This is not a traditional recovery story because my dad did not recover- he died on his motorcycle that day. This is the recovery story of how my father saved three lives when he passed away and how my pregnant mom became a single mother to a six-year-old boy and a three-year old girl and how she raised all three children on her own to be successful adults. Even though my dad was not able to walk away from his accident, my mom was able to recover from that tragedy that blew our lives apart and help hundreds of women along the way.
October 22, 2004 – my dad was on his motorcycle reporting to the fire station for work. However, there was traffic on his usual route, so he decided to take the back roads – a route he had never taken before that day. He had the right of way and was driving at 45 miles per hour, but there were trees blocking the view. A box truck was stopped at a stop sign and did not see him coming around the corner, so he thought it was safe to make the turn. My father would have died on impact if it was not for his helmet. He slid underneath the truck, hit his head on the exhaust pipe, and proceeded to come out the other side. He was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital where he passed a few hours later. All of this occurred while my family was sleeping. Later that morning, my mother was driving me to preschool and one of my dad’s coworkers called her to tell her that my father was in the hospital, and he was not doing well. Despite the efforts of the nurses and doctors, my father had too much blood in his brain which ultimately led to his death. Fortunately, his heart still worked perfectly so after he passed away, his heart valves were donated to an older man, a middle-aged woman, and a young boy – their lives were saved that day and they all fully recovered from their transplants.
After my father passed away and my younger brother was born, my mom started to write a blog called, “Widow Plus Three” where she documented our journey through the life of being raised by a widowed parent. Through her blog, she was able to carry on my father’s memory as if he did recover, by writing about us and how she sees him in each of us. Her blog reached tens of thousands of men and women worldwide and she helped show them God’s grace, unconditional love, and that it is okay to question His plan. My father has been gone for almost 18 years and she continues to post about our lives because the recovery journey is never fully complete.
Over the next five years, my mom would create the only Georgia chapter of Modern Widows Club. Modern Widows Club is a monthly meeting where widows could gather to be around other women on the same heartbreak and recovery journey, so they know they are not alone. Through the club, my mom found her passion for helping others through grief and loss. In 2013, she became a licensed professional counselor and specialized in grief and trauma. She saw clients two days a week and worked in the school system the other days. In the schools, she was a school counselor and worked for an organization known as Sources of Strength where she would train students and teachers how to recognize suicidal triggers, thoughts, and how to reach out for help. Over the years, she has helped administrators, students, teachers, and families recover from deaths and suicides across two different school districts.
My mom is now remarried, and they have been together for over ten years. In 2018, my stepfather adopted my younger brother and I making him our legal dad on our birth certificates. Through the adoption, we have three new siblings, a brother-in-law, a niece, a nephew, and a whole new side of family that treats us as their own. My older brother is now 24 years old and drives a UPS truck full-time. I am 21 years old, and I am a full-time student at the University of Georgia, and my younger brother is 17 years old and is taking dual enrollment classes at Kennesaw State University in the fall. My brothers and I did not get the chance to grow up with a father and experience the happiness on Fathers’ Day, but my mom’s heart healed, and we now have a man to call “Dad” who is our entire world.
My birth-dad may not have recovered from his motorcycle accident, but his tragedy directly saved three lives and allowed my mom to save a hundred more lives through her recovery journey. Recovering from a motorcycle accident is not always about the person directly involved because not only one person is affected by the incident. When that man pulled out in front of my dad – our lives were shattered and sent in a completely different direction. I would not wish this journey on anyone, but through our strong faith, my family has been able to recover and feel the love we missed out on for all those years.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I’m thinking of all of my widowed friends. Valentine’s Day has got to be the cruelest of all holidays to someone who has had the love of their life unexpectedly ripped out of their life! For days (sometimes weeks) leading up to it, there are commercials, aisles in every store and radio advertisements for gifts, cards, candy, flowers, even jewelry to buy for the one you love. There’s one thing they don’t advertise, however: flower arrangements for the cemetery! What about those of us whose loves are in the ground? What are we supposed to do on this day for lovers? It’s as if we don’t exist. We’re not surprised by this, though, since we’re often the forgotten ones as the world continues to exist around us and our world feels so broken.
