Mizpah

I don't try to keep it at bay. I keep it right on the surface. I, too, lost my love in a car accident. Friday morning we left for work, told each other we couldn't wait to spend the weekend together, and by noon he was in brain surgery after having been hit by a car while standing on the sidewalk - healthy, happy, 28 years old. ("Funny" part - he was 5 years younger than me, and I thought things like, "Thank Gd I'll never have to live without him because he's younger and I'll die first." Uhhhh....) Now I'm with a man who is three years older than me, *never* goes to doctors, doesn't take care of his health very well, works a job that is dangerous in many ways, engages in risky behaviors (rides a motorcycle, goes winter hiking alone - even when injured or ill, etc.), deals with depression. Now, we don't have the easiest relationship, so who knows if we'll stay together, but I love him like crazy, and it is possible (likely?) I will outlive him. Every time I call or text him and he doesn't answer, part of me assumes he's dead. I wait a bit, send another text, "R u ok?" Wait a bit: "I hope you're not dead." I tell him all the time that when it comes to his health and safety, he is accountable to others - me, his son, our daughter, that it's not his right to not take care of himself (he quit smoking the day I moved in with him - it was a condition). What's my point? I'm scared. He said something about a job he was on giving him cancer and I made some sarcastic comment about how sensitive it is of him to say such a thing to me, that I love burying men. I don't think we can avoid the fear, and we know firsthand that even if the stats say we're gonna be ok, that someone is that small percentage and it could be any of us at any moment. I figure I'll see him after work but anything can happen. I just try to make sure we don't ever leave mad or go to sleep mad - stuff like that. I take things as they come and try not to think into the future (a friend calls it "not bleeding before you're cut"). Being a widow so young makes it more likely that it will/could happen again. The alternative though is staying alone, which is fine. Doesn't carry the risk. Or rather the certainty: we're gonna die, and so are they, quite possibly before us. I meant this to be encouraging. It didn't come out that way!!!! Sorry!

I'm late to the game and you seem comforted, but for what it's worth, I firmly believe it gets better. It has for me at least. I can also sympathize with post-death financial ruin. Life is brutal, and nothing is easy sometimes. It took a good two years for me to smile easily again. There's no timeline, but it takes time. I hope you'll keep doing the things you need to do to find beauty in the world and solace where you can get it, and keep reaching out when you need the comfort of those who know and care.

Serpico: Believing in something - ok. But saying something so obviously, clearly, capable of real hurt and insult like this (I mean, really, "Everything happens for a reason," really means, "Your husband died for a reason") is stupid. I don't care what someone else believes - I don't believe my beautiful, healthy, life-loving 28-year-old husband was hit by a car while he was standing on the sidewalk for any reason at all. Anyone saying it to me is merely upsetting me. Maybe believing it isn't stupid, it's subjective, ok. (I don't believe it and don't know how anyone can). But saying it to someone who is hurting. That's stupid. Know your audience. Have some compassion. If it's not stupid to say it, then it's malicious, so I prefer to think it's stupid.

My Simon and I are/were Jewish. He believed in Gd and I did/do not. We weren't very observant but we both loved our heritage and were proud of it and were very into Jewish learning - tons of reading and going to lectures and panels about history and current issues. When he died, I started going to synagogue weekly (to say kaddish, the mourner's prayer) - I learned Hebrew and took classes. The ritual and traditions brought me comfort, the history made me feel strong (the thread of resilience and survival through suffering through so many ages). The symbolism of many of the traditions felt so meaningful to me. It gave me great comfort. It seems strange to many people, including my family members, that a person who doesn't believe in Gd could find such great comfort in religion, but I have and continue to. I find no contradiction in it, as I think a huge part of religion is tending to the most intense and meaningful events in HUMAN life, rather than the afterlife or any "higher" sphere.

Everything Beautiful Began After, by Simon van Booy. It's beautiful.

