A Smiling Young Widow

“Oh what a fun summer you have ahead of you” 

“Wow you have a lot of trips to look forward to” 

“Ooh I wish I could get away too” 

“You’re so lucky” 

I suppose well meaning comments. I know people have good hearts and just want me to be doing well. I know we all appreciate something else to talk about. I try to find grace for these comments, but also scratch my head wondering people can’t seriously think this is all that amazing? Right….? They must at some level be able to imagine the pain of spending too much time alone at home, but also the discomfort of spending too much time away from home, how I have to be perpetually in a change-up mode to try to find something that feels ok even for just a bit. I am very grateful I’m in the position that travel and time off work can be part of my grief journey. Trust me though, I would much rather trade all of this in and go back in time to just regular ol life. But that is not an option anymore.

It took me a little while before I could go back to our house after Tom died. At first it was so difficult, then it did feel a bit more right to spend time there again. It wasn’t easy and still isn’t particularly easy. Each time I’d come home after Tom died, in the earlier days, I would cry as I walked into our house. Every. Single. Time. Walking into the beautiful house we had built together that was full of shared dreams and memories. Frank would sniff at Tom’s truck and run into the house excited, looking for his buddy. I moved Tom’s truck off the driveway for both our sakes. Slowly it got a bit easier to come back home and now I’m not always in tears (obviously there’s still tons of reminders and tons of tears). Leaving to go on outdoor adventures or to do some travelling has been a reprieve as I try to build-up a tolerance to some sort of normal life again.

Going away to Aruba in December felt like an actual break. It truly is an amazing place to vacation! I did things that reminded me of Tom, but in a way like he’d be proud. I was snorkelling and thinking of the confidence he’d given me in water (like very small levels of confidence, but still a big change that made it so I could enjoy things in the water a bit!) There were so many moments I wanted to tell him about, like a turtle diving in front of us or getting a Tom-sized cappuccino (perhaps one of his least favourite parts of travel was how small coffees are in other countries!)

So many memories of trips we did together and missing our established travel groove. We’d always done our own thing a bit while we were together too, we had some independent hobbies or would go on some trips alone. Trips that we would then meet up and share about. I was remembering the time I was in Europe with my sister and Tom was on a hunting trip with a buddy. We didn’t really talk much as he was in the bush, the odd Garmin message update of where they were or how much it kept pouring rain was about it. Aruba was amazing, but coming back home again wasn’t. This time we weren’t swapping trip stories as part of a happy reunion. It was another one of those blows where it hits again and again that I really am never going to get to talk to Tom again.

The magnitude of losing Tom still can’t be totally processed in my brain. I shared photos and a bit of reflection on social media after my Aruba trip. It really was a beautiful spot and felt like a break, but perhaps I should have added a note like “not pictured: the constant grief that tags along anywhere, racing heart as I packed up just my half of our beach stuff, anxiety to return home to confront my reality yet again with the rest of December looming.”