IELEV8

I voted this morning on the first day of in-person early voting. I’ve been thinking all week about Mark and how he would have been the first one in line to vote in this election. This was a change for me, as I’ve always preferred to vote on election day. I love the hustle and bustle and the mix of excitement and hope that I feel while standing in line at the polls on decision day. However, this year, I’ve had this voice inside me telling me that on this ten year anniversary of losing him, I should cast my vote on Day One like Mark would have. So that’s exactly what I did.

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It’s only Tuesday and it’s been a challenging week already. The truth is, we’ve been on an emotional roller coaster relating to the issues and layers of blending two families and having seven children with their own needs, hopes, dreams, emotions and grief. Parenting in our big, beautiful, chaotic, blended family can be simultaneously brutal and wonderful and totally worth it, and also never without new challenges. And Grief sure is messy.  It can also be pretty darn ugly. So while each of us carries the burden and emotions of our own version of grief every day, each year as the calendar flips from September to October, I have this sinking feeling in my gut as I anticipate the milestones of loss that are looming. I often wonder whether anyone else who has experienced devastating loss has an entire week of dates in which they become almost paralyzed and unable to accomplish anything that slightly resembles the normal pace of life? I ponder whether there is anybody I know who understands what it’s like to have the memories and emotions of all of the excruciating moments from your most traumatic event come rushing back and to have no idea how to face a day that is just another normal day to everyone else around you.  During my busiest month for work, each year in October, I literally have to clear my calendar for days, knowing that I am definitely not going to be my normal productive self.  And it’s not just one date that I associate with the loss of Mark, but rather a whole slew of them. I am certain that there are many other bereaved people like me out there, but I definitely haven’t encountered anyone who talks about this part. Those of us who are mourning a great loss are simply expected to move on, or at the very least, move forward quietly. We are given the grace to grieve out loud for perhaps a year.  As more time passes, we are expected to just tuck away our sorrow, hide it from the world, and only allow it to emerge from the shadows once or twice a year, conceivably just on birthdays and anniversaries, and even then, we sometimes encounter surprised reactions that our grief has resurfaced. However, for me, the “anniversary,” isn’t just one day, it’s an entire week of intense reminders of my loss. There’s October 21st, the day Mark had his accident, I found him lifeless on our floor, and he was rushed to the emergency room, no longer breathing on his own.  Next is October 22nd, the day the medical staff explained to me that Mark had suffered an anoxic brain injury resulting in a whole brain death (WBD). In other words, Mark did not survive his accident. After that is October 23rd, the day I laid in the hospital bed, with my head on Mark’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, acutely aware that I would never again hear his voice, hold his hand, or kiss his face. It’s the day I said my final goodbyes to my beloved husband and also the day that I had to explain to my children that their daddy wasn’t ever coming home from the hospital. Knowing that they’d never again feel the warmth of his embrace, or giggle with him as he read them books and sang silly songs, or play games with them in the driveway, I attempted to convey to my tiny children that although he would not be physically with us anymore, we would always carry him with us in our hearts. That task tops the list of my most heart wrenching feats. 

I also experience intense flashbacks connected to the dates surrounding the memorial service, visitation, funeral, and burial on the final days of October and the 1st of November.  Of course, I keep those painful memories quietly to myself. No one really wants to hear about that reality and agony of loss ten years later. Furthermore, there are secondary losses that we experienced which permeate all of our days. Secondary loss can take many forms, many of which hit us hard in the initial months and years after losing Mark.  Today our family is impacted most by changed relationships and the loss of shared memories. No matter how much you know about grief before experiencing it first hand, no one prepares you for the heartache of these secondary losses which can last for years or even decades. The fact is, being hit by a wave of grief can feel like being alone on an island. Even those closest to you may have no idea how much debilitating anguish you feel inside. 

And yet, throughout my journey through loss, I have learned that there can also be incredibly positive effects from grief, especially if we choose a path which focuses on transformation, gratitude and purpose. The loss of Mark has impacted me in extraordinary ways. I have an increased appreciation for life and authentic connections. While there were lost relationships, there were just as many new and renewed friendships too. Through loss, I’ve gained a unique sense of clarity about who and what I want in my life. I have been more intentional about who I allow into my inner circle and where I focus my time, energy, passions and love. I have strengthened my resolve and my resilience muscles, and I recognize that there are opportunities for personal growth in every obstacle placed in my path. I am also more certain than ever that death is not an ending. While it can be incredibly painful that Mark is no longer physically with us to share in our everyday joys, sorrows, celebrations and life milestones, it is also remarkable how he continues to show up for us in endless other ways, revelations which have been an authentic affirmation of my Faith and the promise of eternal life. 

Finally, while October holds the story of a painful past for me, it is also home to some of my most beautiful memories, which I recall often with great fondness and gratitude. There was the day I married my beloved Mark on the beach in Mexico, hands intertwined and barefoot, as we pledged our devotion to one another, enveloped by the love of family and friends. There was the day we learned we were pregnant with Lucia after years of battling infertility, a gift that brought us tremendous joy and hope for the life and family we had been dreaming of. Finally, there was the day we received the exciting news of our accepted offer on our forever home, the place we welcomed our Cecilia home into the loving arms of her big brother and sister. All of these significant events happened on October 29th; a coincidence, I think not. ❤

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As I was pulling into the parking lot at Village Hall this morning, I wondered what Mark would say if he were here now to witness what is going on in our country. Memories began flooding back to me about the weekend days that Mark and I spent in Madison many years ago, marching for union workers’ rights, with Cooper and Lucia in the stroller and our protest signs in hand. Mark was never afraid to stand up and say what he believed and he always anchored his words with action.

I approached the table that was set up inside Village Hall as the pretty blond woman sitting behind it asked, “Name?” I answered. She followed with the next question, “Address?” I shared my address, she nodded and then reached out her hand for my driver’s license, which I was already holding out across the table.  

She glanced at my ID and then looked up at me and said, “You’re Mark’s wife.” I realized then that I recognized her too. Her children had been students at Shorewood High School when Mark was a principal there. We’ve met before and she has shared with me in the past, as she did again today that Mark had a tremendous impact on her daughters and that they still talk about him. I fought back tears as I responded, “It’s ten years this week.” She came around from behind the table, hugged me, and offered some encouraging words. “He’s so proud of you,” she said. Those most perfect and powerful words landed directly onto my heart at that moment. It was exactly what I needed to hear today. A gift from God. I walked to the voting booth, wiped the tears that were streaming down my face and began to fill in the bubbles on my ballot. I have always been incredibly proud to be known as “Mark’s wife.” And I always will be. 

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but power. They speak more eloquently than ten-thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” —Washington Irving