“Mom, can I have fries with my shawarma?”
My American experience is unique. Born in Houston, my parents moved me to the Middle East when I was four years old. My dad’s job transferred him. The move changed our lives. It wasn’t just the food we ate, the roads we traveled or even the fact my mom could no longer drive those roads because women weren’t allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia. That move opened my eyes to opportunities. My world literally became bigger.
I desperately wish I could go back in time.
To the days when we texted stupid things throughout the day. To the days when I yelled at you for staying in the gym too long. To the days when you, me and Lola spent all day inside on a Saturday eating pizza for all our meals because we were too lazy to go to the grocery store.
I’ll even take most April 16, 2016. It started off simply, sweetly and normally enough. Lazy morning in bed, pancake breakfast at the clubhouse and then an afternoon at the movies. All while in sweats and a messy bun because that’s when you swore I looked most beautiful.
I’m starting to see that time doesn’t heal all wounds, but I read somewhere that it does “give you the tools to deal with all of them.”
A year ago today, my earthly angel became my heavenly angel.
Rasheed, we all miss you more than most can comprehend.
Until I hold you in my arms again.
Forever Yours, KW
Rasheed Amin Wiggins
March 24, 1977 – April 16, 2016
Sometimes it hits you hard & fast.
You get a glimpse of your old self– your old smile, your old worries, your old life.
You remember what it was like to look forward to him returning from work; him bringing you flowers; him loving you — live & in person.
The pictures & the memories help, but sometimes, sometimes you just want your husband to hold you. It may seem like torture, but I posted this one on my fridge because it reminds me of how happy I once was, and forces me to try to live and smile because that’s all he ever wanted me to do.
XO
#YoungWidow #MissingHim #griefandloss #StillHis #WidowStrong #GriefSucks #loveofmylife #memoriesforlife
It’s where you feel safe, warm and happy. It’s where your loved ones come to visit, and you lounge in your pj’s all day, eating food that makes you smile from your gut while sharing laughs with those who know you the best. It’s where you snuggle on the couch with your special one and enjoy bad tv and good blankets.
Last month I bought our first one.
But you weren’t there to sign on the other dotted line.
Oh, 2016, I hate you.
I normally reserve such hateful language for.. well… never. But I think it’s safe to say I’m okay with this one.
I desperately need you to end.
But I’m simultaneously scared to see you go. I need to keep the good memories; just help force the horrific ones to die.
This was originally posted on the Huffington Post on December 5, 2016.
I’m a young widow.
The word stinks, but it’s honestly the best way to simply describe my situation.
Everything is so confusing now. My brain can’t comprehend the tense I’m living in.
He was…
but I am..
even though I wish I wasn’t.
During my recent pilgrimage to India to visit a town full of thousands of widows, I sported a homemade sweatshirt with the words “Still His” displayed across my chest.
I wish I had words that could eloquently sum up how it feels to mark six months without my husband. I don’t. Just a video full of raw emotion. Please don’t judge my tears, my anger, my pain or my grief. And if you’re feeling a loss right alongside me, I extend my shaky hand to you and offer my deepest, heartfelt apology. This sucks. Man, I miss that man.
My life is currently a walking contradiction. I love going to sleep because that’s when it’s when I can rest from the pain. Yet I hate waking up because it means I’m another day further from you.
However, the cool breeze that whipped around my cheeks when I walked Lola this morning signaled the seasons were changing. I’m ready. Kind of. This summer has been horrible.
And a few days ago, my birthday snuck up on me.
R.A.W. Emotion 