A Smiling Young Widow

In her book Resilient Grieving, Dr. Lucy Hone suggests a key question to ask yourself: “Is this helping or hindering my grieving process?” I first shared that question over two years ago when deciding if I was really going to be someone who wrote a blog.

At that time, the answer was yes. Writing gave my experiences somewhere to go. I appreciated people in my life were looking to understand what this loss was like for me, plus it gave me a platform to keep sharing stories about Tom. I love when someone tells me they learned something new about him from a post, or when a story sparks sharing Tom-isms. It keeps his legendary legacy going whenever stories flow,  and that man loved to share stories. 

Now, just over two years later, I find myself revisiting the question of whether this is helping or hindering my process. The answer has shifted. I’m not sure sharing my writing helps me in the same way it once did, but what’s interesting is that this has now become about other people too.

After Tom died, I first started writing only for myself. I shared something small with friends and family who were also reeling from his sudden death, then it evolved into this vague idea of maybe I should give my words somewhere to go? It took months of sitting on potential posts before I was actually ready to put anything out there. What made me finally click post was this quiet whisper that maybe, just maybe, my words held the power to help others.

I’ve been truly humbled by how many people have read my blog. Friends and family, yes ­– but also people I met years ago or strangers who stumble across it while searching for something that might help make sense of their own loss. It has unlocked the sharing of stories, opened up conversations around grief and death, validated different experiences.

Some messages have really stuck with me. Someone who had been married for over 60 years, shared she found something I wrote to be the smartest and most sensible thing she had read since losing her husband. Another comment from a few months ago left me in tears. It came from a fellow young widow who lost her husband in a very similar way to Tom, and saw their loving relationship reflected in ours. She shared how she had returned to my blog multiple times, sharing it with other people in her life, as she too struggled with the narrative our society loves to paint on suicide while knowing this didn’t fit for her husband.

That was the me I had written a blog for. The me who climbed into Tom’s hospital bed and sobbed in a way I had never experienced before, that guttural rawness of emotion bursting out. The me who woke up the morning after Tom’s funeral wondering how to possibly get through a single day, never mind the fact I’d need to figure out how to continue on for years ahead. The me that was desperately searching for anything that might help – was there any book or podcast or blog that reflected us and our story? The me who met with a therapist, because that is what you’re supposed to do, and left that first awkward session feeling I might be even more damaged that I first thought. Looking back at these versions of me still breaks my heart and cues so much self-love. I still write with her in mind.

I had hoped my words might reach even just one other person navigating life after a devastating loss, and it means a lot that they have. As I reflect on whether continuing to blog will help my grief, I acknowledge that it has helped me wrestle with the question of purpose. When I wrote about little vs big purpose,  this is an example of what I meant. I’ve often asked the question why me? not in a self-pitying way, but rather as I reflect on the story Tom and I share. The way it abruptly ended, making no sense at all but also forcing me to believe in something much bigger. Opening me up so I can relate to grief and loss in a way I never could have without experiencing this level of upheaval. I’ve always considered myself empathetic, and I know that is still true, but there are certain losses that leave you in this isolated painful place others really can’t understand until they have to experience something similar for themselves. This realization unlocks a lot of questions about purpose. Maybe I should be making moves towards working in this space – vague, as what even is this space I now know so intimately? Back to focusing on little p’s. I’ve taken the pressure off things like whether I need to identify as a writer or stick to any semblances of a posting schedule, to focus instead on how I enjoy writing Tom stories that will forever take up a space on the internet, and how sharing pieces of my grief journey is a little something I can do to help others feel seen. This also allows me to connect back to the old version of me that believed in her own power to help.

As I’ve been considering the question to blog or not to blog (again), I’ve been reading through half-written posts I have saved. It’s interesting to look back and reflect on where I was at and to see how far I’ve come. Some things you can’t understand when you’re in the thick of it. I’ve been working on finishing some of those rough posts up, as I think it’s part of being authentic to share those messy steps along the journey. My process this whole time has been to have 20ish + pages of rough blogging notes on my computer and several notes scattered on my phone with little snippets I want to remember – some of these done as voice memos that make absolutely no sense when I go back to read them, my Siri does not seem to understand me well!  

This isn’t necessarily the end, maybe I will find it helpful for me to write and share more, but it also might be the slow fade out of this piece of my grief journey. 

I’m not through this and definitely don’t feel like I am a success story, yet I am proud of what I’ve done and where I’ve gotten to. I will give myself credit for doing so much work and facing this head on. For not becoming a bitter and angry person (well maybe with the exception of road rage…), but rather if anything experiencing things more joyfully; uncovering a philosophy and outlook on life that has more in common with a bunch of 80-year-olds than with most people my own age! If I stay true to my love of weaving theory and research into my blog posts here, I’d say I am into the reconnecting and integration phase of my trauma recovery. Just over here getting to know the new version of me, playing around with how the heck to live a meaningful life full of little joys… and trying to not over-analyze it too much.

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Sometimes  I get messages asking if my blog can be shared. Absolutely. Please share it, and keep it in mind for when you or someone you care about inevitably enters into a painful grief journey down the road. It would mean a lot for my words to continue to reach people who could use them. 🤍