Let’s jump right in, shall we?

A friend of mine is currently going through a horrible, life shattering, stuff of nightmares, situation. If we’re friends on facebook, you’ve probably seen me share her updates regularly. Her name is Jess and her little baby boy, Lewiston, is fighting SMA (spinal muscular atrophy) type 1. He was diagnosed around 3 months old, and just hit his 5 month birthday a few weeks ago. They’ve already thought they were saying their goodbyes a couple times now, and are determined to enjoy each precious day with him. They have a bucket list for his life, and go about accomplishing those goals as creatively as you would imagine, given that little LJ has been in and out of hospice for about a month now. They have daily dance parties, adorable snapchat stories, and the love and support of amazing friends, family and medical staff (hmm, that sounds familiar). Jess and her husband have an incredible story about their history with SMA, and if you’d like to read more you should 100% check out their website: http://www.loveforlewiston.ca  And, not that it matters, but he’s the cutest baby in the world….don’t tell Arie I said that.

Our stories are totally different, but wouldn’t you know it, they are so similar. They both involve crippling grief, completely unfair situations, life and death decisions, and preparing for goodbyes far too soon. So often it seems that we think no one can understand what we’re feeling, especially when grieving is involved, but I’ve found that the more I talk to people who have or are currently dealing with life altering grief, the more I find myself saying – “you too?!” What. A. Blessing. To know you’re not alone! Not the only one who is having these crazy thoughts and feelings! (As a reminder of what they crazy thoughts can include, in a previous entry I believe I admitted to looking for clues that Eric had a secret wife – that way I could be mad and filled with hate, instead of sad and filled with sorrow – that is NOT something that everyone can relate to. Am I right?!) I truly believe that something positive that has already come from our situation, is being able to (in some small way) help people navigate their grief stories. Whether it’s talking with Dawn, a fellow osteosarcoma wife, about what the death of her husband will be like, or sharing my, almost shameful “no one could understand these feelings” with Jess, in hopes that even one small sentence could help her or her family feel like someone understood. Helping people survive loss, seems like a noble goal for Eric’s story, and one I’m honored to play a role in.

Since Eric died (still weird to say, by the way) I’ve met with assorted therapists, grief counselors, and experts. There was some good practical stuff in there (don’t make any major life decisions for the first year), and definitely clarity and wisdom from my pastor (thanks for spending an hour with me doing our best to guess theorize about Heaven, Dirk!), but the most helpful insights have been with fellow young widows. I can’t believe how many are out there! I’ve connected with 3, so far, and hope to meet with some others in the future. If anyone is going to understand the whole, wishing for an affair thing, it’s going to be them. [Fingers crossed].

So. What I want to write about here (I know, I’ve already written like 3 paragraphs…bear with me) is a few of the things that I’ve found are normal, when I’ve admitted them out loud to people. My hope would be that someone reading this would find a little bit of peace in their thoughts, and know that they aren’t alone.

1. I spent three years being Eric’s primary caretaker. It was exhausting, but during the last 5 months, it escalated to a whole other level of weary. Due to med schedules, the assistance Eric needed with walking, and assorted other issues, the most amount of sleep we would get in a stretch at night was usually around 4 hours. At our worst, we were up every.single.hour. That kind of sleep is like a new baby schedule…oh yeah, we had one of those too. Ha! On top of this was the emotional toll that Eric’s life expectancy placed on us. I was just absolutely drained – mind, body and soul. And here’s the piece that sounds horrible to admit out loud: I wanted it to be over! I was ready for the end to come. But wait, how could I think that?! The end meant losing Eric! Never seeing him again, never having him hold our son again, never going to our favorite restaurants again. How could I want that? I had begged God for 3 years to heal Eric and let him live a long life with me and Arie. I warred with these feelings for a while…and then we met with our hospice nurse. And one of the very first things she said to us was that it’s completely normal for you to want your loved one to stay alive forever and simultaneously be ready for the fight to be over. I completely lost it totally kept my cool. I wasn’t a horrible person! Hooray!
2. Your thoughts aren’t crazy. Thank you, kind therapist, for not judging me when I said I was looking forward to one day buying another wedding dress, and for thoroughly explaining that that was just my minds way of attempting to protect itself from some of the pain I was experiencing. Apparently in awful situations, in order to cushion some of the anguish brought on by grief, your mind can manufacture ideas to look forward to in the future…ya know, so you can survive the present.
3. Suffering. Oh man, I could (perhaps I will) write a whole post on the case for suffering. For now, I’ll keep it really simple. Looking back, I can see that the suffering I watched Eric endure, prepared me to say goodbye. I figured it was true, but never personally understood how people could say they were thankful for the passing of their loved one, until I watched Eric live his last couple of months. It wasn’t even living, it was surviving, and breathing, and a beating heart. At one point at U of M, I distinctly remember asking God to please just take him that very moment. He was hallucinating from the pain and 24/7 vomiting, and at one point I think even the doctors thought it was near the end for him. He rallied though, and continued fighting, as he did so many times – but that was a turning point for me.

There you have it, wisdom from a 30 year old, grief-survivor (well maybe survivor is too strong a word just yet, but you know what I mean) and from a mama struggling to watch her little baby boy fight for each breath, because wouldn’t you know it, when I shared those feelings with Jess, she said ‘me too’.

As a sidenote, I remember growing up in Sunday-school we learned that you could pray for wisdom, so I thought, well that seems like a good thing to have, and proceeded to pray for it while I grew up. For the Heavenly record, I would have preferred to be a little more dense, with a little more alive husband. I’m just saying…