Three and a half years have passed since Roy died and I have come to a temporary resting place on the other side of the glass bridge to widowhood. My grief is rounder and softer; it fits much more comfortably in my knapsack of life’s events. There are no more bridges to cross to widowhood. I am a widow and will always be intimately connected to Roy. I was his life partner, and the mother of his children. We transitioned from teenagers, to responsible adults and built a strong family life; we stood on the precipice of old age together until cancer killed him and left me facing the rest of my life journey without him.
I cannot capture in words my incredible grief expedition. I stumbled over cracked glass, traveled blindly through obsidian-encased tunnels that forced me to keep moving forward and trust life force. I tripped on the shards, stepped on places where the glass was so brittle, and navigation so tough, that I thought life might be easier if I let myself float to the hollow below and be swallowed up by nothingness. Somewhere along the path my grief grew lighter and now resting on the other side of the bridge peering deeply into my knapsack, I recognize grief and sorrow as something endlessly connected to my soul. Roy’s departure was a heart-breaking gift that led me to discover an inner strength and wisdom I did not know I possessed. I now know how to position grief in my life so that I can use its beauty for self-growth, nourishment, and a way to help others. Today, at the age of sixty-five I have gained a deeper connection to the paradox we call life and death. I will put to rest my blog “The Glass Bridge to Widowhood” for now. I am called to a new adventure. Stay tuned for Part II. I will not be gone for long…
Deborah
“Grief dares us to love once more.’’ Terry Tempest Williams