July 11, 2016 is a date etched into me like a name on granite. The day we said goodbye to Dan. The day I never imagined could come…arrived.
…and now, the day that I couldn’t imagine facing rolls around again: ten years departed. Here in Ireland, it’s referred to as one’s anniversary. Tomorrow, is Dan’s tenth anniversary. Ten years a widow.
There are so many routes I can take in memorializing this day, but I’d like to talk about me and the toll grief has taken from me.
Besides taking my husband, my love, my Dan away from me…grief stole my status, my title of wife. For me, this was a particular injustice as I’d longed for that title, that privilege for thirty years. All I’d wanted during those long days of my twenties was to be someone’s wife. …and, suddenly, as of July 11 about 8pm…I wasn’t one.
It took me nearly a year to even begin comprehending using “widow.” Dan’s widow. It was such a foreign concept to me. I loved being Dan’s wife. Dan’s widow…meant that he really wasn’t here with us anymore. He really was gone. It was around that first anniversary mark, as I neared my trip to Ireland, that I started practicing introducing myself as a widow. I was about to meet a busload of strangers…and that word was the apt descriptor…though I loathed it’s taste in my mouth…like medicine, I recognized that it was the …correct…word. Embracing that word helped me better describe my new situation in the world…and begin moving on.
Moving on: that’s another phrase I loathed. I didn’t want to move on from Dan. Not ever. I didn’t want move on from myself and who I was with him. I didn’t want to turn the page of that chapter to write a new one. I hated all of those phrases and metaphors that are used to describe “moving on.”
Letting go: that ranks right up there with moving on. About two-three weeks after Dan’s funeral, I was in a yoga class and the instructor used the phrase as we cooled down…and I nearly lost it. I could physically feel the tension in my body holding everything together…and when he said, “let go” it was like being back in the hospital all over again and being told that there was nothing more to be done and time to “let (him) go.” I didn’t understand how I could do that then…or again in the yoga class…and I physically remember thinking, “If I let go of this tension, I will let go of Dan…” and I couldn’t do it.
Eventually, as the saying goes, with time…I did start to loosen my grip, to allow the tension to ease. ….but, it wasn’t simply time that ushered that in; it was the presence of God. Recognizing Dan’s eternal existence with God our Father and His provision in my life allowed the Holy Spirit to come into those places of resistance and ease me back into place.
Both the grieving process and the healing process take time and space. Some things that helped me most:
Every day, I asked the Holy Spirit to help me feel whatever I needed to feel that day to help me heal. In particular, I was very afraid of collapsing into a dark depression. Before Dan, I had a tendency, especially during the month of February, to wander into melancholy. An anxiety gripped me at times about marriage: when would it be? Who would it be? How would it come about? Meeting and marrying Dan and done away with that…would I revert back to that state?
By the grace of God, I didn’t. The work of resurrection that God has done in my heart through Dan’s death is nothing short of a miracle. From the very beginning, I felt held. Cradled in my Father’s arms while walking through the dark shadow of the valley of death. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel anything; I felt many things quite deeply…but, I was always, always buoyed by hope.
CS Lewis writes in A Grief Observed that you realized how strong your faith is when that’s all you have. Everyone can “trust” in a rope when they don’t need the rope. When you are clinging to a rope off the face of a mountain, you ACTUALLY trust in that rope. You are depending on that rope holding and living up to its purpose - as a matter of life or death. Our faith in Jesus Christ is the same. When life is good and all is well, trust is easy. When it’s not, this is when our faith is revealed.
The difference between widowhood and singleness (for me) is substantive hope. While I had faith when I was single, I think my relationship with Jesus was based more on an idea than a substantive person. I don’t know how to describe this…but it’s the difference between an idea that someone exists and the reality of hugging them. Honestly, being a Catholic has radically changed my belief because it’s substantive now. In receiving the Eucharist weekly, I physically feast on the body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ. It’s physical.
