I Used to Be Him

Intrepid Explorers

Last night, I graduated from my grief group. It's sort of a self-graduation thing, so there's no special service or ceremony to it.

Bev, the leader, asked us to all bring photos of our spouses. I picked three: one of Wendy in high school, her publicity head shot, and a candid of the two of us together on her parents' boat. The first two photos made me miss her. The last photo made me miss him.

Him. Me. The man I used to be when I was with her.

I've left the grief group because I've turned a significant corner in my grief and I don't need its support nearly as much as I once did. Also, it's on the other side of the water and it's difficult and expensive to get to it.

Also, I'm ready to not be so defined by being a widower. Bev said once when I was new to the group that this was about "making the transition from widow to single person." I thought at the time, "Bullshit! I'm always going to be a widower." I'm ready for that to go into the background and to start working on myself in other ways.

I talked to a friend last night on my way to the group. I told her I was mostly proud of the fact that I had gotten through this to the extent I have and that it gives me courage and self-confidence. What other changes can I navigate in my life?

I've recently come to realize that I use fear as my primary interface in life. I'd like to say that it is because of all the grief I've suffered over the last eight years, but the truth is that it's been there my entire life, even as a kid. It's probably very common.

I've recently met someone who has shown me, through patience and loving kindness, that love is the opposite of fear. I am encouraged to use love as a new lens to view myself and the world around me.

It's not bad to mourn the man I was, but I'm learning to love the man I am becoming.