It is the Worst of Clubs, It is the Best of Clubs

Shortly after Herb passed away, an acquaintance who had been widowed a number of years earlier gave me a hug and told me, "It's the shittiest club ever, but we're here for each other." That was my welcome to the (not-so-wonderful) world of widowhood. 

I'm not big on joining groups of strangers, especially at the most emotionally vulnerable period of my life, so I don't think I'll be signing up for "Parents Without Partners" or a grief support group or a formal widows' organization, but being a part of this quiet network has been reassuring. There are a number of women in my life that I knew had been widowed, but I have since been approached by a number of others that I had no idea had been through what I'm going through. Even without being ready yet to talk about it extensively, it is reassuring just seeing other women who have been through this ordeal and come out on the other side, if not exactly unscathed or unscarred, at least surviving and even thriving. 

It give me hope.

It gives me resources.

It gives me solidarity. 

It gives me a lifeline. 

As incredible as the support has been from family and friends, there's something special about support from someone who's been where you are, someone who gets it. No one goes through exactly the same grief journey, but there are commonalities that go beyond words. A hug from someone who can sympathize is wonderful, but a hug from someone who can empathize goes beyond words, beyond silence. It says, "Courage, sister." It says, "I have been where you are." It says, "I'm okay and you will be, too." It says, "I'll be here when you're ready." It says, "It's okay that you don't know what you need." It says, "It's okay to be not okay." It says, "You are not alone."

It is the shittiest club ever, but it is a sisterhood. 

Courage, sister.