Albert Camus wrote: "In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."
On April 10, 2002, I entered the depths of winter when my husband of 19 years died suddenly. Bill was 47 years old, I was 45, our children were 11 and 14.
With his death, I was thrust into a frightening and unfamiliar world, a world filled with mind-heart-soul crushing pain and sorrow, a world in which I felt utterly alone, a world in which the thought of not having Bill in my life literally took my breath away.
Those first days, weeks and months were about survival. But the invincible summer within us is about more than surviving.
The invincible summer within us is the will to prevail despite the tragedy; the determination to embrace life despite the pain and sorrow; the refusal to let the circumstances destroy or diminish us; the belief that despite what has happened, life is still worth living and still has beauty and joy in it.
It was there when, that first holiday season after Bill died, knowing that I couldn't face sending our traditional Christmas letter, I instead sent a Thanksgiving letter acknowledging that despite my grief, I was grateful that Bill had been part of my life.
It was there when I told myself and others that I thought the best tribute that I could give Bill would be to learn to live fully, even though I was far from being able to do that.
It was there when I decided that I wanted to give meaning to Bill's death by using my experiences to reach out to other young widows.
And yet, for such a long time, the winter of my grief was too dark and too cold for me to recognize the invincible summer within me. I couldn't imagine ever being truly happy again. I couldn't imagine that there would ever be a time when grief didn't dominate my life.
Twenty-one months after Bill died, I booked a trip to take the kids on a summer vacation very different from any vacation we'd ever taken before. And, unexpectedly, I found that rather than dreading going on this adventure without him, I felt almost exhilarated.
It wasn't so much the act of booking the trip that was important but what it signified. After the many months of feeling so defeated and uncertain, I realized that I believed in myself - that I could do this. While life without Bill was not the life I had wanted or envisioned, by stretching my comfort zone, trying new things, finding something to look forward to, I was reaffirming that life would go on and that it could be good.
Learning this hadn't happened overnight; it had been happening incrementally over the past months. But for the first time, I could see it in myself, I could feel it.
I knew then with certainty that I would not only survive Bill's death but that I could thrive despite it.
With time and effort, the cold and darkness of winter slowly receded, and two years later, I felt that I had finally emerged from the depths of winter. While grief revisits me at times and I will always love and remember Bill, I no longer yearn for the past or fear the future - I try to live fully in the moment.
I believe in the invincible summer within us. I believe in hope.
Teal Thawley lives in Dallas. If you'd like to submit an essay or to read more submissions from North Texans, go to the "This I Believe" page of kera.org.
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