The Good Times Are Better Forgotten

Source - a facebook friend

In two months and 8 days, I will be forced into the 3 year anniversary. I have been treading lightly, trying to come to terms with the 3 year, and well.. I haven’t accepted these terms.

I never signed on a dotted line. I never accepted “You are widowed, sign here”, some crappy contract I got stuck with. I didn't sign up for some service, that would throw me into the widowed club, yet, I’m stuck with it.

There are times (like today) that I think “Holy shit, I am widowed!” Then comes the “I didn't sign up for this shit, it was Seth’s decision to leave this world, not mine, he should have to live in this hell, NOT ME!!”

Yes, I’m a tad angry. Every year before the anniversary, I start falling into the anger stage... And it’s here, sitting next to me, slowly swirling my hair, and saying oh so softly “Let’s be angry, it will be fun!”

What the anger stage doesn't realize is I hate it. The anger stage scares the crap out of me every time. There is nothing worse than being stuck in this hell, and pissed off at the whole world around you.

I can finally see that every year I fall into the anger stage shortly before the anniversary.

Stupid anger and stupid widowhood.

Did I mention I’m a tad angry?

Yes, just a tad. My really angry posts don’t get posted here, because let’s just say, that are above and beyond R rated.

Lately I have been flooded with good memories of my life with Seth. Up until this point, I had very little good memories with Seth.. at least, I couldn't remember them because of my pain and widow brain. The memories are slowly starting to leak in.. and I’ll find myself smiling at myself at the most unacceptable times. Some days it’s almost easier to not remember the good times. Remembering the good times makes it hurt worse. Makes me miss him more. Slaps me with “look what you lost, ha!” And gives me a case of the “I wish.” I wish this wasn't my life. I wish this wasn't my husband’s life. I wish that tomorrow I will wake up and this will all be gone. I wish there was a magic pill to wipe away the pain and anguish.

So it’s almost easier to remember the bad times then it is to remember the good times.

The good times hurt.. hurt really bad. Looking back at the times gone by, leave me confused, hurt and feeling alone. I have been tip toeing into the past, for very short time spans, but trying to allow the good memories back into this poor brain of mine. (I’m starting to wonder when this brain of mine will have enough of my crap and leave me.)

I've been thinking about the upcoming 3 year anniversary and I am honestly really scared. I have realized with each anniversary, birthday and holiday, I step into the events in sheer fear..

Fear because I don’t know how I’m going to handle it.. and fear that there will be one last grief breakdown that I won’t be able to get up from. What if this is the one that makes me snap and I never recover?

I think because I have fallen into the deep hole of hell and depression before, I am afraid of going there again.. if I go there again, I doubt I will reemerge. I doubt I will recover.   

But I realized the fear of upcoming events, is actually a good thing.

That means I am fully aware how bad this is going to hurt. I am fully aware that I might need 4 days in bed, or a bottle of wine. I am fully aware that I am walking into a trap. And I am fully aware that the lining between life and that black hole of hell is really thin. One miss step and I could be in the hole.

It means, that I finally have self awareness. Awareness of what I’m walking into, and caring enough about myself to fear what this anniversary could bring.

I’m sure come the 3 year anniversary,  I will be able to give you a whole list of what I've learned.

But for now I have learned the good times hurt and it’s okay to care enough about myself to know (and be prepared) for what is coming up.

India

“Your sacred space is where you can find yourself over and over again.”
— Joseph Campbell

Since getting my Firewalk Instructor Certification, meditation has become a part of my life.

What started as 3 times a week with a tiny spot in my room, is now a daily practice with its own room.

But more than that, what became a specific time that gave me a short time of awareness, acceptance and peace...

Has extended far outside my time on the cushion, to be a huge part of every waking second.

Without a doubt, meditation and Buddhist concepts are a huge component of my life.

I know you may be wondering, "What's up with the meditation speech?".

