Love Belongs To All of Us: Why This Widow Chooses Love After Loss

Love.

Are we only given one chance?

We marry.
They die.
That's it.

This is the story many want us widows to accept.
You are not human anymore.
You are a widow.
You were handed a card that says "sorry honey...that was all you get."
You loved him.
You lost him.
Love doesn't belong to you anymore.

Oh no my loves.
Love belongs to all of us.
Love is a gift for all of us to give.
For all of us to receive.

Funny thing is us widows are amazing at love.
We know the pain of loss.
We know the pain of heartache and how to heal our broken hearts.
We know how to heal our children's broken hearts.
We treat love as the most precious gift we are given because we know how it feels for it to be taken away.
We cherish it.
We honor it.
We respect it.
We love hard.
We love big.

It took years to love myself again after loss.
To rebuild and accept this new life of mine.
To be open to offering my heart to another.
To not feel guilty that another could be welcome in our home and hearts.

I loved myself to let love in again.
To let a man listen to and honor my story.
Sit with me in my pain.
Accept my bruises and scars.

He didn't run.
He didn't judge.

He only saw a woman filled with love.
I only saw a man filled with love.
A man wanting to share with me what I want to share with him.

My boys know I love this man.
I am happy and complete.
They want me to be happy.
I hope they will know love like I know it.
I hope they never feel, or are told, they don't deserve it.

If you choose to love again after loss. 

Choose it.
If you choose to not. 

I honor your choice.

All I ask is you love yourself.
Love is love.
Love heals.
Love fills.
Give it.
Receive it.
Please share it.
Go love.




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The Backpack

Dear Jack,

Today was the day.

Your last day of high school.

You walked out the door this morning wearing the blue backpack you have worn everyday since your first day of kindergarten.

I smiled when you put it on.

I remembered your first day of kindergarten.

A blond boy carrying a backpack half his size smiling as he walked into his first day of school.

A mom and dad watching you smile, anxious and proud as you walked away.

13 first days of school.

13 last days of school.

So many days in between.

That backpack has traveled with you through this thing called life.

Smiles.

Accomplishments.

Heartache.

Pain.

So much change.

That backpack was on your back on days I never imagined would have been in your life.

The day you walked back into school after your dad died that backpack was unbearable on your back. 

The day we boarded a plane a month before your freshman year to move to a new town, new school and new life that backpack was suffocating. 

The days you had to walk out the door and I know you knew I was going back to bed because I was so lost in my grief. It was so heavy on your back and there was so much heavy in your heart.  

But you never let the heavy load you were carrying crush you. 

Instead every day you grew stronger.

Every day brave and resilient.

The backpack never got lighter Jack.

Your back just got stronger.

You have a strength you never knew you had in you.

You now carry that backpack with ease and grace.

You put it on every morning and take whatever comes your way.  

Everyday you put that backpack on and walked out the door you taught me something.

You taught me I had to be brave and resilient just like you.

You gave me the courage to make bold decisions and keep trying even when I felt like I was failing you and Charlie.  

I hope that backpack felt light as air on your back this morning.

You said you wanted a new backpack for college. 

I agree. 

It’s time to let it go.

Go live a life without anything from your past on your back weighing you down. 

The past is the past.

Honor it.

Learn from it.

But know your big, bold, beautiful future is waiting for you.

We all carry around heavy loads every day.  

Isn’t it time for all of us to let go of whatever it is we carry that weighs us down?

Isn’t it time we stand up straight, honor how strong we are and love ourselves enough to let it go?  

Thank you Jack for being my son.

Thank you for adding light, love and laughter to my world everyday. 

Now go and live your life with a new backpack. 

Your future is yours.

Go live it.

I love you.

Mom


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Merry Christmas To Us

Our 6th Christmas without him.

My boys have become young men. 

Old memories from holidays past remain.

Beautiful memories with him.

Brutal memories from those first years without him.

New traditions have been created.

Simple and sweet.

Time has given us the gift to create them.

Time has given us the gift to forget.

Forget the overwhelming and suffocating pain.

Time has given us the gift to honor the past.

Enjoy the present.

Have hope for the future.

