Widow's Voice

143

2012-01-28T01:50:00.000-08:00

143.

That is the number of blog posts I've written since he died.

In them, my shock, love, pain, perseverance, setbacks, growth, knowledge, and life have been encapsulated.

People have asked me how I'm able to write each week.

Sometimes I'm not sure.

Sometimes it's been the only thing to keep me going.

And sometimes...like right now...I just don't have anything to say.

It's kind of like sitting in a silent room...you need it to just absorb...reflect. To take it all in.

So I'm taking in the things around one: the past four years of writing since his death. The comments and encouragement from others that my mind's crazy ramblings are shared, and understood, and enough.

So today..post 143...I will end it with a thank you and a period and a smile.

“I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual.”
-Virginia Woolf

It's Just A Wall

2012-01-27T04:00:00.000-08:00

Why would a wall hurt my feelers? It’s just a silly wall made of stucco, wood, drywall, paint and trim. No significant events happened on or near the wall. Actually, if I really, really thought about it, I’m not totally certain the wall was even the topic of more than just a few conversations. It’s just a wall. Yet, as I watched it slowly being rebuilt over the last few weeks from how it’s been since about a year before Maggie’s Angel Day, it has hurt – every single step.

I don’t recall when exactly I decided to tear it down. The reasons why I took down the wall are irrelevant, really. I know she wasn’t there at the time otherwise she would have been in the middle of it, directing and participating, swinging a hammer and going to town. I wish I could recall where she was. It’s likely she was at MD Anderson for one of the many, many visits she made (and one of the very, very few I didn’t attend.) I remember the look on her face when she saw the mess I had made while she was gone. Thankfully, she had accepted early in our relationship that my exploits were my little missions and they made me happy. So she grinned and asked simply “What are you going to now?” Apparently, as time has proven up, I was going let it sit for more than three years.

What’s interesting is that as the wall has been slowly rebuilt over the last week, every step that was completed was a punch to my heart. The more complete the wall, the worse it hurt. Walking into the room after the drywall was attached hit me like a ton of bricks. Adding texture made it all the more real. Right now it sits textured but not painted with no trim yet talking about it drives me to tears almost immediately.

Maybe to my heart the wall represents the incomplete dreams Maggie and I had. We definitely had wonderful plans for that room but that was before the cancer came calling. It was going to be a beautiful room filled with pictures we both took of the flowers from our garden. We even named it, appropriately, The Flower Room. But she never saw that dream completed. Instead, she let it go like she had to let go of so many other things she cared about. And I had to watch that little dream die.

I’m going to finish that wall. It’s almost there and I’ve asked some friends to help me because for some reason I can’t seem to do it myself. I feel silly when I cry every single damn time when I say that Maggie will never get to see that wall finished. It’s just a stupid wall. But for some reason that wall has a very real connection to my heart.

Hurt or not, I’m going to finish that wall. Hurt or not, I’m going to rebuild. Even if I don’t understand why it still hurts.

someone who knows

2012-01-26T05:00:00.000-08:00

Photo from here...

"My dad is married to my aunt," my friend, Jenny, said. "I know," she said, "it's rather....Jerry Springer-like."

She went on to explain that after her mother died when Jenny was a teenager, her father eventually found love again with his sister-in-law.

Jenny seemed a bit sheepish when she explained this to me. But she needn't have.

I have heard of this phenomenon quite a few times actually. When a spouse loses their beloved through death, occasionally they find understanding, and love, in those who grieve most closely alongside them. Sisters of spouses, best-friends, cousins....

I can totally understand this. I can imagine what a comfort it would be to be fully able to share your grief with another who had known just what you had lost and to be able to share a intimate relationship with that person without fear of being misunderstood or worrying about their feelings of "measuring up" to an unknown person.

I wonder how many of us widows/widowers have found love, comfort or even just close and meaningful friendships with our dead spouse's friends or family after their death?

I wish I had that now and then....Someone to share Jeff's loss with me.....

I Guess You Could Call it Venting .....

2012-01-25T00:33:00.000-08:00

picture from here
.... rather than throwing up his/her emotions all over me.
"Venting" sounds so much nicer.

But it felt just like being thrown up on. Not at all as nice as "venting".
And it felt pretty crappy, truth be told.
But it comes with being a mom.
And it REALLY comes with being a widowed mom.

During the Christmas break .... right at the beginning .... one of my children threw up all over me. Emotionally.
I was soaked.
And shocked.
And exhausted.
And, though this child had no idea (and I don't really think it would've mattered) .... I was locked in a deep depression.
Great timing, kid.

So the first night this child was home, around midnight or so when the other kids had gone to bed, this child turned to me, and with fury I've rarely seen in his/her eyes .... informed me, out of the blue, that he/she lost a lot more than a father on that night back in December of 2007. Both Jim and I died that night.
He/she lost both parents. And I totally changed. And after that night, I was never there for him/her. Ever.

I sat there a bit stunned for a moment.
Not stunned that those feelings were felt, but stunned with the force of the vomit and the amount of fury accompanied by it. But most of all, stunned that this is something I have freely admitted often over the past 4 years. I have admitted it to all 6 of my children. I have admitted it on my personal blog. I have admitted it here.
But evidently, my admissions .... and my apologies have not always been heard.
This child thought this was a new concept for me. And that I needed to know the anger and hurt and unfairness of my selfishness.

We were up until 4:00 a.m. And we never really got anywhere.
I repeated the apologies that I've said before.
I said that I regretted that they lost me, too.
And that I wish I could've grieved differently .... but that was impossible.
I couldn't lock my grief away.
I lost too much. I was not able to grieve in any way other than the way I did. And that, no matter how much I regretted it, if it were to happen again, it would happen the exact same way.
I told this child that there is no way he/she can understand that. Unless, one day, he/she is blessed enough to fall deeply in love, get married, be together and stay deeply in love for 27 years .... and then experience the death of that deeply-loved person. But even then ..... even then, I would not be totally understood.

I cried a lot.
I apologized a lot.
As much as one can apologize and yet admit it could not have gone any differently. I lost half (at least) of myself that night in 2007. I lost my identity. I lost my love, my best friend, the one person who knew me better than anyone, the one person who always had my back .... no matter what. The one person with whom I had 6 children.
I lost our future.
I lost almost everything.
Almost.

I was not heard during those hours.
There was too much anger. Too much grief and fury had been stored up and locked away ..... until it could not be held back any longer.

At 4 a.m. I said that I was exhausted and that we were getting no where. So I asked if we could go to bed and start again the next day.
And was told yes.

So the next day ..... again, after midnight ..... it was brought up again.
I'm not sure this child was able to bring up all of the vomit.
I didn't realize that one person could hold that much vomit.

This child needed an answer I could not give.
I could not make everything "all better".
I could only acknowledge what I've acknowledged openly for 4 years. I could only acknowledge that these feelings were valid. And that it totally sucked that my children basically became orphans in less than 24 hours time ..... suddenly and unexpectedly.
And that this child was not alone in feeling this way.

But I also stated that I've come a long way in the last 2 years .... and have become a better parent. Not the one they lost .... she will never be back. But parts of her have come back .... significant parts.
And damn it ..... that's pretty huge. And good.
And deserves acknowledgement.

