49 Things I Learned After I Was Widowed

Today is my 49th birthday. And believe it or not, I am alright with that. Honestly. I am so alright with that. I consider myself very lucky to be 49.

So many people don’t even make it to 49, their lives tragically cut short far too soon. And so many people never truly live while they have the chance. They rush from day to day, so busy making a living they don’t even notice as life passes them by. I was one of those people until tragedy completely changed my life and me.

After my husband died, I had to rebuild my life and myself. It took a lot of grief and a lot of hard work for me to get to where I am today. I’m far from perfect, and I’ve certainly made my share of mistakes. I have more wrinkles and my hair colour is now (a well-disguised) natural grey. I’ve been skinnier in my life, but I’ve never been fitter. In fact, I am emotionally, mentally, and physically healthier than I ever was when Dan was alive. And I can honestly say, I’m the happiest I’ve been in years. Ironically, the best version of me was born from my husband’s death. It took a long time for me to reconcile that with myself.

Death truly is life’s greatest teacher. Death challenged me in every way possible. It took away everything I believed in and forced me to confront my worst fears. And yet, it also made me appreciate each and every moment. It has shown me the power of vulnerability and the importance of gratitude. And it has made me love more fiercely than I ever thought possible. Death has made me more resilient, and stronger than I ever thought I could be. And it has made me wiser.

I have learned so many valuable life lessons in the six years since Dan died. You may say they are clichés, but there’s a reason why clichés are written.

I learned the truth of these 49 life lessons the hardest way possible.

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.

2. Growing old beats the alternative – dying young.

3. You have to let go of the life you thought you’d have and make happiness in the life you do have.

4. No one else can make you happy. Only you can do that.

5. Happiness is a choice and you have to work at it every day.

6. Be kind, you don’t know what someone else is going through. But remember: going through a hard time does not give you a license to treat people poorly.

7. You can’t change the past. Learn from it, then let it go. Before it destroys your present.

8. Nobody can rescue you but you. Get up and be your own damn hero.

9. You have to keep laughing, it really is the best medicine.

10. You are more than enough. When you realize your worth, it will change everything.

11. You don’t know what you don’t know. Nobody has all the answers.

12. You can’t numb the pain, and it just makes it worse when you try. Sadly, gin is not always your friend.

13. Grief demands to be heard, so don’t even try to bury it. Until you lean into it, acknowledge it, and process it, you will never heal.

14. Your grief is your grief, only you truly know what you are feeling. And you are not obligated to share it with anyone.

15. Stop caring what other people think. Seriously. There will always be people who judge you. Their opinion doesn’t matter.

16. Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

17. Not everyone will be there to support you. Let them go. They aren’t your people.

18. Sometimes people show up in your life just when you need them the most. Serendipity is a beautiful thing.

19. Everyone needs a tribe to support them, in good times and in bad.

20. It’s okay to ask for help, it doesn’t make you weak, it makes you strong.

21. Self-care is not indulgent, it’s necessary.

22. Material objects are just that – objects. What you own is not who you are.

23. Less really is more, except when it comes to coffee, of course.

24. Coffee won’t fix it. But it will help. Be kind to the baristas of the world.

25. Exercise is just as important for your emotional health as it is for your physical health.

26. Just 15 minutes of exercise will have a positive impact on your attitude. Put down your phone and go for a walk.

27. Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness.

28. Sometimes you need to go somewhere to discover where you don’t want to be.

29. You can never truly go home because home is not the same and neither are you.

30. Sometimes you accidentally find your purpose, but your purpose is never an accident.

31. You get what you give. Be there for others when they need you.

32. Gratitude completely changes your outlook and your heart.

33. There is always something to be grateful for. Even on the worst of days. You’re still here, aren’t you?

34. Sometimes you have to say no.

35. And sometimes you have to say yes.

36. Some things and some people are totally worth the risk.

37. You’ll never know if you never ask. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.

38. It’s okay to be scared. Do it anyway. That’s courage.

39. Stop waiting for the perfect time. There is no perfect time, there is only now.

40. Regret is the price you pay for fear. Fear isn’t worth the price.

41. Grief is the price you pay for love. Love is so worth the price.

42. Shattered hearts do heal. You will love again if you are brave enough to let love find you.

43. Time spent with people you love is never wasted time.

44. You never know when it will be the last time you say I Love You, so say it to your people as often as you can.

45. Loss teaches you the true value of time. It really is much shorter than you think.

46. Eat the chocolate. Burn the candles. Wear the perfume. Life is too damn short.

47. The little things that annoy you so much often become the things you miss the most about someone when they are gone.

48. All that truly matters, in the end, is that you loved.

49. Get busy living or get busy dying. The choice is yours.

The choice has always been yours. Just like it was always mine.

Don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t wait until something catastrophic happens to choose to live the best life you possibly can.

Live it now.

Bittersweet Birthdays

I came across this picture a few days ago. And I can honestly say it brought me to my knees. Grief is sneaky that way. It hits you suddenly and unexpectedly. A scent. An old, familiar tune. A faded photograph.

Grief never really goes away. It just lurks under the surface. Waiting for the next song, the next photograph, the next special occasion to resurface

When Dan died, so many people told me I would be angry. But I’m not. And I never have been. Anger, bitterness, and resentment are such toxic emotions. I’d already, we’d already, sacrificed so much. I refused to give my emotional energy to those toxic emotions. And also I saw no point in being angry at a LAV and a hole in the ground. So I chose gratitude over resentment. Some days that was easier than others, but I chose gratitude anyway. Because the hardest days were the days I needed it the most.

So today I’m not angry Dan isn’t here to celebrate our firstborn and only son’s 24th birthday. I’m not thinking about all the birthdays he’s missed. I’m grateful for all the ones he was here for. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a little bit sad. I’m actually god damn sad. And that’s the thing they don’t tell you about grief.

The rest of your life will be bittersweet. All of those happy joyous occasions will always be tainted by a tinge of sadness. That is the duality of life after loss.

Today is one of those bittersweet days. Dan was over the moon ecstatic when this little guy was born, twenty-four years ago today. Twenty-fours years. How can that be? I was twenty-four when we had him. I remember the first time Dan held him. He stood there and looked at him in awe. 

“Hello Old Man. I’m your Dad.”

He was an incredible Dad. The kind of Dad I wish I’d had. The kind of Dad our son will be because he learned from the best. I’d say Dan was even better at being a Dad than he was at being a soldier. Which is saying a lot, because he was one hell of a soldier.

Since he’s been gone, I’ve been the only parent. Both Mom and Dad. I’ve tried to fill his shoes and be as good of a parent as he was. Sometimes I do okay at it. Sometimes I fail epically.

The last six years haven’t been easy. Far from it. Especially for this little guy that followed in his Dad’s footsteps. That’s hard enough to do when your Dad is alive, even harder when you put a uniform on less than three months after your father is tragically killed.

He has literally worn his father’s name tag for the last five years. He, more than any of us, has had to carry the weight of that name. The pressure and expectation that come with it have been overwhelming at times. There have been missteps and setbacks. But every time he’s picked himself back up and he’s persevered. He’s grown into an incredibly compassionate, empathetic, resilient young man.

Sometimes when I see him in uniform, it’s like déjà vu. A blonde version of a boy I knew a long time ago. So much like him in so many ways, a little bit like me in others. But mostly himself.

When he was in preschool his teacher asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He looked at her very seriously for a minute before answering. “I want to be Connor Robert Bobbitt.”

Finally, at twenty-four he’s becoming his own man, making his own way. No longer lingering in his Dad’s shadow. His Dad would be so incredibly proud of him. I know I am.

Happy Birthday, Old Man. Thank God you have better taste in glasses than your Dad did.

I'm 47 For A Moment

by Monica Bobbitt

Today is my 47th Birthday. Forty-freaking-seven. Holy crow.

In three years I will hit that milestone age of 50. If I am lucky.

Yes, if I am lucky.

For a lot of years, especially in my early forties, I was ambivalent about my age. It wasn't that I was particularly stressed about aging, it was just that I was meh about it.

When I look back on those years, I can see I was meh about a lot of things. I couldn't see it so clearly then though. The funny thing is Dan could, though we never really talked about it.

That's why he wrote inside my forty-third birthday card,

"43 is better than the alternative."

Three months later he died, at 43. And I hit rock bottom.

It was the lowest point of my life-- physically and emotionally.

I was a 43-year-old unemployed widowed mother of three teenage children. I had no idea how I was going to support my children, where we were going to live, what I was going to do with my life.

The weight of those uncertainties almost crushed me.

But as I lay there in the darkness, under the pile of the broken pieces of my life, I realized that no one was going to save me. No one could rescue me or fix my life. Except me.

I needed to get up and be my own hero.

And so I did. I got up and I rebuilt my life, piece by painstaking piece.

And as I did, I realized just how much of my life had passed me by. I missed out on so many days because I was too busy stressing about life to make the most of it.

Loss teaches you the true value of time. And changes your perspective. It teaches you what's really important, and what's not. All of those things that are seemingly so important, the ones that cause us so much stress, they really aren't.

So much of my life I spent longing for the elusive "if only."

If only I were better at this or that.

If only I was taller and thinner.

If only my hair was straight so I could have one of those cute haircuts like everyone else.

If only. If only. If only.

The last four years have given me the wisdom to know that none of those things would have made me happier (well, except maybe being taller).

Last year as I was having my hair done for a function, the gal doing it straightened it first. It was the first time my hair had ever been that straight. I looked at the woman in the mirror, and I didn't even recognize her. She wasn't me. Turns out these crazy curls are part of who I am; they are part of what makes me me.

So here I am at 47. Happy being me, just the way I am. Crazy curls and all.

I'm emotionally and physically healthier, and fitter than I have ever been in my life.

Because I decided I was worth the effort (and I am so worth it).

And because I did the necessary hard work. No one else did it for me.

And a crazy thing happened along the way, I realized that not only did exercise help me become mentally and physically stronger, I actually enjoy the physical challenge that comes with it. Who knew? Certainly not me all of those years I spent thinking I could never do it.

I will never be any taller (but I can buy awesome heels). My crazy curls will always be crazy and now they are a little more grey (well, maybe a lot more grey). And I have more wrinkles than I did four years ago, and you know what? I'm okay with that. I think a few wrinkles are to be expected at my age, especially after what I've been through.

I've come a hell of a long way in the last four years.

Farther than I ever thought possible.

I am so damn proud of the woman I have become.

I have a fantastic new speaking and writing career, and I get to study a subject I love.

I've been able to reach out and support others who are struggling. Knowing I've made the difference in someone else's life makes all the difference in mine.

I have three amazing children who never lost faith in me, even when there were times I lost faith in myself.

I have a good life. Because I've built it. It's not perfect; because nothing ever is, and it's not without difficulties and challenges, but it's good nonetheless.

For a long time, I felt that I had to qualify my happiness. As if it was somehow wrong for me to be happy again.

But not anymore. I will no longer justify my happiness to anyone. Because I don't have to. And I shouldn't have to.

I deserve to be as happy as I possibly can be.

I've paid a steep price for my happiness; the true cost of which is impossible for anyone else but me to ever fully comprehend.

At 47, I truly know how very fortunate I am to be 47. It is a privilege that is denied to far too many.

Each day really is a gift. Yes, even those not so good ones.

I am so very grateful for this year. And I intend to make the most out of every single day of it.

Hello 47. I am so alright with you. 

"There's never a wish better than this when you've only got one hundred years to live." ~John Ondrasik 

Click here to read I'm 45 For A Moment 

To learn more about grief, resiliency, and life after loss, follow Monica Bobbitt on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/agoatrodeo/

I'm Forty-five For A Moment

I turned forty-five last week. Forty-five, caught in between forty and fifty. I'm still not sure how that happened. One day I was twenty-five with a newborn son, and now I'm forty-five and he is twenty. In the blink of an eye.

