanging on this time last year. I remained as hopeful as I could, and I was still fighting like hell for Kerry; yet, I just knew in my heart that we were losing the war. His body just didn't respond to anything, and he was wasting away. 

As devastating as October 20, 2019 was to our family, the weeks leading up to it were gut wrenching and awful. They had me begging God to just make a move - whatever the move might be. I still feel let down by Him letting my precious, kind husband suffer - and for making us choose what to do at the end. And, if you finish reading this and decide you want to give me some preachy advice about faith, understanding, etc. - please don't. I don't need your Godly wisdom about this part. I don't write this blog to get advice or to explanations about why I’m alone and why Kerry suffered. I write it because sometimes I just need to word vomit and let my friends know what's going on in my head.

A few weeks ago I decided to start walking to get out of my house and to exercise. It started with taking both dogs, getting really sweaty, and feeling a sense of accomplishment. I think I spent more time worrying about the dogs criss crossing in front of me than I did contemplating life. As with all things in my life, it took a weird accident and some time for me to realize what my walks are really designed to do for me. (Scarlet tripped me - right in front of a house with people outside - so lovely. She now stays home.) 

My widow walks (as I call them) are now 3 miles long and are my designated crying times. I can walk, cry, reminisce, exercise, make decisions, or just check out of life for bit. (Usually about 45 minutes... I'm not a fast walker. haha) I feel badly for the people driving past me thinking ,"Why is that crazy chubby old lady crying?" or, "I wonder if that fat girl needs a ride? Looks like she hates exercising!" (That last statement's not wrong. It's a love/hate.) A lot of time I don't necessarily think about anything in particular. I just let myself feel the hurt of being alone and of not having Kerry with me. We had so much fun together. I miss having that certainty of love and comfort. I never wondered where I stood with him. I never doubted myself. I loved marriage. My children and my marriage were my greatest accomplishments in life - and I just miss what used to be. 

Don't get me wrong. Some exciting, fun things have happened in the last year for sure. My story continues; my future isn't written; and I don't spend all my time reliving the past. It's just those glittery parts that hurt. It's those moments of realization that this is permanent. My future is in front of me, and I need to find the excitement in that instead of the fear. I won't be alone forever - and I know that eventually the giittery parts will take on a sense of nostalgia rather than a sense of dread.

No one can really prepare you or explain just how traumatic loss is - and I can see how it really reshapes people. The framework of your life just changes, and not everyone knows how to navigate those changes with you. I am thankful to those who have stuck with me and let me work my way through it. There are some who check on me every day and some who just pop in with humor or wit when I cross their minds. Those who let me vent and/or obsess about every little thing have been invaluable - and that's not even mentioning my fellow widow friends who get it the most!! I love having friends who don't insist on making every conversation about my grief - and having those who let me make the conversation about it when I need to. 

I'm thankful for those friends who knew Kerry well and can reminisce with me and stand beside me while I do brave things. And I'm thankful for those who didn't know him very well at all and are able to walk with me as i navigate my future without remembering how it was before, because they lift me up in a different way. They remind me that I still have a lot to offer.

So.... here we are. At the very edge of that year marker, I am still sad. But I am also still brave. And October 21, I'm going to "celebrate" surviving the whole Year of Widowhood. 

And if you see some crazy girl walking her big black dog and crying, just keep driving. She's work
ing some stuff out in her head - and she's going to be just fine.

As promised, Here's the song: