My husband and I send each other TikToks and memes.
Most of the time, I send him TikToks that apply to us, and he sends me pictures of a meme or quote he believes applies to us or me. It is one part of our recommitment to one another following his colon cancer survival.
John has supported me when I needed distance from other people, and I stood with him through our entire story whenever we were tested, whether it’s been: illness, our child’s death, a tornado or family.
John sent me a meme about grief because we’ve spoken more openly about it, since he started therapy, too.
Don’t allow others to rush you through your Grief. You have a lifetime to heal, and it’s a lifelong journey, travel at your own speed.”
Grieving Moms Forever (FB), Donna Waag
As someone who is both neurodivergent and empathetic, I feel deeply. I feel when something is hard for our son or students. But, in three-and-a-half-years, I’ve established more walls, which John says are sometimes difficult for him to break through.
While I’m empathetic and deeply caring for those I love, I will quickly cut someone off if they’ve talked about me during my grief journey or misunderstand me. It’s not often or a lot of people, but it has happened. Our son has said, “I’m the queen of cutting people out.” My therapist has said that I’m one of her most private patients and has to “pry stuff out of me.” Add to that, I’m happiest at home on the land or in the mountains.
The “cutting out” method comes down to trust and recognizing that I must live the rest of my life without my child. I made a choice to live, and not just survive. It is not an easy thing to do, so if I come across a person from whom I must distance myself; it’s not because I dislike them. It’s because I establish my boundaries quickly to protect what’s left of my heart and soul.
I love deeply, but sometimes as a neurodivergent, that was taken advantage of when I was younger or misunderstood. Thankfully, John understands me well. Since our recommitment, we’ve shared more moments where something will trigger us. Tears come to our eyes at the same time.
But what was truly beautiful included how he recognized our growth as a family when he said last night:
“Who would’ve thought we’d decorate again; that you’d go to this extent to put up lights [for Christmas]?”
I stopped, smiled and said, “I know. I never thought I’d decorate or put up lights again after 2020.”
More and more, we put her legacy and ours into this house and the farm. John has encouraged me to expand the gardens, with a focus on pollinator gardens with native plants.
When people–however you know them–attempt to define you through words or rumors or false truths, you have a choice. You can give into their Wikipedia-level knowledge, or as Corrie would want us to do, pour those falsehoods into something you do with your hands. In the case of John and I, this includes the house and gardens. This is a huge difference from when my grief was raw and more open in 2020 when I wrote “Unlit.”
When I was triggered in the early days, I’d close myself away because I didn’t want anyone to see this deep heartbreak. I wrote more openly, especially through poetry, and by 2022, became more guarded in the writing I would share. I went from “These Gifts Given in Times of Black Ice” on December 26, 2020, “We Still Ride Upside Down” on December 20, 2020 about John and me, and “Candy Cane” on Christmas Eve 2020.
John couldn’t read these poems, and I had to learn to adapt to his grief; and he to mine. I wrote five poems in the space of a few days, and I usually only write poems when I’m depressed, deeply moved or very happy. Recently, John and I became more aligned in our grief–coming to our crossroads.
We took an emotional scaple and agreed if something or someone wasn’t needed, we could leave it. We agreed and discussed our goals for our home. During the Thanksgiving Break, we’ve worked inside and outside on cleaning, organizing, Christmas decorations and gardens.
I’m writing more memoir, and fewer poems because I’ve found more healing in physical work honoring Corrie’s memory. The gardens speak for themselves of our love for Corrie and each other. Our son isn’t so fond of the work in the gardens, but he does a great job with it.
John is my best friend, the most trusted partner, true love and place where I can be myself at my best and worst. He is home, and the father of our beautiful children. He is not a man of his age, but a man for the ages.
On December 17, we will celebrate twelve years of marriage and fourteen years together. We will celebrate our scars and glories, and the good, the bad, and the ugly.
All words and photos by R.A. Bridges
Corrie's Season 