And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
So I’m going to borrow a bit from a previous week. A couple weeks ago, I had several wonderful things happen, and so I didn’t get a chance to write about them all. But one in particular is sitting with me, and I’ve had to work through some things with it, so we’ll go there. This week, with the working through and processing, was the first time I really let the happiness of this event break through. An odd feeling of guilt (I think) kept it from happening.
One of the biggest surprises for me, with grief, is that it didn’t seem to dissipate over time. For a while there, it was increasing, and I didn’t understand it. I thought it was just me, until my daughter asked me, “Mom, why does the grief seem to be getting worse as time is going by?”
A therapist gave me the answer. “The shock is wearing off. You’ve been numb and on auto-pilot.”
Boy, have I. From the time of Michael’s accident, to his death, I had to throw myself on automatic. My life was already busy, but then I had to add in daily interactions with doctors, nurses, and therapists, visits to the hospital, visits to the rehab, visits to a wide variety of medical appointments which involved getting Michael in and out of a car and in and out of a wheelchair. There was a huge learning curve as I had to understand medical terminology that was totally foreign, and I had to work my way through insurance issues.
I remember someone asking me if I was having trouble sleeping with all the stress, and I said absolutely not. I was asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow.
I was exhausted.
This didn’t stop when Michael died. There was more to go through, more to settle, and, of course, more to fight. Trying to get justice for Michael became a huge obsession. I think working toward that somehow made Michael’s death take a back seat. If I could just get the city to listen, maybe Michael would come back. Which of course, didn’t happen. The city didn’t listen. Michael didn’t come back.
And now there’s now.
Last summer, when I went to Oregon, it was the first time I began to realize how in shock and how traumatized I was. So far away from home, but in a place I loved, the changes my life had taken really moved to the forefront. And all of a sudden…I burst into poetry.
I write poetry, as four poetry collections published, and a fifth on the horizon, can attest. But I don’t force poetry. I don’t sit down with the intention to write it. It just comes. And in this case, it hit with all the frequency of the ocean waves. Often leaving me drenched in what had been unshed tears.
I decided (as if I had any control over it) to let it happen. But I enforced a deadline of sorts. I didn’t want to make a career of widowhood, I didn’t want to make it an identity. So I decided I would write the poems as they came until the first anniversary of Michael’s death. After that, I would be done.
And so that’s what I did.
This year in Oregon, which was such an amazing restorative time, Michael’s death anniversary arrived. But no poem showed up that day. I returned to speechlessness. But the next morning, I woke up, and there it was. Intact. I wrote it down before I even had my coffee or said hello to the ocean.
From there, I did the most difficult thing. I turned my writer’s chair into an editor’s chair, and I looked at the poems with the cold detached eye of an editor. I rewrote and fixed.
And still wept.
I wrote an introduction. Put “The End” at the end. And I closed the file.
I wish I could describe the feeling. It was physical. Like my brain turned in my skull and my focus turned to other things. The grief isn’t over, but it isn’t as all-encompassing. I feel like myself again, and more importantly, I’ve given myself permission to be myself. I had the idea that somehow, I was supposed to be different now. And I just wasn’t sure how to be.
But then I realized that I could just continue being me, though with a huge loss where there used to be constant support and companionship, partnership, love. But still me.
My attention turned.
When I arrived home from Oregon, I submitted the book, now titled The Birth Of A Widow, to the two publishers who have released my books of poetry.
An impossible nine days later, it was accepted for publication by Kelsay Press. It will be coming out in the fall of 2026.
I was elated, for all of five minutes. Then I was soaked through with guilt. How could I be happy about something that only happened because my husband died? And he died in such a horrible way?
This really threw me for a while. But then…I threw it. Completely off my shoulders.
Because this is a book honoring Michael, honoring who he was, and expressing the depth of my loss. My hopes for this book? The same hopes I always have when I write anything, whether it’s fiction, nonfiction, or poetry.
To help others.
And so now…I can let myself be happy. I am delighted and amazed to announce that book #17, a book purely of my heart, The Birth Of A Widow, will be released in the fall of 2026. (Prior to its release will come book #16, a poetry collection called Let Me Tell You; Let Me Sing!, from the same publisher.)
And I am hard at work on book #18. A novel. Should be done soon.
I am still me. There is more to do.
(And ohmygosh, I had a book accepted in just NINE DAYS!!!!!!)
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
