I can still do hard things, even without the bangle

 

Beautiful Girl, you can do hard things.

God I love those words. I believe those words to my core. When I reflect on my life to date, all of the joy and happiness I have, all of the growth I have, every positive moment that I embrace with every fiber of my being is here because I’ve known the flipside. The grief, the anger, the gut-wrenching pain. Not just of My Favourite Husband's (MFH's) illness and subsequent death but all of the moments that hurt in my life. 

Every life has these times. For some people, life is comprised of many hard moments strung together so their life seems to only be comprised of the constant hammering of pain. 

My life is not like that. My life has held mostly good days, good times. But when pain and loss visit, they knock me with hard, heavy blows. They announce their presence with hammering fists, big events, events that buckle my knees. 

That’s when I dig deep and unearth my warrior. The woman who is smart and savvy and knows there is light at the end of the tunnel of darkness. That life can — and will be — different but life can still be beautiful.

Beautiful Girl, you can do hard things.

The first year of my widowhood, I had a few close friends who continually loaned me their strength and gave me their love. They cried with me and laughed with me and they didn’t tell me it would be ok with words but they told me it would be OK with their actions.

They did all of this while they were living their own lives; lives that held challenges as well. 

I wanted to thank them with a reminder that I not only love and appreciate them but I acknowledge them. I wanted to remind them that the love and support they gave me was something they could count on from me.

And so, for MFH first deathaversary, I bought them each a bangle, engraved on the inside with “Beautiful Girl, you can do hard things."

I had purchased one for myself as well, an inexpensive rose, gold-plated bangle. Every time I left the house, I put it on. The bangle is open so that it can accommodate any wrist size. To tighten, I’d give the ends a squeeze. The bangle has travelled with me, been to work with me, been on outings with me. The plating is wearing off and it’s scratched and a little beaten up. I've thought about getting it replaced but I like the fact that it’s lived. 

Or should I say “liked.” Because recently on an outing to a farmer's market with my Mom, the bangle slipped off my wrist and appears to be gone. 

I didn’t notice it was missing until hours later, at lunch. My immediate reaction was one of disbelief, tempered with hope. I checked my purse, my SUV, the box and bags we had packed multiple vegetable purchases in. None had my treasure tucked in with their contents. 

I’ll call the market and see if anyone found it and turned it in but I’ve also resigned myself to the fact that it’s most likely gone for good.

And that has left me with mixed emotions. 

I’m sad an object that I’ve worn almost daily is no longer with me, no longer a physical reminder that I can conquer, take on tasks that initially seem insurmountable, that I can do hard things. My bangle was familiar, comforting. It had become part of who I am now.

But I’m also hopeful. Not that the bangle will be found but hopefully it was found by someone who needs this message in their life right now. Someone who is facing their own challenges, someone who needs a reminder that they, too, can do hard things. 

I believe that things very much happen for a reason and I’m hopeful that the reason for my bangle being lost from my life means I have learned that I am capable of rising up and taking on what comes my way. And I’m hopeful that the new owner will also come to know that about herself as well.

In the end, my bangle is simply an object A “thing.” And things don’t matter, people do. Maybe the universe decided I needed to be reminded of what I am capable of through the recall of memories and moments. 

If so, I’m at peace with the loss and I’m sending love to the next owner.