I also said that I hope and pray that none .... not one .... of my children EVER have to experience this grief.
But if they do .... I will be the first one there.
And I will do everything I can to help them on this path ..... which truthfully, won't be much. Because no one can do much for us, can they? Even those who've been widowed, cannot take that pain away. It must be felt. The Valley of Death must be walked through. Even though every fiber of my motherly being would want to protect them from that walk .... would want to carry them through it myself ..... would want to feel all that grief again if it meant they didn't have to ..... there wouldn't be a damn thing I could do.

Maybe one of these days this child will be able to get even an iota of what I felt ..... what I went through .... how I barely survived my grief.
Maybe.
Maybe not.

I'm ok with that.
I don't expect them to ever understand .... and again .... I pray they never have to.

And so part of my Christmas break was spent feeling totally soaked in vomit. And almost hated.
But I think mothers were made to be vented upon.
Not really thrown up on ..... not after the first year after birth, anyway. I mean, with 6 kids .... I've been "spit up on" lots and lots of times. And vomited on.
But nothing like this.
It comes with the territory.

The territory of being a mother who was widowed at an early age and who grieved harder than she thought possible. A mother who, for a while, thought her children would've been better off if she was dead, too.
There's nothing like gallons of vomit to reinforce that feeling.

A few days after our 2nd late night episode, I was able to ask this child about "seeing someone", which, of course, was refused. But I persisted .... because that's what mothers do.
As they attempt to wipe some of the vomit off.
This child finally agreed to "think about it". I doubt that that was a true statement, but I can always hope.
Because I think professionals are used to a lot more vomit than that. And fury.
And I think both of those are normal reactions .... and that EVERYONE could use someone to talk to .... at one point (or several) in their life.

I wish I could've been a better "griever". I wish I could've been a better mother.
It was ..... what it was.
I cannot go back. I cannot change the damage that was done to my heart.
Or my children's.

I can only say I'm sorry and that I hope for a better future for all of us.

And be sure to keep lots and lots and lots of Pepto around the house ..... just in case.
Cuz it takes a hell of a long time to clean off all of that vomit.

This I Believe

2012-01-24T00:00:00.000-08:00

I wrote this in June of 2009 to describe how the death of someone I love so much redefined life's important (and not so important) moments. Every time I happen upon this essay, I renew my commitment to never lose sight of what death and grief have taught me.

As a young woman entering into adulthood with lofty goals, sterling ideals, and great hope for the future I could have easily created a long list of my personal beliefs. This list would have included ideas about both the tangible and the intangible; broad concepts and specific ideals; God and mortal beings. There would probably even have been a mention of death and eternity…but only in the abstract because my beliefs about death were untested until August 31, 2005.

My husband’s untimely death in a tragic accident turned my personal credo upside down. The day I lost my husband was the same day that theory became reality, and faith became more than just a concept to which I paid lip service. Grief is the ultimate test of faith. Faith requires trust. Death robbed me of the sense of security on which trust is so often based, making the idea of trust incomprehensible. And the whole vicious circle renewed itself daily as I tried in vain to determine why I was living a sorrow filled nightmare. My inability to escape the reality of widowhood forced me to evaluate my idealistic beliefs and determine whether they could withstand the blinding glare of grief.

As the reality of my husband’s death set in, I began to imagine the following personal truths as tall pillars that I view through a cloud of dust and rubble created by a major earthquake. Though everything around these support beams has fallen, they miraculously remain. I rub my eyes to look again, because for any structure to survive an earth shattering experience of this magnitude seems impossible…and yet these columns stand tall amongst the debris of loss and grief.

I believe in everlasting love. I believe that God is not a being who resides in a structure, but a spirit who lives in the hearts, and hands, of loving people. I believe that the length of your life is not an indication of your impact on the world. I believe that time is indeed a gift. I believe that human beings have the power to heal each other. I believe that shared experience can bond individuals in a unique and life changing way. I believe that our lives are a tapestry and each experience, wonderful or terrible, adds richness to the final fabric. I believe that tomorrow is only a dream. I believe that life is too short to hold grudges. I believe that people are inherently good. I believe that buying lemonade from my daughter at her new job is more important than spending an extra hour at my own work. I believe that the people who come into my life do so for a reason. I believe that kindness changes lives. I believe that this too shall pass. I believe that life is a gift, but like all gifts must be opened to be truly appreciated.

These are a few of the pillars that have survived my personal earth quake. I lean on them when I feel unable to stand. When grief occasionally stirs the dust of sorrow, I look for them to steady my course. My widowhood experience has taught me that when faith requires me to walk forward blindly, those pillars will guide the way.

Storm's End

2012-01-23T00:00:00.000-08:00

A view of the shop and garden in my back yard

My part of the Pacific Northwest just experienced an epic snow and ice storm the likes of which I never thought I'd see living here. There are LOADS of people still without power 6 days after the storm first rolled in. I wrote the following on Friday, January 20.

I think we may have come to the beginning of the end of this year's epic storm, but I'm still cautious. The power came on a little while ago and I rushed to take a shower and run the dishwasher while I had the chance. I'm not yet ready to get too excited about the power when the tree limbs are still coming down and it looks like some really windy weather is on its way. The kind of wind that snaps tree limbs and brings down power lines.
I haven't been out of the house since Sunday. The only humans I've seen since Monday were a couple who braved this crazy weather to look at my house. My house is officially on the market.

I have deliberated endlessly about selling this place. I've considered renting it out, keeping it but moving out, selling it, and even staying in it, but down deep I knew all along that I couldn't stay here REALLY. It was still so wrenching that I was hoping for something to happen that would FORCE the decision. As Dave's birthday rolled around, I wished for a clear message or sign that leaving this house was the right thing to do. And then, as if by some strange cosmic force, the storm arrived on his birthday and continued for the next 3 days. Being trapped here, wondering when the power would come on again, and how I'd get out of my snow-blocked driveway for more gas for the generator, and how I'd keep the fire going, and how I'd get through another day completely alone in this big house made it clearer than ever.
It was as though I got my message. Loud and clear.

It's not even that I couldn't handle it. I handled it. I made the fires, I hauled the firewood, I dragged the generator out of the garage, I started the generator, I dug the car out of the snow. I did everything myself and I didn't need help. I know I can handle all of it. But I don't want to. I want to focus on moving forward and staying here is staying stuck. Stuck in the memories of a life I no longer get to live. Stuck keeping a house and too much land up and running. And the workload will only get worse in the spring and summer.

Even if I didn't live here alone, I'm still so far from opportunities I don't even know exist. I'm still isolated.

So that storm gave me what I was desperately looking for. It gave me a huge con to add to my pros and cons list in my head.
Staying in this house: CON - If there is a storm, you will have to live like a pioneer ALL ALONE for days on end.

Unfortunately, I still get clammy-handed and heart-skippy when I think of living in a new place. That anxiety wasn't relieved by this added resolve to move.

It's the first thing I think about when I wake up (often in the middle of the night) and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. It's never far from my mind throughout the activities of the day, either.

But just because I fear it doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.

The storm said "This is no longer the right place for you, honey."

Saying goodbye to this place will break my heart. As it mends, though, it will be stronger. Yet another hurdle to say I conquered.

As of today (Monday, January 22), It looks as though I will be temporarily moving to the big city on February 4. Wish this country mouse luck moving to her new urban digs!

My Farewell Wish for You.

2012-01-22T00:01:00.000-08:00

This has been a significant week. On Wednesday my kids and I had a celebration of life, honoring my husband Michael's birthday. It was an uplifting occasion, really. In the past this was the most difficult of days. Well, also was our wedding anniversary and the anniversary of his death. Oh, and the anniversary of the day we met. Perhaps I should also list the various holidays that meant so much for us. You get the point.

Each day after entering the world of widowhood is difficult. There is no way around it. From the day our spouses die, and those days forward, our lives will no longer be the same. The joyful days that we used to celebrate will now take up space with realities of our loss. I have come to accept this, and find that I am becoming quite comfortable with this more and more. On the other hand, what I also find is that it is becoming easier and easier to deal with this. Experience and time speaks volumes.

I suppose there are those that might feel that the pain of my loss is less now that I am in a new relationship. I don't know if that is my truth. My loss is my loss, and it will never go away. I can say that having someone close who is willing to support me through these challenging times is of significant help. And although my relationship is still somewhat new, I know that I deeply love this person, and I know that I will spend each day striving to strike that right balance between what I had and what I have.

I recognize that where I am at, or what I speak of, may not sit well with many readers. Many of you are still in the early stages of your grief, and the thought of new love is hard to consider. I can say that I truly didn't expect to find myself here, and I didn't expect to find my heart expanding to make room for a new love this soon. Yet here I am, and I recognize that it is time to begin focusing on the person standing here in front of me. I know that this will take a lot of effort on my part. I don't know exactly how Abel feels, yet I imagine that it has been challenging to open his heart to a man who still holds onto another. I can remember a few weeks ago when we were lying in bed and he said softly to me "remember that I am the one who is here."

Hearing Abel's words made me realize that I was perhaps taking for granted how strong he was, and how willing he was to hold me when I was missing Michael. Those quiet words also told me that he is a vulnerable person, who fears having his heart broken. This reminds me of another past conversation when Abel acknowledged that we would not be together if Michael had not died, and that clearly Michael was the love of my life. I didn't hesitate one moment to be honest and clear with Abel, that Michael was not the love of my life, as I don't believe that there is just one love of my life. I believe that people come into our lives, by chance, or by purpose, and if our hearts are open, love can enter.

I have too much love to give, and I know that I want to live the rest of my life with love. I feel so fortunate right now, and yet it is not necessarily because I have romantic love. I have the love of my children. I have the love of my extended family and friends, and I will soon have the opportunity to love a grandchild. So yes, I am quite fortunate.

So here is my wish for you. Love, and be loved. I know that your heart has been broken, mine was too. Yet keep in mind that a benefit of a broken heart is that there are many cracks on the surface which can make the flow of love happen easily. Love others openly, and let them love you. Know that I love all of you, and will miss this opportunity to share my words and journey with you. You have each touched my heart in so many ways. Many of you are friends that I have met along the way. Many of you I know through your loving comments. Know that I will be reading, and will remain a part of this community, just in a quieter way.

With my departure it is now my pleasure to share with you the voice that will take up residence here on Sundays, Matthew Croke. Many of you may recognize Matthew, as he has been a guest contributor here on Widow's Voice. What you may not know is a bit of his story. Matthew lives in the NW suburbs of Chicago, and is raising three girls all under the age of 11. Matthew lost his wife Lisa three years ago in the same year they lost his wife's mother who they were also living with. In his own words Matthew speaks of his journey as "trying to find my new place in this world while helping the girls find theirs." What a lovely perspective. I'm already looking forward to reading his words each week.

Ahead

2012-01-21T01:59:00.000-08:00

Michael loved Calvin and Hobbes:

A kid's pretend friend that he asked lifes big and not-so-big questions to. An invisible tiger that always seemed to help guide him through his childhood.

Michael became that tiger to me when he died...he became the person I talked to for guidance...who I asked life's questions to. But the response I knew would never come from him...it would have to be felt and heard by me and me alone. But still, I asked. I screamed and cried for reasoning to this tragedy before me.

As time has passed though, I've noticed that fewer and fewer of those questions on life, do I want, or even need an answer to. Just as a child grows up not needing a fictitious animal to guide their way.

In no way am I stating that I don't still lean on my baby in the toughest of moments, but I've realized that the moments where I have been the most incapacitated by grief, are when I have been thinking about nothing but the future, the world in front of me without him by my side.

2012 is carrying a new constant that I know would make him happy, and I know brings a smile to my face. One I picked up along the in 2011.

A constant that freed me from the constraints of life that my pain and loss had me chained down with... had imprisoned me with its uncertainty.

The constant of living now...and nothing more.

I know the future will be what I make of it, but my present...my present was awaiting me to embrace it...and for more than just a second...I have done so.

A Quick Punch in the Gut

2012-01-20T04:05:00.000-08:00

If you're on Facebook, you've probably seen the postings about the birthday video for Rachel, a recent widow. I don't really know the details of her story, but from the video it seems her husband was fighting cancer and he made a video for her as a present for her birthday. The video is of him, holding poster boards of his words -not speaking, but showing video of their wedding, telling her how much he loves her, and their two small children are in the video too. It is absolutely precious. Of course (and I say that as a bitter widow of cancer) - of course he dies.

I saw the link to the video on FB, and it even had a great "grab some tissues" warning on it. Like an idiot, I watched. I sat alone on my bed and cried like a baby. It was just so damned beautiful, and so freakin sad. I felt her loss like my own, and for a few gut wrenching sobs I was transported back 6 years ago, hating cancer, mad at God and wondering why life is so painful and unfair. I don't get much time to myself, so the cry must have lasted all of a one minute and I had my game face back on. But the instant gut reaction caught me off guard and the black thoughts weren't so easily dismissed.

Death sucks and it will always suck. Cancer sucks. I have felt and continue to feel helpless in the face of cancer, and continue to hate M.D. Anderson (a cancer treatment hospital in Houston) and their beautiful facility - clearly money is no object....what is the incentive to cure cancer? If they cure it, the cancer research facilities, treatment hospitals, and pharmaceutical companies will stop making so much money. I have serious doubts that a cure is really high on their board members agendas.

Clearly I am bitter about cancer. I just don't show it everyday. Rachel's video was beautiful and a horrible reminder of the victims of the disease and the senseless loss. It hit me hard and I'm still pissed. KCUF RECNAC.

happy?

2012-01-19T05:00:00.000-08:00

Photo from here....

Originally posted on my personal blog after one year of widowhood....

