a final word

Original date 21 November 2011

Good bye.

Words we are familiar with. We have, in one way or another, said goodbye to spouses, partners, friends. In tears, begging for forgiveness, in resolution. We have thought, uttered, whispered those words.

Good bye.

Good bye for me, now holds so much more. I get that I may not see a person again. I get that there isn't a reason for death. It sweeps in, takes what it wants and leaves.

I also see that every day is full of good byes. My nephews and niece grow another inch. So long childhood.

A friendship ends with silence.  I stand up for myself in a new situation. They are all good byes. The leaving of something behind. The moving forward, the passing, the stepping away from.

Today it is my turn to say good bye. This is my final post in thoughts on widowhood. I am still not sure why but I know it’s time for me to close this door, stand in the dark and decide which new door to open next.

I’ve been working on this post for days, trying to come up with something eloquent, meaningful and poised. Every time I try, I fail.

So I will leave you with this. Thank you. Thank you for humoring my absurd obsession to vomit my widow truth over the last nine months.

Thank you for reading my posts and for going to my blog and reading my story. Thank you for making me reflect, in writing, about this journey into loss and growth and hope.

Without you, I would not be the brave widow that I have become. Thank you for those brave enough (or who could figure out how) to comment. Doing so reminded me that my experience as a widow is not unique (thank God!), that isolation is an option, not the truth.

Thank you, for showing me the simple act of putting one big toe in front of the other (or on the bad days when hands and knees, one middle finger in front of the other was as far as I could get) is moving forward, is dealing with loss, is learning how to survive.

And eventually, those toes (or middle fingers) got me to a place where I thrive. If you are new to this widow club, man, truly, truly how I wish I could short cut this journey for you. I'd show you the secret combinations and share the passwords with you so that you would not have to walk through the thick, heavy, murky sludge of grief. All of us who come before you want nothing more than to do that for you. But we cannot. We cannot take away your pain.

The worst part about “doing” widowhood is that it has to be "done," experienced, which.... frankly, totally sucks. Know that those of us who have come before you, cry with you. We remember the pain, the doubt, the fear, the surprise and the confusion. We remember it and we will hold the rope until you are ready to climb again. You will be ready to climb again.

It gets easier and yes, even better. The loss you feel is real and crippling and it will not last forever. I promise. Stay here. Keep coming back. Keep reading because in these word on this blog you will find yourself.

If you are looking for proof there is life in grief, (not after grief because it morphs but never disappears), I am it. In the grief, I have found a light that guides me to beautiful places I never thought I’d see. Thank you because I am the lucky one.

To write here, to have had the opportunity to share my feelings, my loss and to have you say “Yes Kimberly. We hear you.” That is a powerful gift.

To be heard. I think, it is all any of us really want. It is a gift that will stay with me until I take my last breath.

I heard this today on NPR –can’t remember who said it or when, but it is perfect. The sun goes down. Every day there is loss and every day there is newness. I am glad I came.