A Smiling Young Widow

I thought perhaps I should write a more upbeat post. Sometimes I am doing okay and I do have moments of real happiness. I was thinking to reflect on what good days look like for me now or to share intentional practices I do to find joy. Then the past 24 hours happened…and for now I’m going to share my reflections on the shaky, shaky base joy sits on in grief. 

Last night out of the blue our garage door went, and I mean went – snapped cable, bracket busted, crash. I was standing there thinking how much I NEEDED Tom. Like just practically I needed his height and strength. He would be able to hold up that one side. He would perhaps have an idea of what to do too, or at the very least we would be able to tackle it better as a two man team. It was a Sunday night. Tom should have been home with me, he wouldn’t even have been on the road for work on our regular schedule. That’s where my brain went. That’s where my mind started to spiral and anxiety flared. But, I was determined to catch it. I was telling myself this was not a sign that I need to move and that I can’t handle this house on my own. Nor was this discounting all the things I am doing independently. I was just tired out and needed to get a good night’s sleep. I could tackle this in the morning, and would just hope no creatures or humans decide to explore the garage. I did a couple of my somatic tools before bed too, trying to convince my body that this was going to be ok. 

This morning, go figure yup garage door is still in the state I left it. I’d have to make some calls. I had planned to hike with a friend with an early start to beat the heat. My vehicle is now trapped in the garage but Tom’s truck is on the driveway, so I figured I’d take that. Battery dead. This is the point that I had to call it. Old Leslie could have perhaps rolled with the punches a bit more here and fit it all in, but not today. My capacity was burst. To ask for help or make a call was too much in that moment.

Tom worked outside and at times that could be quite miserable. Just how miserable it was depended on a variety of things like temperature, wind, what kind of precipitation was falling, location, and the actual work they were doing. He coined the phrase, “The Misery Index” to better capture how the day was likely going to feel. For example, a temperature of 0 might not sound too bad but the misery index is high when it’s grey skies and howling wind with sleet hitting you while you’re in a boring location. This heatwave Alberta is stuck in right now would have led to some very high misery index days for Tom. It really is a helpful tool, feel free to adopt the misery index!

I’ve been told how strong or brave I am many times since Tom died. I don’t feel there were a lot of alternative options here for me being who I am, but I appreciate the sentiment. Sometimes it really is incredible what you can manage to get through, I can acknowledge that for myself too. I mean I am a mother f*cking buffalo after all 😉
What I have been reflecting on lately is how different this strength can look and feel. How it wouldn’t necessarily be apparent on the outside what is taking the most courage. I’m coining my own phrase – The Bravery Scale. It’s a bit like Tom’s misery index, where it isn’t as simple as just checking what the temperature is for the day. There’s a lot that can go into where my bravery reserves are at, what kind of strength I can come up with, what else has been using up my courage that day. 

It can deplete a heck of a lot of strength to go out into the world. To show up for an event solo. To hold myself together for a meeting at the bank. To take in the cardboard recycling, when that was always a job Tom would insist on doing for us. To tackle a finances spreadsheet. To write an email standing-up for something that has been weighing on me. 

It took six months for me to muster up the courage to book a haircut. Probably that doesn’t look hard to the outside world. But the idea of being stuck in a chair making small talk with a stranger? I don’t think I ever realized how much those little questions come up like, “are you married” or “what does your husband do for work”, until I now desperately hope they don’t get asked. I want to avoid the questioning that will come along if I give up, “Oh my husband actually died last year.” I’ve noticed it makes a big difference on my social battery requirement whether someone knows my story or not.

I used to do a decent amount of hikes just Franklin and me. Tom would be on the road and I’d go out exploring a new spot with Frank for a few hours. I’d tell Tom where we were going and check-in when we were out. I remember one hike that involved a bit of route finding/bushwhacking. A huge storm rolled in with hail that had me running under trees. Then there was thunder and lightning. I was close to big transmission power lines and wondered about our chances of being electrocuted. Weirdly I had cell reception, so I called Tom to ask what I should be doing (he was a lineman). He was like what the heck are you doing out in that weather?! Frank actually tried to run off at one point, shooting me dagger eyes – you know like Arnold in Magic School bus? I knew we should’ve just stayed home! 

People have asked me about the hikes I’ve done so far this summer, and I’m like hmmm what have I done?  Well mostly just the same easy hike that starts close to us. I don’t have much of a desire to go out and do anything new. At first I would perhaps tell you I haven’t been motivated to do new ones. But then a bit of self-compassion comes in, and I acknowledge it’s because there is just so much new in my life. I don’t need to get out on a new hike. Like oh I actually cleared out my dead husband’s sock drawer today. That was new. That zapped away my energy and any need I might have had to try something else new. 