Occasionally, I am now bouyed by a lightness and happiness that I can't explain. I worry at times that I have 'lost the plot' so to speak. That I'm a nut job about to slip over the edge. I mean, really, I've had a shite of a last year. I lost my husband/best friend, my sweet and wonderful grandfather and my beloved 15 year old dog. I am scraping to make ends meet. I am alone. My kids are somewhat damaged from the monumental changes in their short little lives....But somedays, inexplicably, I am happy.
I feel traitorous saying that and even worry that some people will misinterpret these pockets of joy thinking that I don't miss Jeff with every breath I take while wishing he were here to enjoy these upswings and bubbles of bliss.
In fact, I only think that it is because of the loss of Jeff that I can feel this. Before he died, I was bogged down with worry about vacuous and frivolous shit. I could see how I had been wronged in every situation. I could find fault and anger everywhere. I am still 'blessed' with this ridiculous and terrible gift....but I am also learning to be able to turn it off. I am concentrating so hard on trying to see the positive, to feel joy, to search for the good in an effort to not drown in grief, that I am learning to shut out that sinister and nepharious self-destructive voice. When that voice is silent, I feel joy. Pure, warm joy. I can feel sadness and pain alongside it, but I can still turn my face to the light and smile. This, the ability to force myself to stare through rose-coloured glasses, has been the largest gift that Jeff has given me....it is just such a shame that it has been in the loss of him that I have found this gift. I wish we could have shared our life together with this realization in mind....and not just the cognitive recognition of this, but the actual realization that I have had since losing my love.

Would Our Spouses Be Happy .....

2012-01-18T00:02:00.000-08:00

picture from here

..... to know that we're in a relationship with someone? Would they be happy to know that we might even love someone else?

A friend asked me today how it's possible to reconcile the love of two men ..... one very much alive, the other .... very much dead.

I told her that I'm not sure how it's possible, but it is. And that's a fact.
I consider it to be the way a pregnant woman feels when expecting her second (or later) child. You wonder how in the the world you are going to be able to love this next child as much as you love your first. And you doubt that it's possible. But then ..... the moment that second (or later) child arrives .... you wonder what in the world you were thinking?! You hold that baby and forget any doubt that you ever had. The second that child arrives your heart grows bigger. Big enough to hold another person.

It's the same when you fall in love. At first, you can NOT imagine ever loving another person the way you loved your spouse. You know that it's not possible to love another man/woman .... ever. In fact, you find that thought appalling. You still feel married. There is no room in your heart for another love. And there never will be.

But then one day, when you least expect it ..... you meet someone. Someone who is special enough to catch your attention.
And you feel a strange sensation in your heart. Like it beats a little faster. Or skips one or two beats.
You decide that you'd like to know more about this person. And he/she feels the same way about you.
Then one day, one day that seems no different than any other day ...... you realize something.
You realize that your heart has somehow grown a bit larger. And you never saw it coming.
You didn't really feel it happening. You just wake up one day and know that something feels "different".
Your heart now holds love for two people. And it's nothing short of a miracle. And 100% possible.

And I'm here to prove it.
Jim is in my heart.
Jim will always be in my heart.
Always.
Forever.

And yet my heart has grown larger. And now holds love for another man.
A man who is different from Jim.
A man who knows he's not in a competition with Jim.
A man who is secure in the knowledge that I love Jim, will always love Jim ..... and now I love him. I love him as much as I loved Jim.
And that is truly a miracle.

What would Jim think of this?
What DOES Jim think of this?
I think he's thrilled.
I believe that he's as happy with this new love as I am.
I know that in Jim's heart ..... after God ..... I was number one.
Just as he was in mine.

He wanted me to be happy.
He wanted me to feel loved.
And secure.
And special.

Just as I would want him to feel.

People who have not been widowed don't get it.
Just one more thing they don't get.
I'm glad that they don't.
I hope they never need to.

But the rest of us ..... we're learning things we never wanted to know.
Like it's possible to love another person .... and not feel guilty or disloyal to our spouse.
At least I hope that you're all learning that. Or will learn it.
Because true love wants only the best for its love.
Always.

I know that Jim wanted nothing but the best for me.
And he would love the man who loves me the way he did.
A man who puts me first.
A man who loves me unconditionally.

Yes, there have been times when I've wondered if it's worth it to love another man ..... and risk losing another one.
Is it worth giving my heart away again ..... perhaps to lose it all over again?
There have been days when I've thought, "No. Don't love another man ..... you'll never survive that kind of loss again."

But I know that Jim would not want that for me.
He wouldn't want me to guard my heart so tightly that I never feel love again.
He wouldn't want me to be afraid to give my heart away ..... to feel too fragile to love and be loved.

And truthfully, I don't want that for me, either.
If I had my life and love to live all over again with Jim, knowing that I would lose him as tragically and as early as I did ..... I would still choose to love him all over again.
His love was worth the grief.

All love is worth the grief.
Being loved, feeling loved, giving love ..... is worth the risk.
Jim would think so.
And I've learned to agree with him.

Lost

2012-01-17T01:11:00.000-08:00

Photo from here

There are days when I am still astounded that he hasn't come home.

6:30 pm rolls around and I find myself listening for the distinctive note of his car pulling into the driveway.

I find myself looking for him in the shed, expecting to see him fixing something on his workbench.

My brain hasn't worked out that he is gone.

I am like Red Dog, searching high and low for the one he loves. Searching faces and seeming to ask "have you seen him?" Going from place to place, determined to find the person who he loved above all others. Never stopping.

On the day Greg died, I looked for him in the faces of the policemen, expecting them to tell me where he was ... when they had already told me where he wasn't.

I searched the faces of his friends.

I search for him every night in my dreams .... and sometimes I find him.

I found him in my dreams last week and I asked him WHY he had to go. (That question that we all wonder: WHY did they die, WHY are we left here without them, WHY they were taken long before their time???)
In the dream, he just carried on making a sandwich and explained (as though repeating himself for the umpteenth time) that "there was a car accident".

....and even though that is the truth of it, it doesn't seem to stop my subconscious mind from searching for him every day and every night.

Because I have lost him, and I still have this desperate need to find him.

.
.
.
.
.
.
... I know the word "loss / lost" annoys a lot of widows and I want to assure you that I do know exactly where his body is, but "lost" is a word I often use because it describes how *I* feel as well.

Layers

2012-01-16T00:00:00.000-08:00

from here

Maybe what grief triggers do is peel back all my layers to where my original pain lies.
I might be constructing a new life for myself out of the rubble his death left behind and really kicking ass. I might go days or even weeks without losing hope or crying. Then, something will happen that may or may not be a big deal and all the progress I've seemingly made is peeled away to show me, in sharp contrast, what I am still grieving. Sometimes, the layers get peeled back to before the most recent tragedy and remind me that I'm still grieving old losses, too.

My own recent trigger peeled back the layers of growth to the original pain I carry with me - the loss of my mother and the ensuing childhood raised by someone who always seemed burdened by my presence. His behavior managed to program my child's brain to believe that I was a hardship. Many years of my own work on myself and a 15 year relationship helped to restore much of my self-worth. When Dave died, I continued to see proof of my inherent worth when the people who care about me freely gave of their love and kept me afloat during my darkest times.

But a recent grief trigger that got at my sense of worth seemingly unraveled much of this work. Not permanently, of course. And it won't take years to weave it back together again. It'll take days, maybe weeks, tops. But it's a reminder of how I carry old pain with me. Not just Dave's death, which takes up most of the space in my heart right now, but ancient hurts that aren't fully healed.

I think that's why grief triggers can be so insidious. I think they're just triggering the grief of my most recent loss, but it might actually be a compounded pain they trigger. One pain leads to another, leads to another, leads to another. They get all wrapped up in each other and almost indistinguishable.
Add that to a chronic worrier and over-thinker and it's a grief storm extravaganza.

Fortunately, with the help of dedicated friends, I know I can weather the storms. In the middle of the storm I forget this fact and need to be reminded, but after having ridden many out, I have proof that they are not permanent and that there is an end in sight.

Triggers are a part of everyday life. They will find me even if I don't open myself up to them. Unfortunately, just living life makes me vulnerable to them. And living life without letting fear rule me REALLY opens me up to them. Rejection or further loss can be powerful triggers.

But they'll be there in mundane places too. My mailbox, my iPod, my kitchen, the realty sign in my yard. All unavoidable.

Each time a trigger gets me, it builds my strength. The next trigger might not hit quite so hard and my recovery from it might be quicker and easier. None of that means it won't hurt just as much as always, or even MORE than ever before, though. That's another realization I've made. To be reminded that the pain won't last doesn't resolve the pain itself. It might give me enough hope to ride out that current storm, but it doesn't eliminate the pain and the pain grinds me to a halt. And that is okay. It's okay to feel too heavy to move. It's okay to admit that the weight of the grief is too heavy to bear standing up under and to let it take me down.

As soon as the weight lessens, though, I have to take my chance to stand up again and run with it, getting my feet underneath me again and readying myself for the next hurdle life sends me.

So today, the weight lessened enough to stand up under it and make some plans for moving forward.
Now I can build up strength again and attempt to live life without the fear of the next storm's arrival.

That is my daily challenge.

Preparing for change.

2012-01-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

It's time for change.

I have been taking stock into where my life has been, where it is at the moment, and where I want it to go in the not so distant future.

For many of us, well, for all of us I suppose, change was at one time an unwelcome visitor. Change happened to us. Change came up from behind, kicked our feet up from beneath us, and took something we most valued.

I know that when my husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor change happened to me. When that final day arrived and he was taken from me, change definitely happened to me. Since that day, change has continued to occur, both welcomed and unwelcome, expected and unexpected.

The way I tend to live my life, especially these past couple of years, is to anticipate what I think I will need. Rather than let change happen to me, I make the first move, and keep moving.

Lately I have known that it is time to make some changes, and after giving it some serious thought I have decided to change my writing. Firstly, I need to take a break from all writing for a short time. I need to focus on my day to day living, and put some focus on the new person in my life. I feel like I need to live my day to day life without over analyzing it. I also need to do this more privately.

With this in mind I have decided to end my regular writing here on Widow's Voice. Next week will be my final posting. I believe that when one person goes silent, another speaks. It is my hope that by honoring what I know is best for me, stepping aside, I will be creating a space so that someone new may begin. I often think of us all as making up a beautiful and rich quilt. We are all bound together through our hope and through our grief. Each of us is unique, and by sharing our own personal stories and comments here on Widow's Voice we create something that is so warm and comforting.

For now, I am preparing for change. I am formulating my thoughts and feelings, and will be writing one last message next week. And who knows, I may pop up every once in awhile here, or somewhere else. I don't think I can stop writing all together, yet I know that I need to begin writing something new. For now, know that I am already feeling some anticipatory loss just by making this decision, and sharing it with you.

Much love.

Dan

2010 to 2012

2012-01-14T01:06:00.001-08:00

***2 Years later and I thought it appropriate to share, as much still rings true.***

Well, it's 2010.

I remember going into 2008 without Michael. It was the first year in which no history or memories would include him, a year in which reality took it's place next to me on my throne of grief. It's funny how my mind also worked in ways to revert back to a time when he was still living. I'd sign checks with 2007, set dates with friends on the phone or email with that year... it was, in a way, symbolic of my heart holding on to something not tangible... going into a year with Michael by my side.

Each year, the ball has dropped, and I've taken on at different capacities... 365 days of self reflection, self growth, setbacks, happiness, grief, pain, joy, curiosity, dreams, nightmares and more. With each year though, the hesitation and reluctance to accept the current year I'm in, has fallen to the wayside and I am becoming more aware and open to my present and all the gifts it holds.

Each year is lined with the sour notes of with my life without Michael, though positive thoughts and actions have taken place. I have learned that I am able to take on things (like a new year), with the knowledge that I feel him rooting me on and invisibly holding my hand when I am open to living life the way I did before tragedy struck.

So it's with that knowledge, that I will embrace 2010 and hope to feel his presence every time I laugh, smile, take on the world and explore all it's beauty.

Happy New Year!

"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols." ~Thomas Mann

Movie Ratings for Widow/ers

2012-01-13T04:00:00.000-08:00

Enough already! I’m tired of being blind-sided by movies that are themed around the death of a spouse, especially when I (or my social planners) think that the movie is a feel-good, pick-me-up. There’s nothing quite like crying your way through a Disney movie while the 10 year old kid beside you stares. Why, you ask, am I all worked up? Well let me tell you about New Year’s Day.

A good (and very sweet) female friend of mine and her girlfriends have a New Year’s Day tradition which they invited me to participate. They like to dress in their pjs and camp out at the local movie house for the whole day, moving from one movie to the next, carelessly wasting away the day in big-screen fantasy world. It’s a nice, gentle way to usher in the New Year. Ya gotta love a good plan, right?

(WARNING: The following is a complete plot spoiler. If you want to see the movie “We Bought a Zoo” with no knowledge of what you are walking into, skip the next two paragraphs.)

So I joined the crew of all women for the movie “Girl With a Dragon Tattoo.” It was a shocking but good flick. I definitely enjoyed it. To release the tension of such an edgy flick, the plan was to wrap up with a feel-good flick about animals. How can you go wrong with animal comedy? So right from one theater to the next, we headed to watch “We Bought a Zoo.” The previews were all fun animal foibles and full of cuteness. Laughter and “awww!” abound. Then the feature film started. Oh, it wasn’t five minutes into the film when the words “…because my mom died six months ago” spat out of the 14-year-old main character’s mouth. Despite my instant butt pucker, I could feel the entire row of movie seats jiggle as the rest of my crew locked down for a surprise emotional maelstrom. And it got worse, a LOT worse from there.

And thus began the emotional jack-hammering. The writers spared no heart-wrenching cliché that a long, losing battle with cancer affords. There was the putting-the-young-daughter-to-bed scene when she asked “Was Mommy hurting?” There were the various scenes with the heartbroken widower looking at the laptop computer that held an endless supply of lovely pictures of his beautiful wife (who, in my mind, looked a heck of a lot like my Maggie) while gratuitous emotional music dripped. Scene after scene, it was like someone took my life, added a zoo and some kids, and played it out on the big screen before me. Well, sort of. At least it felt that way. So I cried. A lot. In the movies. With a 10 year old boy staring at me. The whole movie. The WHOLE movie.

It didn’t take long for my entire crew to join in the tear parade. So much for the feel-good, fun flick to wrap up a relaxing day.

So enough! We’ve all said it before, usually with cursing involved, that there should be a list of movies that widows and widowers should be warned not to see (or at least be warned BEFORE they see them.) Let’s get this started right now.

Here’s how this is going to work. If you’ve seen or heard of a movie that widows and widowers need to be warned about before they see it, add a comment below with: A) The name of the movie, B) a rating from 1 to 5 of how bad the reference is (‘1’ being not so bad and ‘5’ being terrible), and C) a basic description of why we should avoid the movie. I’ll take care of the rest. After we’ve come up with a list together, I’ll make a web page or a Google document that includes them all so we can get this out to the widow world. I’m tired of being blind-sided by movies. Let’s help others avoid the same train wreck.