Celebrate who we have become.

It hasn't been easy.

It still isn't some days.

You learn to live with the pain.

You learn to hold tight to the good.

To the laughter.

To the moments where you feel whole.

To the people who love you.

To the people you love.

To honesty and truth.

We are no longer broken.

The three of us have healed.

A Christmas card.

A Christmas letter.

Gifts.

Decorations.

A Christmas Eve church service.

I was finally able to do it this year.

I enjoyed it.

Yes I cried but tears of joy.

Joy I haven't felt in years.

Hope in my heart.

A Merry Christmas it was.


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A Christmas Letter From My Son

Me: I want to write a letter to include with our Christmas card.
Jack: Are you kidding?
Me: Seriously. I think people will be shocked getting a card from us.
Jack: Mom. They will. They haven't heard from us in years! Why don't you start the letter with "Hey! It's the Begans. Remember us?"
Me: Jack. That's pretty funny. Why don't you write it.
Jack: Really? 
Me: Yes. You.

The boy walked up the stairs and 20 minutes later emails me the letter below.
He walked downstairs.
Read it aloud to me.
I laughed.
I cried.
I realize he has a lot to say about his life.
Charlie has a lot to say too (he's writing the letter next year).

We have healed because we are honest about our life.
We celebrate the good.
No sugar coating the bad.
No bullshitting to make others feel better.
Truth.

I'm sharing this letter for two reasons.
1. If you are deep in your grief, you and your children can heal. It takes work. Do the work. You will have a beautiful life again.
2. You who have supported us over the years I want to say thank you. The boys want to thank you too. Unfortunately, I don't have your addresses.

Merry Christmas my friends.
May you find peace, joy, laughter and hope in your hearts.
Cheers!
Sandra

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Hey! It’s the Begans. Remember us? I know it’s been awhile but we’re finally back for this whole Christmas thing. Old school Sandra has returned to her Christmas and holiday spirit; decorating the house, ordering presents, and even sending out a Christmas card (I’m just as shocked as you are).

Let’s quickly revisit the last five attempts at a Christmas card…

1st year - nothing

2nd year - nothing

3rd year - nothing

4th year - Thanksgiving card! Happy holidays! Oh wait, they’re still sitting in mom’s closet. Getting closer though.

5th year - Holy shit an actual Christmas card that’s going in the mail and ending up at people’s houses! We’ve finally made it.

Jokes aside, Mom, Charlie, and I are thriving in our beautiful town Fairfield, Connecticut.

“Sandy” as my friends like to call her tongue in cheek, is working out everyday at the Y, volunteering at a woman’s center in Bridgeport, and trying her best to keep up with Chaz and I. In May, she pulled a LeBron and returned to her Cleveland, Appleton, WI, to give a more serious speech than this summing up the last five years of our lives. She crushed it. She also crushed her triathlon in September, where even though Charlie and I were a bit worried she wasn’t going to make it out of the ocean after seeing some 80 year olds get out of the water before her, she made up some time and even joined an AIDS race for a little bit to help the cause because that’s the kind of person she is (she got lost in the biking portion of the tri). She also went to Italy over the summer while Chaz and I took our vacation from her for three weeks in Appleton. It was good for all three of us.

Charlie is 14 but by the looks of it, could pass for a college kid. He’s six feet tall and built like a linebacker with the athleticism of a point guard. He’s the talk of the town when it comes to basketball and he’s due all of the credit because when he’s not messing around at home with me, he’s working on his game at the local gym. I got named captain of the varsity basketball team and people claim he’s already better than me so to put that in perspective, I think Ludlowe will be excited to have Charlie join the program next year. I can also drag him onto the golf course in the summer and he holds his own with the locals. In July, Mom and Charlie drove up to Mount Washington in New Hampshire to hike. Most of you know I have the same trait as my dad, which is the outdoors being foreign. In conclusion I had two and a half days to myself to golf and watch the Brewers in peace.

As for me, I’m in the midst of my final year of competitive basketball. I was blessed to walk into the Ludlowe basketball program my freshman year and join one of the winningest classes in school history. Let’s just say I’m not missing Appleton North basketball right now (too soon?). I finished my college applications in November and people, senioritis is for real. I love Ludlowe but sitting in class from 7:30 to 3 everyday is getting old. I’m writing everyday and am going to pursue my degree in journalism and try to follow in the footsteps of my idol Bill Simmons.

As a family this has been the year of the return. We went back to Appleton together for the first time since 2014. Over spring break we took two of my friends and went to our favorite spot in Florida, Sanibel, for the week. We also returned to praising the Lord and finding a church that embraces our steadiness to get back into the church community. Charlie is in confirmation class and mom and I are slowly getting back to going to church.

All in all, the three of us have been to hell and back but I think we’ve come out of the darkness and have found new perspectives on our lives. Beautiful ones. Fairfield has treated us in the best way possible and the friendships we’ve made here are priceless. The support system we’ve created here made the transition seamless. As for Appleton and our peeps from afar, don’t worry, we won’t ever forget about you either. Thank you to all those that have stuck with us the last five years. Through thick and thin, you’ve helped in ways that you couldn’t even imagine. Without you, we’d still be stuck in a cloud of grief with no way out. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Jack


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The Two Boys with Beautiful Souls

Charlie (12) and Jack (16)

Two boys.

9 and 12.

"Please sit on the couch.

We have to talk."

3 words.

I had to say them.

Words I knew would change their lives forever.

Words most children never hear.

Words no child should hear.

Telling Jack and Charlie their dad died was the most difficult and will forever be the most painful and torturous thing I will ever have to do in my life.

They were living a great life.

A life with a dad who loved them.

A life with no fear, terror, pain, hurt, guilt, shame and longing.

A life that was so good. 

So right. 

So beautiful. 

I waited.

Waited to tell them.

I waited until school was over that day.

I was terrified to tell them.

I had to give them every last second in that life before they had to walk through the door of darkness, grief and the unknown into their new life.

They would grow up in a heartbeat.

They would experience pain no human should feel.

They were just little boys.

Two little boys who I had to tell how their dad died.

Two little boys who sat on the couch and cried.

Who were silent.

Who had no words.

From that moment I was terrified for them.

What will this do to them?

How will this change them?

Will they survive this?

Days were dark.

School was missed.

Life was so different.

Change every day.

Yelling.

Crying.

Silence.

Fear.

Anger.

Days are still tough.

School is still missed.

Tears still fall.

Not as frequent.

But I'm not going to lie, those days still come.

They probably always will.

Just as I crawled out of darkness, those two little boys have too.

They have crawled with grace and dignity and beauty.

They have had to change and embrace a new life.

They have had to find their way every day.

They are 2 boys who have gone through more than most can bear and have grown into strong, amazing young men.

They have grown into 2 young men who understand life more than most adults.

They show empathy and compassion to those who struggle or who may not fit in.

They are funny, loving, talkative and kind.

They are survivors with soft edges.

They have a support group who they love and loves them.

They have an amazing group of friends who they stay tight with in Wisconsin.

They have created solid friendships with an amazing group of kids in Connecticut.

They are both on the honor roll.

They play sports and are involved.

They play in the school band (and hate me for it).

They are on their phones too much and play too much xbox. 

They don't always make their beds or brush their teeth without me yelling at them.

They talk back and can be mouthy.

They are 2 normal kids living a good life.

I can't keep count how many people they meet come up to me and tell me what nice, kind boys I have.

"Thank you. I agree" I say with a smile and try not to tear up.

They don't know our story.

They meet Jack and Charlie and witness the genuine and kind human beings they are.

When their dad died I was terrified for them.

The terror is gone.

Will they be able to survive this?

Hell yes. 

They have and are thriving every day.

Who have they become?

Two beautiful souls I am proud to call my sons.

I wanted to read this 4 years ago.

I wanted somebody to tell me my kids would be so good again.

I write this for you if you are afraid for your children.

Afraid like I was of what the future would hold for them.

This is for you.

Know the road may be long and scary but I promise they will be okay.

More than okay.

They will be amazing.

P.S. Jack and Charlie...

I am proud of you every damn day and honored to be your mom.

I love you.