A new Beginning

The time has come for me to move my blog. I've created a new site on blogger at http://ontofino.blogspot.com/ I've been forced to move because of technical issues but after some thought (and formatting!) I welcome the opportunity.

Anyone who knows me well, knows how much my blog means to me. I use it to share pictures of the kids and to shorten the distance between family and friends a far. But more importantly, its been a life line to me on the darkest of days.

Someone very wise once told me that you don't always get to pick your timing, your timing often picks you (...and you try to make the best of it!). The thought of shutting down the very blog that has helped me rediscover myself seems wrong. It's not the right time, I'm not ready! So instead of shutting down The Allan Family, I'm bringing my story with me.

You can find my story along with the next chapter in our lives "On Tofino" the place that Audrey and Noah and I call home now.
See you there,

http://ontofino.blogspot.com/

Leslie

Dear Mark,
On the eve of three years without you, I think about the love we shared together as a family. It is this love that I pull strength from each day. The hope and joy we knew helps me believe in the possibility of hope and joy again. You are never far from our hearts, we miss you and remember you every day.
Love Leslie

Standing

Grief is cruel.
It sneaks into your day when the mind is idle. Distracting oneself is easy when grief is fresh. Making an effort to keep busy is simple and deliberate in the beginning. Everyone expects this behaviour from someone who has suffered such a loss. That’s what new widows do best, they care for others, tend to tasks, distract, putter. We keep busy to give ourselves a fighting chance at survival.

It’s not denial so much as a safety mechanism. I’ve come to think of it as an essential part of what got me through the early days of losing Mark. The question I get asked over and over by others is how did you do it? How do you do it?? I usually answer I don’t know, because I don’t really know. You just do it, there’s no luxury of choice. Most often, after I have one of those conversations like I did just the other morning, I spend the next few hours remembering things that I can’t believe I did. And I was there! I wonder to myself…how did I ever get through that?

Now, its not so fresh. Thankfully. I don’t think anyone could operate if the pain of losing someone never changed. It doesn’t fade necessarily, but it evolves and becomes a part of you. It changes you forever and there’s no undoing. This can be a gift and a curse, as sadness is always a bi-product of this change.

So now that the immediate shock of widow-hood has worn off, so has an identity that was thrust upon me the moment I lost Mark. It has been one that has defined me for the last three years. I have hated it, and in the same moment ran towards it for shelter. Relying on it as a crutch for comfort and then resenting it because I’m so much more than that.

Being a widow has two edges to it. There are times when I feel grateful enough to wear it as a badge and I feel like a survivor. It’s sharp and defined. I feel appreciative for what life has given me. I don’t shrug off the significance of how this has changed me for a moment. I see and feel things with a clarity I never knew before. But then, there is a slippery edge. I feel like I’ve been standing on this slope and at times, grasping for ways to keep a float. The daily grind of responsibility, coupled with the sadness of losing your husband and the father of your children makes it easy to lose your footing and fall into the easier role of “widow”.

It can be easier to stand still and identify with this tragic event rather than grow. It dominates your thoughts and stamps a sadness within you that is hard to shed. As time goes by, you realize that it’s comforting to tell and retell your story. In the beginning it helps to process the events, but as time passes it can hinder your ability to push forward beyond the day that changed your life forever. You begin to forget what it was like to be a complete person. Life before widow seems like a distant memory. It’s easier to claim widow as your identity when the people around you feel sorry for you and empathize with your loss.

As I face my third year without Mark, I realize that “widow” will always be a piece of who I am…but I have come to discover that it’s not the only piece, nor is it the biggest. I can’t fight the calendar, this much I know. The milestones this month will bring tears and a desire to tell my story but my hope is that I’ll be able to find my footing when standing on the edge of the slope.