Category: widowed

15Aug

The year of “the firsts”

This month my sweet cousin Pat will commemorate the first anniversary of her husband’s death.

Growing up, even though Pat and I were cousins, and we only lived a few blocks apart, she and I were never terribly close. Nothing wrong, probably the age difference… different set of friends…

Many years have passed since those adolescent days, far faster than we could have imagined. Marriage. Babies. Divorce. True Love. Grandchildren. We’ve kept up with each other through family members, the occasional funeral…etc…

And then one day in 2009 my husband committed suicide.

And in an instant my world changed.

Words can’t describe the loss. The hurt. The devastation. Where do you turn? What do you do next? Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months and a few things begin to evolve.

A new pattern. Sometimes, a new way of doing things. Discovery.

And for me, one source of encouragement, one source of a friendly hello, was my cousin Pat. Only once did we actually get together in person, we communicated mostly through Facebook and Messenger, but I could always count on Pat to be there in my corner.

As of last August, sadly, I share a new kinship with Pat. She had to say goodbye to her companion, her confidant, her best friend of 34 years, her sweet husband Rusty.

Pat and Rusty

As I said earlier, this month Pat will commemorate the first anniversary of Rusty’s passing.

And with every passing week since she said goodbye, and with each milestone, and every holiday, Pat has been on my heart and in my prayers.

Because I remember; and I weep.

The first week without my husband.

The first time I reached for him, and he wasn’t there.

The first time I called his name with no answer.

The first time I had to tell someone that my husband died.

And all the other “firsts”.

The obvious; holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries.

But then the not so obvious.

The first time you get bad news and you need his shoulder to cry on.

The first time something joyous happens and he’s not there to share it with.

The first time someone says, “I miss him” and your heart breaks all over again.

The first time…

Oh God, there’s so many. And it’s so hard.

But there is good news; and thank God for a heart that is resilient, and determined, and willing to commit to that seemingly impossible task of becoming… becoming what…. perhaps on some days, just becoming aware and glad that it’s a sunny day. Or maybe, down the road, even becoming a better version of what we were before our lives were turned upside down.

So after a while other “firsts” begin to happen.

Like the first time you didn’t cry in 24 hours.

The first time you remembered to smile.

The first time you felt optimistic.

The first time you accomplished something entirely on your own.

The first time you thought to yourself, “I’m going to be okay.”

And for me, many years later, the first time you get yourself ready for a first date.

I’ll borrow my own words from a post I wrote years ago called, “She Believed.” It was written in honor of the women in my life that have inspired me, encouraged me, and lifted me up. Pat was included in that group of strong, inspiring women.

“We fell but we didn’t stay down, we wiped our bloodied knees and got back up.  We cried, but we wiped our tears away and pushed forward.  We doubted, but it didn’t consume us. We overcame. And that’s what I celebrate today.”

Below is the video I put together to accompany that post. That’s Pat & family @ 1:38.

I spoke with Pat last night to ask permission to tag her in this post. I mentioned that I feel like she has not only survived this past year; but thrived. She humbly denied the statement, but honestly, after losing a spouse, sometimes deciding to get out of bed the morning after a particularly lonely, tearful night – is a form of thriving. Baby steps yes, but steps forward just the same.

These last 12 months I have observed Pat take on the task of remodeling her home, quite beautifully and skillfully. She has found the courage to love again; a sweet, feisty puppy she named Miss Daisy (Doodle). -And all through this terrible, scary pandemic. Courageous? You better believe it!

This is for you Pat.

Love to you at this special time. Rusty would be so proud of you.

~ Cat ~

16Mar

A Home for my Heart

Almost seven years ago I found myself standing in a funeral receiving line as the widow of a man that took his own life. I was told later that I uttered the words, “I will never smile again.” Now that I look back, I’m sure I believed those words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The road has been long, and at times, seemingly endless.

Many of you have accompanied me on this unintentional journey. You have been there to catch my tears and to buffer my falls. You have endured my many questions that there were no answers to. You have witnessed my small victories and stood by my side while I experienced life’s disappointments. My gratitude for your love and support is immeasurable.

And although grateful for my many friends and family that have been there for me, I discovered that any healing, or any growth that would take place in my life,  would ultimately be up to me.

So I set out on this – what – pilgrimage, if you will, to forge a new life for myself.  A life without Michael. A life without a mate. A life where I was forced to learn my weaknesses.  A life without a safety net.

But where do you begin? Where do you go and what do you do? How do you continue when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and pretend this awful thing didn’t happen?

Well, to answer these somewhat rhetorical questions, I will borrow a scene from one of my favorite movies – Sleepless in Seattle. Tom Hank’s character is trying to explain his life as a new widower.

Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: “What are you going to do?”
Sam Baldwin: “Well, I’m gonna get out of bed every morning… breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out… and, then after a while, I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while.”

And that’s what I did.

Breathe in.
Mourn for the love that was taken from me.

Breathe out.
Mourn for the life I had to leave behind.

Breathe in.
Fill my lungs with the fragrance of a new day.

Breathe out.
Look around me and witness the china blue sky.

 It was gradual. It was painstakingly slow.

But, in time,  I began to face each day with more optimism than the last; with more laughter (yes, I laughed and smiled again) than sorrow; with more joy than grief. I began to breathe in contentment; and exhale the pain. I have stayed true to the belief that this tragedy would not define me.

And as the years have passed, and as time has marched on, I have evolved and transformed  into a woman that absolutely loves life and all of the good, the bad, and the ugly that it encompasses.

Six months ago I began a weight loss journey; one that I have not shared on social media – maybe because it was so personal – maybe because I feared failure. But I jumped in – head first – and have not come up for air. To date, I have lost 48 pounds.

How do I feel? Wonderful. Successful. In control.

Which catapulted me back into the dating world.

Yes, I joined Match.com.

And on the first morning of my membership I am greeted with the most friendly of greetings:

“It’s a great day to say Good Morning TnShortStory.”

Meet Charlie.

Cat-Charlie-02-5x7

Our beginning was a couple of witty emails, followed by a surprisingly easy phone conversation, and ending in an unpretentious meeting at a local Chili’s for lunch. Come to find out,  we have a mutual friend (thank you Spencer), that corroborated that neither one of us were serial killers, stalkers, or relatively bad people.

We have been together ever since.

May I please tell you about this man?

He is kind. He has a heart that is pure, and I believe, spun of gold.  His sincerity reaches to my soul. His amazing creativity inspires me. His energy is contagious and the way he looks at me – well, it melts my heart.  His love for life is equal to mine.

We fell in love; almost in an instant.  All of this seemed to be happening so fast – or was it? Looking back – given my history and his, I believe God has been preparing our hearts for one another for some time now. The time was right. Our hearts were ready. And it happened.

There is no turning back from this irrefutable, irresistible, wonderful love. Come hell, or high water, I love this man. And he loves me. If I could safely shout it from the rooftops, I would. We are planning a life together. A future.

From the beginning we have captured a sentiment.

We love “us”.

A unit that was formed from two people into one entity.

Us.

And that is how we will remain.

Us.

Charlie and Cathy.

A life to be lived. A love to share. A future to write.

Our hearts are finally home.

All my love,
Cat

For Charlie.

05Jul

She believed

shopping

This bracelet came up on a news feed of mine. I studied it. Not the bracelet, but the words. I’ve probably studied over it more than some people would study for a test. Well, not so much study, but ponder. The words are powerful. The words imply strength and courage and all the other positive feelings that are conjured up in these seven little words.

When I first saw these words I thought about the women in my life that intentionally took on a challenge. Chris Mac decided she wanted to have a healthier lifestyle and took on the challenge of losing weight the old fashioned way – by eating healthy and exercising. Hannah  has taken on the challenge of going back to college to become an RN after having a child. Brenda G later in life chose to adopt three children that needed her. Amy made the decision to not only tell her adoption story, but posted it for all the world to read. To these women and others like you,  I humbly acknowledge your courage.

Then there’s the rest of us – no less important,  but our challenges more or less got dumped into our laps. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t looking for them, but they happened just the same. Cynthia discovered she had breast cancer. Angela and Laura G found themselves in destructive marriages. Many of us were given widowhood.  My Aunt Lois and cousins Pat and Tina face each day with the deterioration of their husband/father from Alzheimers disease. Heather battles the fear that comes with having a child with severe food allergies. Then there’s the many single moms I know that get up each morning to fill the shoes of both mother and father. My own sister Terri is synonymous with courage, tenacity, and strength (although sometimes she doesn’t see it).

So I go back to the words: She believed she could, so she did.

In all honesty, there were times when I didn’t know if I could overcome the loss of my husband and the avalanche of aftershocks that came with it. I feel sure that each person I have mentioned and all of the ones in this video have had the same feeling at one time or another in the challenges that have faced them. That doubt, that defeating feeling, that nagging in the back of your mind that says it’s too hard, it’s too much to bear. We fall. We cry. We doubt.

But herein lies the difference: We fell but we didn’t stay down, we wiped our bloodied knees and got back up.  We cried, but we wiped our tears away and pushed forward.  We doubted, but it didn’t consume us. We overcame. And that’s what I celebrate today.

So this is for you ladies:  The women that inspire me, encourage me, and lift me up.

