Tag: ALS Widow

There Is Strength in Grief

On By tomstroopsIn Alpha Lima SierraLeave a comment

A serene landscape showing a clear blue sky with bright sunlight and fluffy white clouds above lush green foliage and a wet road.

It sounds backward, doesn’t it? Strength in grief. We don’t feel strong when we’re grieving. We feel broken, small, and wildly out of control. But the truth is, it takes real strength to survive grief, to face the emptiness, push through the fog, and keep getting up anyway.

Strength isn’t smiling through the pain. It’s dragging yourself through the day when even breathing feels like work. It’s making peace with the ache, one shaky breath at a time, and finding purpose again when your reason for living is gone.

Yesterday was Tom’s birthday. It was a hard day. I went to a veteran event that morning and powered through, all the while feeling the weight of the date. By lunch, I was home. I stayed in bed the rest of the day. That’s how I recharge. I let the world fade while I sit in the pain and I try to understand it until I can find my footing again.

This morning was different. I woke up ready to move, not forward exactly, but through. I started cleaning, and that meant facing some of Tom’s things. I pulled out his work awards and plaques. They once lined his office walls like medals of honor, but after his medical retirement, they ended up in the back of the closet and out of sight, but never out of heart. I’d tried to go through them before, but grief stopped me cold. Yesterday, I couldn’t even touch them. Today, I could.

I looked at each one, acknowledged his incredible accomplishments, and recognized something I hadn’t before: they were his. Not ours. His. And that’s okay. With Trey’s support, I let them go.

That’s when it hit me and I heard the words in my head, there is strength in grief. Because every time I sit in it, feel it, and move through it, I build a stronger version of myself.

To my fellow widows and widowers: you’re not broken. You’re not powerless. You are proof that love can hurt like hell and still make you stronger. Strength isn’t shiny, it’s tear-streaked, messy, and real and sometimes, it looks like standing in your closet, holding what’s left of a life you loved, and choosing to keep living anyway.

The Highs and the Lows

On By tomstroopsIn Alpha Lima SierraLeave a comment

This week I experienced both ends of the spectrum: a soaring high and a gut-punch low.

Close-up of a car fuel gauge showing the needle at 'E' (empty), indicating low fuel level.

The Low

The day before an important two-hour drive for a meeting, my car battery died. A dead battery. Something so ordinary, so fixable, and yet I completely unraveled. I lost it in a way that surprised me, and honestly embarrassed me. To say I may have lost my shit is an understatement and I am glad no one was here to see this!

I ended up calling Grant, not because he’s “supposed” to fix my problems, but because I didn’t know what else to do. He dropped everything, showed up with lunch, figured out the issue, and followed me to the store so I could get a new battery. He was steady, kind, and selfless and it overwhelmed me.

I didn’t know what to do with that. Because in my head, that was Tom’s job. Tom was the fixer, the one who handled things like dead batteries and broken appliances and all the little hiccups of life. But Tom died, thanks to ALS. And now I’m here, three years later, still trying to figure out how to carry the weight of all the things.

It’s not that I can’t solve problems. I can. I do. But I’m depleted. My imaginary reserve tank still hasn’t refilled, and it is clearly on EMPTY. The truth is, sometimes even the little things break me wide open, because they remind me of all I’ve lost, and of all the ways my life is different now.

What Grant did that day wasn’t just about the car battery. It was about showing up when I felt small, overwhelmed, and fragile. It was about being seen and helped without judgment. That kindness reached a part of me that’s still grieving, still healing, still learning what it means not to carry everything alone.

The High

The high was meaningful. I achieved an advocacy goal I’ve been working toward for years. It is a win on the ALS veteran and caregiver front that, as it comes to fruition, I will share. It felt like proof that the long nights of research and learning VA Directives, the countless calls and emails were worth it. It wasn’t just achieving an advocacy goal; it was solving veteran/caregiver issues in the moment, knowing that caregivers and veterans don’t have to be scared or afraid of what will happen if their needs can’t be met. I can easily put myself in their shoes, I can instantly remember the fear of going it alone. During my caregiver journey, I just wished that someone would or could help me, but at the time, there was very little help for our ALS veteran community. It is an all-consuming fear. One that you feel for yourself and for your veteran. To think Tom’s livelihood and even his life were balancing on me getting services from the VA, well, it’s one of the reasons I advocate.  During that meeting, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And you know what, I was.

The Reflection

Grief isn’t linear, and the impact of caregiving doesn’t end when the caregiving ends. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the muscle memory of always being “on”—they linger. Sometimes, a dead battery is more than just a dead battery. It’s a reminder of everything that’s missing in my life, and an opportunity for someone else to step in and show me I am not alone.

The lesson I’m trying to take away is this: it’s okay to celebrate the big wins and still fall apart over the little things. It’s okay to ask for help, even when I wish I didn’t need to. And maybe the hardest truth of all—it’s okay to let someone else show up for me, even though no one will ever replace Tom.