Well, it is meditation that led me to choosing this year's "Once in a Lifetime Trip, Once  a Year" trip that I wanted to share with y'all.

In less then 2 weeks I'll be heading solo over to Bangalore, India, to deepen my practice and invest a bit more into one of my greatest assets...my head and heart.

My mind and soul.

Namaste.

So Happy She Died!

(This great image is from Cory Parris' web site)

On Maggie’s Angel Day, at the suggestion of friends, I hosted a simple get-together.   When asked about hosting such an event, I immediately felt…  Yuck!  Why the hell would I want to have a party on the day my sweetie Maggie died?  She DIED that day.  What is there to celebrate?

Reflecting on that day four years ago is an exercise rich with many layers of emotion, no matter what the impetus.  My feelings that day were so complicated and fluid moment to moment that it’s difficult to capture in words.  It’s a day like no other I’ve experienced or frankly wish to ever experience again.  But I wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else on Earth.  I was right where I was supposed to be - by her side.

Just moments after she died I remember being so peaceful and happy.  I was relaxed and quite simply just happy.  Until now, I’ve tried not to dig too deeply into the psychology of why that would be a good moment for me to be all smiles and while I can assure you that the happiness didn’t last very long, for a while that evening, I was quite relaxed and happy.

My guess as to why I was Mr. Smiles that evening is, quite simply, that for the first time in way, way too long, my sweet wife wasn’t suffering.  I wasn’t watching her body slowly being eaten by an awful disease.  Our lives were no longer being painfully ripped apart.  Our futures weren’t being destroyed, one happy dream at a time.  We weren’t saying goodbye anymore.  The beatings had stopped.  It was over.

Last Saturday for Maggie’s Angel Day v4.0, while others were here having fun, enjoying the hamburgers and company, I celebrated that happiness again.  It may seem twisted to some but I never, ever want to forget the happiness that I felt that day after Maggie died.  I hope that feeling stays with me for the rest of my life.

I believe that the happiness that I felt just moments after Maggie died is my super power.  It reminds me that I have felt love and have loved so powerfully that my soul rejoiced when her suffering ended.  Yes, I realized that I had a lot of grief and more hurt was coming my way.  But that evening, while time warped around me, my tired soul savored the end of the suffering.  It was the happiest sad moment I’ve ever experienced.

That night four years ago, blissful and shell-shocked, I spent the next several hours in the kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Oddly enough, the get-together for Maggie’s Angel Day ended the exact same way - me in the same kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Perfect.

I’m very, very careful to not say things like “Maggie would want” because I learned early in our relationship that I really had no ability to predict her preferences, but in this particular scenario I’ll say with confidence that Maggie would have wanted me to spend that day just the way I did, in the kitchen with friends, laughing, telling jokes and just being not sad.  Thar.  We dun did it.  And fun was had by all.

Joy and sorrow

source

Several weeks ago, Steve and I announced to the world that we were pregnant.

After we posted the adorable video we made with the kids (you can watch it HERE), I tried to write a post to talk about this sudden twist of events in our life. A baby was not in the original plan for us when we met, but we came to a place where we felt ready and desired to walk through the journey together as a couple and with our kids as a family. But the post sat on my heart for some time before I could get it right or feel good about it.

Here's the thing: I am thrilled. But in this space, I know I can be honest and say to my fellow widow(er)s that I am also terrified. I didn't know how to talk about both pieces without taking away from the other. Last week, I felt so encouraged after posting about my two worlds colliding, because the truth is, you guys just get it here. Joy and sorrow run side by side in life. And becoming a widow while pregnant sure made the scary factor of this pregnancy even greater.

It took me a long time to get to a place where I felt ready to face this journey again. I didn't think I would ever have to, so there were a lot of pieces I had not grieved before. Knowing that I am having a baby that isn't Jeremy's feels strange. Knowing I get to have a baby with Steve feels wonderful. Experiencing a lot of PTSD about losing Steve is something that he was willing to deal with during this pregnancy because it is truly my worst fear. But somehow preparing my heart for new life and the excitement that comes along with it has overshadowed so much of that.

