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I am no longer married. That’s a given right? I mean I wouldn’t be dating someone if I was married. And you can’t be married to someone who is no longer living. I could go with the thought of, “You’ll always be married in your heart” but that doesn’t seem quite right either . . .
Alas . . . this is a lot of rambling and rumbling just to acknowledge yet another step in the life of being a widow - changing your Facebook status. My process was gradual. I had started to change my status to widow but then had to figure out how to memorialize my late husband Josh’s account - which I haven’t done. So the next easiest thing was just to hide my relationship status - which worked really well for a while. I had posted pictures of my new “someone special” but not officially declared who HE was - until this weekend. And no, you don’t have to officially declare this to make it a real relationship, but we all know how that goes. So, after dating, we decided to officially let the world know that we are in fact in a relationship. How fun! What an exciting step. Generally, in life I love celebrating the big and small things - and it is quite fun to show cute couple pictures and to declare in fact, I do really care for this person. But hold the press . . . this excitement doesn’t take away the tender feeling that comes with officially changing my status to be “in a relationship with” another man! Doing this meant that my late husband's (not yet officially memorialized social media account) no longer lists me as his wife. Two days it ago his profile stated for all to see, “Josh B . . . married to Jennifer B .” Today, a day after changing my status, his profile simply says “married” but not to me. Now I am back to my opening line statement - insert :{ (weird emoji face) Of course, I am getting in the thick of the social media weeds here, but such is life today, seemingly. In a world where we all often declare our joys, struggles, frustrations, relationship status, etc . . ., many emotions can flare up. We can be so easy to compare our lives to others. We can use social media for good or bad or just for mind numbing. We can use it for affirmation (which isn’t a good idea) or just to communicate (which is good). I admit it’s fun to see the likes and love and know that friends still support me even in the transition. But trust me, I know it is still weird in parts, and the change doesn’t come without a nod to what was. One of the wonderful parts of my new relationship is that I can be very honest with my process and the grief that trails along the way. It’s not a secret that I was married and that we had a good marriage. It is not a secret that I hope to love, laugh and share life with someone again. I live in a world where both stories can exist. For any fellow widows/widowers out there wondering about dating, my encouragement is to keep being you and let your love story exist in both places. You are who you are because of what has happened to you, and the love you shared. You are where you are for those same reasons. Your story is still beautiful. You might have to take a risk and you might have to keep wrestling out the big and small pieces but you are strong and God’s love is even stronger.
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 No, I didn’t forget that today is our “would be” 19th wedding anniversary. But here it is late on the 18th of May and I am just now writing out my thoughts.
It seems my brain has been working overtime today - like it was deep in the recesses of my mind trying to wrestle out what to do with this mix of past and present emotions coexisting here and now. Last year, I took this day off work and was glad I did since I was an emotional wreck from the moment I awoke. I spent time writing and sharing songs about our great love, and spent several hours on a cry-hike feeling the depths of sorrow. By the end of the night I had somewhat recovered. This year, I didn’t start or end the day with tears. In fact, I even tried to listen to some of “our songs” thinking it would trigger some, but nothing. It’s not that I am not sad. It’s still sad Josh isn’t here to celebrate another year of our marriage. Yet, today with a little more time gone by, I am focusing more and more on other areas of life. I have come to terms to a degree with this loss and the new season I am in. The gut-wrenching heartache is healing. Even still, this anniversary definitely felt weird. What do you do with it? The amazing part is that I have people around me who sit with me in the weird, acknowledge and remind me that it’s okay for it just to be different. It’s also okay to celebrate this marriage relationship and the love and joy that it represented and still represents. Love, joy, grace, and hope are pieces of that relationship that continue on as attributes in the relationships I am experiencing today - this is actually quite a beautiful realization. Circling back to songs . . . of course several of “our songs” came from the soundtrack to the tragic Moulin Rouge film - which ends with the writer in the upstairs window typing out “their story” as he promised to do. What we don’t see is what happens next. Did this writer find love again? Who knows. What we do know is that he experienced great love and reminded us all through the beautiful and creative narrative that, “The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” I am so thankful to have experienced great love and to have the opportunity to do this again. Love is a many splendored thing Love lifts us up where we belong All you need is love! - Moulin Rouge, The Elephant Medley Oh the places widowhood might take you. Today I found myself encountering two different topics within my grief journey.