Because maybe, just maybe, part of resilience isn’t about always being strong. Perhaps it’s about letting people love you through the moments when you’re at a low in your life.

The Ties That Bind: Coping with Loss and Moving Forward

On By tomstroopsIn Alpha Lima Sierra1 Comment

Yesterday was unexpectedly hard for me. In a way, I was not aware of, until my special guy pointed it out to me. Yesterday, I resigned from my part-time job. I resigned because I am ready to focus my energy on something that I am incredibly passionate about: advocacy in the veteran space.

The unexpected sadness that resigning brought, I now understand, thanks to Grant, has more to do with this being another tie that is being cut from my life with Tom. I started working for this company just after Tom was diagnosed. Just a year before, I had transitioned from being an independent environmental consultant to working at a firm. Working for myself was an incredible experience, but I knew that to grow as a professional, I needed to work in a setting that would allow that growth. In the three years I spent at the consulting firm, I learned and grew as a regulatory consultant and project manager and had incredible industry mentors. I loved what I did.

When it was determined that Tom needed a trach, my professional life came to a grinding halt. I had to give up a career I didn’t just love but one I worked very hard to establish myself and my reputation. I had to pass along my clients to others in my office. Clients that I was proud to have.

Tom shared in my professional success. He had a front row seat in it. He was, without a doubt, my greatest supporter and cheerleader. He was also my therapist when I was worried about a project and how I should handle things. He would always remind me that whatever happened, we had each other. Having an emotional safety net allowed me to “go for the brass ring” as my Dad would say. Tom wrapped me in love and support, and that gave me the strength to go for my dreams and not focus on the “what-ifs” of failing. Because of that love and support, I started my own environmental consulting company and later a separate solid waste training company specializing in medical waste management and used by the waste industry in Texas.

After Tom died, I had no idea what I would do moving forward. I got a call from the office asking me back. Not as an environmental consultant, as that department had gone away after Covid, but to come back to help part-time in the office as needed. Going back to work was strange after years of caregiving, but I looked forward to being back with my work family. A family that I could be myself and talk about Tom, and they would get it. Returning to work allowed me to be vertical and get out of bed. Going back to that office was the soft landing I needed after losing my amazing husband. I will forever be grateful for the company and those working in the Austin office.

It wasn’t until yesterday evening that it hit me. Leaving the company I started when Tom was alive was one more step forward in a life that no longer had Tom in it. One more tie, one more connection broken of something Tom and I shared. Last night, as I cried, I thought about how many more ties or connections that I shared with Tom would break in the future. How many more? At what point will my life have very few ties to Tom? That is a scary thought! As I move forward, I will gain new memories and create new ties or connections with those moving forward with me.

Yes, yesterday was heartbreaking. Sometimes, these things hit when we least expect them. I woke up this morning with sadness still in my heart. Like with every part of this widow journey, I have learned I must feel the feels and understand the what and the why until I can accept it and continue to move forward. It is sad that the ties that wrapped Tom and I together as a couple are breaking, but I understand it must happen to make room for new ones. It just hurts when they break and float way.

Do me a favor, if your person is with you, hug them tight and enjoy the ties that bind you in your relationship. If you are in this widow lane with me, I hope you find new ties to bind you to the people in your life that you love and love you.

All my love,

Lara

Land of the Lost

On By tomstroopsIn Alpha Lima SierraLeave a comment

I am not talking about a strange world occupied by dinosaurs and sleestak, but the strange world of widowhood. It has its own obstacles and dangers to get through to survive. Only now that I have moved forward in this journey can I look back and see how far I have come. I can also look back with awe and a sense of pride at how I have fought through the obstacles that being a widow has thrown at me. I can’t say I have found my way back to a land I once knew, and I am not sure that is a possibility, but I am finding my way in this strange world I now occupy.

I recently completed a DIY project that I am super happy with. I started the project back in March of this year and had such an epic fail when it first started that I pushed it off to the side of the garage, thinking I would most likely not finish it. I didn’t beat myself up for not finishing it; I just resigned myself that it was a project not in my wheelhouse. I didn’t have the skill set it took to complete it. In my pre-ALS world, I would have asked Tom to help, and he would have. Okay, so really, I would have asked him and just let him finish it for me. That is what really would have happened. This time, there wasn’t anyone to ask. I let that half-finished project sit and collect dust for months. In August, I decided I could figure it out because I had to if I wanted to get things done. That’s the hard part in widowhood: you don’t have a partner you can rely on. Someone that you know when you ask for help will be there. That was not always the case during the ALS journey. There were times during the ALS journey when I reached out and asked for help, but the help didn’t come. I get it. People have their own lives to live. They are doing their own thing, and sometimes, your need for help does not fit into their schedule or even their wheelhouse. So, I stopped asking for help as much as possible. It was easier to get through than deal with the disappointment of asking and no one there to provide the help. And, of course, there were times I didn’t have the energy to ask; I just struggled, hoping someone would see and offer.

