The Box in the Back of the Closet

I heard a quote today that hit me:

“Never forget you are the seamstress of your life. So pick up the damn needle, hands shaking and all, and sew the fabric back together because one day you’ll realize that what you made from the torn and tattered pieces tell a story far greater than anything you could have told if you hadn’t been ripped to shreds.”

We never expect to be ripped to shreds. But when it does happen, it can either happen very quickly or happen slowly over time. It’s happened both ways for me.

I was slowly pulled apart as a child a lot as a teenager, and even worse as an adult by a emotionally immature, narcissistic parent. We’re not diving into that today. Again, sorry folks.

And then there are some that come very quickly…

I think it might have been a day or two after Brandon passed that I started joining Facebook Groups to help guide me as a young widow to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.

“I Miss My Husband” -I left that one SUPER quick, too depressing.

“Young Widows & Widowers Support Group”

“Young and Widowed with Children” – This one definitely helps me with Social Security FAQ’s.

“Widow(er) Humor”- When you need a good laugh.

“Extremely Young & Widowed” -There are too many 50+ year olds in this group for some reason.

“Non-Religious Widow/Widowers Club” – This one I still follow but it can still be a bit too depressing for me.

Now don’t get me wrong, everyone who experiences grief, it happens in their own way. There’s no rule book, no timeline, you feel what YOU need to feel.

BUT…..

I am someone who is a go-getter, a busy body, I got shit to do and it needs to get done. You may call that disassociation, I call it, life goes on and he ain’t coming back.

*clenches raised fists* It fucking sucks.

But I can’t sit around and wallow all day. Now, I definitely did within the first two months or so, and of course on the big days: Mother’s Day, (what would have been) our 12th anniversary in June, Father’s Day, and my birthday in July. By the end of all of these major pulls and hits to my already broken heart, I felt that it was time for my pieces of tattered fabric to slowly come back together, on my own terms. I needed to make my own happiness.

As Emma and I finished the rest of our summer, I had figured out everything she needed as she was heading into kindergarten. The kid was ready and I was (and still am) so freaking proud of her. She’s smart and kind and is a friend to everyone.

(We did a fantastic job, babe. I refuse to take all the credit.)

It took a few weeks to figure out our routine, but we got it down quick. As we got the schedule set for the both of us, I started to make more plans with friends and have ‘mom date nights’ with some of the most wonderful, beautiful friends I could have ever asked for to help me get through this year. These nights were the best. I could be me. Relaxed, happy, laughing, not having a sad thought in the world.

My friends saved my mental health. They checked in on me, let me come over and hang out and vice versa, met me for dinner or drinks, answered the phone when I called,… they have been there. I owe them everything.

I’d say once I hit the six month mark, I was in a really great mental state. I felt really happy with life and my friends could tell. I heard, “You’re doing so great!” all the time. I really was. Now, the exact six month date of Brandon’s passing was a bit tough, but the next day was a new day, a day to start again. That’s how I look at a rough day now. Tomorrow, we’ll start new.

I started to put myself out there more, go on adventures, went outside of my comfort zone, stopped being afraid to be myself. I even went out on a date. I asked him out and it was a lot of fun. He’s a wonderful guy.

I am proud of myself, I am confident, I know my worth.

With that being said, I do have my bad days, not as often, but I’m allowed to have them. There are very few though. I have more grief ‘moments’ than actual days. Again, I can’t lay in bed all day and cry and wallow. I got shit to do. I have a beautiful, little girl who depends on me every second of every day.

When I have these moments of grief, it’s usually at home and always in private. Crying makes people feel awkward. I’m okay with crying in private.

To circle back on the whole Facebook Groups, learning to sew back together the tattered pieces of my story is HARD. I have to figure out where to start and what pieces are the most important. So I went looking for help.

To help me with navigating this journey of solo parenting and “widowhood” I came upon a grief coach named Sarah, out of Toronto. She is a widow herself and has been coaching widows and helping with their grief for over six years. She created “The Days Are Full” Grief Coaching and the Facebook Group “Widows: Rise Like A Phoenix”.

Just the words, “Rise Like A Phoenix” spoke to me, it’s what I felt in my soul. What I needed to be. What I wanted to be.

I reached out to her to get more information, we had a few video calls and we just clicked. I love her vibe and she’s get it. She asks me the right questions and she reads me so well. She understands that I don’t want to be sad all the time and I want to keep living life to my absolute fullest. I get so excited for every video call we have. We talked about triggers last week and she encourages me to keep going. This is working for me.

Recently, I came upon a trigger I was not expecting to find. I had finished going through the rest of my bedroom closet. There were some of Brandon’s hats on the top shelf: fedoras, baseball hats, newsboy caps. He loved fedoras, especially when we would travel, but it was always tough to find a good one because his head was a bit larger than most. The hats are going to my nephew. He always lights up when I give him his uncles things.

And then I found a box in the back of the closet on MY side. I knew it had my belongings in it that I hadn’t seen in years but I didn’t know exactly what was in it.

Pulled it out, blew off the dust, which was not smart, and started pulling out items wrapped in discolored newspaper. I unwrapped a curved metal piece which was revealed to be a photo frame.

The picture inside the frame is one I hadn’t seen in probably a decade. It was a blow right to my chest and I started to breathe heavy and cry. It was and is one of my favorite pictures of Brandon and I. I am so glad I was alone at the moment.

Taken December 22, 2007. We had been dating for about a month and a half. I just met his mother’s side of the family for their Christmas gathering that day (no pressure right?). Just the youth in our faces and the laughter you can hear in the picture is heart warming and heart breaking at the same time. I looked a little closer and I could see his left hand around my waist. I miss that.

So instead of putting that dusty box back in the corner of the closet to hide away the sadness and grief I have for losing Brandon, I removed the picture from the frame, went through the rest of the box, which was really a bunch of junk that ended up being tossed anyway and I placed that picture on my dresser next to my bed.

Now it makes me smile because I know how fucking proud he’d be of how far I’ve come. And even though that box in the back of the closet ripped open a bunch of seams in my tattered fabric, tomorrow is a new day and I’m ready to pick up the needle, hands shaking and all.