I often read and don't respond. I feel I have so little to say to help you but couldn't not respond because I wish so badly I could help you. I didn't relapse and I don't know what it's like to struggle with depression or a loss of faith (because I never had any), but I know what I did in the beginning when I felt beyond-help desperation and hopelessness. I clung to routine and structure, and forced myself to do healthy things. My outsides did NOT match my insides - inside I was darkness, suffering and misery, but outside I was making my bed, cleaning, going running daily, getting sunshine, etc. (Don't underestimate the power of vitamin D.) I went to synagogue weekly. I did all the things a healthy, happy person does to try to I guess maybe "fake it 'til you make it," I'm not sure it was even that. It was more like "going through the motions." Eventually my insides did match my insides, to be honest. My healthy habits turned me into a healthy, happy person, very slowly, very gradually. Do books help you at all? The two that came to mind as I read your post were "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor Frankl (back in the beginning, I felt like only books by or about Holocaust survivors had any credibility, because their suffering was so extreme, and everything else felt frivolous) and "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" (it's by a rabbi and I assume (?) you're Christian but it's about tragic loss (of his young son) and faith). And remember you're not too far out. For many, a sense of betterment comes early, but for many, it doesn't. From people way far out from widowhood who I've met in real life, the most common answer I get to my question of when they started to feel better have been 3 years and 6 years (yes, 6 years, I'm sorry to say). It was less for me (around 2 years that I started to feel alive again), but that's what I've heard. I hope this doesn't sound condescending and patronizing and DGI. Wracking my brain to try to think of anything helpful. I'm thinking of you and wishing you relief and reinvigoration of some sort. Big hugs. (Oh, also - editing here - I think it was easier to feel ok when I didn't search for meaning, but just sought simple things like solace, or stability. I remember the first time I noticed myself smiling after he died - I was watching the NYC marathon on the street outside my apartment. I was by myself. There was nothing personal about it. Nothing revelatory. It was a very very simple thing. Don't give yourself goals that will set you up for failure - finding meaning is just about the hugest human goal a person could ever have. Be easy on yourself.)

Rejection and disappointment - they're so hard because they remind us (like we need to be reminded of this horrid truth) of the limits of our control, and of our will, and of our ability to have things be as we want them to. Grrrr. These people are idiots for blowing you off clearly. I'm sorry, babe.

I love this thread - good, bad and ugly.

This is one of those shockingly idiotic "know your audience" moments. Dude, you're talking to the widow of the dead guy and you survived. That happened for a reason???? Maybe to you, maybe for you, how lovely and convenient. Congrats. But really - some tact, some basic social etiquette. I've never been good at dealing with that statement coming at me about DH's death. I never let it go without a remark. It's too offensive.

I went once a month without fail when I lived locally (meaning 90 minutes away). It was meditative and ritualistic and comforting for me. But I moved hundreds of miles away and haven't been back since. I miss it.

We are creatures. It's natural. But I think it's good that you're struggling with it. People can't help how they look for the most part. Struggling with it means you're not a shallow @$$hole maybe, hahahaha. I think where we go wrong is forgetting that attraction and beautiful are subjective, instinctive, based on individual taste. We've been socially programmed to find certain things attractive. Some of that programming piggybacks on natural, near-universal biological or anthropological factors, but some of it is culture. End of my rambling thoughts.