Well, yesterday, I completed the project. All said and done, it was not hard, just overwhelming. That is an excellent way to describe widowhood, which is overwhelming. Tasks that you may see and go, “What’s the big deal?” are HUGE to those navigating the world of widowhood. When Tom died, I had to step out of the world I knew and act as if I had been living in this new widow world forever. It is hard. I doubted every step I took. I was often given lots of advice by people who could only imagine my world, all well-meaning, but advice that meant nothing to me. I knew from the beginning, because of the journey I had after I lost the twins and our son, that I had to do widowhood my way. It has meant I have done things that make people question my sanity. Heck, I question it, too, but I have taken every step cautiously. I looked at each situation and, most importantly, gauged how I felt about it. What was I feeling? Was it fear, or maybe it was anxiety? I sat with it to try and understand it before moving forward.

As I enjoyed the fruits of my labor, I reflected on other steps I have taken in the past few weeks and could see how working through the problem of the project allowed me to take another big step in this land of the lost. I am becoming way more productive, and that feels really good. I was not productive because of work or due to an advocacy commitment, but I was productive in my own life. Doing the things I did before ALS was hard. Reminders that a world with Tom was over. I can also see that many of the trips I have taken recently, while all amazing and I don’t regret one second, were my way of running from the reality of my life. If I am off having a good time, the project could sit and collect dust without me feeling bad about it. If I was jetting off to Europe, it didn’t matter if the kitchen wasn’t clean; I wasn’t there to see it. Completing the project was one more building block I needed to continue to find my way through this land of the lost. I know I still have a long journey, but I am happy I have developed the skills to look back and see how far I have come. I am happy I have the confidence to tackle projects I once would have left to Tom to save me from. I am learning; I have to save myself sometimes, and each time I do, I build confidence that I can navigate this land of the lost. I could also handle any sleestak that came my way too. You know I will report back to you if I see any but it will have to wait until my next big trip is over. I am heading to Belize at the end of the month. This time, I am not running away from my reality but will be doing so mindfully in this land of the lost.

All my love,

Lara

How long?

On By tomstroopsIn Alpha Lima SierraLeave a comment

Working through the grief journey is hard and at times exhausting. There are also the parts of the grief journey that you have to sit, be mindful and try to understand the “why” behind feelings you are having. So many things I have learned while on this journey, mostly things about myself. Like, I am stronger than I feel most days because after all, here it is, two years since Tom died and I am still standing. I have also learned how to tune in to the “big feels”. To dissect them in a way that helps me to understand why I do what I do. For example, when I am in my feels, I shut down. I find it impossible to do anything but binge watch some show on television. I don’t have energy to even respond to text messages or emails. I can get consumed by feelings and don’t want to engage with anyone. Sometimes it takes me several days and possible a week or so to recognize the spiral down, and sometimes, it just takes a moment to recognize what is happening to me.

This morning I woke up and laid in bed trying to figure out what is going on with me. It hit me as I pondered why I was a useless person this weekend…tomorrow is July 30th.

Picture taken a few months after we married.

July 30th is…scratch that…was our wedding anniversary. In fact, if Tom was alive, this would be our 34th wedding anniversary but sadly we were only married 32 years. I say “only” because we were supposed to be married forever. But the reality is that I am no longer married. However, the tradition surrounding our wedding has lived on, but I have been wondering all day if I should continue it. See, Tom and I eloped on the island of Guam. We went to the JP, no wedding dress, no pictures, really nothing except our dinner that night. We went to the NCO Club on Base and it was so late they only had one choice for dinner. That was steak, potatoe, salad and cheesecake. So that meal we made into a tradition. Having it every year. Even when Tom could no longer eat, we grilled the steak, baked the potato, made the salad and blended it so it could be given through his PEG tube. Last year we had the same meal, but it just wasn’t the same. This morning I went to the store to buy that meal but today it didn’t bring me joy or happiness. It was sad to buy this meal. This special meal that Tom and I would eat and remember that day, July 30, 1990. Before I went into the store I was talking with Grant and asked him, how long do you continue a tradition like this? His response, for as long as I need to. I feel like I need to but maybe changing it up just a bit.

During the ALS years we chose to do transitional Christmas traditions. It worked to help us ease into a Christmas without Tom. Now it seems like that is the answer to my question regarding the anniversary tradition. Keep parts, change parts and make it more of a transitional anniversary tradition. For me, it is incredibly hard to maintain traditions Tom and I created. It is hard on my heart, my soul and my mental health. Let’s be honest, if I think about what might have been, it’s all hard!

This is just another part of the grief journey.

All my love,

Lara