Some new folks are here, so I'm posting this as an example of early survival. Not written by me.

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by Michelle Jarvie

Ive always been a planner. When I was 8, I had Christmas presents wrapped and cards made in July. When I was 14, I researched all of my college options. When I was 19 and graduated college, I knew that 26 was going to be the best year of my life. After all, at 26, youre deep into a career, are likely married, own your own home, and are financially stable and wise enough to provide for kids.

When the plan sped up and I found and married my best friend at 22 years old, we decided to live in a city called Vadnais Heights while raising kids, then retire near Superior Shores (northern Minnesota). Four kids was the ideal, and I was hoping for boys I heard theyre easier, and the world needed more men like my husband. Trust me.

Then the love of my life was killed by a negligent driver.

And I paced, and paced, and paced around our house. What was I supposed to do now?

Seven and a half years later, heres the letter I wish I couldve given myself at that time:

Dear Michelle,

This is unbelievable, unfair, scary, maddening, and paralyzing. Im so sorry you have to go through this. The platitudes people are repeating Everything happens for a reason and God doesnt give you more than you handle and others are said because the situation is shocking, and they want to explain how something like this couldve happened. You know the truth, and its simple: choices have consequences. The driver who hit him will never be the same, and both of you can save lives by talking about distracted driving (in the future).

But right now, all that matters is his extinguished life. I know youre wondering how to honor it, how to stop crying, how to get the bloody images to stop so you can fall asleep, how youll ever be okay, etc. These are important questions, and youre feeling important emotions. The best thing you can do right now is let yourself grieve: fully feel the waves of sadness, anger, and desperation. Know that the path you are on is not linear, and the stages of grief will be different, then similar, then repetitive, then long, then boiling, and then sad. Dont suppress it. At some point, when sadness is where you stay, you will be able to make decisions about how to move forward. It will happen, and you will feel ready.

You wont ever be the same. Youre not supposed to be. There will be elements of life that youll always miss, and areas of growth that will give you more joy than youve known. While youre upset and depressed that the people you thought would be here for you arent, please believe that new ones are on their way. Ones with survival experience, wisdom, patience, hope, and understanding. These friendships (and mentors) will help you, but you will not become dependent on them. In fact, within three years, you will find a strength and independence that makes you a light for others. Because of your pain, your light will save.

There are things you can do while youre waiting to experience the hope in this letter:

Get out of bed and go for a walk. Even if you only make it to the mailbox, thats enough;

When you have energy, write down everything. How youre feeling today, the details of your wedding, your favorite conversations, what he believed, how he made you feel, the dreams youve lost, the people who are helping right now. Keep these in a journal, and share some of them with widow support groups, likewidda.organdgriefhealing.com;

Surround yourself with people who want to talk about him and validate you. Youll need to initiate people want to help, but theyre not good at reaching out;

Read a few good books:I Wasnt Ready to Say Goodbye,TheDeath of a Husband, andThen & Now: Changed Perspectives of a Young Widow;

Make some food that he enjoyed. If you have no appetite, offer it to others;

Break stuff when you feel mad (and keep the pieces, as someday youll be in a place to create a mosaic out of them);

Pray. Be honest that you question everything, be mad about this new normal, and be open to new people wholl walk this journey with you. Say it all out loud.

Heat up water, and use it to make some calming tea. Curl up with a weighted blanket and you will feel the unyielding emotions confine.

Cry. Just like when you were a kid, youll feel a bit better when youve let it out. You need to do several times a day for the first couple years; its part of the process.

Buy reputable, organic melatonin to help you sleep. In the long run, this will be far better and easier to wean off than the prescription medications.

You will be able to do this stuff. It wont happen everyday, and when it doesnt, remember what your beloved said, Its okay not to be okay.

I should probably end this letter now. But my heart is yearning to tell you one more thing: In seven years, you will be joyful. JOYFUL. That doesnt mean happy every day, but it means a life with acceptance and purpose. You will have a variety of coping mechanisms, which you teach others, and you will want to live for yourself and your baby daughter.

Love,

Me