I did everything right.
I followed the steps in life that you are supposed to take to get where I was. I worked hard in school. I earned my college degree. I got a big girl job with big girl responsibilities. I lived in my own place. I gave back to the community and treated others with kindness and respect. I focused on me and my own happiness for years. I was in a place of peace with who I was, even though I longed for a partner.
I met Luke and followed the traditional path of dating, engagement, and marriage. We had dual incomes and made major strides into our dreams of being a debt-free couple. We worked our tails off, and the whole adulting thing was finally coming along quite nicely. The cards were all laid out in the order they were supposed to go. Happy, married, and oh so optimistic.
So what order are things supposed to go in after you lose your spouse at 25? What are the next chronological steps? What do you have left to do when everything you did before is now gone?
I understand that the answer to the first question is “there is no right order,” the second, “there are no chronological steps,” and the third, “there, there… it’s not all gone.” Right?
Grief is never in the cards, and grief has no timeline. Loss comes along like a tornado, tearing through anything and everything in its path, without slight remorse of the destruction. No matter how prepared you think you are for the unexpected, nothing…and I mean NOTHING can prepare you for this kind of damage.
I remember doing all sorts of drills in school. We did these so we were prepared for when disasters were in store. Tornado and fire drills, code yellows and code reds, even active shooter drills (*shudder*)… all important so we would know what to do when the unexpected came our way.
I wish grief had a drill — The kind where you can go into a bathroom with a bunch of your friends and hold your hands over your head in the fetal position to protect yourself from flying grief debris. Or, I wish we could stop, drop, and roll the flames of grief right on off of us.
Instead, there is no drill. There are no practice runs. There is just immense loss, followed by immense heartbreak, and immense grief.
Code red, everyone. Code dark, dark red.
Confessions of a 25-Year-Old Widow 
Thanks for sharing your heart. My best friend lost a daughter and her husband a year ago in a drunk driver related accident. I have seen the immense grief you are going through and as there are no perfect words to say, I do want to encourage you to go through it all. Feel it and mourn it. Every moment is yours. We attended a grief retreat that really helped us both. Please let me know if you want some information!
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I would love that. Feel free to email me with that info!
jkgorat@gmail.com
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The words of your writings have your readers wanting to understand more, yearning to be a better grief “friend” … this Blog has already, presently and will be used to heal thru sharing… the hearts who need to be heard, to heal from life’s
hurts and bumps and open to encouragement and hope. Wise, wise words sweet Jayme.
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I remember the times we sat in the hallway just before theory class and telling me about how you have to travel back and forth for work every so often. I remember as well telling me that you’re okay being single even after the length of time you were at that point. I saw the strength in you.
We shared laughs and had some good conversations. Lastly, I remember purchasing our cap and gown, complaining that we had to pay for it. At that time, Looking back, I never imagined you having to go through anything close to this. Yes, maybe a break up but never anything like this.
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Not sure if you are familiar with Lifegate Church, but they have a conference called Restoration and this might be something down the road that could be a great tool for you.
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Your description in this particular post really hit my heart hard and shed the tiniest of light in my oh so limited understanding of what you must go through daily, hourly, second-ly. The image of you wanting a group of people to shield, as a group, yourselves from ‘flying grief debries’ sounds so achingly lonely. And I wish that for you. I wish for a group of supportive people who get what you are enduring, only bc they’ve endured it too. I wish for you an ‘army of widows’ (quote from one of your previous posts 😊) to hold you up when your own legs can’t. I wish these things for you–So that you don’t have to feel alone in the dark red. Until you build this, and I believe you will–your writing is striking chords– I wish to be a small comfort to you as you endure this flying debris. Take care today friend….
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Your words are so beautiful Jayme Johnson. Your words are comforting to those who need to hear it and I hope are helping you to find healing in this impossible to understand circumstances. Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing your heart. Even if our loss has not has been so recent we have all experienced some sort of loss, and I can say I continue to heal through reading your journey. Play on. Thinking of you and praying over you.
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I am so honored you are reading my words and finding comfort. Thank you for thinking of me and praying over me. I am so grateful you are here.
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So true! Even a death drill would be nice. I find myself regretting so many little, probably insignificant details, that I wish I had thought about, or been together enough to think about doing, when I had the chance.
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