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When I was a kid and my mom took me clothes shopping, I often overheard her explaining to the clerk helping us that her daughter was “you know, in that awkward in-between stage.” I know she didn’t mean to become the internalized voice of how I see myself perpetually in an awkward in-between stage, she was just trying to make sense of a growing kid who didn’t fit off-the-rack clothes very well. I still don’t. I’m 5’8 and have a 6′ arm-span. My legs are longer than my 6’1 husband’s were or my 5’11 kid’s are. But this awkward in-between stage is such an apt description of how I’m processing grief, too.

We’re probably all familiar with the stages of grief–denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance and how they can overlap and jumble, or be multiple at once. I was pretty aware of how sadness and heartbreak would be part of my reality for a long time. What folks don’t talk about much, at least from what I’ve noticed, is the weird shit that comes with grief. Awkward. When I laugh, it’s louder, harder, more intense. Food either tastes amazing and better than ever or I want absolutely nothing to do with it. The gamut of emotions smacking me like a tuna in the face every day has me scratching my chin going, “wha’happened?” I want to hide in a blanket fort AND hug every stranger and be best friends with their dogs. Comedic literary tropes about widows come from stereotypes based in fact. Here we’ve experienced loss and death and are craving life and connection. No worries, we live in a small town and no major decision for a while, but those feelings are THERE, intense and incredibly awkward.

I’m trying to find stable ground and understand this new reality while also feeling like an over-inflated balloon that someone just let go. There’s no framework or context to put these things. So like everything else I acknowledge them and feel them and embrace the awkward.

Bryan would comment about the way I worry saying I try to tease the threads out of a knot. I think the analogy of working through problems is pretty apt. I’ve been home, sick with a cold for the past few days with a lot of time by myself to think (“A dangerous pastime!” “I know!”). What I’ve been alluding to in my posts and the way I’ve been feeling have kind of crystalized after a conversation with a friend yesterday evening. Grief over losing Bryan has many facets, but there are three main components–Bryan, us, and the me in that us.

Bryan was amazing for so many reasons. He was thoughtful and kind, funny, so smart, and strong. He welcomed challenges to ideas. I don’t know anyone who liked to be wrong as much as he did. He said, “when I discover that I was wrong and have a new way of thinking it’s like a window to a whole new world I didn’t know existed is open to me now and I get to go explore it.” Adventuresome. Playful. Passionate. Bryan was never wishy-washy. No prevaricating. He spoke at full volume and full passion on any topic hoping for pushback and interplay. I’ve described him as being a labrador in some ways–skiing powder at Bluewood? That’s my favorite thing! Going on a trip with Becci to Joseph, Oregon? That’s my favorite thing! Listening to music with Mary and Becci in the evening? That’s my favorite thing! He was as passionate about the quantity and quality of cumin in his cupboard as he was the increasing number of round-abouts in Walla Walla and how that would improve our community. He seemed tireless. My life was filled with this wonder and passion for 14 years. And now he’s gone. I want to know what he would think about the recent Space-X launch and explosion. I want to know what he would think about the work getting completed on Alder. I want to know how we would be spending this summer together in the garden. And now he’s gone.

In his proposal to me, Bryan said, “you know, I think we’re better together than we are apart.” And he was 100% right. That has been our motto and theme our whole marriage. We even have a little pillow on one of our red chairs that says as much. We lifted and challenged each other to be our best selves sometimes overtly and oftentimes in the gentle movements of day-to-day living. I’ve lost half of us. And I am NOT better. I’m so sad and broken, lonely and haunted by the thought that I’m less. And I know that’s not what he meant or would want me to think, but that hurt and those thoughts are still there. I grieve the loss of us in the way I had grown accustomed and understood.

And I grieve the me in that us. Bryan had a way of looking at and loving me that made me feel fully seen. He knew all my flat sides and saw them as part of the whole he loved unconditionally. When you see yourself reflected in the eyes of the person who loves you most, loves you so fully and completely, you begin to see yourself with those kinder eyes too. There have been more than a couple of times when I’ve asked myself or others, “who am I now?”

