Memories

“The time will come when [his] memory will bring a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eyes.”― Joe Biden, Promise Me, Dad: A Year of Hope, Hardship, and Purpose 

I wanted to start with this quote because the words ring so true for me. When I first started on my journey of being a widow, I felt a mixture of feelings. I wanted to remember so I wouldn’t forget, yet to remember hurt so much at times I would avoid remembering so I would not cry.

Going to work was one of those times. Crying at work would not be the thing to do although I was surrounded by little people who often cried during the day. (I worked at an Elementary school so it was often a part of my day). Being there often took my time off my loss, but not always. Sometimes I would get the question are you married  I would explain I was, but my husband had died. Kids were the sweetest about it and would often offer to give me a hug. It was when I got into my car to go home that memories would flood back to the many times I returned home to find my late husband there tinkering with something or other, yet another project he was working on. He would often come up the stairs to greet me with a hello. My heart would sink knowing I was going home never to have that experience again. Never to hear his voice welcoming me home.

Although it got easier and my crying time became shorter as time went by, coming home to what was my new normal was too much to handle sometimes. It was better when my children were here because they had no after-school activities. Having my children definitely made the grief process a little easier and gave me something to live for. They have been my biggest supporters and now as grown children my closest friends. We have the shared experience of losing someone we loved who played an everyday role in our lives. For me finding a way to live with my grief in ways that allowed me to still live a happy life was important because I did not want them to hold up their lives for me. Yet, I also wanted them to be able to express their grief to me and show them how they could honor their dad by living a life that supported their dreams of the future. The path towards showing them the best example of this took a while. It took longer to get used to living without him there every day longer than I could have ever imagined.  But even before I figured it out, I started to wonder how I could capture the memories I wanted to remember. I did not want to forget the life we had with him.

This is when I began to write down some of my fondest memories in a notebook. This gave me a place to feel my feelings and when/if I had grandchildren to share my memories of their grandfather. It also helped me to grieve and move on with my day. I really wanted to do this, because my daughters did not know my mother, their grandmother and I wanted my grandchildren to have some knowledge of their grandfather. When one year after his passing, I asked people to share stories of my husband on the one-year anniversary of his death. It helped to make this time a celebration of his life rather than a remembrance of his passing. The extra bonus was I got to add those stories to the collection I had in the notebook.

The notebook has served me well in the passing years, because now I feel like it is a way to keep his memory alive for those who loved him and for those will who never know him. I especially look forward to sharing these memories with his grandchildren and letting them know how much he looked forward to being a grandfather and often thought of all the adventures he would like to share with them. Sharing these stories is a way his grandchildren can have a tiny part of their grandfather, even if it is only in stories.

It has been almost 13 years since his passing and more often than not when I remember my husband it brings a smile to my lips. It reminds me of how lucky I was to love someone so much and have that love returned. I know not everyone gets to have a love like this. My daughters too are a reminder of my love of my husband. Seeing my daughters grow into young women, my things about them reminded me of their dad He would be so proud of who they have become. Now my memories most often do not remind me of what I have lost, but of what I have to feel lucky to have had. Even with such grief of my loss, I would not have wanted to love someone else. The pain of my grief is only a reflection of the love I shared and that love made this journey with grief worth it!