A widowed friend of mine once told me that she wears purple for Valentine’s Day because everywhere she looks there is pink and red but PURPLE is the color for those of us who know better! We KNOW that love is more than chocolates and flowers. We KNOW that love lasts much longer than a silly holiday. We KNOW the pain of losing the one we love and we KNOW the STRENGTH it takes to get out of bed and face another day without him.
While everyone else gets to “prove” their love to their significant other on this ONE day, we KNOW it happens every single day because life is so short. In the blink of an eye, life changes. Since we have suffered a life altering, heart wrenching, soul tearing loss, we will never again take love for granted. This is the gift of loss. Yes, I said it: the GIFT of loss. In the midst of this heartache and pain, there is a gift. When love comes knocking on our door again, we can love deeper and more appreciatively than before our loss. I know it’s hard to ever imagine loving again if you are new in your loss but when your heart heals, if you open it up again, there is room for more love. It’s like having more than one child. You don’t stop loving your first child, you just love the second child AND the first child. This is how we love more than one man in this long life of ours.
Now that I am remarried, Valentine’s Day is just another day for me. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy chocolate, a loving card and a nice dinner as much as anyone! However, if my husband is working or we are too busy to celebrate Valentine’s Day, it’s ok by me. I love him so much more each and every day because I KNOW that every day could be my last day with him. I take every chance I can to let him know how much he is appreciated and loved so that Valentine’s Day has lost it’s power over us – it’s just another day on the calendar. So what will I do on February 14th? I will wear PURPLE, I will get my children some chocolates, I will get my husband a card and I might even take some flowers to the cemetery to thank Steve for teaching me the true meaning of love. I encourage you to spend the day taking care of you and celebrating the love you have for those in your life. If I see you in PURPLE, I will know that we are sisters in widowhood too.
I look at him and I don’t think I could love him anymore than I do today.
His touch makes me feel protected, safe, secure.
His words are soothing when I need them to be, realistic when I need them to be too.
He makes me want to be a better woman because he challenges me to think more, do more and to achieve more.
He loves my children.
He loves me.
How is it possible that I’ve found this kind of love AGAIN in my life? It’s like a dream and I’m afraid of waking up.
When Steve died, I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the sleeping that was painful, it was the waking up. Steve was in my dreams with me. When I woke up, I was living in the nightmare of my new life without him. Now, I’ve opened my heart and my life to a love like that all over again only this time I know what I’m risking in a way that I didn’t know when I lost Steve.
I’m risking the gut wrenching pain that caused me to vomit. I’m risking the Earth shattering fear of a new life without the other half of me. I’m risking years of grief, sadness and anxiety. I know this because I’ve been there. It’s the price I paid for loving Steve with my whole heart.
Why would I risk it again?
He’s worth it.
I’m worth it.
Our love is worth it.
There are no guarantees in this life so I choose happiness.
It’s so hard for outsiders to understand my world sometimes. Those who have never had their soul ripped out of their bodies cannot possibly comprehend the journey of widowhood. I would not wish for them to have my experience, but it is so hurtful when there is a lack of empathy that comes with the misunderstanding.
I recently had someone question why I still drive a different route to avoid going near Steve’s accident site. At the intersection where he was killed, there is a cross with his name on it. It’s quite beautiful and was made by one of the firefighters that he worked with at his department. I love that he is remembered by others when they drive by there. Perhaps they haven’t thought of him in a while.
For me, he’s in my thoughts EVERY SINGLE DAY. When I look at my son, who is a reflection of him at 16, the exact age when I started dating Steve. When I watch my children play sports, when I discipline them, when my 9 year old does something new, when I look at them and marvel at the extraordinary people they are growing into, EVERY SINGLE DAY he comes to mind in one way or another.
So what does that intersection mean to me?
I called Steve that morning. October 22nd, 2004. When he didn’t answer his phone, that’s how I knew something was wrong. What I didn’t know then, but I know now, was that he couldn’t answer the phone because he was laying in the road in that intersection! He had been in a motorcycle accident that would take his life.
When I drive by there, it doesn’t bring back memories of Steve. It’s the place where my husband was killed, where my children lost their father, where my life changed in an instant. I don’t need that intersection to remember him as others do.