"I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be." - Joan Didion So much of the past of my life feels inaccessible to me, and it's like a story instead of something I've lived, though I know I have. Where does time go when it's over and in the past? Away, somewhere, I don't know. I don't know if what I'm writing here is what the question is meant to elicit, but I feel the need to write it, and didn't even realize I did - there's something about telling and retelling our stories that helps me. So I stopped living for a long time. Barely spoke or ate for a month (or three, or more - my memory of the first few months is not so good). I had to move at five months. The first year I spent in near total isolation. I went to work. I went to synagogue. I studied Hebrew (his native language). Everything I did revolved around his identity, thinking about him, living grief. I ran and worked out a lot to remain sane, I focused on simple things like sunlight and cleaning and laundry. I binge-watched innocent shows like Friday Night Lights and Gilmore Girls. I read grief books. At the year mark, I mourned my grief - Jews stop saying kaddish (the mourner's prayer) daily at about the year mark. I felt kicked out of my grief. I could now attend parties and gatherings, listen to music. I wanted to stay in grief, stay close to him. At about 14 months, I met a nice man who was interested in me, was successful, intelligent, kind, handsome. I had no interest in him but it seemed like a good idea to get a first out of the way and force myself to engage in the romantic sphere. So we went out for a few months. Because I was forcing myself to do this for practice, I often felt repulsed by the situation, and yet I knew it was a healthy option for me. (It had an expiration date, as he was being re-deployed, and I think this is also why I decided on him.) At our last dinner out, he was saying sentimental things to me and I told him, "I can't let myself feel anything - if I felt anything, I'd feel everything." He thought I meant I'd feel things about him, but I meant that all the grief would come rushing in and take over my entire existence. My awesome family knew I wanted to go to Israel, to make a pilgrimage to where he was born. They all together got me a ticket, and I planned my trip. Before I went, my mom told me that the man renovating her apartment had just lost his pregnant fiancee in a terrible car accident. I'd taken to reaching out when I heard about things like this, as I'm sure many of us have. So when I was visiting my family, I left him a note. We were in touch from then on, for months. Right before my trip to Israel, we met up. I'd been starting to feel life coursing back in me (it was spring, it was almost two years, etc.), but I was taken aback - I liked him, I was attracted to him. I'd said many times in the recent past then that I hadn't been attracted to or interested in ANYONE in the nearly two years since he'd died, and I felt like I'd be alone forever, and didn't even mind - I learned that I was good at being alone, loved my solitude, and even though I was lonely and my life was empty of partnership and romantic love, I loved my life as much as someone post-loss could (I wandered the City, I had routines that were healthy and life-affirming - reading, synagogue, socializing, working out, eating healthy, good family relationships, strong friendships, I loved where I lived). I was into this guy, and he acted into me. So I went to Israel and had a fling with one of DH's friends and I remembered that sex was a whole other dimension of life that could change everything inside a person. I was in touch with the widower the whole time via text message and felt it was inevitable that we would come together when I returned. And we did. It was fun and passionate and we cared about each other and I was infatuated. I'm not sure in retrospect if it was just lust or love with the friendship aspect or excitement that I could feel something again, or WHAT it was. But it felt great. He was much newer to grief and less into facing it, though, and he was not really emotionally available, he said, though he also said things that said otherwise ("given what we've been through, I'm not sure either of us will ever be whole again - maybe one day we will be one together," he told me he loved me after a couple weeks, declared he couldn't see past me, that though he hated the long distance (which he swore he wouldn't do) that I was worth it and we deserved this chance at "greatness," etc.). I unexpectedly got pregnant. We'd already been talking future anyway, and decided that I would move to be with him and we'd have the baby together. That's when things got hard. And so for me, rebuilding was "easy" at first - I took things as they came, and I knew myself. I didn't mislead people when I couldn't feel, and once I could feel again, I loved completely again, though I loved and missed and love and miss DH and he'll always, I feel, be the most extraordinary man I've known and our love was something almost otherworldly, superior to any relationship I've ever witnessed. Widower wasn't ready. Widower and I are extremely different. I search for explanations and these are only two of the results of my brainstorming. It's been a very hard and painful year. We are still together, and things have improved, but I've often felt hated, disliked, unloved, neglected, emotionally abused. His ideal relationship, I think, right now, would be for me to raise our child, take care of the house, cook, contribute lots of money, seek nothing from him - including a real connection. It's impersonal. His expectations are too much for a full-time attorney and new mother who is homesick and socially isolated and coming from a relationship that was extremely close (his fiancee was a very young, rural, uneducated part-time waitress with children - I'm the opposite (his age, urban, educated, professional, never thought I'd have children), and his nuclear family background is full of physical and emotional and verbal abuse, while my childhood was amazing - cultured, loving, communicative). I believe he's struggled with depression his whole life and by struggled, I mean no struggle because he just avoids and denies things. I used to think he's strong because of how hard his life has been and how relatively successful he's been as a person in light of that, but now I see him as scared to face things. He thinks I'm needy, while I think I'm just wanting something healthy and happy. He's silent or angry when I try to talk to him about things - his coping skills (anger management, stress management) and communication skills are zilch. I am lonely. I am torn between staying and leaving, and don't know which is the right thing to do - we have a family and things are very often good and sweet. He's a good father and he's sweet to me when I accept him for who he is and am positive toward him. So rebuilding has been hard. Not because of me, I feel, but because of my "choice" of partner. His rebuilding has been very very difficult. Our relationship is hard but improving. Whenever I decide I should leave, I see so much good and how much hope there is. I have a daughter who is so happy and sweet. I have a job that is stable. I live near family. I think my difficulties right now lie in new motherhood, a difficult relationship, a move away from the city I love (and lived in for over a decade) and ALL of my friends. I've had so many changes. I may have to leave and rebuild all over again. I don't want to lose my family. I love that I have a family. I love him and he loves me. But I may have to rebuild. I have started so many lives in my life so far. I don't want to rebuild again. I want that heady initial in love period to be right, to be sustainable. I don't want to have been wrong about him. I don't want him to have been wrong about me (he thought I was so great - he doesn't seem to think so anymore - my best self honestly hasn't been present much since this move - all my strength and capability and personality, it's all gone into hibernation as I've struggled with the move and the changes and the housework and the motherhood and the disappointment in his feelings for me). I don't want him to have been wrong about me. I said to my mom the other day that I'm still in shock that someone as amazing as DH existed. Still in shock that he died. That he no longer exists. That I left NYC and live in the country. That I'm a mother. So I'm really in the moment and the past feels a million miles away, and yet the shock is still completely present. This is so long. It doesn't answer the question. I should be doing work.

