Advice from a 25-year-old widow: no, not everything happens for a reason
By: Frances Bloom
Tags: Grief And Loss, Perspective, Advice For Life, Widow

“waiting around to die”, oil pastel on mixed media paper, 5" x 5"

September 4th, 2020 marked three years without the love of my life. Let me take a second to introduce you to Jacob Dante Boraggina, my childhood sweetheart since the 7th grade. I call it the “luxury of ignorance” that I had before I lost him — I would get mad over trivial matters because I did not know any better. That old Charles Bukowski quote, “People are strange: they are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice” never fully resonated until I lost everything. Did I ever think this would happen? No. Did I ever think I would be spending the year 2018, and most of 2017 and 2019, in bed or in psychiatric facilities? No. Did I ever think this incredible human being — my best friend, my spouse, my sweetest boy- who I made breakfast for just that morning would be snatched away from me that evening? No. That I would come home with groceries only to find him gone? Unfathomable. Until it isn’t.

We were sizing our wedding rings, we were naming our unborn children, and we were setting up a life together. You leave your family and turn towards your chosen family — we had spent the last two Thanksgivings and Christmas’s alone and we were forming our own new traditions, together — as a family. We were robbed of all milestones — marriage, children, buying a house together, grandchildren. I never thought in a million years I would be left alone, without the one person who ever knew me — and in his own words, “you are the only person that I can truly be myself around. The only one that knows me inside and out, and loves me unconditionally.” Sometimes people say the only unconditional love that exists is within the confines of a parent/child relationship. For Jacob and I, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I loved and love everything about him — I would have never broken up with him and the thought would never even cross my mind in the 7–8 years we lived together. With each new day, I found something to love even more and there was a secret little surprise of his personality that would shine through. He was a poet, a writer, and a true artist. This is part of the reason why I released my book of poetry, My Groans Pour Out Like Water. Not only was it the only thing I could do after I lost him, but it was almost as if Jacob was flowing through me. I wanted to continue what he could not — trust me, if you like my book at all — Jacob was ten times better writer than myself, but it was the only thing I could do for the first 6–8 months. It was one of the most bizarre things in my life, I would wake up and write 20 poems — without any control. I never sat down and said “I am going to write a poem today” it just flowed through me for months and months. And my degree is in biology! But I have always felt like an artist deep down — never a scientist. This is why Jacob and I got along so well — we both had an artistic soul (his far greater than mine). In fact, my first major was in writing — but that is a story for another day.

This is one of the realizations I have had during this grief-hellhole-knee deep in shit river experience at 25 — creativity has been the only way to save myself (at least this has been the case for me). I have written over 500 poems, 30 songs, and a 75,000-word book (it probably isn’t any good) — but there is nothing that can heal more than creating. I don’t even like using the word “heal” because I lay in bed all day, more depressed than ever, going onto year two — but it gives me a reason to do something — anything. Jacob once told me, after I wrote a song about him, how proud he was of me. “I love you being creative”, he would say like a proud parent. Any achievement, he was there. And he truly was like a proud parent, that’s how pure our love was and is. When I would paint watercolor he would take the time to kiss me behind my neck and say, “I am so proud of you my sweetest girl.” He danced when I got home. “Finally! My Baby Girl is Home!” He did the dishes, took out the trash, made dinner — wrote me poems, and brought me flowers. He even helped me close up my night shift (at midnight) after a hard day of his own school and work during college when I ran a local coffee shop. Here is the point: he found all kinds of ways, and was always in search of new ones, to express his love for me. I haven’t had it in me to write about my loss, but I am finding out there are very few resources for young widows. And most young widows are considered to be in their late 30s and early 40s. Everyone at 25? They are either dating, engaged, having babies, or enjoying life. I am like the walking dead, barely able to summon the strength to go to the bathroom. I have to set an alarm to brush my teeth. But this isn’t about me right now — this is about Jacob. His love was pure, and we had a beautiful life together that I miss every second of every day.

When you lose your spouse, you lose your routine. People go back to their lives, their work, their families but you are left with nothing. You are left with ghosts of a former life. You are left in despair, misery, and your one person is gone. Your whole existence is shattered. I didn’t get to have children with the love of my life, so I don’t have that to “hold onto” or “keep going for”. You are left with brown boxes with labels on them, t-shirts you sleep with at night before their scent ultimately leaves them. You are the only one that has to live this lonely horrible existence in this way. For me, not only is it lonely and isolating being a 25-year-old widow, but Jacob and I were each other’s lives, each other’s best friends (we didn’t need anyone else) so I don’t have any social support — not even one friend, really. I lost the one witness of my entire life and furthermore, as any other widow will tell you, we are no longer the most important person to someone anymore. All of this is authentic. Real. Raw. But none of this happened to me for a special reason. The expression “everything happens for a reason” is bullshit. Fortune cookie wisdom masquerading as sage advice. Why not just say — “wow, this is fucking horrible. I cannot imagine.” Boom — perfect. Was that so hard? People my age (now I am 28) need a BIG lesson on what to say and what not to say to those in mourning — but again — that is for another post.

And so- here I am. A friend to you, and any young widow who needs one. There is so little information about young widows out there, I almost had to start this blog out of necessity. I want to hear your story and I want my story to be heard. Because the truth is, I was the only one who knew Jacob as an adult. I have to carry on our stories. Otherwise, he will truly die. He only stays alive in stories. I never want people to stop talking about Jacob, for the rest of my life, his love is in my soul. It rattles in my bones. I will continue to post about him, our trips, our life, and maybe how my three years of a heavily medicated haze might change. And if it doesn’t? That’s fine too. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. Just know, you are not alone. Well… you are, but — not completely.

I am going to leave you with one of the first poems I ever wrote about my grief: