My Shower

After my husband died, my shower became my refuge. It was the place I could escape to allow the tears to fall freely. Some days the sobs were barely noticeable but other days, the walls didn’t feel sturdy enough to handle my pain. 

The shower was where I could be alone, away from the eyes of those who watched me, silently praying that I’d get through the worst period of my life. It was where I could cry and avoid the sympathy hug that often made me feel so much worse. It was where I talked to my late spouse and questioned why he left me, a week after our first wedding anniversary.

It was in the tub, curtains drawn, that I also questioned my faith…questioned God. It just didn’t seem fair or right that as I sat in church, my husband was unexpectedly taking his last breath. I was in church for crying out loud. Shouldn’t that have offered me some kind of protection?

There were some heart-breaking moments in that shower of mine. But, there were also many positive ones. It’s where I gave myself numerous pep talks. Where I sternly told myself that his death would not break me. It’s where I forced myself to think about how much my husband loved and embraced life. Where I realized I had to live partially for him, but more importantly for me. It’s also where I prayed and asked God to remove the anger and hurt; where I ultimately found my way back to my faith. 

It’s the place my healing ultimately began. 

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My Heating Pad

I needed to feel warm. Though I tend to be one of those people who is cold all the time, the chill I felt following my husband’s death was different. No amount of layers of clothing could warm my body, heart or soul. I felt frozen from the inside out.

I honestly can’t remember how it came to be but I started using a heating pad every night. Some nights it barely made a difference but other times, it provided the warmth I needed. I felt entombed in my little cocoon, heat permeating through the sheets.

I don’t know if it was the faux body heat that it provided but it helped me to not toss and turn as much. It also helped quiet my thoughts and allowed for more nights of uninterrupted sleep. 

I used my heating pad as a crutch for about six months after my spouse’s death. When it had served its purpose, I simply unplugged it and tucked it away. 

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My Sneakers

I discovered a running group shortly before my husband’s passing. When he died, I considered shelving any plans I’d had to pursue it as a hobby. I’d met such an incredible group of ladies and they encouraged me to lace up my sneakers and return the pavement. 

The ability to be outdoors and with others was refreshing. Wogging – my walk/jog combo – enabled me to have full control over something when everything else felt like a spinning gig. I could control how many miles I wanted to put in for the day. I had a choice as to which 5K races I participated in. I chose how far I wanted to push my body. Death hadn’t given me a choice. 

The thing about running though is that your mind often wanders. You think about what could have been, would have been…if only. During those times, I’d will myself to focus on the happy memories, to recall a funny story or a favorite vacation. It was this same strategy that I used to compete in my first half-marathon about six months after his passing.

My sneakers gave me control.

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My Wedding Ring

I can vividly recall touching my wedding bands in the days following my husband’s death. It gave me such a strong sense of connection to him. On the days when I felt my heart aching, longing for his presence, I would rub my wedding ring. It was a reminder of one of the happiest days of my life. There was something almost magical about our wedding day and my ring reminded me of the overwhelming love we shared. 

I wore my ring for nearly four years after his passing. I dated while wearing my ring. It’s not that I thought I was still married; it was simply a comfort thing for me. It felt like taking off my ring was the final act in our love story.

I’d set a deadline to take off the rings but they came and went. I just wasn’t ready. I eventually learned it was okay. The right partner will understand this and thankfully, I met a great guy who did. 

One day, out of the blue – no special occasion or milestone – I felt ready and simply took them off. 

I’ve never wanted to put them on again, something I feared would become a cycle. 

I drew peace from the rings. When I felt strong enough to trust my heart and mind with our memories, I chose to safely put away the physical symbol of our love.

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My Phone

Technology often gets blamed for so much but it can also be a thing of beauty. My phone was critical to my healing in the first year. 

From looking up grief-related quotes on the internet to reading stories of hope and inspiration from other young widows, my device became my lifeline. 

At one point during the first year of widowhood, I became especially depressed and sought out an in-person support group. When I walked into the room and was welcomed by women in their 70’s and 80’s, I knew it was not the place for me. I take nothing away from their loss but I just felt I couldn’t fully relate to their pain and neither could they to mine.

That evening, I Googled support groups and found a helpful one that was conducted via group email. For the first time in my grief, I was interacting with people who “got it” and understood what it meant to be a young widow. 

It’s been almost seven years since I reached out to the group and so much has changed in the online world of grief since then. There are hundreds of support groups on Facebook, even niche group related to your life’s circumstances and how you lost your spouse. 

My phone continues to be one of the biggest outlets for my grief and connecting with others who share my path.

What ‘odd thing’ has helped your grief journey?

Mom to a feisty kindergartener, Kerry runs a support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a contributor to Open to Hope. She is the author of “The One Thing: 100 Widows Share Lessons on Love, Loss, and Life” and her articles on widowhood and grief have been featured in HuffPost and Love What Matters. She was recently featured on the podcast, Moments of Clarity.

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