This is a screen shot of my conversation with my cousin, Julie, who was trying to convince me to listen to a recent podcast she found.
Again with the urging.
And finally, my concession and quiet relief that there is this person whom I’ve never met and likely will never meet whose awareness of loss is comparable to mine.
I was standing over a sink of dirty dishes, crying. No, sobbing. For those of you who know me, you know that it wasn't the dirty dishes that had me upset (or dirty “anything” for that matter). The root of my catharsis was poignantly stated as follows from the podcast, Terrible, Thanks For Asking!
“Did you know that grief isn’t just crying? That grief isn’t just a facial expression or a physical act? Did you know a grieving person can do a lot of things like laugh and go to movies and grocery shop and raise a child all while bleeding to death internally?”
Grief is “a bruise I get to push, a pain that reminds me that what I had was real. It is the price I pay for loving deeply and letting myself be loved.”
Nora’s story is a heartbreaking one. I am actually thankful that my story of loss isn’t a carbon copy of hers. However, with regard to marriage, husbands, and children, we are painfully similar.
These ideas and metaphors for grief aren’t new to me, but I wouldn’t have understood them before Travis. And I don’t expect many of you to either, and that’s okay. My pre-widow self wouldn’t have been able to comprehend. Sometimes I still have trouble wrapping my mind around what I feel and how I’ve changed.
If Trav were to walk into our lives right now, would he even recognize me? And not because I’ve gained 26 since February (losing the same 12 pounds twice since then), or have officially become “The Frump” who dons her I-quit-life-pants on a daily basis. What would he think? What would he say about me going back to school? Would he be proud that I earned my principal certification or would he remind me of how we promised each other we’d never go back to school because it was “so dumb!”? Would he be so disappointed that I signed Thurgood up for Soccer Shots? Would he laugh at how I never have a response to Tallulah’s girliness or how I’ve painted nails more times in the past year than I have in my entire life? Would he like the most recent lipstick color I bought? What would he think of the guy I went on a date with? Yes, folks. Dating. That’s a different post for a different time.
As I begin to lose myself in the WWTD, What Would Travis Do, rabbit hole and trying to force my memory to conjure up a response that sounds like him, I recall an actual comeback of his.
“I’m not going to care what you’re doing. If I’m not here one day, if I’ve gone on to hang out with God and to prepare a place for you, I would want you to know that whatever you do here—while you’re still here—laughing, crying, remarrying, staying single—whatever, it’s up to you because I know I’m going to have you again. So, I’m not worried about it. Trust me. I’m not worried about it. This is earthly stuff. You never, ever have to wonder What would Travis think about this? or What would he think about that? The answer is yes. If you think it’s okay and you’re okay with it, then I think it’s okay and I’m okay with it.”
I know this should bring me peace, but my gosh! The pressure. He trusts me in his absence to make decisions regarding our children? Our finances? Career? That was one of the great things about being married—joint decision making. Having an executor, even if I occasionally exercised veto power, provided an added sense of relief. Security. What if I mess something up, like the kids? Speaking of which, I have yet to head out to the cemetery since this little incident. #momfail
I was standing over a sink of dirty dishes, crying. No, sobbing. For those of you who know me, you know that it wasn't the dirty dishes that had me upset (or dirty “anything” for that matter). The root of my catharsis was poignantly stated as follows from the podcast, Terrible, Thanks For Asking!
“Did you know that grief isn’t just crying? That grief isn’t just a facial expression or a physical act? Did you know a grieving person can do a lot of things like laugh and go to movies and grocery shop and raise a child all while bleeding to death internally?”
Grief is “a bruise I get to push, a pain that reminds me that what I had was real. It is the price I pay for loving deeply and letting myself be loved.”
Nora’s story is a heartbreaking one. I am actually thankful that my story of loss isn’t a carbon copy of hers. However, with regard to marriage, husbands, and children, we are painfully similar.
These ideas and metaphors for grief aren’t new to me, but I wouldn’t have understood them before Travis. And I don’t expect many of you to either, and that’s okay. My pre-widow self wouldn’t have been able to comprehend. Sometimes I still have trouble wrapping my mind around what I feel and how I’ve changed.
If Trav were to walk into our lives right now, would he even recognize me? And not because I’ve gained 26 since February (losing the same 12 pounds twice since then), or have officially become “The Frump” who dons her I-quit-life-pants on a daily basis. What would he think? What would he say about me going back to school? Would he be proud that I earned my principal certification or would he remind me of how we promised each other we’d never go back to school because it was “so dumb!”? Would he be so disappointed that I signed Thurgood up for Soccer Shots? Would he laugh at how I never have a response to Tallulah’s girliness or how I’ve painted nails more times in the past year than I have in my entire life? Would he like the most recent lipstick color I bought? What would he think of the guy I went on a date with? Yes, folks. Dating. That’s a different post for a different time.
As I begin to lose myself in the WWTD, What Would Travis Do, rabbit hole and trying to force my memory to conjure up a response that sounds like him, I recall an actual comeback of his.
“I’m not going to care what you’re doing. If I’m not here one day, if I’ve gone on to hang out with God and to prepare a place for you, I would want you to know that whatever you do here—while you’re still here—laughing, crying, remarrying, staying single—whatever, it’s up to you because I know I’m going to have you again. So, I’m not worried about it. Trust me. I’m not worried about it. This is earthly stuff. You never, ever have to wonder What would Travis think about this? or What would he think about that? The answer is yes. If you think it’s okay and you’re okay with it, then I think it’s okay and I’m okay with it.”
I know this should bring me peace, but my gosh! The pressure. He trusts me in his absence to make decisions regarding our children? Our finances? Career? That was one of the great things about being married—joint decision making. Having an executor, even if I occasionally exercised veto power, provided an added sense of relief. Security. What if I mess something up, like the kids? Speaking of which, I have yet to head out to the cemetery since this little incident. #momfail
I’m learning my grief comes and goes, as does my bitchiness. Sometimes I’m certain that my bitchiness has eaten my grief and with their powers combined, has given life to this new Ashli who cries and rages out when there are no more cookie dough pieces to be found in HER gallon of Blue Bell’s Cookie Two Step. While grief is my uninvited friend, I am still trying to figure her out. She’s never really gone, but some days, or even weeks, she takes up residence in my heart and mind. She knows my innermost thoughts, and she has a way of hurting my feelings like no one else can.
While an assortment of feelings comes and goes, the one thing that remains is this overwhelming sense of thankfulness. Thankful for…time, blue eyes, a hairline elbow fracture, friends, neighbors, friends who are neighbors, parents, in-laws, Blue Bell, Weight Watchers, king size beds, Netflix, air conditioning, country music. The list goes on and will continue to grow, preventing me from ever reaching the end. And that’s what makes it easy to never stop giving thanks.
If you have 20 minutes, please take a listen to Nora's story. You'll understand grief and your widow friend a little better.
https://www.apmpodcasts.org/ttfa/2016/11/sad-nora-and-the-secret-baby/
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
I love you.
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