C.S. Lewis does few brilliant things in A Grief Observed. Highest in my estimation is the use of questions with very few answers. He has a curious mind and allows it to ponder all the awful Whys, What ifs, How coulds, and Whens of his bereavement.
At no point does he try to universalize the process of grief. Even for himself, he doesn’t claim to find consistent ways of moving through the journey. When a turn in the valley appears to mimic a previous pass, he recognizes that it is in a different sequence and therefore carries fresh meaning, pain, healing, or various mixes of all. Each day is particularly exhausting, sometimes in the excitement, sometimes in the grinding, and sometimes in the slog.
It’s a book unabashedly about an individual grief and, in that way, more honest than most of the literature on the subject I’ve yet come across.
I rejected “widower” almost as quickly as I came one. I met
a woman (how many of my stories go like this?) who lost her husband four months
after Mary died. We lunched and smiled and said “F you” to all the things that
were supposed to bring us down. We weren’t widow and widower; those terms were
for old folks in empty houses. We were badasses on missions from God.
I’ve learned that I must integrate the two to become a
Baddass Widower. Losing Mary fundamentally changed our family. It shook me down
to a place of necessities. What do my sons need? Then, a more important
question: What do I need? It took me twelve months to figure out that I need to
love and trust myself.
I can’t know, but I believe Mary also deprived herself of
self-love. We loved each other, our marriage, our children, and the life we had
built together. I lost much of that when I lost Mary, I was left with gaping
holes that I thought were filled with love. In this lacking of self-love we
were also missing out on a love for God. The Divine Spark is a connection with
God and all of Creation. It’s individual and universal. To love the universal,
one must love the individual.
My struggle lies with loving my ugliest pieces as I try to
understand, master, and integrate them. It’s like my favorite poems, the ones
that find beauty in stinking roadkill or redemption at the bottom of a
forgotten and filthy toy bin. I have to take strength from the bully, extract medicine
from the wounds, and spend a moment to polish my armor with pride before going
into battle.
“Widower” is one of those ugly things. From Merriam-Webster: “a man who has lost his spouse or partner by death and usually has not remarried.” I didn’t want to define myself through someone else’s death, but that isn’t a choice I get to make. The fact is that I’m twice the man I was before death began burning down every assumption of what my life would look like. I cry more, apologize more, and love those around me a lot more. I’m physically, mentally, and spiritually more robust and balanced than ever. I’ve overcome over two decades of alcohol abuse. I’ve started to treat myself as someone in my care, whom I want to succeed.
I don’t see how I’d be here if I hadn’t become a widower.
That’s part of me and I now accept it.
A friend shared a wedding video with me this morning. A garden wedding not unlike my own. During their vows, I heard her late husband’s voice for the first time. There are ancient assumptions that are made uneasy by this. Isn’t that gone from the earth? Aren’t they gone? Isn’t the world less complete than it was without this piece of the puzzle? Without MY piece of the puzzle.
Mary wasn’t one for speeches or quoting Victor Hugo. She just knew how to live, lead, and laugh. Her laugh is what I remember clearest. It was hers alone. The two of us around a fire after everyone else had crashed, watching our sons clowning at a party, with her sisters preparing another grand dinner, and checking out bartenders with friends, her laugh is what stands out in all those moments. It was goofy and honest and full of love.
It’s not gone. It’s recorded in videos; but more importantly, it’s molded into many hearts. A permanent fixture in the ones who knew and loved her. We are blessed to carry that special puzzle piece with us until we are reunited in Heaven and finally get to hear the real thing again.
Crying was easier in the first year after suddenly losing my wife. It felt right, like what I was supposed to do. It felt cleansing. I could write about her, read her emails to me, or look through her pictures and the tears were so perfect that I could keep reading, writing, and looking through them. It washed away layers of pain and weight, giving me fresh strength and positivity almost every day for months.
It cleared my mind and my heart and opened them to new possibilities and opportunities for love. I threw myself into this new world and got hurt as I entered my second year as a widower. I don’t regret embracing my vulnerability for a moment, it’s freeing and downright wonderful to know that I can love again. To know that I can lose again and be back on my feet before the count starts.
I don’t know if that’s why the crying is different now. I don’t know if it’s just the way grief works. Maybe I’ve reached a deeper well of emotion. I’ve discovered, and rediscovered, many things about myself in the last year. Perhaps my pain brought me to a place where I could love more deeply, and therefore, hurt more deeply.
So the crying is awful now. It’s the convulsing, muscle seizing, hideaway-and-wonder-if-it-will-stop kind of stuff. It’s not often, but it is brutal. It has me asking “why?!” in a helpless, mind-numbing tone. It answers me by holding me down and barking my mistakes at me. And it only takes my energy when it’s done with me. There’s no cleansing or feeling of freedom from the pain, just aching exhaustion.
I’m a zombie for a little while. Meditation, prayer, laughter with my boys, dancing, singing…none of my tricks work. It’s like I’ve been dragged to the underworld and just have to wait for Charon to ferry me back to the living. There’s a fee and it’s a non-negotiable amount of time.
All this and I still believe I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I’m figuring things out, or I’m insane.
