The Club No One Wants To Join!

I’ve belonged to many clubs in my life, some were much more enjoyable and fulfilling than others. But this new club keeps me up many nights, including last night. I even tried spa music on Pandora to help me fall asleep, but that didn’t work either. According to my Fitbit, I was restless 12x last night. No surprise there…. 
Nevertheless, as tired as I was, I was at my desk at 6am, though I didn’t want to be in spite of how much I love what I do! In particular I love the Chief of the office where I work, and he was front and center at Tim’s funeral with other folks from the office. He’s super busy so we don’t always get to talk every day. But I must have looked really bad today because as we passed each other in the corridor he took one look at me then stopped and asked “so how was the Alzheimer’s Summit?”. He has a family Alzheimer’s family connection so we sat in a conference room spoke for about 15 minutes. I shared with him how emotionally overwhelming going to St. Croix and the Summit were and how much I missed Tim during those times. The Chief is a really great guy and very understanding, and he really turned my day around today. He’d be a great club member with the right credentials. But even with his extensive resume he doesn’t qualify for this club because he’s happily married.
My new club is the Widows Club….and it’s no fun at all being a member. 
I think how I looked today at work is the same look I often saw on my Mom’s face growing up. Now she wasn’t a widow because my dad left her for another man (which actually might be worse in my Mom’s mind than his death). But I still saw in her the lost and pained look you have when there’s a hole in your heart. 
Even as a very young kid whenever Mom had that look I tried to cheer her up and make her laugh! I could ALWAYS make her laugh. During some of those times I’d get the LEGO bricks out and we’d build for hours and it would take her mind off her problems. I temporarily could fill the hole in her heart. Now that Mom no longer remembers me we now build LEGOs together as our one remaining connection in this world. She usually comes alive when I get the bricks out.
Tonight I had an awesome dinner at Union Station with a new friend from church! Having lost her husband 19 months ago, she provided great insight into what I’m thinking and feeling. Being with another club member was really therapeutic! We had never had even one conversation at church, yet we talked for three hours at dinner. 
It’s hard trying to describe the hole in my heart without Tim, but here’s my version in LEGO bricks! 

What I know about holes is that they can be filled, as long as you use the right substance. As I move through the stages of grief, I have great hope for my future because of all the people in my life rallying to love and support me. Each one of the supportive people represent a brick bonding together and when they stop what they’re doing to give me a kind word or a hug when they see me with that lost look, a little more of the hole in my heart is filled. Being in the club that no one wants to join isn’t the end of life, it’s the start of a new life that will take you in an entirely different direction. I hope my GPS provides life directions as well! 


7 thoughts on “The Club No One Wants To Join!

  1. My dear sister, another powerful and poignant post. The image of being a member of a club in which you would not desire ever to join is strikingly sorrowful that touches a cord of the universality of human suffering, I think, with which all of us can identify whatever our experiences in life.

    And I admire you, your openness about your grief and your honesty about yourself as you bear witness to your evolution from a happily married lady to one now alone with a longing for Tim that cannot be realized in this life, thus with a hole in her heart, yet with clear-eyed anticipation and expectation about what may/will be.

    Blessings as you continue to work through your grief and continue to walk toward and, day by day, into your new reality.


      • Funny. Not in a humorous, but in an ironic way. As I had preached about suffering this past Sunday, this post of yours, though a searingly honest revelation of your pain as a widow, and, in that reality, being one I do not know, nevertheless, touched a deep and embedded cord of truth in my own experience – and, I believe, that of all people – of sadness. That’s why I spoke of the universality of human suffering.

        No one ever can know fully the pain of another. I cannot know – even were you to share with me your every thought and feeling and experience and recollection and reflection on this your solitary (no matter how many of us stand with and around you to support you) journey. Yet I do know that we all suffer. And in that truth there is a deep bound of sharing.

        Know that I think of you moment to moment. Know that I think of Tim moment to moment. Know of my care and support and love. Always.

        And, yes, please, as I know you will, keep writing.

      • That sermon just cut right through me! Though you wrote it for your congregation it felt as if you had written it for me! I printed it out and put it up both at home on the refrigerator (yes the nice clean fridge) and in my cube at work. As I said in my comments to you, it held a lot of hope for me! I want to keep reflecting on that as I move forward with each day.

        Thank you for your love, care and support. I do indeed know that it’s there. I’m beyond grateful for my writing!! And yours too!!! Much love

      • You honor me by printing and posting my sermon text for purposes of your continued reflection. Thank you!

        And, though, yes, I wrote the sermon to preach with my folk of Epiphany, Laurens, know that you were on my mind and heart as I wrote.

        And, “yes, the nice clean fridge”, 😂

  2. This is my least favorite build. While I know it’s complete, it feels very incomplete. Little by little though, I hope you hold onto it and begin to fill it when you can. NO one can say just how long that should take, but little by little it will feel more complete.

    I have no other words of comfort, though I wish I did. I am NOT liking even one bit this grief journey.

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