I’ll start (Warning! Spoilers abound):

“Up” Rating: 4 Reason: The basic premise is about a sad guy who lost his dear best friend and wife and hasn’t been able to let go and move on.
“We Bought a Zoo” Rating: 5 Reason: The whole movie is about a guy who’s wife died of cancer and his grief while he tries to move on and help his kids cope with grief.
“Star Trek” (The 2009 version) Rating: 3 Reason: The opening scene depicts a wife losing her husband in an explosion while she’s talking to him and giving birth to their child. (Yes, I am so much of a sad dork I cried at the open scene of the Star Trek movie.)
“Contagion” Rating: 2 Reason: Very early in the movie, the main character watches his wife die of some type of contagious disease. The worst is watching the doctor tell him that his wife has died and he can’t seem to comprehend the depth of what has happened.

Please add yours in the comments.

Real or remembering?

2012-01-12T05:00:00.001-08:00

.Photo from here...

I was walking the dog in the sunshine earlier today. I was listening to a fabulous song that makes me think of that bitter-sweet sensation.

The feeling where you could swear "they" are with you. That you can almost feel their breath on your neck or hear their familiar sounds in the dark? The feeling that they are thinking about you or have just whispered that they love you in your ear?

Is it real? Is Jeff really non-physically "with" me? Can he see me? Is he expressing his love for me through some sort of cosmic vibrational love? Or is it just a chemical memory of a hormone cocktail that was once specific to our relationship? Merely a jolt of misfired oxytocin?

I want to believe it is his essence/spirit/soul slipping into the spot beside me and holding my hand or stroking my face with whatever energy would have once controlled his large calloused hands. I want to hope that he can feel and hear my thoughts. That he can know the loss that is still felt without his body next to mine.

But the pessimistic, rational scientist that lives within my brain scoffs. I begin to wonder if it is a similar phenomenon to deja-vu - scientists claim that this occurrance is merely a misfiring of the brain's chemistry creating the illusion that you have already experienced this exact moment.

In my heart, though, I can feel him. I have known the love of others. Though not a deep or profound, I have loved other men. And what I feel when I sense him near is not the residual effects of generic love. It is a feeling specific to him...and me.

Maybe I am crazy or naive. Maybe I am just allowing myself a fairytale to alleviate some of the feelings of loss and to provide hope that I will be with him again. But I really do feel like he is with me. Not all the time. But when I do, I sense him so breath-takingly close that I freeze and hope that this moment lasts just a little longer. That for just this second, it is just he and I.

Yes, I'm Posting Twice ....

2012-01-11T15:11:00.000-08:00

.... in one day! Surprise!!!!

That's because we need your help.

PLEASE!!!

We have an "Outreach Project" and we need a lot of help from you wonderful Widow's Voice Followers!! :)

We have a huge need for all of you "East Coasters" to help us gather information so that we can, in turn, spread the information about Camp Widow East.

All it requires is time on the phone. No driving, no gas bills, no loading up the kiddos and hauling them around town!

And .... this is a great way for those of you who won't be joining us to help us in a huge way.

First, by "East Coasters" I'm referring to anyone living in Minnesota, all the way south to Louisiana, and then from those states (and those in between) all the way over to the East Coast. Yes, I realize that some of you may not consider yourselves to be "East Coasters", but for our purposes, please just take on the title for a few months. :)

What we need are information gatherers. We need to gather all the info we can on confirmed Bereavement Support groups (in hospitals, churches, temples, synagogues .... wherever), Hospices, funeral homes, etc. By confirmed I mean that if you find a phone number on line, or in a phone book, please call that number to make sure they still have a support group. We need to get their address, phone number, and the name of the contact person (and web site, if they have one).

You don't have to tell them anything about SSSLF or Camp widow. Just say something like, "I'm looking for bereavement services .... who can I contact about that and may I have the address & phone number?"

That's it ..... pretty basic and very easy. Once you start collecting information it would be great if you could put it i some kind of easily readable document so we can combine them all without a lot of trouble.

Our plan is to send a CWE packet to every support group we can.

We need to start gathering this info ASAP and then send it to me by February 17th. My email is janinee@sslf.org.

It would also be great if you'd email me and let me know if you'll be able to help us out with this.

Thanks so much to each and every one one of you.

As always ..... you ROCK!!!

Janine

Forever Young .....

2012-01-11T00:02:00.000-08:00

.... while I grow older and older.

Saturday was Jim's birthday.
Only, he didn't get a year older.

He died only a few weeks before his birthday.
Six months later .... I became older than he did.

And so it continues.

At first I was angry about that.
Two and a half years later when I hit a rather big birthday ..... I was beyond angry. I was downright pissed.
Yet one more thing that wasn't fair.

Not only will he be forever young ..... in everyone's mind, especially my children's ..... but he'll also be pretty close to perfect .... in their minds.
I'm the parent who's left.
I'm the one who enforces the rules.
Or rather, the one who tries to enforce the rules.

I'm the one they get angry with when I treat them the same way we both treated them.
I'm the one who sometimes gets treated a whole lot nicer if I give them what they want.
I'm the one who's been accused of abandoning my parenting role while I grieved .... and grieved hard.
I'm the one who's been angrily told that they lost both parents the day Jim died.
Funny ..... but I've been admitting to that for 4 years now.

I'm the one who has wished .... on many an occasion .... that Jim was the parent who was left behind.
I have no doubt that he would've done a much better job.

I wouldn't be the one left to watch our children grow ..... alone.
I wouldn't be the one left to watch them graduate high school, college, grad school, marry (hopefully), have children (hopefully) .... and do all of the other things that two parents normally share .... and celebrate.

And while my days are so much better than they once were, the waves are fewer and farther between, and I am mostly happy ......

There are times, once in a while ..... and probably always will be ..... when I wish that I were remembered as almost perfect ......
And forever young.

Uncontrolled Release

2012-01-10T01:11:00.000-08:00

I wrote this post almost a year ago after some of the scariest days I have faced as a widow. Neighbouring towns were ripped apart by what was described as an "inland tsunami" a year ago today. Then, all that water had to continue down the catchment into MY town. My city flooded. Big Time. Many homes and possessions were lost but thankfully fewer deaths than our neighbouring towns. But scaremongers were saying that our dam may collapse which would have meant complete disaster and many, many more deaths. Today, I remember those frightening days and the lives that were destroyed during the floods of 2011. I hope you'll forgive the repost.....