My sons lost their mother shortly before their birthdays. I opted for a combined party as Mary was the party planner and I was nearly overwhelmed with new duties. It was a great success as the boys share many friends and homeschooling has allowed us to easily form bonds with entire families.
Everyone was very generous in their gift giving, but it was too much for me. Too much for the boys as well, they’ve hardly been through everything in a year.
This year they were more enthusiastic than I expected in trading a party for more outings with friends and bigger adventures with Dad.
I watch my younger run through the streets of Detroit in a robe with friends and I am grateful for our wandering spirits. We’re different and God has handed us a different life. My sons embrace that better than I do and I am blessed to have them as examples.
I love options to the point of obsession. I find as many possible would-be adventures as I can and listen to the winds to tell me which way to go.
The answer doesn’t always come easily. Mary was my adventure muse. I’d lay out the choices and we’d figure out what was meant for us. Now, travelling as a single dad with my sons, I often find myself praying to God for guidance and listening more closely to those winds. The Holy Spirt has taken us on many exciting, relaxing, and entirely fulfilling journeys. Spirit is breath and I feel Him wash over my skin when I’m most present in the air around me.
I’m not listening this morning. The sun warms the campsite and excites the air into swirling gusts, but I feel deaf to its message. I make my coffee, read, meditate, write…none of my usual techniques seem to work.
I might call a day off for a feeling like this. I’ve done it many times before and it works, but we’ve got friends to support, adventures that will expire, a campsite to ready for more rain, and plenty of dirty clothes to clean.
God bless,
Our life never seems simpler than when we stop at a mound of Lego and start building. My sons and I took that opportunity at the FIRST Championship in Detroit as a break from the intense robotics competitions and innovative artificial intelligence exhibits.
My younger built a beautiful fountain and we both struggled to capture how nicely the light shone through it.
My older got to build with Stray Dog and a teenager who wanted advice on his hovering hot rod.
I chatted with other builders and helped them find pieces as I waited for inspiration. There were already lots of spaceships, buildings, team numbers, and robots, so I tried my hand at a tree.
I’ve only seen these leaf elements in green before and wondered how organic they could look in white. Although fragile, I was pleased to add my creation to the crowded display table.
I also added some of those elements to a satellite.
Sometimes I ask myself why God took my wife to join him after her 47 years on Earth.
I find answers every day. Today it’s this image. A camper van with three seats. My sons and I will once again fill these seats and embark on an adventure into new territories.
There isn’t room for anyone else on our path right now. I know, if only for today, that’s why we’re a family of three.
I want to share this post from my new friend, Julianne.
In the comments I write, “Mary’s death was a gift.” It is nearly impossible to believe. So often (right now) I think on the self work I’ve done, the improvements I’ve made in myself, and the ever-growing ability to love I’m nurturing…and I question why I didn’t do this while Mary was alive.
She deserved that, didn’t she?
But, this moment is this moment. This is the gift I’m being given. I can choose to see my past as baggage or a workshop full of tools and space for me to build something incredible.
Mary’s life was a gift, as was her death. I don’t always believe that, but when I do, I can be my best self.
God bless,
Jason
My sons and I are super excited as we’re heading to Detroit to support State Championship LOAD Robotics representing Delaware at the Lego FIRST Championship. LOAD is a rookie, all-home-educated team that fought hard in regional and state competitions to earn their place in Detroit. As friends and fellow Lego Maniacs, we are so proud of their accomplishments and hope you consider supporting their fundraising efforts. Without the backing of a school or robotics club, they face additional challenges in funding their registration, travel, and accommodations.
Locally, there are always opportunities to get children (and some adults) in front of a pile of bricks.
You’ll often find us at Brandywine Hundred Library on Mondays, 3:00-5:00 PM, for their Lego Lounge program. Themes are provided with learning resources, but free building is also encouraged. A relaxed, drop-in atmosphere always produces fun creations.
Hockessin Public Library’s long-running Tuesday Lego Club is where my sons first got a taste for the colorful bricks. From 4:30 to 5:30 PM it’s all about exploring one’s imagination with lots and lots of pieces.
On Wednesdays, head over to Claymont Public Library for their Lego Club, 3:30-4:30 PM. The facilitators are enthusiastic and there are always surprises.
On Friday, May 3rd, at Brandywine Hundred Library there will be a Lego Storytime for ages 3 and up from 10:30-11:15 AM.
Route 9 Library & Innovation Center’s Lego Club happens the first Monday of each month, 6:30-7:30 PM.
My son might be more excited about May the 4th Be With You than his own birthday. At all Lego Stores:
Tantive Make and Take May 3-6: Come in to your local LEGO Store to build your very own Tantive model then take it home, for free! Registration is on a first come, first served basis and quantities are limited. Registration begins April 15 in stores only. The building event is intended for ages 6+ at store discretion.
Bear Public Library will hold their Lego Club on Saturday, May 18th, 2:00-4:00 PM.
Join Appoquinimink Public Library on the third Tuesday of the month for LEGO construction challenges and free play with LEGO blocks of all shapes and sizes. Next meet: May 21, 6:30-7:30 PM, registration opens April 23rd.