So, yes, almost ten years later, I choose to drive a different route when going near there! I choose happiness over grief. I will continue to make choices that are healthy for me and I will continue to remember Steve for all that he was as a man, not for how he died. I forgive those who don’t understand my journey because I am choosing love over loss.
Happy Thanksgiving! I’m sitting here thinking about how this is the 10th Thanksgiving since Steve died. Wow! Ten years! In some ways, it feels like an eternity. Who was that woman who was so shattered? When I think back to that first Thanksgiving, I barely recognize her…..
I spent my first Thanksgiving as a widow with friends, friends who wouldn’t expect me to put on a “happy face.” It had been barely a month since my husband had been ripped out of my life. I was about 4 months pregnant with a 3 year old and 6 year old running around too so honestly, it was a good day if I showered and got dressed! I was exhausted. I spent the night at my friends house because the truth is, after spending the day with them and their friends, I was too tired to drive the one hour back to my house!
I don’t remember much about that first holiday other than feeling as if I was watching the world from the outside. It’s like standing outside of someone’s house and looking in through the windows, except that you’re standing in the same room. Grief has a way of separating you from the world. I was surrounded by people who were laughing and enjoying themselves while every inch of my being was torn completely apart. Everyone there knew I was a new widow so they all understood when I would start crying for no apparent reason (the truth is, I had a very good reason to cry all the time, right?). I am so thankful that I spent my first Thanksgiving surrounded by caring, loving friends instead of alone in my grief.
This year, I am happy to be spending Thanksgiving with my children, the man I love, his children and our extended family. I have spent the past ten years in various stages of grief during the holidays but none were as difficult as that very first one without Steve. I pray that you never experience the soul shattering grief of losing your spouse but if that’s you this holiday season, please hold on. The holidays will be over in a few weeks and you can get back to the business of healing.
Steve’s birthday was September 25th. I did pretty good on that day this year. A couple of friends sent me Facebook posts and for the most part, I just stayed busy with my normal routine. My older children mentioned it and I told my youngest son that it was his Daddy’s birthday. Perhaps we should have done more of a celebration. I don’t beat myself up anymore over these things because I am doing the best I can in raising these children on my own. All three of them are participating in fall activities: marching band, cheerleading and soccer. Between school, practices and games, we are very busy. Since Steve’s birthday fell on a weekday, it was just more convenient for us to acknowledge it and move on with our day. I know he would understand.
That evening, however, my sister sent me a very sentimental Facebook post. It was then that I let my guard down and shed a few tears. She missed him. I missed him. It was okay to acknowledge that because the day was over, the kids were in bed and I could slow down for a minute and really think about it being Steve’s birthday.
In the early years after Steve’s death, we celebrated his birthday. I grieved his birthday. I would take off from work on September 25th knowing that it would be a “grief day” for me. As the years have gone on, however, I don’t feel like that is the healthy thing for me to do anymore. One thing I noticed this year, though, was that I started to feel a little edgy, out of sorts, snappy towards my children a few days before his birthday. It was as if my body was feeling the grief even if I wasn’t acknowledging it.
Steve died on October 22nd. Every year, the cooler weather, pumpkins, fall flowers, and Halloween always remind me of losing Steve. This year, though, I thought I was coasting through this season feeling strong and healthy. I’ve been working on starting a new chapter of Modern Widows Club where I am blessed to mentor other widows. I’ve been working a lot. I’ve been busy with my children and their activities. I didn’t even realize anything was wrong until my boyfriend asked me why I’ve been so “out of sorts” for the past few weeks. It got me thinking and I realized that I really have been feeling overwhelmed by things that I can normally handle effortlessly. My house is cluttered, my car is a mess, my laundry is piled to the ceiling (or so it seems!) and it reminds me of when I was actively grieving. Is it possible that I’m not coasting through this fall as seamlessly as I previously thought? Perhaps my body is telling me to slow down and be gentle with myself during this season of grief?
So, I’m going to end this blog post by challenging myself to start doing the things that I would tell other widows to do: eat healthier (I’ve been working on this one for a while!), do at least one thing per day to relax, start and finish one project at a time (I have a tendency to start a bunch of projects at once, which leads to clutter and being overwhelmed), and to be gentle with myself when the anniversary of Steve’s death does arrive next week. I know I am strong enough to make healthy choices, but I guess I have to give myself permission to grieve sometimes now too.
