Walking Back into my Green Acres

It’s been FOUR long years since I last posted on this blog platform, mainly because I experienced a life-altering loss that rocked me to my core, and still to this day, I am having a hard time “getting over” or “getting past” this loss. Anyone who has experienced a loss may understand, in a way, what I’m going through.

I didn’t think it would be this hard to write the next line, but… here goes… Mike, my husband of 22 years, passed away from COVID on July 24, 2021, and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him, talk about him, talk to him, or sometimes forget that he won’t be home when I get there. He was only 50 when he passed away.

I see quotes on Instagram about being a widow or losing a spouse, and I can relate to those words or that feeling or those emotions shared in those quotes. One quote I recently read stated: “there are two stages of grief: who you were before, and who you became after.” Another quote stated, “i keep having to remind myself you are not coming back… over and over… like it’s a truth my heart refuses to believe.” (pretty painful grief letters by William Hunter Howell)

I didn’t ask to become a part of this “widow” club, but I have met some extremely wonderful widows, ranging in age from mid-to-late 20s all the way up to 80s, and we are a part of this Never Alone Widows group. There are groups across the US, but I am forever grateful to my local Never Alone Widows group. Those women have helped me, lifted me up not only in spirit but in prayer, and we became a family.

I have heard in church and from people I’ve met and from podcasts and from friends, that God has a heart for the widow (Psalms 68:5), that God cares for the widow, that God has compassion for the widow (John 19:26-27), and that God has a purpose for the widow. “Widow” is a title no one wants, but God sees us and has great purpose through our pain. What that purpose is — well, I’m still figuring that out.

I’ve cried myself to sleep many a night. I’ve cried so hard that I cannot catch my breath and my entire body shudders like it’s in pain. When these intense crying sessions occur, I sometimes feel like I can feel my heart breaking all over again, like I could literally die of a broken heart. As I re-read that last sentence, I think about the couples who die within days, hours, or minutes of each other, or who die holding hands. That’s an everlasting love I thought I would experience — that Mike and I would grow old together and die together.

But alas, here I am — grieving a life that I can only image the “what ifs” or “what could have or should have been”. I’m grieving not only my husband, but the loss of a life we should have shared together for another 50+ years. The love I felt for him 25+ years ago has not faded over time, but has grown, changed, evolved. My love for him has never left.

Jameson Arasi wrote (on Instagram), “Any maybe that’s the most brutal and beautiful part of it all — grief stays because love never left.”

Some people I’ve met through my job or through friends don’t know that I lost my husband four years ago. They don’t know that the smile I wear, that the laughter they hear coming from my mouth, and the positive and jovial attitude I have is a mask or a persona I use so I don’t get their looks of pity after they learn that my husband died or so I don’t have to hear the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” or “I understand how you feel.” And I hate (or strongly dislike) when people tell me how brave and strong I’ve been (like I had a choice, because I don’t want to have to be brave or strong). And although I appreciate the sentiment (and I do appreciate it), I don’t want to hear it. Maybe it’s because I hold my emotions so close to my chest… maybe it’s because I don’t want people to see me cry… maybe it’s because I don’t want to be strong or brave… maybe it’s because — oh, I don’t know… maybe it’s “just because”…

So this is me — Vanessa — just trying to figure out, even after four years, how to navigate grief and figure out what it means to me, what it means to my life and my world. So welcome back to Green Acres Meets Paris 2.0 because we’re in for a whole new ride — one that it not necessarily mapped out like it was before, but something that’s a little more personal (like how I’m coping and navigating this world as a widow). Of course, I’ll still splash in some fun pieces about fashion, travel, and lifestyle because those are also things that I love, but just know that this is my life and I’m literally going to be putting my heart and soul into this blog. (Because I need an outlet so I can calm the chaos scrambling my heart and my brain.)

I’m going to end today’s (photo-less) blog post with this quote, but before I do, just know this — if you knew Mike personally, if you worked with him, went to school with him, or were just acquainted with him through mutual friends — if you have a story to tell about Mike, please contact me (call, text, email, snail mail, whatever) because I want to hear it. I want to hear his name. I want to hear stories about how he affected your life and what he meant to you. I want to hear you talk about him, unapologetically and full of love.

“Say their name like a song you’d sing out loud.
Unapologetically and full of love.

They are not a shadow I avoid,
but a part of the light I carry forward.

You won’t break me by remembering;
you’ll remind me how they danced in your world too.

Grief doesn’t hush the story;
it deepens the roots.

And every time you speak of them,
you remind me they still bloom
in the echoes of every day life.”

from The Heart of Grief

Yours Truly,
Vanessa