…and that substantial belief buoyed me as I floated on the waves of grief. The second thing that helped me during the first year of grieving (and beyond) was Eucharistic Adoration. Some of my new friends invited me to pray the Rosary with them on Friday nights. Now that my ‘permanent date’ was gone - what else did I have to do?
It was through Eucharistic Adoration that God opened my eyes to the reality that Heaven is communion with Jesus Christ. Since I was young, I’d always thought of Heaven as a place…and it was through Adoration that I realized Heaven is a Person, specifically: Jesus. …and now that someone I loved was now part of the communion of saints, the closest place I can come to communion with Dan, the place where the veil between heaven and earth no longer exists is the Mass! So, I started going to Mass as much as I could so that I could 1) learn more about the object of my affection (Jesus), 2) love him more, and 3) be near to my beloved dead.
Maybe you think that’s morbid…but, my friends, it is the truest thing I know, and contributed to my healing in more ways that I can understand or recount.
The third thing that contributed to my resurrection was two-fold, the arts & community. When Dan died, I knew a handful of people at my church by name. I did not know many. One woman in particular that I knew only by facial recognition listened to the Holy Spirit, came to Dan’s funeral, and gifted me a beautiful hand-crafted rosary. She became my lifeline to St. Mary’s, and is now one of my dear friends. At the funeral, she gave me her number and said call if you need anything. Well, your girl needed some friends! And, Caroline delivered! :)
Prior to Dan’s passing, I’d begun attending a class, “The Wild Goose.” Dan and I had gone together…and now that he was gone…I had no one to sit with. Returning to Williamston after 3 weeks away, I messaged Caroline and asked if I could sit at her table. This led to me meeting Leslie, Michelle, Kate, Esther, and Zach. Kate and Leslie had recently formed a praise and worship group with Todd…and Kate invited me to join.
Those Tuesday night worship sessions were truly a balm to my soul. Music is healing. Community is healing. Praising God is healing. Combining all three: a game changer. I do not know where I’d be without Reign Down. We may not have gone on to change the world through music, but the group changed me - and I think that’s a job well done.
I mentioned Caroline’s rosary earlier. Praying the rosary daily was another healing habit. One of the beauties of Catholicism is that when you don’t know what to pray or how to pray - the church has an answer! :) The day after Dan’s funeral, I awoke early and unable to sleep more…and plagued by that pit-of-the stomach-feeling of “what to do next?” (you know, those are the feelings that can quickly send you into the depression/anxiety spiral) Seeing Caroline’s rosary, I began to pray that day’s mystery (likely the Glorious Mysteries). Caroline made this rosary especially for me with Dan, Faith, Peace, Hope, Family for each of the five decades. Those words helped focus my intention for the decade and invite the Holy Spirit into all those areas of my life.
The other thing that helped me immensely was spiritual direction with Deacon Wayne. We met Deacon Wayne in February 2016, during Dan’s infusions. He was the chaplain at the U of M Cancer Center. The day Dan died, Deacon Wayne and I met in the courtyard to pray before the last rites. I told him that I didn’t know how to do this, how to say goodbye…he told me that the veil is very thin; that Dan’s voice would become for me like the Holy Spirit’s voice; and I asked him to be spiritual director. We have shared that journey together. He must really like me because our conversations often last three hours.
Are there areas that I stumbled on?
Yes. One of the burdens that I picked up as a widow was work. Those that knew Dan, understand how much his work meant to him. Truly, it was his life. He invested his full self into his work, his students, his teaching, his projects. His work meant everything to him. Often, I came second to that. It was definitely frustrating at times, when we’d be out for a date and he’d be replying to emails or reading emails while driving us - and then getting upset at the person or situation. I tried so many times to help him realize that those things can wait… I still have some of his last ‘to-do’ lists from work up on my own work bulletin board.