When Steve died, I was lost. Not only did my heart ache every minute of the day, but my spirit was shattered. I felt like a stranger in my own home. I wandered around my house as if in a trance, wondering where Steve was and why he wasn’t coming home to me. My own body felt foreign as a baby grew inside of it while every muscle longed for Steve to hold me. I lost confidence in my ability to parent those little beings in my house because I was so exhausted from grief. I didn’t believe that anyone would want to spend time with me since all I could do was cry. Every inch of me had changed in an instant. For the first time in my life, I was insecure, shy and hesitant to move about in the world. I was broken.
When I met my second husband, I thought I was healed. I accepted Steve’s death so that I could move on with someone new but I was still grieving the loss it had left in my life. Anniversaries and birthdays sent me into an emotional tailspin as the waves of grief continued to swallow me up year after year. I longed to be the mother I was before he died. I missed my best friend. I missed our family, even though I had tried to create a new one.
As time worked it’s magic and God continued to heal me, I was able to accept the family that God had given me: my three children. I no longer had to be married to feel like my family was whole. I was able to let go of an unhappy marriage and move forward with confidence knowing that I could meet my children’s needs, all on my own. I was slowly becoming the capable, secure and outspoken woman that I was before Steve died.
It has been two years since my divorce and I have continued to grow in my spiritual and emotional journey. I have finally found a peace in my life that has not existed since Steve died. My family is complete with me and my children. We have made this house our home and we’re filling it with memories of our own. I am in love with a wonderful man and perhaps my family will include a husband and stepchildren someday but, for now, it’s just the four of us and that is enough. By the grace of God, I am no longer broken.
A friend of mine recently posted some old pictures of me and Steve on Facebook. There was a picture of the two of us and some group pictures that were taken at an amusement park back in 1987. We were in high school. I was in 10th grade and Steve was a Senior. It’s funny how I remember that trip to the amusement park as if it happened yesterday!
Seeing those pictures made me smile because we had some really great times! Steve and I were together for 19 years and married for ten years. We truly grew up together and seeing old pictures of us makes me realize just how young we were when we fell in love with each other. I know how unique it is to meet your future husband in the ninth grade but I also know that God had a plan for us. I believe that our destiny was to create a family and we needed to do that before Steve was taken from this Earth. We fell in love at a young age because it wasn’t meant for Steve to ever grow old. He will forever be 35 years old.
When I look at pictures of us, I don’t feel that familiar ache in my heart anymore. It’s as if I’m looking at photos of someone else. It sort of feels like that life wasn’t real. So much has changed since Steve’s been gone and I’m a different woman now too. My world was shattered when he died. I had a baby. I got married and divorced. I sold our house and bought a new one. I changed jobs. My children are no longer babies and I’ve raised them alone. I am more independent than I ever knew I could be when Steve was here.
After eight years, I am not longing for the life I shared with Steve anymore. I will always miss the father of my children, my high school sweetheart, my first husband. But it’s hard to miss a life that is so far gone from the world I live in now. Looking at pictures of us makes me smile because I get to show them to my children. Those pictures are their proof that they were created within a loving marriage. Those photos show the brown eyes shared by my daughter and youngest son, the dark brown hair of my oldest son and it shows the happiness of both of their parents at a time when life was good.
It was nice to be reminded of a youthful trip to an amusement park when I was just a teenager in love. The best part of seeing those pictures, though, was realizing how far I’ve come during these eight years. I know that I’m healing because memories bring smiles now instead of tears. It’s been a long journey and I believe I deserve some happiness now. I know that’s what Steve would want for me and I believe he’s smiling down from Heaven with me.
Some days it’s just better to keep busy…to have so many things to do that I don’t have time to think, time to grieve. Today is one of those days. October 22nd. The anniversary of Steve’s death.
I have spent many of these anniversaries curled up in my bed, unable to do anything but relive that awful day. October 22nd, 2004. A day of worry, hope, shock, denial, grief. A day that is forever a part of my soul.