I had someone on my blog accuse me of committing 'emotional adultery' against Steve because I was 'dwelling' on my life with Jeremy. I was even more shocked that she herself was a remarried widow. I understand that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but how do you just 'forget' and move on from the most significant relationship you've ever had? How do you undo building a life and three children with someone? I'm sorry, but it's not possible for me. I carry Jeremy in my heart forever, and Steve knew that full well when he met me. He accepts that and loves me for that. That doesn't, however, mean that I dwell on it or even that we spend half of our marriage talking about the past. Steve is my present and the man I want to walk through the rest of this life with. My relationship and marriage with him is just as valuable as my marriage with Jeremy was - I wouldn't have married him otherwise. But I am and forever will be Jeremy's wife. I will always have his children, love his family, care about his friends, carry on his legacy. I am who I am because of the life I had with Jeremy and no amount of moving forward can erase that.

Phew. End soap box.

Thank you for giving me a safe place to express my joy and sorrow as it runs side by side. Truthfully, as scared as I am to walk this journey again, I am thankful for the opportunity to redeem my last experience and to celebrate the love I have found in Steve. I am ecstatic to bring another life into this world and watch our family come together even more.

But a few extra prayers and good wishes couldn't hurt ;)

Even Now ......

                                                                    Source

...... depression sets in.

Still.

I rarely see it coming.

I just seem to wake up mired in it.

Still.

It's usually accompanied with the sense of feeling completely overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed by all that I'm "in charge of",  all the upkeep that comes with owning a home that is slowly becoming way too large, way too lonely and getting larger ...... and lonelier.

I feel overwhelmed with being the only one.

The only parent.

The only home owner.

The only care taker.

The only decision maker.

The only bill payer.

The only appointment maker.

The only receiver of phone calls/emails from well-meaning schools and teachers.

The only responsible party.

The only mistake maker.

The only safe person upon which to vent. 

The only one who has to decide when to sell this house.

The only one who has to decide what the hell to do with all of the "stuff" inside this house.

The only one to talk to many days of the week.

The only one to talk to almost every single night of the week/weekend.

The only one having to come up with health insurance for 5 people.

The only one to eat dinner with.

The only one in my bed every night.

The only one who can't sleep most nights.

The only one.

In a life that was meant for two.

And more.

But though it still comes ...... even now ...... it doesn't come very often anymore. 

In fact, I can't really remember the last time depression paid me a visit.

And though it still comes ...... even now ...... I know that it will leave again ...... sooner, rather than later.

I now know that depression is not moving in with me, with no end of its occupancy in sight.

I know that I may feel sad, blue, tired, depressed ...... for a day or three, but then depression will move on.

I didn't know anything about depression in my "before" life.

But in my "after" it became something I learned a lot about.

More than I  ever wanted to know.

Which has turned out to be a good thing.

Because though it still comes to pay me a vist ...... even now ......

I know that it won't take me down.

Because I've grown stronger over the past 5 years.

And I'll continue to grow stronger ...... in spite of, and because of,  being the only one.

Even now.

Authentic Life

 

Mother's Day card from my girl...

On Mother's Day, Widow's Voice alumnus writer Jackie Hannam-Chandler posted these words:

I... am an authentic mom. I am real person who makes real mistakes.

She lamented on her role as a solo Mum..... a widowed parent, muddling through this parenting gig alone, without her beloved Jeff,  trying her best for her kids that she can.

.... and her frank admission that she sometimes lets it ALL hang out  - her emotions, her frustrations, her feelings that are not always pretty  - made ME feel like someone else really understood the hard bits of this solo parenting gig. 

So I wrote back to her ....