At least I have my midlife crisis all over and done with. Not that I was planning on heading into a midlife crisis at forty-three, mind you. I'm not sure that anyone actually plans on having a midlife crisis, I'm just glad mine's behind me. And for the record, I didn't buy a Porsche, though I did buy a new Highlander last fall (which doesn't count because it took me freaking forever to make up my mind to buy it).

Forty-three was a hard year, in fact it was pretty awful for a few months. But ironically, I came out of it much healthier and stronger than I was when I went into it. Dan's death was a huge wake-up call. In the midst of all the chaos, I started taking care of myself. I ate a lot better, I exercised regularly, I lost a ton of weight. I actually enjoy working out now, and I cope so much better with stress because of it. Skinny jeans don't scare me any more! At forty-five, I'm fitter than I've ever been, physically and mentally. Quite honestly, I never thought I'd be saying that (especially the skinny jeans part).

I have to admit though, I have gotten a few more wrinkles and grey hair since I was forty-three. Well, the greys are hidden, the wrinkles not so much. To be honest, I hadn't really noticed them, mostly because I can't actually see without my glasses on (it makes it much easier to live in denial). But then one day I looked in the mirror when I had my contacts in. Dear Lord! Where the hell did they come from?

And this is how I found myself in the drugstore looking at anti-aging creams. Who knew face cream was so freaking complicated?? I asked the skin care consultant, who was all of twenty-three (if that) which one was the best. I explained to her that I had just turned forty-five and had discovered some wrinkles. Her response was to ask me how bad my face sagging was (seriously are you freaking kidding me? I said forty-five not eighty-five, thank you very much). Fortunately for her, she agreed sagging wasn't a problem yet (thanks for that) and led me to the appropriate line of products. She showed me the best ones, explaining to me the different options (and this was when Katty bailed on me because she was trying quite unsuccessfully not to laugh). "Think of it as taking a road trip, they'll both get you there, one's just going to take you longer. You can take the scenic route, or you can take the highway." I don't need the goddamn highway, I need the freaking autobahn! And obviously the freeway to anti-sagging while I'm at it.

I make jokes about being old all the time, but I really don't think I'm old. Mostly I just use it as an excuse for a bad memory, when really my memory isn't that bad, I'm just disorganized. I chalk that up to being creative. I'm sure there's a study somewhere that proves creative people are more disorganized, if I were more organized I would have saved a link for it. I've decided one of my goals for this year is to TRY to get more organized. Emphasis on try, Rome wasn't built in a year after all.

Last year when we moved into the house, I found a card at the bottom of a box of Tupperware I was unpacking. I'm not sure how it ended up at the bottom of a box of Tupperware (I told you I was disorganized) but there it was. I didn't recognize it at first but when I looked at it, I realized it was the card Dan had given me for my forty-third birthday, just a few months before he died. It was a classic Dan card. He found it highly amusing, me not so much (he would actually still find it highly amusing). I really can't make this stuff up.

Sometimes you find things when you need them the most.

I'd been so sad that week. Moving into the house alone was so much harder than I'd expected. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself because my life was literally and figuratively a mess, and then I found this card. Talk about perspective. He was right (of course he was). I'm still here. I got to be forty-three (as shitty as parts of that year were), and forty-four and forty-five and hopefully many, many more. Life really is a series of moments, some happy, some sad. If we're lucky we get a lot of them. I don't ever want to waste any of my moments. I want to make the most of every year I get.

We all complain about getting older but we shouldn't. Old age is a privilege denied to so many. Being forty-five really is so much better than the alternative.

So hello forty-five, I'm alright with you. Wrinkles and all. But if you could hold off on the sagging for another few years, that'd be great.

"Half time goes by, suddenly you're wise. Another blink of an eye, sixty seven is gone. The sun is getting high, we're moving on.."~John Ondrasik

One Hundred Years