The other night I had dinner with a good friend (Jill) who is also a widow.
Our families have been friends since we met at church about 15 years ago. We spent many Friday nights at bible studies (with adult beverages) while our children played in the basement or yard. We spent a fun weekend in the Dells with another church family; we attended our kids sporting events together; we had a lot in common. We still do. Our husbands, the dads to our adult children are gone.
As we both grieve, we are both writing. Jill is studying scripture and journaling her thoughts as she studies God’s word for peace and direction. While her writings are private and mine are published for the world to see, both of us are finding comfort in expressing our thoughts and feelings. Our writings do not result in answers to why death came so early for our husbands but our writing is an outlet – it helps us organize our thoughts and express our feelings during the all to frequent times of loneliness and despair. Writing helps bring clarity and organization to the millions of thoughts circulating in our head on a daily basis.
Yet we are very different in how we are processing our new normal. Neither one of is right and neither one of is wrong. We are just different.
As I showed Jill my new home she teared up when she saw a wedding picture and a teddy bear made from one of Rick’s hawaiian shirts. Later she told me that she cannot look at pictures of her husbands smiling face. She also shared the nightmares she was having – nightmares where her husband was not the loving and devoted husband he was when he was alive. She told me – I’m at a different place in my grief than you are.
I on the other hand have pictures of Rick everywhere. I listen to the funeral playlist at least weekly. Last night I watched “This is Us” knowing it was the episode where Jack’s death would be revealed and knowing it would lead to another ugly cry. Rick’s photo is on my watch, my phone, and my computer monitor. I have dreamt of him whispering his love for me in my ear as he covers me with a blanket to keep me warm. I’m planning to spend our anniversary with friends and family because I cannot bear to mark the day alone.
We are definitely in different places with our grief, however, there is comfort in being able to talk about our loss and how it has impacted our families. We can cry together without fear of making the other person uncomfortable. A few days earlier I spent the evening with another good friend and every time I got emotional I found myself changing the subject to something more light hearted. She was probably not uncomfortable but I was.
The truth is, no matter what we do – whether we have cleaned out his closet or not, whether we have buried him or keep his ashes on our window sill – nothing we do will bring him back. And while looking at a picture can ease one widow’s grief, it can stir up anger in another. We have to do what is right for us to help us cope and as we cope, it is so comforting to talk with a friend who gets it.
On my bus ride home tonight I read a devotion sent to me from the pastor who officiated at Rick’s funeral. It talked about sharing but not comparing. I had not yet finished this post and thought – wow – that is the perfect title. Whether we are grieving a death, or struggling with any of life’s challenges we can find such peace in being able to share with someone who can empathize. But to truly benefit from the gift of a listening friend, we must remember to share, not compare.
While Jill and I are both facing our future as single, 50-something, empty nesters without our soul mates, our stories are different; our grief journeys are different; God’s plan for each of us is different.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparing. I just did so in this post. But I’m working on it. Meanwhile, I thank God for Jill and for several other young widow friends. They are key to my survival.