Yes, completely. I got in a minor fight with my boyfriend this morning. Got in my car, and all I could think about was the smell of DH's cologne and how badly I wanted to wear it and if it's socially acceptable for a woman to wear men's cologne. It was a few minutes of going deep down this rabbit hole of thought that I realized what I was doing and why. Just a small example of yes, it definitely happens to me.

At the two-year mark, I traveled to Israel in a pilgrimage of sorts to the land where he was born and where he'd spent his first 5-6 years of life. It was obsessively important to me to be where he was born. When I went to the Western Wall, instead of leaving a note for Gd, I left a note to him. I hung out with some widows I'd met on YWBB and in real life. It felt perfect to be in the desert (found myself thinking how amazing it would be to be buried in that vast emptiness with no marker, back to the earth and the hugeness). I went there seeking him, and was surprised to find nothing of him anywhere and to feel no greater connection to him there, but I found the spark of life and love and happiness inside me again there, and came back alive again (maybe it was just all the vitamin D?). (I stopped in Paris for a few days on my way back. I did the trip alone (got so proud of myself for "going to the Middle East on my own"), but visited with many friends, so spent hardly any time alone actually.)

By text about an hour before the accident: "I love you, my darling." Every morning before he left (a tad earlier than me), he'd say he loved me more today than he did yesterday, that I'm his life and his heart, and every now and then he'd also say that he would use his last breath on this earth to tell me he loves me. That morning (a Friday), he'd said he couldn't wait for our weekend together.

Oh, Gracelet! Be careful. I think you may remember my story from YWBB - fun single Manhattan girl turns rural mother. Why you ask? Widower boy plus lust. Have fun!!!