There is no doubt that Wivenhoe dam saved Brisbane from greater flooding in January 2011. But it only covers about a third of the total catchment for the Brisbane River, so Brisbane still flooded.
I heard a hydrologist on the radio, speaking about the way in which the dam operates….. it is designed so that hydrologists can operate and control the release of water in such a way to both minimise flooding downstream while preserving the integrity of the dam wall.
If the inflow of water became so great that the structural integrity of the dam was compromised, the dam is designed to regulate itself and perform what’s called an uncontrolled release.
This is not the scenario that we ever want to see because the dam can’t tell what the tidal river is doing and will dump enough water to preserve itself with little regard to the river conditions. Specifically, the flood which has coincided with some of the biggest king tides of the year. Tides which needs carefully planned controlled releases of water to minimise damage downstream.
….and all of this made me think about grief…
I find I have to regulate the times during which I allow myself to wallow in complete despair, cry out in pain as the hot, angry tears course down my face. I have to swear and scream and tell God exactly what I think of him. I have to feel sorry for myself and rant and rage about how utterly horrible my life is.
Because when *I* regulate the spillway of grief, I get to do it when nobody can hear me scream.
The last thing I want is an uncontrolled release at school, or near the kids, with friends or while driving the car.
…and it sucks when it hits as I lay in our bed and see the empty space and that voice in my head keeps saying don’t go there, don’t think about the “multiple injuries”. don't do it now, you need to sleep, find a happy place, find a happy place, find a happy place….
Except all of my happy places have Greg in them. They are happy places BECAUSE he is there.
So I need to find another way of controlling the release. Of controlling the uncontrolled release.
Of controlling the other two-thirds of the catchment not covered by the dam on my grief.
and that is a hard thing to do.

My House

2012-01-09T00:00:00.000-08:00

My House

The moment I stepped foot in this place, I knew it was my house and would be my home.

Now that my circumstances have changed so dramatically, I'm beginning to understand that for my own good, I will need to let go of this beautiful place.

It's isolated and it's full of memories that sometimes make it hard to move forward.

I look at the downstairs closet door and remember how Dave had to kick that door open from the inside to save us.

All the doors in this place have a very old-fashioned latch instead of knobs. The closet door has a latch on the outside only. If you go into the closet and somehow the door closes and latches on the outside, you're locked in. Now, this would theoretically never happen, because

1. Most likely you'd never go into the closet and then want to close the door behind you.

2. Even if you wanted to try that move, it's difficult to close a door that has no knob or handle of any sort on that side.

Theory and reality. Two different things.

The trap door to the crawlspace is located in that closet. Dave had to go into the crawlspace to do something and enlisted my help. I was to keep the cat out of the closet while he worked. Rosco wanted nothing more than to explore that crawlspace and would try to push his way into the closet while I barred his entrance. I was facing the door, keeping the door open just enough to keep it from latching from the outside while not enough to admit the curious cat by putting my fingertips under the bottom of the door to control it. Dave was standing with his torso sticking out of the trap door. Rosco stuck his white paws under the door to play with my fingertips and I giggled and called out "Look at Rosco playing with my fingers!" Dave replied (Mr. Practical) "Don't let the door latch shut. We'll be locked in here," to which I replied "I won't do that, SHEESH, whattya think I am, stupid?". And that was when I accidentally shut and latched the door. There was a flurry of "I TOLD YOU!" and "I KNOW BUT I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY LATCH THAT EASILY!" and "OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE IN HERE! WHAT DO WE DO NOW? NO ONE KNOWS WE'RE IN HERE!"

After resolutely declaring that we'd just die in that closet and someone would find our corpses and those of the cat when no one came looking for us soon enough, Dave calmly hoisted himself out of the crawlspace, moved me out of the way, and karate-kicked the door right where the latch would be on the other side, cracking the frame a little, but unlatching the latch and saving us before I could finish my sentence on how embarrassing it would be to die because I trapped us in our closet.

I can still see the tiny crack in the door frame.

I look at the staircase and remember the time I picked up a mouse on the landing.

A terrible high pitched squeaking almost too high pitched to hear woke us up one night. We found Rosco playing with a mouse in the stairwell. There is something about hearing a mouse squeak for its life while watching a cat play with it that makes me lose my mind, because after watching for a few seconds, I made up (lost) my mind. I ran past the cat and mouse on the landing to the first floor, grabbed some gardening gloves lying near the door and ran back to the landing. When the cat had that mouse cornered, I grabbed the terrified rodent by the tail, ran back down the stairs and tossed it outside, all before I realized what I'd just managed to do. I think Dave's jaw made a small thump when it hit the ground. I don't think he'd moved the entire time. I calmly removed the gloves and climbed back in bed while Dave still remained frozen and silent. I'm not sure he was even able to remark on that moment that night. I think he was literally speechless. I, on the other hand, managed to say something like "Did you SEE that?" while he just stared at me like he'd never seen me before and had no idea who I was.

I look at the dining area by the wood stove and think of the time Rosco projectile vomited the liquid from cooking corn onto the dining room table, chairs and floor.

He'd gotten onto the counter when we weren't looking and lapped up ALL the liquid the corn had been cooking in, jumped off the counter and jumped onto the dining room table. From the living room, we heard the sound all cat owners dread. It's the sound that alerts us to move the cat to a surface that is not carpeted or upholstered. We both couldn't get to the kitchen in time to make sure Rosco was barfing over a paper towel or something but instead got to witness him vomit all that liquid out like a firehouse. It forcefully sprayed out of his mouth, across the table, into the chair nearby, down the chair and onto the floor. It must have a been a full 20 seconds we stood there, mouths open in surprise, listening to the musical sound of the puke dripping from the table and chair. "I have no words," I finally whispered. "You don't see that everyday" he finally deadpanned. And I went to get the paper towels.

This house is so full of memories like that. Memories that feel just as close and as current as the moment I'm living in now even though some of them are up to 11 years old.

There is some sort of disconcerting mismatch between the reality of my situation and the memories this house traps inside it. The mismatch makes me feel stuck in the past.

I can also picture a family filling this house with love and noise and life. It's a house for a family, not a single 35 year old woman. At least not THIS 35 year old single woman.

I wish I were in a position to better pick the family that moves in when this place eventually sells. I definitely feel like they're adoptive parents more than potential home buyers. I want to make them go through an application process to prove they're worthy.

They'd have to be willing to feed my hummingbirds who come back every March. There would be a stipulation that they'd HAVE to have the feeders out no later than the first week of March or the hummies might come back early and search for their feeder. This would NOT be acceptable.

They'd have to promise to never harass or hurt the deer, even when they eat the shrubs. And they will.

They'd need to promise to grow veggies in the massive veggie garden Dave and I labored over for years and to use the greenhouse we built ourselves.

They'd have to promise to look at the sky on a clear night and note that the milky way is visible out here in the middle of nowhere.

They'd need to promise to never fill this house with ugliness or violence. It's a house of peace and quiet and love and always should be.

They'd need to promise to love this house as much as I've loved it for the past 11 years.

I can't imagine that's possible, but it would be nice.

A Talk of Death

2012-01-08T00:00:00.000-08:00

I just returned from visiting with my parents and aunt. I take the two hour drive every other weekend, as I know that my folks, and their generation of family members, won't be around forever. Of course none of us will be around forever, will we? It's just that my parents are in their late 70's, and with many health problems. My aunt is in the final stage of her cancer, and I'm all too aware of how precious time becomes when you know someone is leaving sooner rather than later.

Each time I take this trip, my car is loaded with my kids, my daughter's boyfriend, and on a few occasions, Abel, my new boyfriend. Today's trip felt quite intense. We visited with my folks first, then had them join us for a visit with my aunt. While at the visit my cousins were sharing with me that my aunt has chosen to end her chemotherapy. She has decided that her last days will be healthier and happier days without the misery that chemo can bring. It was kind of a sobering occasion.

