Someday I'll be a Widow Scout

I've come to the conclusion that there must be some perks to being a widow or widower. Since I really have yet to find any, I've decided to come up with my own reward system. I'm basing its design on merit badges earned in groups such as Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts.

The sash comes with the title (widow or widower). No need to pay any dues. Trust me, if you haven't already paid them, they'll come due soon enough. And you won't believe the frequency with which you'll have to pay them.

I've already earned several badges, but I'm sure many more will become available as I continue living this life. There are lots of badges for firsts: first holiday, first night spent alone, first time you realize that you're no longer numb and this hurts way more than anything else you've ever experienced.

Some that I've already earned? Well, I've got the "I just found out there's no life insurance" badge. I'm also ready to sew on the "I used to enjoy holidays and birthdays" badge. There's a really worn looking badge on my sash...that's the one that indicates all the frayed nerves I've experienced. Also, I'm proud owner of "The recycling man really loves me because of all the empty wine bottles I put out" and the "I survived the call from the Social Security Administration". Anyone who's been a part of that call understands why that badge is bigger than the rest.

Some of the badges are really beautiful. There's the one that identifies me as a proud but unwilling single parent. You see, that one was given to me by my daughter and she put all the love she had into it. There's also the badge for the day I realized that even though I had changed completely, I was going to come out of this as a better woman.

But none of these are my favorite. My favorite badge is a small, nondescript white one. That badge holds a place of honor. It designates that I'm fighting the good fight. It means that every day I get up and try again to be the best woman that I know how to be. And I try even though I don't feel like it, even though I'm tired, and even though I often feel like I'm in it alone. That badge may be the most important one I have. It reminds me of all I have yet to do and all the life I have yet to live.

So, fellow widows and widowers, step right up. Design your own badge. Wear it proudly. You deserve it and so many more!

The difference of one second

Really, who ever thinks about seconds? They pass us by in the blink of an eye. Oftentimes, nothing monumental happens in one second. We remember days, major events, but the seconds usually just slip by. But a second really does make a difference.

Everything can change in one second. I found that out when I lost Ron. I thought my life had ended. And, in a sense, it had. At least the life I knew had ended. The woman that I was walked right out the door when she heard the words, "We tried for 30 minutes and we couldn't get him back." She ran like hell when my daughter, two and a half at the time, reached out for me crying, "NO!" as I fell screaming to the floor. She vowed never to return as I took charge and made the first real decision I'd made in years: asking the Chaplain to leave.

That woman, the 30-year-old mother and wife, blew right past us all in the following days and months. She was nowhere to be found. There was no trace of the strong woman who had soothed so many tears and held hands that made her world complete. Now, there was one less hand to hold.

So she left. And the new me evaluated what her options were. None of them looked too promising. And, of course, I made a lot of incorrect decisions. But now I look at how much I've grown and changed, and I can't help but think that this version of me is happier and healthier. I can make a decision if I have to. I can even stand up for myself some of the time. (I'm still working on that one!) But I've come to the conclusion that this new woman was given two feet for a reason.

So now, I'm going to use those two feet. I'm going to walk right up to that older version of me and tell her exactly what I think. "You did a fine job with all the seconds you had available, but now it's my turn."

When it saves you

A friend said to me, "I can't believe you kept your faith through all the hell you must have gone through. I admire that." I told him, "You can't be angry at something you don't believe in." (Thanks for that one, Aggie.)

And it's true. I can't very well be mad at God for taking my husband away from me if I don't believe in Him. But as I was thinking about this conversation this morning, I came to an interesting conclusion. I wasn't talking about believing in God. Although I do believe in Him, it would be more appropriate to say that during that conversation I was saying I believe in Love.

For so long after the hubby died I was angry. The kind of anger that sucks what's left of your life out of you and makes you worthless for anything but rage. I was most angry with the hubby. HE was the one that didn't eat right. HE was the one that smoked constantly. HE was the one that didn't exercise. HE was the one that didn't care enough about us to stay. (I never said anger was rational, did I?)

But I loved him. And I know this is true because it would be impossible to be so angry with someone you didn't love. I also know that his love saved me.

The hubby walked into my life at a time when I was living in a loveless, abusive marriage. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and I was certain that nothing I did was right, let alone worthwhile. And this man, this great big bear of a man, walked into my life and gave me the courage to leave that situation. He showed me that despite what my ex-husband was telling me, there were people in this world that would love me for who I am. People who wouldn't put restrictions on that love.

I'll say it again, I did not leave my ex-husband to marry my hubby. It just turned out that way. And that's how his love saved me. It gave me options I didn't know existed. And because he loved me so much I'm able to continue on each day.

His love saves me every moment in the form of a beautiful little girl that we made together. She's laying on the couch right now, playing with her legs, and asking me what I'm doing. And pretty soon, she'll tell me that she loves me. I'm saved all over again. Every night when she hugs my neck and tells me she loves me before going to bed. Every morning when she curls up next to me in bed and nearly suffocates me in her hug. Every time she looks at me and shows me that grin that can only have come from one place: her father. I'm saved all over again.

My parents have been behind me 100% for the last 19 months. They make sure that I have what I need and even the things I don't need but just want. They take this task of parenting seriously. They show me they love me every day. And their love saves me.

I have friends that show me how much they love me and they save me too. You all know who you are. And I hope you also know where I couldn't have gotten without you. You're amazing people and you make all the difference in my life.

Yes, love saves. And it comes when and where you least expect it. It would seem to me, though, that it always comes when it's most needed.

Leaning toward the light

A friend recently sent me this email:

"Night time is painful. There's the loneliness of being in a dark room. It's very conflicting--hiding under the covers is all I want to do all day, but if I fall asleep, which I always do, there's the threat of a new day. It's a no win situation."

