I love you anyway

"And I will be so utterly grateful for all the days I had with you. Because, even knowing what I know, even knowing how our story ends: I wouldn't trade our time for anything."

I wrote those words a year ago. Some time in the early hours of Feb. 15, 2023, when I couldn't sleep because I was still processing the fact that I had just hugged, kissed, and spoken to my husband for the last time.

It has been a hard year. I've learned a lot, some things I wish I never had to learn.

I've signed more paperwork than I ever wanted. Made more decisions than I ever expected. Mourned in ways I never anticipated.

[Note: this is your friendly reminder to make sure all your documents are up-to-date and your final wishes are spelled out and two people know where to find them!]

To be honest, the first few months were a big foggy haze. Someone, a fellow widow, told me she thought that early haze was so we could manage through the tough stuff that had to be done. I think it's very true.

Some days are still a foggy haze. Some days (and nights) are hard, gut-wrenching and draining. There's been a lot of praying, a lot of talking to God, and a lot of crying.

But there have been good days. Days where I can smile at a memory or laugh at a thought. Days when someone shares a corny pun or dad joke and I think of him. Days where maybe I'm making decisions I think Jim would like. Days when I meet a dog through work I think he'd have loved.

One of my new work buddies.
Jim would love Ace.

Still, I hold to those words I wrote a year ago. Knowing what I know, knowing what I have dealt with this last year, even knowing the heartbreak I'd have, I would have chosen Jim.

There's a song by Luke Combs called "Love You Anyway." I heard it one day, I think I was at work, and it almost brought me to my knees at how it fit. Although there's been several that I've found comforting, this one is different in the accuracy I feel.

And Walter, because
Jim loved him!

I'm a passive fan of country music. I can't tell you who a lot of the newer singers are or what they sing and I prefer older stuff or stuff with a little Bluegrass vibe. Mostly, I just know if I like a song. My radio bounces between country, KLOVE, and some rock stations depending on the commercials and the song.

Anyway, this one definitely resonates.

The chorus goes, "There's just some things that leave a man no choice /Like a compass needle needing it's true north /Even if I knew the day we met you'd be the reason this heart breaks /Oh, I'd love you anyway."

From my understanding, the song was written by him and a friend about Combs' relationship with his wife, meant to be a love song and a song about potential heartbreak all in one.

Ooph. Nailed it. I think it's meant to be an "if you walk away" song, but it works for loss so well.

Because that's what grief is too, really. It's love and heartbreak at once. Without the love, there can't be such deep heartbreak.

"Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest." ~ Jamie Anderson

Since losing my husband, I've found a little community of widows, fellow sisters in this journey we face. Having these women who understand in ways no one else can has been helpful. It reminds me the things I'm feeling are not completely out of loop. Their guidance in things has been invaluable. I've also met some who are "behind" me on the journey.

Wishing to feel normal is a common theme. A normalcy that we know can't be reached again.

Within ourselves, I don't think the grief will ever leave, but will be a constant companion in the corners of our minds. It's something that influences our perspective on the world.

Outside of ourselves, there's a certain connotation (I've noticed) connected to being a widow. We're approached with a new level of seriousness, as if we are either fragile or sensitive? I'm not sure which. I guess they assume we might burst in anger or tears?

It's sort of ironic (or maybe not, I still can't get that word right -- thanks Alanis Morrisette) that many of us have learned to not take ourselves or so much of life so seriously and yet the world at large seems to take us more seriously.

There's a balance to strike with the grief. You don't have to sit in it all the time, but you can't fight it or ignore it. You have to learn that it's going to be there, part of you, coloring your world. But it also teaches you what's important.

That's a lesson that so many in the world don't understand. The things so much of the world take so seriously are things we've all learned are minor. It's those seemingly minor things you overlook, that's the important stuff.

Trust me, take the pictures with those you love and do the things that make them smile. Let go of the anger over silly things like socks on the floor. And make a better effort if you're the one leaving your socks on the floor!

Love is such a weird thing because it can be so incredibly hard and yet so incredibly easy simultaneously. Understanding it is something that none of us ever really do, in my opinion.

What I do know is that it's verb and it's a choice, so love the heck out of others.

And no, I haven't finished that next chapter yet! I'm going to work on it today! Read my last post if you don't understand that.