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Vona Stewart

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Black Hen Books
Rigby, ID 83442

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soverymom

Your mom called me last week. She was already cryi

Your mom called me last week. She was already crying. It’s time, she said, to get family photos done.

I started crying too.

She gets it. She says she nearly died when it was time to take family pictures after your sister died. And here we are again. A missing family member. Someone irreplaceable. Someone who left another gigantic hole.

A photographer has been hired; colors have been picked. I know it needs to happen; I’ve been meaning to… trying to… but it has just been too hard.

Our last family photos—just us—were taken in late 2019. We pulled clothes from our closets and did our best to coordinate; we drove to a nearby campsite and set up the tripod.

We were all freezing and laughing, rushing to get back into the warm embrace of the running car.

Ben, not quite 10 years old, took some blurry, but cherished pictures of you and me at the end; your arms around me, your smile wide.

The following year, around the same time, I was in the middle of putting together outfits for our family picture. You’d be on crutches, but I thought we could go to the same place—bring a chair for you. I was going to get them done on time for once.

And then you died.

Now we’re halfway through 2023 and Ben seems so far from almost-10 I can hardly process it. He’s filling out, looking more and more like a man and less like a little boy. You’ve missed so much.

We need new family pictures. I know it. But... it’s a knife through the heart.

We’ll bring a framed portrait of you. Pose awkwardly with it, I guess. A piece of Fujifilm paper where your beating heart should be.

We’re all going to wear our jewelry (necklaces + tie pins) engraved with your fingerprint. I’ll sew a handkerchief from one of your plaid shirts and tuck it into somebody’s pocket.

It’s never enough, but we try.

Anyway. It’s a bandaid that needs to be ripped off. I’ve been messing with the curling, blackened edges for far too long. What did you always say as the shutter clicked? “Everybody say fart sandwiches?” “Say boogers & cheese?” Something funny like that. It always made the kids laugh at the exact right moment.

I hate that you’re not here, my love. I hate that we have to do this without you.

I was determined to use audio from a new source, b

I was determined to use audio from a new source, but @the.wanderingpaddy just nails it every time. ❤️‍🩹

It’ll be two and a half years without Eric on Friday and we’re still learning to live with his love in different ways. 💔❤️‍🩹

#grief #widow #partnerloss #parentloss

Eric died two years, five months ago today, April

Eric died two years, five months ago today, April 26. #twentysucketh We’re almost halfway to three whole years and I’m officially older than he’ll ever be. 💔 I don’t know how we’ve managed; it feels just as impossible as it did when it happened.

It’s been a rough day after a long night of anxiety and insomnia, so I don’t feel very eloquent. I just want to wrap up in a quilt made of his shirts and cry. I’ve been reading the big binder of letters we wrote to each other before we ever met in person and I’ll be back when I’m a little less sleep deprived to share some of my favorite parts. 💌💌💌

#widow #partnerloss #grief

Grief waves come and go. Sometimes it’s a cras

Grief waves come and go.

Sometimes it’s a crash and smash. A flash flood shock. A violent, sink or swim fight to keep air in your lungs as you’re dashed, repeatedly, against cruel and jagged rocks.

Other times it’s simpler. There’s still the initial shock; the surprise sneak wave that drags you from the shore, but you know the drill. You know how to ride it out; let the grief wash over you and take you where it will.

I don’t want to jinx anything, but this is a fairly simple one. I am battered but not bruised. The shoreline is shrinking, but I am in the dead man’s float, arms and legs starfished; my body cradled by this thing that so often threatens to drag me under. I will eventually wash up somewhere, a little sunburned and waterlogged, but no more worse for wear.

While I drift, I will say his name and allow myself to miss him with all of me. I will lean in, admit out loud how lost and inadequate I feel without him. I will long for the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on my cheek. I will cry the big, ugly, body-wracking sobs I don’t often have time for. I will grieve the loss of him, the loss of us, the loss our babies carry with them in their bones.

I will love. That’s all this is, after all. An ocean of love for him, and no where for it to go.

#grief #partnerloss #widow

We aren’t allowed to have vertical headstones in

We aren’t allowed to have vertical headstones in the newer part of the cemetery. It means we can’t visit during the winter when the ground is covered with snow; we have no idea where it is.

Spring is ugly here, all brown and soggy and still semi-frozen. There’s the added insult of smashed-flat bouquets, mouldering wreaths and broken solar lights that have languished beneath the snowpack for several months.

I have a love/hate relationship with this space anyway. Right now it’s mostly hate. Maybe I’ll feel a bit better once the grass greens up a bit more and I can come back with a trash bag (so many empty water bottles, remnants of silk flower arrangements, straws, wrappers, and junk). Sigh. #widow #deadhusbandclub #profoundloss #outoforderdeath #stupidcemeteryrules

This isn’t meant to be a grief song, but this pa

This isn’t meant to be a grief song, but this part fits perfectly.

I’ll love you way after forever.
If the earth ends, I’ll love you in space.

#profoundloss #griefhurts #griefsucks #griefsupport #griefislove #griefandhealing #grievingprocess #griefrecovery #dealingwithgrief #copingwithgrief #loveandloss #normalizegrief #griefawareness #griefandloss #widowlife #widows #lifeafterloss #widow #youngwidow #youngishwidow #griefjourney #widowspeak #partnerloss #widowshelpingwidows #grief #loss #lossofalovedone #griefcycle

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