Not Broken, Just Bent

I’m quickly approaching the one-year anniversary of the death of my husband, Charles. The truth is, I’ve been thinking for months about what I would write on that day; it has to be special, it has to be significant, it has to be…real. And here I am, planning ahead again how to be “real” in the moment. Well, I’m in Manila on a business trip, doing the job of five people right now, and don’t honestly know what my day will be like on October 1^st and whether I’ll have the time or the emotional wherewithal to write that day. So, what does it matter if I write a couple days in advance? I’ve already told you how I feel about anniversaries.

But I’ll warn you before you waste any more time reading my long ramblings: this is brutally honest. Honest feelings, raw feelings (who knew how raw they’d still be after a year), uncomfortable feelings, and maybe some stuff you just don’t want to know about me.

Consider yourself forewarned and proceed at your own peril.

People have asked me what it’s like to lose your husband of 15 ½ years. Obviously it’s sad. There are days when I see/hear something that reminds me of Charles and I want to text him and tell him all about it. There are stupid things people do and say that we would so dearly love making fun of together; we were very good at making fun of things together. If I try to explain it to someone else, it may not even sound funny; or worse, it may sound offensive. And then I just feel like a bad person. Charles knew just how bad of a person I was.

I’ve also been remembering the anniversary of all the “last” things we did together:

• Our last real date together that Friday night before he passed away. We tried a Greek restaurant that was new to us, filled up on three flavors of hummus, and then watched “Looper.” Excellent film, BTW. I think I’ll watch it again on the plane ride back from Manila.
• Our last ditching-work-to-go-to-the-movies day together when I took “ill” on a Thursday afternoon and met him at AMC.
• Our last time having sex. Thank heavens it was one of the good times and not one of those annoying times where one of us was more preoccupied with something else than living in the moment.
• Our last quiet Sunday night at home when we planned/booked our holiday trip to New York.
• Our last Charles-listen-patiently-while-Heidi-unloads-the-awfulness-of-her-workday-over-chips-and-salsa night, just a few hours before he passed away.
• Our last trip to the Aquarium of the Pacific to pet the sharks.

And then my memories start to fade a little…. How can that be?  I was married to the man for almost 15 ½ years, and we knew each other a year before that. Memories shouldn’t fade. Thank heavens for journal-writing, for picture-taking, for song-listening, all of which help prompt memories of interesting events, emotions, and experiences. But then again, sometimes I don’t want the memories anymore. Because a year can change people. It can change me, specifically.

The P!nk song, “Just Give Me a Reason” inspires the title of this post: 

“We’re not broken, just bent.”

And that’s the way I feel after a year of “surviving” the death of a loved one. In some ways I feel like I’ve got two choices with this death: Pretend the 16 ½ years with one person never happened, or own it. I flip-flop on how I approach it, depending on my mood!

Not Broken

Some days I feel broken. You spend that many years investing in a relationship, and then it ends, and you have to figure out what to do with all those years that belonged (you thought) exclusively to that relationship. It’s like those 16 ½ years didn’t really exist for me. No one else knows the value of that period of my life because the value dropped on October 1, 2012. Some days I feel really, really stupid for wasting that many years of my life investing in a marriage that just suddenly ended. Those are the days I feel broken.

Then other days I remember there’s value in learning how to live with someone and how to stick with them through thick & thin for that many years. There are life lessons I learned during that period which I may never have learned any other way. There’s also this nagging little voice that reminds me how very much Charles prepared me for being alone without him. He was my biggest champion and always cheered & supported me to become my best, strongest self—all the way through leaving me. As twisted as it sounds, it’s almost like his crowning work in life was to set me up for success to live without him. Those are the days I realize I’m not broken.

Just Bent

So is it possible for me to keep the lessons and experience gained from 16 ½ years with that man, and yet start over—bending in a different direction? Can I pick up and be the person I want to be, even with the baggage/experience of my marriage? Do others perceive me as broken or bent? I believe that largely has to do with how I perceive myself. It would be ridiculous to pretend nothing happened to me. Just like it would be ridiculous to pretend I’m 24 again, like the last time I was single.

Today I feel forty. Any you know what? I like being forty. I told my mom recently that, although I wouldn’t mind having my 17-year-old body back, I wouldn’t trade the independence, freedom, and wisdom of forty for anything! I am bent toward forty, and loving it.

The past year has been such an interesting journey of figuring out who I am, disentangling myself from what happened over the previous 16 ½ years. Interestingly, I discovered that I’m bent in some directions, directly as a result of being married to Charles, which I really like about myself. For example, I never would have come to love the movies or love live music without his influence, yet those are very real, very Heidi interests today.

Learn to Love Again

For some of you, dear readers, this is the meat of the matter: will Heidi love again? I’ve mentioned a new boyfriend here before, and wouldn’t you just love to hear all about it? That’s not the point of this post. My dating life, while intricately woven into the thread of healing from the death of my late husband, is not really the “proof” that Heidi can learn to love again.

One of the great lessons of my recent history has been learning to love, period. I identified something about myself nearly a year ago, and that is the fact that I need to love: love deeply, love madly, love hopelessly, love stupidly, love frequently. That could, of course, correspond with my dating life. But I also need to love more people in more places. Starting with my family. Spreading to my friends. Expanding to my coworkers. Reaching to my church congregation. And possibly, yes, approaching my love life.

What kind of love is in store for Heidi? Some of the love “written in the scars on my heart” will never go away; other tidbits of love have faded with time and will live only as attachments to specific songs, foods, or places. Can new songs, foods, places, and experiences foster stronger love springing from those scars? I believe they can, so long as I believe that I’m not broken, just bent. Bent toward love.