Tim’s Story

Site created on August 13, 2019

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Journal entry by Kaitlan Wiedmar

“My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger that the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life, scars are only ugly to people who can’t see it. 

 

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you are drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s a physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. 

 

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang one and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know whats going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. 

 

Somewhere down the line, and it is different for everyone, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to the same tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you are lucky, you will have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

 



This was shared with me after losing you, one year ago today. One year ago today I was preparing for the biggest shipwreck of my life. One year ago, seems like yesterday. I have not had one day, one solitary day, that I haven’t thought about you. How have I gone 365 days without your contagious laugh, dramatic conversation, or ridiculousness. The waves come everyday. Sometimes big waves, sometimes small, and sometimes many at a time. 

 

Like the quote, what an honor to have loved so much to have a shipwreck at all. Losing you has changed me. I don’t find myself in the same mundane routines just cruising through the in and out of the day. I have found purpose in my actions. I don’t just show up to work, I find purpose and meaning behind my practice. I don’t just go to see family, it is meaningful and purposeful, I try to find mindfulness and purpose in all my actions. I embrace the emotions, and I feel them whole heartedly – the good and the bad. If I am going to be somewhere, I try to be there completely. I have learned the value of time, and time well spent. I have learned the value of showing up. I have my struggles, no doubt, but your shipwreck has changed me - and for the better. 

 

I will have many more shipwrecks in my life. As I continue on this journey, I will make more meaningful relationships, and give more of myself to those around me. I will continue to think about you every single day. I will continue to find purpose and to better myself every single day. I will always have waves from your shipwreck, and I know my family drifts in the sea alongside me. Together we drift, holding onto our piece of debris, floating along together – sometimes getting hit by the same wave, and sometimes different heights, intensities, and lengths of waves. But for me, I never want them to stop coming, no matter how painful they are at times. 

 

I love you so much. Thank you for loving me the way you did, thank you for the meaningful moments, the thoughtfulness, the laughs, mischievousness, and your purpose. You have changed me into a better daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, and coworker. I will proudly drift amongst the wreckage from your shipwreck and always try to consider myself lucky to have loved and BE loved enough to be there at all. 

 

With all the love, 

 

Kaitlan

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