Gratitude

“Grief can destroy you --or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. OR you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see that it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.”
― Dean Koontz, Odd Hours

That beautiful smile, and the mustache I dared him to grow. Love him so much.

I am driven to my knees every day in gratitude of the life I shared with Chris. I am struck at times with the immensity of his absence in a way that literally takes my breath away. And while that sadness is deep, the emotions that run even deeper are those of gratitude and love.

I feel that I am not often what people expect me to be in the face of death. Yes, my heart is broken. I am facing the fear that used to keep me up at nights, worrying for Chris’ safety, begging God to keep him safe. But my love for Chris was so much bigger than the tragedy of his death, our life was so much greater than that one moment, that I cannot help feeling grateful for our time together. Such gratitude makes it difficult to have all the affects of what people expect a grieving widow to be.

That first night, all I wanted to do was leave. I was so afraid of being in our home, facing his absence in a way that felt like drowning. I was honestly afraid that I might lose my mind, and perhaps lose my grip on life. Because, in all honesty, there is that moment where all you can think is “I don’t want to live without you.” Beyond having the accountability of an incredible friend who stayed with me, even when I had nothing to say, I felt an immense accountability to Chris that kept me grounded through that first night and into this journey of life without him. My husband pursued life with a passion I found inspiring. Giving up wasn’t something he would let me do, and losing my grip on life felt like slapping him in the face. I knew with amazing clarity that my life must be refashioned, whether I wanted it to or not.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel lost without him most of the time. Losing Chris was like gutting out the interior of my heart. Knowing I couldn’t stop living and loving life because he was gone, was the thought that gave me a sense of purpose when my world imploded.

Knowing my husband, understanding his heart and appreciating our life helped me not to pity myself. I have heard it said that God prepares our hearts before tragedy, I think perhaps there is some truth to that. In the weeks and months before the accident, there were several moments where I just stopped in a moment to watch my husband and be completely grateful for our life. To know our happiness, before the context of loss, was a gift that helps me in my grief. It gives me perspective on the beauty of our relationship and all the reasons I have to celebrate my husband.

Being grateful doesn’t mean I don’t cry. Despite my impatient nature and tendency to hold back my emotions, the one “gift” I gave myself was the latitude to express my grief as I need to. If I need to cry, I let it happen-- even if that is in the middle of an airport. I have no expectations or time limits for how long I am supposed to feel this way. Some days are better than others, and that is how it will be for some time. Accepting my grief for what it is has given me freedom. Instead of focusing on “being strong” I can focus on healing in a way that is significant to me.

A large part of that healing process is remembering Chris for who he was in life. We tried to give our best to each other in marriage, and that is something that I feel doesn’t end with death. I still want to be a woman he would be proud to call his wife. I was blessed with an incredible love from an incredible man. That is the part of grief that I am not certain people always understand. When your heart is full, even if it is broken, what you feel most is gratitude. To nurture my sorrow, for me, doesn’t honor the life we shared. That is why I can smile when I am expected to be sorrowful—I have so much love to be grateful for.