A lot can happen in three month. As the clock ushered in 2017, I prepared to take off my wedding rings. The tears and uncertainty pointed out that I clearly wasn’t ready. In fact, I blogged about the experience for Hope For Widows Foundation.

A few weeks ago, I looked down at my rings and decided it was time to remove them. It had been five years after all. Six years since I stood in front of family and friends and exchanged wedding vows. I’d worn the rings for five years post-loss because I simply wasn’t ready to remove them.

There were no tears and no sadness as I took them off. So how did I end up bawling on the kitchen floor not long after? It’s a doozy of a story!

I switched the rings over to my right hand as many widows had recommended. Yes, they seemed to not fit their new home as well but they fit nonetheless. Not long after, I realized I’d made a terrible decision when the rings became stuck.

I started with the obvious: oil, butter, shampoo, conditioner…no luck. Google suggested a series of solutions but by now my finger had swollen to the size of a breakfast sausage. Three hours, a tube of dental floss, three YouTube videos, five pieces of Saran wrap, 1 strip of gauze, a needle and a pair of tweezers later, the rings were off. I had never felt that level of pain in my life (and I delivered my child without an epidural). The physical pain was the worst I’d ever experienced.

As I watched my right ring finger deal with the aftermath of the trauma, I realized that it paralleled my own widowed journey.

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Writing & Widowing: Journaling the Journey
(A series of journal prompts for the widowed community)

The Shock
A few minutes after the rings were pulled from my finger, there was complete numbness. I had to wait for the blood flow to return. It reminded me of the shock I felt as I sat in the church parking lot listening to the words my father-in-law spoke: your husband has died.

The Reality
As the blood rushed to the tip of my finger, the pain set in. When the reality of my husband’s death finally hit me – going into Year 2 – I was devastated. The shock had worn off. The funeral was over. His affairs had been settled. The reality set in and it hit me that I’d never physically see him again or hear his voice. I felt broken.

The Darkness
As my finger healed, the swelling subsided but was quickly replaced by a series of black rings – I assume from all the friction of trying to twist the ring from side to side. The same can be said of grieving. It took me almost four years to emerge from the dark cloud that seemed to hover overhead. There were times I questioned God…questioned my purpose…questioned why I was still here. But through prayer and faith, I survived the storm.

The Break Through
The black lines on my finger started to scab over and wrinkle up. As I stared at it, I noticed there were tiny cracks in the scab. Beneath the crusty layer, I saw smooth, beautiful new skin. That’s how I felt when the dark cloud started lifting. There were days when the grief wasn’t overwhelming, when the clouds parted long enough to allow bursts of sunshine into my life. I was able to finally realize that although the dark clouds were there, blue skies were ahead. I felt a renewed hope knowing that I was capable of being happy again.

The Sunshine
As the scab started to disappear, I was fascinated by the baby-soft skin that was left. Half the black lines were scabbed over and the other half had new skin. Growing impatient, I began to pull at the scab. I was tired of looking at the dry skin, I was ready to get to the “new”. It all seemed to be going well until I pulled too hard and patch of skin began to bleed. The same rule applies to grief. It can’t be rushed. You have to let the process take place. There is no fast-forward. You have to take it in and allow it to “fall off” when it’s ready.

The Aftermath
My finger is finally scab free. The skin looks amazing – even better than the skin on my other fingers. But, if you look really closely, you’ll see tiny traces of the trauma. My skin is stripping in a few areas, a reminder of the injury. From the outside looking in, people will assume I’m “better”. I’ve weathered the storm and come out “healed”. The truth is I don’t think I’ll ever truly be “okay” with having lost my spouse. There are aspects of my life that have changed as a result of his loss. For example, I feel afraid at times to love wholly and completely because I don’t want to ever be taken to such a dark place again. I fought to make my way out of the storm and the thought of having to ever go back there is overwhelming. Yes, I know I am capable of surviving but the thought of a return visit is too much to even think about. Soon my finger will be completely healed and hopefully the pain of the ring incident will be forgotten. My husband however, will not be forgotten. But like my finger, I have to get back to serving my purpose. There are others – including my daughter – who depend on me to continue moving forward.

Mom to a feisty preschooler, Kerry Phillips became widowed at age 32. She runs an online support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a blogger for The Huffington Post.