Your mother's day would describe my day before mother's day - I lost my sh!t  temper at my kids because of the fighting and me having to tell them to do their chores every few minutes.
...and what you describe fits me to a 'T'.... I worked in forestry for a while and picked up the dialect..... I elevate swearing to literary genre.
In other words - the F-word makes its appearance when I am stressed.
In our house, we don't do elaborate holidays, or expensive presents.
We do home grown and home made.
And I lose my freaking shit temper at them more times than I think I should, but I would eviscerate anyone who hurt my kids. 

Jackie wrote: I hope that as they look back at their childhood and shake their heads at my mothering foibles, they also realize that it is okay to be themselves, to be real, to mess up, to be "authentic". Their mama sure was.

Just like Jackie, I hope that my kids can look back on their childhood and not see the messed-up stuff that has happened since their father died, that they see my failings for what they are (grief and stress) and that they also understand that it is important to be themselves and feel their feelings. 
Its OK to mess-up. 
It's OK to stress about things. 
It's even OK to chuck a tanty and swear your head off, so long as you back it up with positives and lots and lots of love.
That grief can change you and bend you, but not break you.
To live your life as a REAL person, and not a phoney. 

To live an Authentic Life.

So I am putting my hand up as being an Authentic Mum (thanks to Jackie) .... with all of my faults.  ...and after receiving my mother's day card (above) I reckon that I am doing OK....
In fact, I think Greg would be proud....

One Thought at a Time

my momma and me

My brain works so hard. Every  minute of every day, even when I'm sleeping, it's chugging away. Its main responsibility is to keep me safe. It does this by worrying. Some of the worrying is useful. It can result in my actual physical safety and it can result in problem-solving.

Some (and I'd venture to say most) of it is useless worrying. Seems like my brain has a tough time distinguishing the difference.

And it seems like it's always had this problem.  I've been realizing that the trauma I've experienced even before Dave died has wired my brain for this. When you're a little girl and your world is turned upside down when your momma is taken by cancer and your dad is taken by alcoholism, you learn to be vigilant. Your mind becomes ever-alert for more danger. You don't necessarily learn to relax and let others worry about you when you're still small.

And this is my brain. This was my brain before Dave died. That brain warned me that every fever Dave spiked and ever pain he had was the end to that love too. I was just starting to process this in therapy when he actually did die.

Can you imagine a better way to program my brain that the worrying was legit?

It didn't prepare me for widowhood. It didn't make it less shocking that he was Dave one minute and then a body the next. But try explaining that to my protective worrying subconscious mind.

The useless worrying doesn't help me, but knowing that is never enough to make it stop.
For those who've never been through complicated grief or trauma or who don't suffer from PTSD, I bet this is a really hard fact to grasp.

Letting go of it all will not only mean a reprogramming of a brain that has been programmed this way for 30+ years, but will also mean letting go of what my subconscious perceives as protective.

Why would it want to let go of that easily? It won't. It's not going out without a fight.

I suppose the vigilance of my efforts to overcome this have to be at least equal to the vigilance of my worrying mind. 

If my mind suggests something to worry about every few minutes than I've gotta counteract that with some sort of new neural pathway thought every few minutes too.

I'm tired just thinking about that, much less carrying it out.

Some days, 2 years out, are still challenging enough without adding the element of this reprogramming project.

But each day I get to try again. Each day is another chance. And the scientist in me likes the challenge. It's my own little research project. Can a brain this intensely programmed be rewired? Can PTSD, if that's what I have, be conquered in some way? In what ways can I heal my mind? I like the task of gathering information and trying out different strategies, noting the results each time.

I'm pissed though. I'm really pissed off that I didn't get to feel protected and safe as a kid. I'm unspeakably sad that I don't get to celebrate mother's day with my mom. And of course, I'm gutted by the fact that my husband is no longer here.

And all those facts are still just facts. I was dealt this hand for reasons unknown and it's my job to make my dad's, my momma's and Dave's existence worth it by making mine worth it. One day, one hour, one minute at a time. One thought at a time.