I was having a lazy morning in bed, doing the Wordle and Spelling Bee on my phone. It’s my typical wake up routine now that there’s no job to run to, and I appreciate every minute of it. For most of my life, I always woke up late, jumped-started my day, then ran around trying to catch up.
Retirement allows for lazy mornings, but it also brings with it a lot more time to think. And, often, thoughts from years ago pop into my head. As I lay here this morning, I remember being in the same position years ago, staring at my phone, but it was no peaceful, lazy morning. Instead, I was willing myself to get out of bed. I was stressed, anxious – even fearful – because I knew my husband was gone, and I was facing life alone.
I’ve had years to study the effects of grief and just about everything written about it. And one of the things that surprised me when I first became a widow was how much fear was a part of grief. After Rick died, my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t have the strength to go on with my own life without him by my side. And that I wouldn’t be able to face the emotional pain that devastated my every waking moment.
But here I am, eight years later – a survivor! Lying in bed in the morning is peaceful. Solitary. I made it through. But I have to say, the fear in those early stages of grief was warranted. It takes emotional resilience to get through missing someone that much, losing someone that you had such a bond with. Facing life without the person you loved being with more than anyone is an experience that takes a lot of courage.
When you love someone like that, the highs are even higher when the two of you share them. And the lows are soothed a bit when he puts his arms around you. And even after all these years, there are many times when I miss those big strong arms. But more often, I miss hearing his voice, his laugh, his silly jokes.
Grief is like a knife that cuts 1000 times. You may still be alive, but you have a lot of scars. I heard a quote that really resonated on a TV show the other night:
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. It just changes you enough so you can live with them” – Matlock (Kathy Bates)
My scars are mostly healed now. Every once in a while, I feel that pain slightly, times when I wish he was here for something that I know he’d love, or when I miss his support. But this morning, after remembering that fearful morning years ago, I mostly feel empathy for all the new widows who are starting this journey today. Women waking up and wondering if they’ll be able to make it through today, or tomorrow, or the next year.
So let me gently remind you:
You can do this. It just takes time.
My mornings are peaceful, my fear is gone, and my heart has (mostly) healed. The way I’ve learned to live with the wounds that are still open is by believing that Rick is still here with me. I feel it in my heart. And I know he’s happy that I’ve made it through the grief and that I have a life again. Because he loved me and wouldn’t want me to miss out on one second of the time I have left on this earth. So, now, when the sadness creeps in, I remind myself that I’ve made it through, that life is still full of wonders and joy, and that I’m still here and able to experience what he’s missing.
So think about that, if it helps. Think about what your husband would want for you. Picture him telling you to get out of that bed and to go on living. Do it for the man who loved you the most in the world. And one day in the future, you too will wake up and find the grief has lessened, the fear is gone, and you’ve made a life for yourself.
Because you’re a survivor.
About Katherine Billings-Palmer
On August 13, 2017, I lost the love of my life. Rick Palmer and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary one month before he died at age 63 of complications from treatments for small cell lung cancer. He was my partner and soulmate, the love I had been looking for and finally found at age 40.
Rick was a talented writer and web designer and, in 2002, we began our own web and print design business. We worked together building the business and enjoyed traveling, writing, and playing together. Our dream was to spend our golden years together doing more of the same, but in the ten months from diagnosis to death, that dream shattered.
After Rick’s death, I quickly realized that the enormity of his loss was too much for me to handle on my own, so I began grief therapy. I also began writing through my grief in a journal of feelings, thoughts, memories, and poetry. As I navigate my new life alone, I share my journey and my efforts towards creating my “new normal” on my personal blog: The Writing Widow. I’m also on Instagram, Blue Sky, and Facebook.
I've published three books about my grief journey: my poetry book, I Wanted to Grow Old With You: A Widow's First Year of Grief in Poetry, and two books of poetry and prose - A Widow's Words: Grief, Reflection, Prose, and Poetry - The First Year" and A Widow's Words, Year Two: Grief, Reflection, Prose, Poetry, and Hope."
I also published a memoir: "My Story: A Memoir in Poetry and Prose." All my books are available in ebook and print versions on Amazon.com.