And as much as I would do some hikes alone before, that’s never been my preference. If you met Tom, you would understand why you’d much rather be out on trails with that guy to protect you! The possibility of running into a bear seemed much more manageable with Tom next to me. It was much more enjoyable to go on a backpacking trip and have him insist on taking the heaviest stuff (which really was best for both of our moods out there!) And it was just better to be out with my buddy. 

Tom got me into mountain biking. He’s liked to go for years. Once we moved out to the mountains I was convinced to try the trails right close to us. I got a quick lesson from Tom and rode his bike around the kids loop. He loved to tell the story about how I was wearing a tie dye tank top practicing away, and there was this other kid in a tie dye shirt going around the same loop. I eventually got my own bike and we would go out together. Tom would pick trails and shout back instructions or encouragement. It was just us getting out for some quality time together in the mountains. I have really, really great memories of biking with Tom. I’ll be the first to tell you I can be a huge grump on hikes. I’d be tired and struggling to suck air hiking up a trail and Tom would be stopped just up ahead easy, breezy, no problems. Mountain biking was still Tom ahead, of course. But he was just so happy that I was getting into a hobby he loved. And I think I had such low expectations for myself, it was just about getting out. It was a lot of fun. To go mountain biking without Tom now, it really doesn’t matter all that much which trail, being on that bike without him up ahead can be tough. 

I signed up for weekly mountain bike lessons this May. That was hard. Of course on some levels it was fun and I learnt a lot. But man it wiped me out, even the anticipation of loading my bike was weird. I was on our trails alone and knowing I’d never be sharing back to my OG coach what I learnt. I was proud of myself for being able to do the lessons. I have hardly mountain biked since, but I am holding more self-compassion for how much courage this takes and I will get out again sometime. It depends where my bravery reserves have had to go. 

Tom had another useful scale he would pull out – the FAF (“f*ck around factor”). How much of a headache something was going to be and was it worth it. Say you’re trying to figure out how to line up a visit with someone when you’re going to be passing through the same area, but they’re balancing some family thing and your weekend is booked up too. My tendency is to try to do it all, make it work. Tom – “I don’t know Les, the FAF is pretty high on that one”. If a discussion was getting a bit too circuitous (another word I learnt from Tom with his no nonsense attitude), the FAF was growing and it might just not be worth our time. Make a decision boom. Guys, the FAF is seriously useful. I would love to see it be more common so when I go to say, “the FAF was way too high on that so I didn’t do it”, people will nod in understanding.

I’m trying to get better at considering the FAF in my day-to-day life and what is worth my efforts. Is this where my finite strength should be going? Sometimes the FAF is high, but it’s something you just gotta do. There are so many things I wish I could just ignore, knowing they are going to zap my mental toughness. But some of these need to get done. Like the garage door fiasco and the dead battery, definitely things I’d love to just walk away from and pretend it’s all good. There’s other tasks that can get pushed until that bravery scale changes, and some that really just need a hard no. 

“Whatever you do, you need courage.”  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Most things feel out of your comfort zone as a widow. The whole world has changed. It’s a back and forth of what feels ok to do or not, and it’s ever changing. Like not wearing my wedding ring, then putting it back on, then taking it off again. 

It takes courage to actually delve into grief. To honour grief. To believe you can go down to feel all the emotions, and then be able to pull yourself back up. Sure you can ignore the feelings for a bit, keep busy to avoid grief. Our society might think that is what strong looks like; however, I’d suggest the real strength comes in confronting it all. I didn’t want this and would still give anything to go back in time, but, I found a determination inside me to do the work of mourning. That does take strength.

I’m getting better at deciding where my energy goes. I know I am my own expert here – the only one who actually knows what I need when. But I gotta listen.

(I definitely do appreciate all the helpers in my life too! So much! Like the neighbours coming by to get the garage door down. The recommendations of who to call. People rally to help, I just need to get better at asking for it too. The ol bravery scale can be boosted when the load is shared.)

Tonight I’m back. I’ve recharged a bit.  I accomplished a few things today that I had to, no matter the FAF. Then I also spent some time just sitting out back with Frank and went to a beautiful outdoor yoga class. I can acknowledge how far I’ve come on this journey, including navigating some more of the practical sh*t that goes right along with this widow life. I’m back to feeling a little bit more like that MFB. Feeling a little bit more joy.