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Suddenly becoming a young widow is like falling off a cliff. Except sometimes it takes years to land. You imagine the crash again and again as you race towards it. At the same time, your reaching for the dead one doesn’t bridge the gap. The fall is so long that you stop screaming after a while. You stop being scared. You look around to see who is with you as you release the one you can’t see anymore. The wind rushes by you and you finally start to feel it, you never even noticed it before. Your descent starts to slow and you realize you’ve grown wings. The red wings only a heart can grow after it has been ripped open. They are made of what pours out of that opening. They are strong and they carry you now.
Grief in its many forms comes with loss in its many forms. There is no right way to grieve or get over it. Death is something we all share. It is our birthright. How uncomfortable we all are with Death’s unwelcomed visits. How strange it is to welcome death in the life of our loved ones who suffer greatly. Lay your thoughts down here. Let this be sacred ground we share. Let the solitude you find yourself in as you comment here be like a quest. Cry out to your creator and creation. Allow your ancestors to gather with you to support you. At some point loss will not define you anymore. You’ll stop measuring time by how many months or years it has been since you began this journey. Mine started ten years ago, July 3, 2003, when my husband Micheal Copeland died suddenly of a heart attack. I was 36. With four young children. With no life insurance. With a unbelievable community of support. Let’s share resources here. I’ll share how surreal, beautiful, terrible or messy it got and how elegant solutions came through those around me. You may be the one who is supporting the griever. This is for you too. We all can grieve together even though we all grieve alone. We can reshape our life after our loved one’s death right now.
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