As it is with my grief, I have been feeling this anniversary coming for about a week or so. I’ve been more emotional. I’ve cried for no apparent reason. Today, I feel sad for my children, sad for the old me: Steve’s wife. I’m at a crossroads in my life this year and I feel it….I am truly happy for the first time since Steve died so it’s hard for me to grieve him the way that I’ve always done, as my best friend and soul mate.
I am a different person since Steve died. I am a confident and secure single Mom. I am strong in my Christian faith. I have a wide circle of friends and a wonderful boyfriend. I wonder if Steve would even recognize me today?
I have always missed Steve, my high school sweetheart, the man who could make me laugh in any situation, my best friend. I do still miss him, but it’s different now. I miss the father of my children. I wonder what he would say and what he would do when I am parenting them. I love to remember him and tell our children stories about him. I think it’s my job to keep him alive for them. How will they know that he didn’t like mushrooms if I don’t tell them?
I don’t want to grieve anymore. I want to be happy. I’ve learned that life is short so I’m grabbing every moment of happiness that I can while I’m here. I am keeping busy today: working, running errands, taking my children to appointments. I don’t want to remember what I was doing at this very moment, eight years ago today. If I start to remember, I will fall apart. I remember every minute of that day and I don’t want to relive it. Not today. Not again.
I started my day with a prayer, I’ve prayed several times already today and I know God will help me make it through this anniversary. I have a lot to do. I will keep busy. I don’t know if this is avoiding the grief or just choosing NOT to grieve, but it’s how I’ll spend this anniversary. I want to embrace the happiness in my life and I don’t want to go back to that day. Not today.
There’s one thing that I’ve learned on this journey of widowhood: life doesn’t stop for grief. As much as I wished I could curl up and just grieve, the world still existed. My children needed to be fed. I had to go to work. In fact, my experience has been that the world expects grief to last a year. During that first year, people are more patient with grieving souls. They understand your grief, they accept it and you are encouraged to grieve.
After the first year, however, you are expected to “be over” it. It’s no longer acceptable to break down in tears for no apparent reason, to be exhausted because your grief is the worst at night, to have a hard time concentrating. What I found, though, was that the second year without Steve was actually harder than the first year. During my first year, I was pregnant and just trying to make it from day to day. My life centered around my children and the new baby I was carrying. Our first holidays without Steve are a blur. I went through the motions, for my children’s sake, with the goal of just making it through those days. The first Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, the kids’ birthdays, the birth of our baby, our wedding anniversary, Father’s Day. If I could just make it through the first year, I thought I would be okay.
I was wrong. The second year without Steve turned out to be the hardest of all. I had to find a new “normal” for me and the kids. I had a new baby to care for, all by myself. There was no denying that Steve was gone and he would not be coming back. I had to accept this life that God had given me. I started dating again. The world expected me to be healed but I was far from over the grief of losing him. It has taken several years for me to feel as if I am healed. I made terrible mistakes during my grief. I married the wrong man because I thought that being married would make me a better mother. I dated to avoid loneliness. I drank too much to self-medicate the pain. My journey of grief did not end after one year.
Steve’s birthday was last week. It has been almost eight years since he died. When I reminded my son about his dad’s birthday, he said to me, “That’s gonna be a hard day for you, Mom.” My children have grown accustomed to my grief and they know that certain days of the year are harder for me than others. I am happy to say, though, that my grief has subsided into thankfulness for the memories, love and children that Steve blessed me with during his lifetime. I cried for a few minutes on his birthday but then I showered and got ready for work. Life goes on.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I’m thinking of all of my widowed friends. Valentine’s Day has got to be the cruelest of all holidays to someone who has had the love of their life unexpectedly ripped out of their life! For days (sometimes weeks) leading up to it, there are commercials, aisles in every store and radio advertisements for gifts, cards, candy, flowers, even jewelry to buy for the one you love. There’s one thing they don’t advertise, however: flower arrangements for the cemetery! What about those of us whose loves are in the ground? What are we supposed to do on this day for lovers? It’s as if we don’t exist. We’re not surprised by this, though, since we’re often the forgotten ones as the world continues to exist around us and our world feels so broken.
Widow Plus Three 