What I Wish I Would’ve Known When 1st Becoming Widowed…

To the girl who was married at 22 and widowed at 31:

I forgive you.

◾️Strangers will seek you out. Some of them will cling to you, asking you not leave them lonely. They will want you to sit in misery with them because “now you understand that life isn’t fair”, like they’ve always “known”.

◾️Some of those closest to you will either turn their backs because their own pain is too hard to manage, or they will project their own hopelessness onto you.

“How will you ever get through this?”

“You will never have love like that again”

◾️Others will prey on you and your trusting, naive heart. 🚬

▫️Some… will stay. And they will show you more kindness than you’ve ever known. A type of giving that’s so beyond abundant… You HAVE to thank God.

And you will. Every day. After every beat down. Again and again. You will get up & choose hope, trust, and gratitude.

To the girl who married her 1st boyfriend & lost him over the phone, the one who had entire years of memories blown from her brain, has PTSD flashbacks; the one who went through an excruciating court case that physically aged her in a week’s time… the one who was verbally and physically abused by lovers; the one who went through the sickness of her children, alone, medical procedures, alone, the death of 3 grandparents and a close friend, alone…

I wish you knew that everything that you ever needed was in you, not other’s words, not in accolades or alcohol. You. 💥

For what it’s worth though, I forgive you.

And I love you 💕

Photo credit: c.2017 Six months in, wondering if it’s ok to dress sexy. I now know that there’s a time & a place for how we dress; that time is whenever and that place is wherever. I pay my bills. I manage my pain. I tuck my kids in bed at night. I cringe at this photo, but if you’re widowed (and still reading 😆) My hope is you give yourself permission to do what you want & not what you think you should be doing. No one should ever have to relinquish hope, lay down, & wait to die. You’re going to grieve anyways, so you might as well do it your way. 🌅🧡

I’m starting a podcast this year!

What should I talk about? Interview? I also need a name! Comment or DM me your questions/thoughts! 🎙🥰

Saying Your Name.

Scotty,

It’s nice to just say your name.
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After two years, the expectation is for me to slide your name into a photo album, tuck it on a shelf in between the baby books, and not take it out again until my guests have left. Until I’m an old woman, riddled with dementia, rocking in my chair. With grand kids asking, “Who is Grandma talking about?”, it will be ok to say your name then.
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But to use it now, for some, is like using a curse word.
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Two years ago, a faceless demon reached its arm through a sunlit sky, plucked me from my happy, delusional life, and by the wrist, threw me like a fidget spinner into treacherous waters. Bobbing in the ocean, I didn’t have time to cry. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I had to save those emotions for when I built a stable enough boat. Gathering our children (who were flung into these waters too), keeping my head above water, I had to build myself a fucking boat, while on the verge of drowning.
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And it’s occurred to me that I must have something built now…
Because all I can do is finally cry.
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You loved to talk about our second date when I told you, “It’s not where you’re at, but who you’re with.” Well, I’m sitting in this boat, Scott, and I’m looking for you.
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I would have lost myself in the ocean to be with you. I would have struggled through every horrific thing this world has. With you.
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Instead, I’m doing it FOR you.
In your honor.
Alone.
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Navigating in solitude,
I’ve seen ugliness.
And I thank you for shielding me from the monsters.
I’ve made hard decisions.
And I thank you for always being my partner.
I’ve experienced others’ selfishness.
And I thank you for valuing me in a world of users.
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To spend 12 years building something, in a world that only knows how to destroy things, I refuse to let this destroy what you and I started. I will row on with this disfigured heart of mine. I will find our family an island, and I will say your name to everyone there.
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Scott Lawrence Bajorek – you made me so proud, and I don’t care who it intimidates. I will never be quiet about that. In fact, I think I’ll paint it on this boat.
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I love you.
-Me

How Music Worked Within Me this Year

I love starting my day by hearing a song that is 100% from Scotty.

Chili Peppers, Hall & Oats, Cake, Metallica, Bell Big Devoe, John Legend, Earth, Wind, and Fire.

This morning it was Gap Band…

Music was hard initially after losing him.

He and I found so much enjoyment from cutting it up at a wedding/event or just dancing around the house with each other and later, with our children. Something that bonded two people in such a way; brought them both so much joy… Remove one of those people,and there’s just gaping, salty pain. Through nausea, I’d ask myself during those days: How can I possibly find joy in music again? How can I ever dance again?

And I began to mourn these pleasures of life while mourning him.

All in silence.

A few months into grief, I was introduced to new artists. I allowed myself to listen to them, and I did so on repeat. These were different types of musicians. Ones that never played in the background of any of our memories together. Music to which I couldn’t dance. Eventually, I began to enjoy music in a different way. A darker but absolutely necessary way

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The magic of music is that it has the same properties as water. What do I mean by this? Walk into your kitchen right now, fill up a glass with water, and set it on the counter. Then, grab a single piece of paper towel and gingerly dip a corner of your paper towel into the glass of water that you poured. Just the corner. What happens? You watch the water rise up furt4BlogPostJan9her than your dipping point.Water creeps. It’s polar, which means at a molecular level, it attaches to itself…the molecules climb one other to reach further.

I can tell you this is how music worked within me this year. I let just a little bit of it in. Just a corner of the symbolic paper towel into the glass of water; At first, it was one depressing song on repeat. Then, it was several angry ones (on repeat). The angry songs gave me energy to listen to upbeat stuff… and before I realized it, music was in my life again.

Don’t get me wrong. To this day, there are still songs that could take me to my knees, but I refuse to let that happen now. And strangely, I feel like it’s him, laughing over my left shoulder, bobbing his head and saying: Girl, don’t you deny this beat!

I’m happy to say that my kids and I have honorary dance parties in our kitchen again,

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and we know it’s probably a joyful moment for Daddy too. He speaks to me through music, and what once was something too painful to accept, is now something I deeply cherish.

I’m here to tell you, whoever you are, whatever you’re going through, I know you’re in pain, and I’m so sorry that you carry it. I know that some pain just never heals, and I’m sorry for this fact of life as well. My heart hurts all of the time. It’s not going to go away. I know this.

Of all these things that ‘I know’ though, the one I know for sure: not any of this is a reason to stop listening to the music, to stop dancing, to deny yourself the beat.

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Pain is no excuse to stop seeking joy.

Big Love,

Megan

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