Tragedy

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Tragedy has been close to my heart this week.

Monday, as I watched the horror unfold during the Boston marathon, I was once again in awe of how quickly life can go so wrong. How swiftly and senselessly life can end.

My two year old happened to be sitting next to me while I watched some coverage on Hulu, and he would not stop asking questions. "What happened Mommy?" He wanted me to talk him through every scene. Then he asked to watch it four more times - he wanted to watch "the boy hurting show." He kept repeating "people got hurt," or "dat's sad," or "dat's a big boom."

I was a little disturbed that my toddler was so fascinated with this footage of people suffering. And just when I thought perhaps I had a twisted mind on my hands, I watched a lightbulb go off in his head.

"Daddy died Momma. Dat's sad."

Ah, there it is. For his entire life, I've tried to explain who Daddy is and where he is and what happened in the simplest of terms for my sweet boy who never got to meet him face to face. But it was like he understood suddenly in his own way what tragedy was and how devastating it is.

Since then, he's been talking about Daddy a lot. Trying to sort things out, I think. Asking to read his picture book of Daddy, and reminding me after every page turn that Daddy died. It can be gut wrenching to watch his small mind put things together.

It can be hard to constantly be reminded of grief. Sure, it follows me around every single day in different ways, but to overtly bring it to my face and deal with it over and over can get overwhelming.

As Camp Widow East sets to gear up tomorrow, I can't help but have grief in my face again. But as heavy as it can be, I welcome it. I welcome the reminder that I was well loved the pain that still follows me is not just a figment of my imagination. I welcome the opportunity to search my heart deeper for healing, to open myself up to others who are walking this same unintended path. To share my story in hopes that someone out there might have a different lightbulb go off: a lightbulb of hope.

I think some worry that being in an environment surrounded by other widow/widowers somehow "exposes" you to grief you don't necessarily want to share. It reminds you of what a dark world we can live in and perhaps dwelling in that atmosphere seems overwhelming.

But on the contrary, when we ban together to share our hearts and our stories, a little piece of light gets let back in. Yes, the world can be a tough place, but we all know that first hand. But when we break down the walls we've each put up by connecting with others who 'get it', suddenly we see there can be more to life than just merely existing. There can be more to life than just tragedy.

That's the light I keep coming back for more of.

Looking forward to meeting some of you this weekend.

Great is worth it

A very special moment during the Saturday night message release

I'm still recuperating from the travel and lack of sleep from Camp Widow.

It was totally worth it. :)

I anticipated going to Camp Widow to reach out to other widows/widowers who have been through this horrible journey called grief. But instead, I was blessed.

I watched hundreds of widows take this huge, scary leap into an unknown world to reach out in their grief. These courageous men and women who all came together just to know that they're not alone. But they didn't just reach out. They shared, they laughed, they cried, they helped each other, they danced..

they lived. 

What a blessing it was to sit around with a group of people who shared their hearts, their fears, their worries, they're anger, and even their joy. They have no idea how much they touched my heart and blessed me.

As Michele gave her keynote address, she said something that became my mantra for the weekend. So often, we settle for good enough, because after we lose something so incredibly important to us, great is so scary and comes with the probability that we could lose again. But as most widows/widowers would agree, I would NEVER trade my time with Jeremy even if I knew I would lose him so soon. Because love is worth it.

Great is worth it.

Whether it means taking that huge leap into giving your heart to someone else, or whether it means baby steps into finding joy in your every day life, don't settle for good. Because underneath the pain and loss and hurt and grief is life. And life keeps moving forward even when we don't want it to. But, it can be good. Better than good. And the risk is worth it.

Thank you all for the reminder to keep striving for great. For me, for Jeremy, and for every person out there struggling through this roller coaster journey called grief.

Do Something

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For a long time now, I've felt God calling me to do something with my story, and with Jeremy's legacy. To somehow help others through what I have been through. However, I had no idea where to start. And more importantly, and most selfishly, I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to let God use me because I was too angry that it had to be at the expense of such a great loss. I wasn't ok with me or my children suffering such heartache in order for other people to benefit or learn something.

I can honestly say that I still sometimes struggle with this battle. But the pull I've felt on my heart to help, to follow the calling I feel like I've been given, has been outweighing my selfishness. The stirring that I have felt has started to bubble over and I've finally felt ready to take a step forward.

Last week, a dear friend and her sister stop by our garage sale to see me. Her sister had just lost her husband weeks before. He died suddenly of a heart condition as well, leaving behind two children and a very distraught wife who wanted to come talk to me. As she hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder, my mind raced searching for something to say - just one thing that someone had told me when Jeremy died that helped in some way that I could offer back. I realized, though, that nothing I could say would make her feel any better. Death sucks, and grieving can never ease with words. Only time. I don't know that she was looking for words of wisdom (and if she was, she definitely wasn't gonna find any from me), but just to be in the presence of someone who 'got it'. Someone who survived. My heart ached for her as I recalled those first few weeks and months after Jeremy died. I still relive those moments every once in awhile like it's still happening. The confusion, the injustice, the anger, the desperation, the defeat...the heartache. I don't know if I helped her in any way, but she's been in my prayers and on my heart ever since.

I realized that even though I'm ill equipped to really move forward, God has really been using my story to help without my knowledge or even my consent for quite sometime now. He let me kick and scream and throw fits (and still does) while continuing to bring beauty from the ashes.

I want people to know that grieving is a dark and terrible part of life that never leaves.
I also want people to know that there is hope and healing.
I want to do more.
Steve and I have been praying that God work through our redemption and relationship to bring a unique perspective to others and somehow use that to help, and bring hope.

I am excited to announce that Steve and I have been asked to host a workshop in San Diego, CA for Camp Widow - a weekend long gathering of widowed people from across the country. Ironically, the workshop is titled "Mad at God: A conversation." Uh, yeah - I have some experience in that department, I'm not ashamed to admit it! I am anxious, excited, nervous, and overall humbled for the opportunity to help in some way.

I can't wait to meet some of the inspirational people that have been integral in my own grief journey. I'm thankful to have Steve by my side to share this passion with me. I hope this is just the beginning of many other opportunities to finally step forward and feel like I'm making Jeremy proud.