As I responded to her I began to wonder, "What is it that makes us afraid of the dark?"

And I thought about how we began this life in darkness. Genesis 1:1-4 (King James Version) states,

"1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. 2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. 4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness."

Verse 4 says that God felt the light was good. From this, are we supposed to believe that the darkness is bad, or at least not as good as the light? Other mentions of darkness in The Bible would lead me to believe darkness is not the desirable state.

Psalm 88:1-6 (KJV) tells us,

"1 O lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: 2 Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry; 3 For my soul is full of troubles: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave. 4 I am counted with them that go down into the pit: I am as a man that hath no strength: 5 Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom thou rememberest no more: and they are cut off from thy hand. 6 Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps."

Again we are told that the darkness in verse 6 is not where our salvation lies.

Proverbs 4:19 (KJV) brings up another reason many people fear the dark. This verse declares,

"The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble."

I don't believe that many of us are truly afraid of the dark. Our fear lies in what the dark may hide. We sense a lack of preparation on our part. Suddenly, one of the senses most of us rely on most heavily is gone.

Could we have prepared for the darkness if we had been forewarned?

And I'm not just referring to a spiritual darkness. How many of us live in a self-imposed darkness of ignorance, abuse, doubt, or any other detrimental emotion? What would it take to pull us out of that and begin living a new kind of life?

We are not often warned about impending darkness nor are we given an opportunity to prepare ourselves for it. The only thing we can do is be aware that darkness exists and continue to believe that it does not have to be a permanent state.

Plants automatically grow toward the light. Begin your journey and lean toward it yourself.

Walking with a friend

Recently I've spent a lot of time on the phone and online with a dear friend who has needed some encouragement. She's going through a rough time and is often unsure of herself and her path. Talking with her has taken me back to experiences from my first marriage. Yes, for those of you who don't know, I was married before (to my high school sweetheart) and it did not end well.

But this woman, this wonderful friend of mine, has found so much in such a short time. Where I apparently had an operation to remove my spine while I was married to my disaster, she has found hers. Not that she ever really lost it, but some of the moves I've seen her make in the past few months astonish and inspire me.

She's building a life on her own for her children. She is doing everything within her power to make their lives the safest and most consistent she possibly can. Heck, when I was in her position, I wasn't able to do that and all I had to deal with was myself.

And I watch her do what she feels is floundering. All I can think is, "This woman has incredible grace and class under pressure." She knows what she will and won't accept, and she's going for it.
She seems to think that some of the advice I've given along the way is helpful. We talk on a regular basis, vent about our bad days, and share our triumphs. She pats me on the back and encourages me and tells me what a great job I'm doing. We are there for each other. We both routinely walk to the edge of the insanity cliff and contemplate what it would take to push us over the edge. And when one gets too close to that edge, the other one pulls her back again.

Some friends rely on manicures and spa days together. We rely on the every day. Because every day is all we've got. Each day is its own moment. Each day holds the answer and is the grand mystery as well.

I just hope she realizes that there's no one I'd rather explore those mysteries and answers with.

Heard and noted

"I am weary but I am not weak."

Yep, that's me.

RIP

For Gpa Jerry

December 15, 1912 - July 4, 2008

Mortality

My grandfather is dying. People keep telling us the end is near and they're surprised he lasted through last night.

I'm torn.

I love my grandfather dearly and want him around, but how much more can I/we ask from a 95-year-old man? He's seen so much, been so many places, and has had experiences worthy of writing about.

As is typical when you are faced with losing someone you love, I'm beginning to think about my own mortality.

This discussion would have been something entirely different three years ago. At that point I had only just begun a relationship with the wonderful man I am lucky enough to call my husband. That relationship was nothing like it is today. There were so many similarities. We were passionate, we were deeply in love, and we shared the same dreams. All of those are the same today. However, what isn't the same is how we loved each other. Sure, we loved each other and everything that the other stood for. Today, that love is greater and deeper than anything I could have imagined. Every day he provides me with more of what I need. He's there every step of the way.

Then, there's the munchkin. She's my reason for moving forward every day. I knew that being a mother would involve unconditional love. What I didn't know was how deeply I would be affected by that. Every decision I make is based on what's the best for my girl. No longer is it important that I get my nails done or color my hair. Now it's about Pops (see another forthcoming post for more information) and chicken fries. And I love it.

I'm mortal. Any morning could be my last. On my thirtieth birthday and in the days leading up to it, I questioned where I was in my life. I'm still questioning. But in the face of losing my grandfather, I find that I know I'm on the right road. I'm building a family and a lifetime's worth of memories. If I died tomorrow, what would be my legacy?

I guess the best I can say is that I couldn't be happier to have Wife, Mother, and Pop provider on my headstone.

Marbles

Mom sent this to me today. Whether it's true or not, it's still a sweet story.

RED MARBLES

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.. They sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. G ittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here.'"

"Is that right? Let me see it," said Miller.

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.

"Not zackley but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble", Mr. Miller told the boy.

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store."

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and whi le I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt. We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral : We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath. Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old friend. Green stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys found right where you left them.

Share this story and share the miracles.

Sometimes getting older is great

"It's important to understand that time is fluid. I think that women go through a crisis at 30, or whenever, when they feel their youth is over. But you know what? Your youth may be over in terms of chronology, but you might just be about to become free of all the silly high school things that were holding you back from being experimental and innovative and creative. There are times in your future when you will be more beautiful than you are today; you need to get old enough to be that beautiful."

-Lt. General Claudia Kennedy U.S. Army