I hate boyfriend too. I'm tempted to use partner, but it sounds so sterile. It's just awkward all around, the nomenclature, and all the words are stupid, except lover, which hints at inappropriate things, hahaha. Anyway, my boyfriend has a 4-year-old son, and when he's badly behaved at the beach or something, I've heard women saying something like, "Well, look at the mother, she's just sitting there letting him _____, she's doing NOTHING! No wonder." I'm always torn between wanting to turn around and tell them he's not mine, it's not my fault, what am I supposed to do?, on the one hand, and on the other tell them to f*** off. Also, his mom last year bought me flowers for Mother's Day because, she said, I'm his "other mother." I'm not. I totally disagree with her outlook on it. It's strange. There's a lot to navigate in being with someone with a kid/kids.

Mine is Hebrew. I think it's a place name. But it means a bond between people who are separated. Something about Gd "keep watch between you and me when we are absent one from another." I don't even believe in Gd, but he did, and I love the idea.

It matters. Sometimes it (knowing he would be proud and having that validated by someone else's observation/opinion - someone who knew him and loved him) is the only thing that matters. Go you!

I completely understand getting rid of false friends/family. I did too, but my Simon was killed in an accident so I had no protracted time for people to suck - they sucked pretty immediately or didn't. I hope you'll remember this important part though when thinking about future partners, if that's something you deep down want in your life: YOU were there for her. And likely, if the roles had been reversed, she'd have been there for you. With love and caring. So the tally isn't zero; it's two. Which means there may be hope that there are others.

Ran yesterday for the first time since getting pregnant (a year and a half ago). I'm back to pre-pregnancy weight but it's all flab instead of muscle/fit/healthiness the way I used to be. Need to get strong again, but have baby, career, and super long commute (and a partner with insanely long work hours, so pragmatically speaking no one to help with childcare). But I need to. Working out and running is one of the main things that helped me survive the early days and first couple years.

Hachi: same here. All of it. A huge adjustment from my relationship with DH. And all relationships I've ever been in.

It's not about saying something original - it's about saying what you need to say, reading what you need to read, getting and giving the support you need.

Oh hon. Life has forced you into enough suffering - don't force yourself to fulfill an obligation you gave yourself while in the throes of the most intense grief you will hopefully ever suffer. I understand the compunction to obsessively memorialize. I filled many, many journal notebooks with memories of Simon at the beginning. I started the morning after the accident when he was technically still alive, but I knew he was gone. It was very important to me, as to you, to remember everything. But we do these things for ourselves, not for the public, and I think whether it's 6 months or 6 days or a year or 6 years, the idea is the idea and you've done it. Also, things that are forced aren't as genuine. Doing it for the principle of the thing- I get it, but I feel so sad for you when I read this. I understand the reasons for continuing it but also for the dread and me personally, I hope you let yourself off the hook. There are millions of ways to pay tribute to our loves, and doing something just because you said you would, when you were crazed with grief, it's one of the things I personally would lay to the side. But it's you, and you know yourself, and what you need to do.

I think even newbies have to understand that everything is individual. There are some things we all share, and honestly it's mostly in the beginning, because things are so incredibly mind-blowingly overwhelmingly insanely unbearably razed to the ground. There is great commonality in the crisis part. As time goes on, people shape their lives differently (or life shapes them differently, or life shapes their lives differently). I think newbies know that some people are going to "heal" much faster than others, or differently. And I also think we all knew from day one that this would be lifelong, even if we "move on" and create entirely new lives (I am almost four years out, am in a committed relationship and have a baby with him, but for as long as I'm alive, Simon should be and that will never change). Being a widow IS discouraging. Even people far out should be able to come here and be fully and completely honest. Do we have a responsibility to newbies? Maybe. To an extent. But I think all of us (newbies and "veterans" alike) have a responsibility to ourselves (and to our lost loves - and to newbies!) to be real. Again, I may be just seeing this my way and being really dense, and I hope I'm not offending.