The healing journey of a widowed, unschooling badass in Delaware.
As humans, we are all broken. I can choose to fear or love. I can choose to grieve or heal. I choose not to be whole, but to continually become whole. I won’t reach that place until I’m with my Lord. But as long as I’m down here on the dirty ground I’m going to work towards creating a loving Heaven on Earth.
God bless,
Jason
Delaware Art Museum was an integral part of my life with Mary. She introduced me to the Museum and I spent many hours there with my sons, with Mary, or all of us together. Since losing her I have often taken solace in the galleries, Labyrinth, Kids’ Corner, and Sculpture Garden. I’ve been there with my boys, with friends, and on my own.
The Museum has decided to dedicate one of their magnolias to Mary’s memory. This tree sits in the Copeland Sculpture Garden where we’ve danced to live music; watched movies; picnicked; played soccer, football, and Frisbee; enjoyed tacos, falafel, and tons of food truck fare; and strolled countless miles taking in sculptures new and familiar.
After a year of dramatic changes, we’re getting to remember Mary in a place that transcends the life that was and the life that is. Mary and I often walked the Labyrinth at the change of each season and there could be no more fitting time to dedicate her tree than on the day of the Vernal Equinox. In recent years, there has been snowfall in Delaware on the first day of spring. Mary always loved that. “Bring it on!” was her response to the winter weary.
I have welcomed many people into my life who didn’t know Mary. I’ve connected most deeply with people who have also experienced loss, but not exclusively. I’ve tried to share my memories of her here and in person. I look forward to introducing family and friends, old and new, to give them an opportunity to share more of what Mary has meant to us.
God bless,
Jason
I have shoveling, church, and childcare to attend to this morning, but my mind is on a psychological death.
I thought if I embraced the journey instead of fighting it or easing into it that I would have an easier time. That was stupid. At times all I can do is sit in the pain and confusion and put my trust in God to see me through. It gets hard when responsibilities call and children are hungry. I struggle to focus on the pain, to keep my mind and body calm in the storm and wait for the sun to break through.
I’m learning to let go. So many of my answers have been delivered to me. So many of my needs have been met without my action or thought. I’m living a truly blessed life. I’m learning that the pain is a blessing, a way for me to be better and give me the opportunity to produce good in the world.
God bless,
Jason
Who would have guessed that reminiscing about a 2017 trip to Legoland would trigger my revelation that I’m an alcoholic.
As I was telling a dear friend about an upcoming visit I commented on the taco truck that is on the roof of the nearby Wegman’s. Then I went into the beer selection and exactly which beer I had. I didn’t mention it was the only time Mary was ever able to join us there. I didn’t mention this picture, one of my all time favorites. I didn’t talk about the hours of fun we all had that day. Or how amused Mary was with the little rock band setup. We met friends that day, built, played, and squeezed every ounce of fun out of that place.
Mary was home sick the next time we visited. She’d be gone days later. It’s tough to pull into that parking lot. At least one of my sons feels guilt about us not being home that day. I do too.
All of that, and more, was available to me to talk about, but I chose to focus on the one beer I had.
My friend is the wisest and most perceptive 30-something I know. Without knowing any of the other stories I could tell, she called me out and got me to face why my brain had chosen that as my Legoland memory. It’s a painful weakness to own up to. I’m still reeling from it.
God bless,
Jason
Seventy-two days without a drink and I felt pretty darn good about the journey and the results. I’ve turned down offers without a fuss, cruised through ebullient holidays, and spent time in bars without anxiety. I’ve lost weight, have more energy, and my mind is clearer on hard questions than it has been in more than 20 years. In fact, I feel younger and more excited about life than I have in a long time.
I hadn’t thought about the “Am I an alcoholic?” question since I first began this particular journey. At that time I didn’t think of the label as helpful and had the goal of gaining control of my own urges and getting to a place where I didn’t have to place a prohibition on myself. But it was brought to my attention that I still fondly recall many stories and their boozy components. I hadn’t thought of how alcohol permeated my history and memory. I hadn’t noticed a tone of longing for those days when I thought I was in control. A time when I had the right literary quotes (Hemingway’s “I drink to make other people more interesting.” was a favorite), sincere apologies, and, most importantly, the hubris to continue doing whatever I wanted.
None of that worked. I got a DUI and nearly killed a girl in the process, there was a baby seat in the back, fortunately empty at the time. I should have gotten dozens more. I was put in the drunk tank one night. I mistreated friends, lovers, and family. I wasn’t the husband or father I could have been. My wife and sons deserved better of me. I deserved better of me.