Grief Takes Bravery As a naturally independent person - on the introvert side - I don't mind doing things solo. It's easier to hike, explore or even kayak without feeling awkward but eating out or grabbing a drink solo takes a uncomfortable step of bravery. For some it might be easy to go out but for me it's different and I'm still exploring it. So tonight, I had a few moments and thought why not go out and have a beer. The funny thing is I am not really a beer drinker but in the past year I have been trying out doing things as a independent person. It’s not that I am out there hanging at a bar hoping to meet anyone but more the fact that I am taking a step to do something that pushes me to be confident sitting in a space solo. It’s different from hiking, exploring or kayaking and feels a bit more uncomfortable. It also not that I don’t have friends who could go with me but it’s just that it’s a step. As sit at the table for 2-3, I can’t help but imagine Josh’s smile face across from me. We went out to many meals of the years, sometimes with drinks but really rarely at a pub - not typically the go to place for someone in a pastoral position (and yes there’s a whole lot of conversation that could happen on that subject but it’s not the point of this post). A couple times my eyes started to tear up as I imagined having my spouse, my friend sitting across from me smiling recounting his stay or latest success of woe of life. I blinked them away, trying to focus on the jazz music playing. Sitting in this space solo, with no agenda except to try and live in the fact that I am in a new chapter takes bravery. Maybe I am bragging about this fact but it’s really just an acknowledgement. It definitely would be easier to be at home but it also wouldn’t have been as interesting. I enjoyed the live band, the coffee stout beer and watching the crowd around me. I didn’t enjoy the fact that my bestie wasn’t there but did also think about who might be there next time with me (probably a good friend who has been there with me recently also!) Grief Takes Grace My brave outing tonight did finish with an interesting grace challenge. Just as I was about the leave I spotted a long-time friend sitting across the room. He was a good friend of myself and my late spouse now almost 20 years ago. We shared many memories together, he was even in our wedding. I hadn’t seen him in a while and I knew that the distance of friendship was something that hurt my late spouse much. I had expected to hear from this friend after Josh passed but never did. But he was a friend so why not go say hi tonight. I did and yea it was a little weird. He said, “Great to see you, thanks for saying hi!” Oh do you live here now. And we chatted briefly about him having a kid. He asked how I was doing a couple times and that was it. I walked away feeling so frustrated. I had placed the nice card that offered grace but really I wanted to say -“Why!?” Why didn’t you ever reach out again? You were a great friend who disappeared. And even now - you don’t even acknowledge the fact that you new my beloved? Almost like he never existed to you. Now to give credit, my new friend - who doesn’t know these people - did say, “Maybe he just doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t acknowledge it.” Maybe. But I don’t buy it. My grace is so challenged in all of this because I want so bad to define my last love. I want this friend to acknowledge that he indeed did miss him and that he was sorry he isn’t here any more. This is part of my own grief process and I know it is a “thing” to want to almost avenge your lost love. So how do I walk away In grace? Well I did walk away but I know I can’t harbor these feelings. I have to let them go and know that I make step to say hello. And that step is something my late spouse would have wanted to. The time lost over the years between this friend and me (and us) would have felt weird, even if Josh had been in the room. And that still is the big challenge. My grief has changed my reality - it has changed so much. With God’s grace, I am able to continue forward and open my heart to try and understand that grief impacts everyone differently. Some can’t even put one word out to address it and even if I don’t like that fact - I can as gracefully as possible accept it.  It’s #nationalwidowsday. Something I didn’t realize last year when May 3 passed or really any of the years before. But today, the declaration caught my attention. It still seems so strange to identify myself as a widow. Yet, it is my reality. Now, of course, I know this is not the only defining statement of who I am — many characteristics describe me, I even have a list I keep as a reminder — but it is a powerful one. So, what does it mean to me to hold the label of widow? (Now 18ish months in this category.) It means that every day I think about my late spouse and I miss him in some capacity. It means that each day I intentionally choose to keep moving forward, enjoying the gift of life that is front of me. This could be pausing or escaping to enjoy nature, sharing silly pictures of shoes, adventuring with someone new, or hoping to be there for someone else. It means I have the opportunity to share my story with others who are navigating life as widows and widowers. To say, yea, it stings! It means it’s easy to drift into wanting to be self- protective for fear of getting hurt for whatever reason. I means I have experienced great love! A love and friendship that can still be celebrated and talked about - there’s no secret or shame in it. And, it means that even as I strive to enjoy each God-given day, a part of my heart lingers in a world of sorrow that is hard to explain and at times escape. National Widows’ day is not a day you put “happy” in front of, but is one that can be used to say “I see you” to fellow widows. To say, “You matter so very much!” My post here was inspired by one the group Young, Widowed and Dating, shared earlier today, talking about the ways we are different. It ended with these powerful words “It doesn’t matter if you’re grieving the person your spouse was, Or the person they had yet to become… Your loss matters. Your loss is significant. Your loss should be expressed. Your loss should be acknowledged. Your grief is real. Your grief is valid. Your grief should be accepted. Your grief should be supported. “ |
Author: JennHi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer. Archives
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