When he died, I definitely threw myself more into work, taking on more responsibilities, and shouldering more than I had. I did feel that it was my duty to help continue what was so important to Dan…to work where he could not.
While being busy may have helped “distract” from grief, it was also a burden. I longed for someone to give me permission to take time off; to give me the “ok” to grieve. There were days where the grief slammed into me, took me out at my knees…but more than anything, it mostly just piled onto my shoulders.
Of all the things that day stole from me, the one I miss the most is the person I used to be.
I look at pictures of us from our wedding day, and I see a smile that lights up the room…I see eyes that smile with an easy yes; a girl that loves fun; who laughs easily; a heart wide open for all the life to come. …and I hardly recognize her. I do not feel that same lightness that I did then.
A year after Dan had passed away, atop Blarney Castle, I took a selfie in my new Irish sweater. For the first time in a year, I was feeling more of myself. That charming girl, quick to make friends, with a song always on her lips was emerging again. When I looked at that picture, I didn’t see those things. I saw sadness behind her eyes. A perpetual line etched between her eyes from carrying things too heavy on her heart for too long.
I have often wrote that when Dan died, I died too. Nigel once said, “I’m sure that a part of you did, yes.” And I said, “No. No. All of me….” I don’t know how to explain except that it’s the aspect of baptism: into Christ’s death you have been baptized, and so also into His resurrection. I probably do not give enough credit to the resurrected Jessica. I mourn the girl who was without recognizing the woman who emerged.
When your spouse dies, especially when you’re young, a lot of people send along book recommendations — which is not a bad thing! (Please do not read into that as a bad thing; I learned a lot of helpful things from other people’s stories) …but, for many young widows, it seemed like part of their path to life again was because a new love entered in. …and I think sometimes, we can brush people’s stories off like, “well, you’re with someone new, so you must’ve moved on from Dan.” This was something I was very sensitive to; I never wanted it to seem like I moved on from Dan or that he didn’t matter to me now, just because I am with another person. I also didn’t like the idea that someone’s okay only because they found another person to share their life with.
The analogy that has helped me most with moving forward in my life is that my life is a symphony. Each aspect of my life has its own chords and refrains, and like all beautiful pieces of music, those lines emerge from time to time blending in and standing out within the new movement. This is the best way to describe my story - of myself with the refrains of Dan and Nigel - contributing.
I think the best thing that a person can do to honor the life of their loved one is to speak of them and speak with them. Donuts for Dan has been a great way to maintain connection with all those who loved him, and also a good reason to eat a donut every Valentine’s Day. :)
…and as for finding love again, I am so blessed to be with a man who has never once been threatened by Dan’s memory. I think it’s absolutely critical for a widow to find someone who is secure enough in his masculinity that he can make room for the love and life you shared before. Nigel is a gem of a human being, and he honors Dan’s life while tending to our own.
…and by all means, love the family that your husband brought into your life. I am beyond grateful for the Kiesling family and to be considered a Kiesling and a Riley. My in-laws have become some of our (Nigel and my) closest friends. I am so grateful that ten years on, we are all still family. I know Dan is happy about that.
…and just for one last weird thing: last night I had a weird dream - and one part of it was about Dan’s starched jeans. In my dream, I remember saying, “when these are no longer here, then he’s really gone.” I haven’t had a “Dan dream” in a very long time (years)…and I was more than relieved to remember that I no longer have his jeans hanging up in my closet. Not because it means ‘he’s really gone’ - but that I don’t have to feel that burden of guilt. Early on, I made the decision to share most of Dan’s things with family - everyone got a Dan t-shirt and hat, the pants and jeans were shared out among brothers and my dad, the shirts shared out among nephews, brothers, dads; the ties to cousins, friends, nephews, brothers, dads. For me, sharing those felt like honoring Dan best. When I see someone wearing a Dan shirt or hat, I always smile. He was so dearly loved by so many. I am so glad I got to be large part of that story, too.
DK Forever.
Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.
