Pink Lemonade

"It's makin' the best of the worst day kinda night"

- Ashley McBryde

The day my husband died left me in a state of exhaustion that I had never experienced before. Sitting with my children and telling them that their incredible father wasn’t coming home ever again, contacting family, and only beginning to process our unthinkable loss had drained every ounce of energy from my body. I should have wanted to crawl into bed and sleep to escape the unthinkable physical and mental fatigue, the nightmare that had become my life. I should have wanted to retreat from the houseful of friends and family to escape and to begin, in some small way to reconcile the situation and circumstances. I should have wanted to disrobe of my tear-stained clothing into the comfort of my pajamas and crawl into my restful bed.

The problem was that it wasn’t just my bed. It wasn’t just my room. It was the space I shared with Chris and I didn’t ever imagine that I would have to view it as singularly my space.

I had to begin to understand that he would not come into our room after I drifted to sleep and turn off the dim lamp that I had left on every night. I would never hear the subtle click of him turning off that nightlight ever again.

I would never smell the understated aroma of his shower gel again in the morning.

I would never have the opportunity to bring him a cup of coffee and hear him express his gratitude while he lounged in bed on a leisurely Saturday.

I would never again get the kiss goodbye that he infallibly gave me every morning before leaving for work.

Simply said, I instantly hated our bedroom and that it was now my bedroom. I resented the space and felt like the walls were closing in on me. A room in which I had always found so much solace was suddenly stifling and painful. I couldn’t think in this space, let alone sleep in it. In the days and weeks following, in a concerted effort to avoid the bedroom, I came up with endless lists of things to take care of outside of my bedroom at all hours of the night. Folding laundry, organizing cabinets, even 2:00 am Peloton rides; the tasks didn’t matter as long as they allowed me a reprieve from the oppressive space the bedroom had become.

But, on one particularly long night shortly after Chris’ death, as my grief journey began to evolve and my pledge to reclaim joy heightened, I decided that when life gives you lemons, you make pink lemonade. I resolved to reclaim the space and the solace of the room we shared, but I also recognized that I needed to make it my own.

I became immersed in web searches to find all of the pink, glittery, and frilly bedroom décor that would allow me to transform the space into a place where I could once again find peace. I selected sparkly artwork, sequin covered throw pillows, and a pale pink duvet cover. My incredible friends wholeheartedly joined the effort and even began to send me amazing (and at times over-the-top) décor that certainly led to many smiles and much laughter. Little by little, I found myself not only becoming more comfortable in my space, but actually beginning to love what the room represented; my ability to take back joy.

The bedroom overhaul was certainly not without moments of contemplating ‘What would Chris think?’ While I was quite confident that my new whimsical design scheme would highly amuse him, I also knew he would be proud of my ability to reclaim joy and peace; to make pink lemonade.

Despite the changes to our bedroom and the explosion of pink, Chris’ clothes still fill our closet, his ball caps are still stacked neatly on the bedpost on his side of the bed, and his toiletries remain in his drawer in our bathroom just as he left them. They remind me of the easy and casual moments of our life together, and I find comfort in those memories. I have come to recognize that I was in no way attempting to erase our shared space, rather simply rethinking it and reinventing it in a far less painful way.

For others, rethinking and reinventing after a loss such as a death, divorce, or illness might involve taking back another type of space; a vehicle, a cherished vacation destination, or a favorite restaurant. Reclaiming the spaces we shared with others, or under different circumstances is difficult and in no way will they ever be the same spaces that they had been previously. Yet, taking our shared spaces back allows us to honor the past, embrace the memories, and move forward with an unwavering commitment to happiness and joy.

A dear friend recently gifted me a pillow for my newly designed bedroom which says, “Beautiful Girl, You Can Do Hard Things.” The pillow sits prominently on a faux fur bench at the foot of my pink bed. It serves as a persistent reminder of not only my commitment to perseverance and joy, but also of my strength. The pillow reminds me that my bedroom transformation represents how I have decided to respond to unthinkable circumstances that I did not choose, and my aspiration to approach the situation with positivity and happiness even when it is tremendously difficult.

Love & Light,

The Unwavering Widow