Caregiving and Change: Real Life Moments: Hot Times: 1/16/2012

It’s not easy being a widow. It’s less easy being a widow with three kids still at home. It’s even less easy being remarried after being widowed with three kids at home. And far less easy than that trying to explain the drama, the conflict, the inherent issues of being remarried and a survivor, for both the survivor and the new spouse.

I should have known better. Really, I was warned by those who have been where I am. Being a widow is a special status. People can feel sorry for you safely. They can step in and help and feel good about it. When you need to sob and cry folks stand aside and allow it. But get remarried- or even show an interest in someone else- and holy cow- you blew it! Suddenly your loss is no longer important. You no longer even lost someone. You probably threw them under a bus so you could be free to do whatever they imagine you are doing with your new partner. In fact, you probably never even loved your old partner at all, or were done, and the loss isn’t important. Look at you- you are out like a tomcat, you can’t possibly feel the loss if you have such loose behavior! Suddenly, no matter how long you were married, you are practically a not the same person you used to be in their eyes, with no feelings and no loyalty to your lost love.

The messages from those who never knew you, never saw the love in your eyes for the one you have lost… it’s amazing. I was so struck by our sermon today at First Congregational Church by Emily McGaughy. She talked about the “Hot Times” people have in their lives, when they know they loved someone so much they would lay down their lives for them, and when they have to say goodbye to them. There was much more to it, but for me, it was crystal clear. I would have laid down my life for Linda. I certainly set it on hold. I did step in front of a moving car for my children. And I would do it for Casper. That doesn’t mean I loved Linda any less. It means I have been blessed with the chance to love again, after the most painful and agonizing loss any person can ever have. It means I have the chance to finish raising our children with amazing support from Casper, who loved Linda and wanted to finish the job she set out to do. It does not mean I loved Linda any less. And it never ever will.

In our bedroom we still have the picture of Linda with me the week before her first of three mastectomies. We had a professional photographer take pictures of the two of us. Most of them were Linda in front of me, without a shirt, with me cradling the breast that was to be removed. There is nothing provocative about them. They are loving, respectful, and clearly a moment of mourning. It memorialized what we were about to endure, as a couple. And endure we did. Seven surgeries. Chemo, reconstruction. More removal. More tumor activity. Then finally pulmonary fibrosis after chemo. As a couple. Lovingly, every step of the way. In our dining room we have Linda’s memory alter. There is a picture of her at our wedding, looking at me. The look on both of our faces is love. There is no doubt. That moment was captured as we said our vows, knowing that Linda was already dying. Knowing that we would not have a lifetime left. And still very much in love, and dedicated to each other. Can I just say those pictures are still up, because they matter to all of us in this house, without exception?

I have had my share of “Hot Times.” I have fought for each of our three kids. I have fought for the right to marry. I fought to keep my wife alive. I fought to let her go with grace and dignity and God’s grace as she left this world to enter His. There is no harder battle than to set your feelings aside to allow the one you love to leave and this world and find her reward for a life well lived. My faith remains strong, but not undamaged. I try my hardest to protect my children and to make my life work.

Now I find myself on the other side. Folks who do not know me and never knew Linda find it easy to decide if I am doing the right thing in their estimation. Those who did know Linda feel able to decide of I am on the good side or the bad side of life. I am amazed. Maybe because I have walked the long walk with Linda. Maybe because of who I am. I do not understand how anyone can feel they have the right to decide, much less talk about what someone should do in their life. I have seen other widows find joy again, and rejoiced with them. I have provided support for a fellow widow who had to decide how to manage an interment. I have seen the profound face of loss in so many. I remember days after Linda died where all I could do was get up and focus enough to get down the stairs safely to get to the store to make sure the kids had milk in the house, then came home and sobbed until I fell asleep. There were days I could not form words. It was too much effort. There are no books, no guides to prepare you for reentering your bedroom after your spouse has died, that moment when you realize that you will never ever be together again in this world. There is nothing that makes it okay when you wake up and reach out and realize she is no longer there, and never will be again. There is no way to explain that to anyone who has not been there and done that. You simply cannot imagine the loss. I really mean that. And there is nothing that can explain what it means to find a hand to hold to make even a tiny bit of that loss hurt even a little bit less. To find a shoulder you can count on to stay with you as you cry. To find a smile that still smiles back, and someone who promises to stand by you no matter how many people who love you question everything you are doing.

I count myself as blessed. We are able to provide support for Kerry and Chloe and Charity, and to be there for them as they allow. I am moving on in a new life. And Linda is still there with us in so many ways. And I have Casper’s hand to hold in the good and the hard times. I wish those who have not had that “Hot time” of such profound loss, and terminal illness, could allow me the grace of admitting they do not understand, have not been there, and that they would allow me to have the life I need without comment. Because that moment comes for all of us, and when you get there, you will understand.