 

21May

Six years, or 2,191 days without him

57911_154328121259420_4864259_n

This is my week. This is “The Week.” This is the week that I allow myself to relive that night in May 2009 when my world was turned upside down; the night my husband, without any warning, took his own life. The night that would forever change not only my direction, but the direction of his entire family. This is the week that I allow myself to be enveloped with grief if I feel the need; the time to reflect on this unintentional journey; giving myself permission to cry and be sad for a bit. This indulgence might appear to negate the progress that I have made, but in reality it brings to light the everyday joy that I am now able to find in life again.

So, please, allow me to share some of my thoughts and feelings that guide me through “my week”.

It’s hard to believe that I’m in the midst of the sixth anniversary of Michael’s death. Sometimes it feels like yesterday that the police officers were knocking on my bedroom door, and other times, it feels like a lifetime ago, or even yet, someone else’s lifetime ago.  And yet no matter the perception, the reality remains that this man has been gone for six long years. You know, there’s going to come a point in time if I live long enough, that he will have been gone longer than we were together, and that will make me sad.

Even today as I rummage through old photos, I am reminded that there will never be any “new” pictures of Michael. All of our images of him stopped in 2009. And as the lives of his family have continued, and our own images have, and will continue to change, his image will remain frozen in time. As I flip through the photos, my breath is taken away when I see all the “last” images of him. The last photo of him with Lexi (the only grandchild he got to meet), his last Christmas, his last Easter, and sadly, the last picture taken with his son Brandon and daughter Heather.  I weep at these sights. And not just for me, but for Michael and all that he has missed. I weep for his children, Brandon and Heather, as well as for my children, Heather, Robin, and Shane.   I break down in sobs knowing that his grandchildren (and future grandchildren)  will never know the wonderful man that they would’ve called “Poppy”.

Michael was an incredible man. He was a giving man, a selfless man. He was one that would take on your burdens and make them his own. He was the last one to sit down at the dinner table to ensure that everyone had everything they needed. He would give a stranger the last dollar in his pocket if they needed it. He was my emotional rock and my best friend. Michael was always quick with a smile, generous with his hugs, and a kiss if you allowed him. He loved with his whole being, he gave with his whole heart. He made everyone around him feel special, important, and loved.

Michael loved life more than anyone I knew. So, the obvious question would be “Why would he take his own life?” This individual that appeared to be in charge of his own happiness, a man that portrayed strength and control. Why?  I don’t have the answers, nor will I ever. I can only speculate and to do that really serves no purpose. He made a decision, a very poor decision and it cost him his life. I have moved on from seeking an answer, as it only sends me into a spiral of sorrow, self doubt, and confusion.

There have been numerous times when I have asked the rhetorical question. “How could you do this to me Michael?” My own sister has vocalized the same question to me. Funny though, when she asks the question I feel defensive of Michael. I sat down one night and wrote these words while tears were streaming down my face and I was choking back sobs.

“I never would have done this to you,
This pain that you have put me through.
This hell called healing,
You left it all up to me to deal with.
I never would have done this to you”.

It has taken time for me to realize that Michael didn’t do this “to me”. I, along with his other family members, were merely casualties left behind in his act of desperation. I don’t blame him anymore, I only have love and sadness for him. The anger ship sailed long ago.

 Although having a loved one pass away in any other way is devastating, the nature of a death by suicide adds to the complex act of grieving. I know many individuals that have witnessed their loved one struck down with cancer and other life threatening illnesses. I have seen the heartache and the desperation of them watching their soul mate fight for their life and ultimately succumb to the illness and pass away. And I’m left thinking, “God Michael, WHY DIDN’T YOU FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE LIKE THEY DID?” That is the added ingredient in this process of grieving for a victim of suicide.

So, I’ve learned a few things about being the widow of a man that took his life – through my own experiences and those of others. I suspect these thoughts are probably universal to survivors.

  • If you’re my friend, never be afraid to talk to me about Michael. I’m always ready to hear stories of him, your memories of him. That keeps his memory alive.
  • Unless I bring up the act of suicide, I don’t want to talk about the way he died.
  • Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m pretty strong, I’ve been through hell – and in some ways I’m a better person to have gone through this.
  • Never – ever – tell me that everything happens for a reason.

My family agrees that if Michael had waited until daylight, we might’ve had a different outcome. So please, if suicide has ever crossed your mind, just wait.

Wait until daylight. Wait until you see your child’s smile again. Wait until you hear a bird’s chirp, or a choir singing God’s praises. Wait until your love kisses you Good Morning. Wait for that sliver of light, because it’s there to be seen. Just wait, because life is worth living. Life is worth the heartache. Life is worth the wait.

Above all, it is my wish that Michael be remembered for how he lived his life, the legacy that he left behind; not how he chose to end it.

Love and peace to all,

Cat Corrier