Encourage Me: Buried

“I felt bad for trying to live a happy, full life, while my heart was buried in a dead man’s chest.” (The Fresh Quotes)

I’ve always been a planner. When I was 8, I had Christmas presents wrapped and cards made in July. When I was 14, I researched all of my college options. When I was 19 and graduated from college, I knew that 26 were going to be the best year of my life. After all, at 26, you’re deep into a career, are likely married, own your own home, and are financially stable and wise enough to provide for children.

When the plan changed, and I married my best friend at 22 years old, we decided to live in a city called Vadnais Heights, MN, while raising four children (preferably boys).I‘ve heard they’re easier to raise. Trust me the world needed more men like my husband.

Then the love of my life was killed by a negligent driver. I paced, around our house. What was I supposed to do now? Seven and a half years later, here’s the letter I wish I could’ve given myself at that time:

Dear Michelle,

This is unbelievable, unfair, scary, maddening, and paralyzing. I’m so sorry you have to go through this. The platitudes people are repeating – “Everything happens for a reason” and “God doesn’t give you more than you handle” are said because the situation is shocking. They want to explain how something like this could’ve happened. You know the truth, and it’s simple: choices have consequences. The driver who hit him will never be the same, and both of you can save lives by talking about distracted driving (in the future).

But right now, all that matters is his extinguished life. I know you’re wondering how to honor it, how to stop crying, how to get the bloody images to stop so you can fall asleep, and how you’ll ever be okay. These are important questions, and you’re feeling important emotions. The best thing you can do right now is let yourself grieve: fully feel the waves of sadness, anger, and desperation. Know that the path you are will be bumpy, and the stages of grief will be different, then similar, then repetitive, then long, then boiling, and then sad. Don’t suppress it. At some point, when sadness is where you stay, you will be able to make decisions about how to move forward. It will happen, and you will feel ready.

You won’t ever be the same. You’re not supposed to be. There will be elements of life that you’ll always miss, and areas of growth that will give you more joy than you’ve known. While you’re upset and depressed that the people you thought would be here for you aren’t, please believe that new ones are on their way. Ones with survival experience, wisdom, patience, hope, and understanding. These friendships (and mentors) will help you, but you will not become dependent on them. In fact, within three years, you will find a strength and independence that makes you a light for others. Because of your pain, your light will save.

There are things you can do while you’re waiting to experience the hope in this letter:

1. Break stuff when you feel mad (and keep the pieces, as someday you’ll be in a place to create a mosaic out of them).

2. Buy reputable, organic melatonin to help you sleep. In the long run, this will be far better and easier to wean off than the prescription medications.

3. Cry. Just like when you were a child, you’ll feel a bit better when you’ve let it out. You need to do several times a day for the first couple years; it’s part of the process.

4. Get out of bed and go for a walk. Even if you only make it to the mailbox, that’s enough;

5. Heat up water, and use it to make some calming tea. Curl up with a weighted blanket and you will feel the unyielding emotions shut in.

6. Make some food that he enjoyed. If you have no appetite, feed others.

7. Pray. Be honest that you question everything, be mad about this “new normal,” and be open to new people who’ll walk this journey with you. Say it all out loud.

8. Read a few good helpful books: I Wasn’t Ready to Say Goodbye by Brook Noel and Pamela D. Blair Ph.D.‎, The Death of a Husband: Reflections for a Grieving Wife (Comfort after a Loss) by Helen Reichert Lambin, and Then & Now: Changed Perspectives of a Young Widow by Michelle D. Jarvie.

9. Surround yourself with people who want to talk about him and validate you. You’ll need to ask for assistance. People want to help, but they’re not good at reaching out.

10. When you have energy, write down everything. How you’re feeling today, the details of your wedding, your favorite conversations, what he believed, how he made you feel, the dreams you’ve lost, the people who are helping right now. Keep these in a journal, and share some of them with widow support groups, like widda.org and griefhealing.com.

11. You will be able to do this stuff. It won’t happen every day. When it doesn’t, remember, “It’s okay not to be okay.”

I should probably end this letter now. But my heart is yearning to tell you one more thing: In seven years, you will be joyful. That doesn’t mean happy every day, but it means a life with acceptance and purpose. You will have a variety of coping mechanisms, which you teach others, and you will want to live for yourself and your baby daughter.

Love,

I’M FINE (Widow Translation): “I’m too tired to go into how my lawn mower broke, my dishwasher is leaking, and I think I’m developing an allergy to tissues. But thank you for asking.” (Confessions of a Mediocre Widow)[i]