I was out in the ranch yard the other day, helping a mechanic get our D4 started.
He was going through the electrical from point to point and got to a place under the dash that required a smaller hand than his.
He asked very matter of factly for me to help. I had to turn away. It took a matter of about three seconds for my eyes to fill with tears and my throat to get a big knot in it.
The moment took me back to working with Fred and I didn’t realize it until he asked for my help. I recovered quickly and the day went on, but those moments of intense sadness still occasionally hit me like an unexpected whack in the head.
I’m grateful that those moments don’t happen nearly as often as when my loss was fresh, and when they do, I’m more prepared than I used to be.
The truth is that today, I usually just let the tears flow and don’t worry too much about other people’s reaction. I know there are folks who will say “it’s been four and a half years, when are you going to be over it?” I guess the answer is never.
I no longer actively grieve for my husband. I’ve worked hard to process my grief productively. I take my faith in God’s promises to heart. I know exactly where Fred is and I look forward to seeing him again one day when my work here is finished. Meanwhile, I’ve learned how to go on and live a life that is mostly happy and meaningful to me. None of that means I don’t miss him and think about him daily. I do.
I used to avoid situations and conversations that reduced me to tears. Now I try not to avoid much of anything unless it’s unpleasant people or Marvel movies.
I realize that when I have one of those unexpectedly emotional moments, it’s really just an expression of the love I still have and will always have for Fred.
If I’m in the company of others, I just explain, briefly and directly. Nobody has ever not understood. I also approach those moments with a sense of gratitude today. They hurt in the moment; but they also connect me to sweet memories that feel good when I think back on them.
So, I guess my message is, it’s okay to make me cry. I can take it and the old adage that “a widow’s tears are just love with nowhere else to go” might be true.
Kris Stewart is a rancher in Paradise Valley, NV