For every amusing anecdote, there are ten pathetic tales of a guy who put drinking above the things that he claimed were important to him. Maybe more. Certainly more.
As it was put to me, “If it walks like a duck…”
It’s even hard to write now. I’m an alcoholic. It makes me sick to see so many of my weaknesses and frailties right now. My self-discovery journey has been uplifting, but it has not been without some pitch black moments. At least I know that I’ve gotten through all the other valleys and I’ll emerge out of this one stronger and better equipped to be a positive force in the world.
God bless,
Jason
No Kidding, Willie Yao, 2018. Delaware Contemporary
Assumptions and expectations took a beating in 2018. When I suddenly lost my wife I had assumptions about how I would rebuild my life. I assumed I would find a new wife and that we would have a slightly inferior life to the idealized marriage I had with Mary.
After a few months, I gained confidence and moved those expectations a few notches toward the goal of having a stronger marriage than I had before. I found independence in my adventures with my sons and enough patience to wait for “the one.”
Ten months a widower, I met someone who asked for “intentions” in place of “expectations.” It seemed easy enough, I’d been intent on treating humans as individuals deserving of love. I’d been gifted boundless love and intended to share it.
In practice, I started to actively take note of my expectations and assumptions and substitute them with clear intentions. This became painful as I felt my future imposing itself on my present; or rather, my expectations were getting in the way of my intentions.
I’m working hard to curb expectation and live an intentional life. It has lead me into new ways of thinking and being. It has disrupted my thought process and made me happier than I would have imagined months ago, regardless of many pitfalls along the way.
Do you still want a new marriage?
I don’t know. I’ve got so much yet to discover about myself. I’ve got impossible things to accomplish. I’ve got a world of possibilities and the curiosity to pour myself into it. I’ve got a house full of boys who thoroughly enjoy being in a house full of boys. I’ve got a lot of love around me.
God bless,
Jason
Macbeth, Pericles, Twelfth Night, Much Ado About Nothing, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Merchant of Venice, As You Like It, and various Shakespeare readings: my sons have seen or participated in all of these plays, most of them before losing their mother.
Experiencing Shakespeare in person places a wide range of human emotion on display: joy, passion, betrayal, murder, love, humor, wonder, deception, innocence, ignorance, jealousy, and loss. I am convinced that this controlled introduction to intense emotion provided my children with the tools they needed to navigate the equally broad spectrum of feelings that we have experienced this year.
God bless,
Jason
It could be that easy to define my 2018, but that’s not how it went. Mary started to get sick at the end of January and spent six days in the hospital before passing into the hands of God on February 12th. Miracles began before she left this Earth: from the maturity and bravery of her 6- and 8-year-old boys to say, “I love you” before she passed, to her holding on until friends and family from all over were able to come and do the same, to the peace that God brought me before her final moments, and to the connection with an eternal love that she left me.
That connection is a super power. Paperwork, memorial planning, giving her eulogy in front of hundreds of people, spending that same night alone with my boys…it all just came to me.
That connection remains unbroken, but doesn’t shield me from my own brokenness. In fact, it’s given me the courage to face my broken parts. That is how I might define my 2018: The Year I Faced My Darkest Parts. I’ve found strength by diving into my weaknesses. I’ve found love by embracing my fears and spending real time exploring them. I’ve started to find myself through a lot of muck piled up inside.
I don’t know why God took Mary, but I’m certain both of them would want me to continue to grow, learn, search, lead, and, most importantly, love.
God bless,
Jason
“Oh, where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me
She’s gone to heaven, so I got to be good.”
-Last Kiss, Wayne Cochran
No, that’s not the way I look at things, but I have found a lot of reasons to be better since I lost my baby. The most effective reason has been for myself. When I increase my effectiveness in the world, I can provide more for those I love most. It’s a driving passion for me to be the most positive force I can be in the world and multiply the love that Mary and I felt for each other. Focusing on positivity in my parenting and all other relationships has gone hand-in-hand with a personal mission of self discovery and self improvement. It’s driven me into great challenges and eye-opening revelations about how I can find and produce more love.
God bless,
Jason
I never expected to replace Mary. I never wanted to. I never could. I feared all the parts of my brain that pointed to my life with her. I wanted to turn away from all of it and make a brand new life. For a while I forgot how good it had been, how well we worked together, and how much I enjoyed doing the things a husband should do.
I’m letting go of that fear and welcoming back into my psyche the things I loved about Mary and our relationship. I’m no longer scared of pretty girls with blue eyes or paying attention to how they like their tea. I can care for someone’s needs in a similar manner as I did for Mary. I can carry with me the best of what I learned as a husband to a range of human relationships.
With a little more love and a little less fear,
Jason