The One Thing

Camp Widow was an experience I wouldn't trade. I wish there were more women there without children, because I believe that makes a huge difference in this widowhood journey. I hope to connect with other gals whose husbands left this world without "living" legacies. I was watching "True Life: I'm Pregnant" on MTV last night. When one of the girls gave birth, her boyfriend was so excited it looked like his smile could wrap around his entire head. Here's that gut-punch again: Dan and I will never have a child together. Never. I was sad, and then angry, and sad a little more, and then I thought of a conversation I had with Jessi after Camp.


We were driving and she asked me to name the most important thing I gained from the weekend at Camp. I knew right away, but I thought carefully about my answer. I am conditioned to say what I think people want to hear, what isn't going to scare them, or something that will make them feel warm and fuzzy inside. Conditioned to say something that when the listener thinks about the conversation and they lay their head down at night, they silently smile saying, "Tiffin's going to be okay." I came up with something generic, smiled, and changed the subject.


Later that night at dinner, Jessi and I were laughing and sharing, again. I have always felt that I could open up to Jessi about anything. She doesn't get overly concerned, she isn't a crier, she ponders responses before speaking, and best of all is blatantly honest. I decided she deserved the same.


I told Jessi that The One Thing that I had taken away from this trip to San Diego, and my stay at Camp Widow was this: I want to live. Sounds simple, right? We all want to live. Well, for me it hasn't been that simple. The past 7 months, I haven't gone out seeking death or even had a "death wish" but I have silently told God that if he needed me sooner rather than later, that would be more than OK. I don't feel that way anymore. I WANT to live. It just feels good saying it, writing it, living it.


There are many things left for me to do in this life. I still have grieving to do, and tears to cry, but I also have laughing to do and joy to feel. I will allow myself to live. I will allow myself to love. I will allow myself to mourn the family that Dan and I never had, but I will also not shut out the fact that I am still young, and could possibly still have children some day. I will do all of these things knowing that Dan is my cheering section in the clouds.


I keep thinking about the movie Gladiator, one that I've seen hundreds of times. Russel Crow sees his deceased family and so shook and plagued with grief, he can't even make noise with his tears, he drools, and collapses to the ground. I know this pain. I've lived that moment. I then think of his fight (literally and figuratively) to live. He makes a friend who gives him the will and want to survive even through the pain of his loss. When Russel Crow does eventually die, his friend looks to the sky and makes a promise, "I will see you again, but not yet...not yet."


I am taking that quote with me everyday, everywhere. I will see Dan again, but not yet.