The process of grappling with this and moving forward to live is daunting. I’m exhausted. I am a wanderer in a strange land. I am bombarded with waves of emotions and memories and all the tasks I need to accomplish to move forward. It’s so much. It’s so heavy. And while I’ve teased some threads, the giant knot is still there.

Grief and sorrow rip away all the illusions of oneself. You’re flayed open, vulnerable, and naked. Clawing through this phase of things is trying to attempt creation or reinvention when every fiber wants to cling to the person I was with him. It’s painful in so many ways.

I try really hard to find the joy and positives, but hot damn this sucks. My heart hurts every day. Every day. And I don’t see it letting up for a long time. I’m sure part of this emotional rollercoaster is the let down after having such a full weekend and lots of company for Bryan’s celebration–so many high moments, so much love. My logical brain gets that. My logical brain gets a lot more than I give it credit for, but my heart. My heart. Oh God, my heart.

Bryan and I wrote our own vows for our wedding. Do I have them written down on paper anywhere? No. Do I have them written on my heart? Yes. One component of our vows was not just to each other, but to how we would be as a couple to others, specifically with regard to hospitality. We pledged to make our home a welcoming place together and I think we did a pretty good job. Even when Covid was at its worst, we figured out how to show movies on the front porch so we could be in fresh air and distance as safely as possible. For a number of years, we’ve had my cousins’ kids come spend time during spring breaks and summers. We loved hosting dinner parties, porch gatherings, backyard BBQs, cookie-decorating parties at Christmastime, cooking parties with our foodie friends. Bryan wanted the parties to last longer and I was notorious for making the list bigger–well-matched, the two of us. We loved when out-of-town guests would come to stay and see them wake up well-rested and refreshed, always sending them home with something from the garden or leftovers from the meal or a plate of cookies. Sometimes Bryan and I would chuckle about how late guests would occasionally stay, well past my bedtime, and smile at ourselves the next day–you can’t make a home restful and welcoming and comforting and then wonder why people don’t want to leave. :o)

This past weekend, many attendees at Bryan’s service and the other events surrounding it made mention of how important it is to gather during life and not just at these heartbreaking milestones. I couldn’t agree more. Bryan and I were very deliberate about that very thing and following through. A long time ago, I invited a friend form Australia to visit any time. Years later she asked, “did you mean it?” Of course, I said! Upon my word, she came to stay and we were thrilled to have her. And then she did it again because we all liked that visit so well the first time!

One of Bryan’s favorite sayings: “Walla Walla is not the end of the road, but you can see it from here.” It’s no easy feat to get to this small, southeastern Washington town, but for all that, we have such beauty, kindness, fun, good food, good beverage, good company, live music, outdoor activities (I’m not saying move here, just visit ;o). And if it works out, I have a spare room with a queen-sized bed, a big kitchen, and a most excellent porch for summer sitting and sipping.

One of our yearly traditions of gathering is a porch-pop up sale the first Sunday in May where I invite my friend Jennifer of Miles Away Farm to sell her plant starts (the valencia tomatoes are my favorite!) and my friend Aly of Detour Farms to sell her candles–so great! I sell Feryl Designs jewelry and my sister and I sell our artwork. 50% of the jewelry sales and 100% of the art sales go to support our Mom’s memorial nursing scholarship at Walla Walla University. We provide refreshments and convivial conversation. (This year it’s May 7 from 10am-4pm).

It’s crucial to my sense of self to continue these things that Bryan and I built, this legacy of hospitality and gathering in good times every bit as much as the hard, sad times. Also, if you’ve invited me to visit, you better bet your bottom dollar, I’m headed your way, too.

Not linear.

Embarrassing.

Exhausting.

Sometimes hilarious in a macabre way.

Weird.

Painful.

Beautiful.

Full of love.

Aching and aching and aching.