On the long drive home Abel and I had a long conversation about health, death and aging. We talked about the various diseases that have affected our family's of origin, and how illness and death have touched each of our lives. At one point there was a pause, and Abel turned to me to ask, have you had a physical lately?

Funny timing. I do have a physical scheduled for this Monday. My health is definitely not something I take for granted. Although my kids are now teenagers, and young adults, I know that they still need me. I know that I still have much more parenting to do, and want to be sure that I am around for a long time. Remember, I will become a grandfather in less than two months. Last time that I met with my doctor, he told me that he was concerned about my blood pressure. It has always been borderline high, but now it is looking problematic. He reviewed my medical chart, and asked how long I have been on my anti-depressant.

Too long.

Like Janine, I have struggled with depression for many years. My depression has not been helped by the mental health problems that my two sons suffer from, nor has it been aided by the death of my husband. In the past two years I have tried twice to go off my medication, each time without much success. I usually do well for a couple months, then find myself sinking deeper and deeper.

I told my doctor that while I was not sure about going completely off the medication, I preferred to try going off the anti-depressant rather than adding another medication for high blood pressure. I'm worried, because I'm not sure I am making the right decision, but once again I feel that it is worth a try. I suppose that if there was an optimum time to try it would be when I am happily in a new relationship and looking forward to the arrival of new life. Is that enough? Is anything enough?

All I know is that I do feel a deep sense of responsibility to not die. Well, just not right now at least. One pill? Two pills? I will make that decision on Monday. Suddenly I have someone holding my hand, reminding me that he is quite invested in my being around for quite some time.

Worth

2012-01-07T00:45:00.000-08:00

It's 2012.

I'm here in Tennessee with group of widows and all feels right.

I woke up this morning and walked in the mountains. The fresh, cold air on my face. The sound of nothing but wind through pine needles. The necessity to do nothing but listen to the thoughts in my mind. To say nothing but my feelings to my heart and him.

I know that 2013 and 2014 and 2015 will come. I don't know what each year will hold, or if I'll even be in them, but I do know that living is the only answer to each day that passes...each month that passes...each year.

He is my reason for living, and through that reasoning, I have even found reason to live for myself.

He was always someone who I planned or would have died for, but when cards dealt something unexpectedly, I knew I had to live for him, and in doing so, I found not only a reason to live for myself, but for others like me.

I love that I have that knowledge...I love knowing what I am alive for...and what I know I would and will die for.

That knowledge, undoubtedly, will make 2012 and beyond a year and lifetime worth living.

Keep Your Head Up

2012-01-06T04:00:00.000-08:00

The weather here in Texas has been gorgeous the last few days. A bit too cool for a convertible, but perfect for sitting on a patio in the sun and drinking a margarita. These kind of days made me very sad in the days, months, and years after Daniel died. They reminded me so much of him and how much I missed him. Now, I feel like he sends me these days, just when I need them. A little "hello" from heaven. I had the sunroof open in the car on the way to work this morning, and a song came on the radio that put a smile on my face and a skip in my step. Grayson loves this song, and he was singing it out loud as we drove to school. Hope it cheers you up the way it did us. Happy Friday!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq7edbqi9n0

sex, death and Santa

2012-01-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

Photo from here...

There are some topics taboo in childhood. Topics which we attempt to ignore and gloss over for children. We feel they don't need to know....yet.

But when a child has had to bear witness to the truth, then what?

"I told Ryan all about how Daddy died," my five year old son, Briar, proudly told me as he sat on the toilet behind me. "That way, he'll know how it feels when his daddy dies."

I froze, mid-mascara stroke, attempting to come up with an appropriate reply. I was pleased that he was so comfortable communicating about such an emotion-filled topic. But I was also worried that his actions would concern Ryan's family when the little boy had multiple sleepless nights filled with angst imagining the death of his own father.

"Wow, honey," I answered after a long pause, "that was very.... thoughtful of you.....What did Ryan say when you told him about it?"

By now, Briar was absentmindedly staring at the pattern in the lino on the bathroom floor. "He just listened and didn't say anything much."

I was struck with the thought that, much like sex and Santa, death or mortality is a topic that parents want to have with their own children. They don't want some kid announcing it nonchalantly on the school bus or while playing Lego. It's hinted at in our culture...But rarely stated so bluntly as my sweet little boy did.

I can and will assure Ryan's parents that Briar's topic of conversation came from a kind and innocent place. And I know from knowing Ryan's parents that they will most likely be completely fine with this....But what about next time?

Will other parents shift in their chairs and glance at each other uncomfortably across the dinner table when their son or daughter comes home from school with questions about the imminence of their death? Will they be upset that the cat is out of the bag? Or will they be pleased that the topic has come up? Should I explain to Briar that this is something that parents want to talk to their little ones about when they are ready? Or should I just let Briar's well-meant lessons on life show others that families come in all shapes and sizes and backgrounds?

At First I Was Really Ticked ....

2012-01-04T00:07:00.000-08:00

picture from here

.... but now I'm feeling "normal" (I wanted to write that I was feeling "Pissed", but I didn't want to offend some of you by putting that in the title. If it offends you in parenthesis .... I apologize).

A few months after Jim died it became clear to me that I needed to see my doctor, and I needed to see her quickly ..... about starting antidepressants.
I had never been on them before in my life.
I didn't know anything about them.
The one thing that I did know is that if I didn't see her soon, and get some help, I might not live another week.

And so I went.
And it became clear to her that I needed to be on them.
And so I started taking them.
And soon started feeling much more "balanced".
Not happy. Still grieving. But able to handle it.

That was almost 4 years ago.
This past fall I weaned off of those meds back in August/September.
And did really well.
For a while.

And then I did not.
I started sliding downhill around Thanksgiving.
But I knew that holiday .... and all of December, were going to be difficult and so I dug in my heels and decided that I'd just wait it out.
Because surely I'd be much better after New Year's.

Fortunately, I have been able to recognize when I am about to jump off of a cliff.
It was almost too late this time, because I kept thinking I just had to get past December.
I made it to Christmas Eve.
Barely.
And then the meds came back out.
Just in time.
I would not have made it past New Year's.

I had been spiraling downwards, further and further, the entire month of December.
I finally knew that I couldn't wait it out.
And so I threw in the towel.
And .... not only was I incredibly depressed .... I was hugely pissed.
I still am .... a little.

I'm pissed that, not only did I have to lose half of my heart when Jim died, but I had to physically and emotionally lose at least half of who I was.
I'm pissed that not only did grief exist in my life, but it physically changed my body ..... and the chemical makeup of my brain.
I think having a dead husband should be enough to suffer through .... enough of a change to have to endure.
But I guess my thinking isn't what always happens.

So now I am back on my meds .... and as of about one week ago, I'm feeling normal. Well, normal for me, that is.
One week ago today, was the first day that I didn't cry. Not once, let alone most of the day.
And I haven't cried since ..... not from that cold, enveloping blackness anyway.
And I'm feeling happy again.
And seeing things through much clearer lenses.

And I'm thankful.
Thankful that we have these kinds of medications available and thankful that I finally gave in and took them.
And I'm thankful to feel happy again.
And normal.

But I'm still angry.
Angry that I have to take them, and probably always will, when the "before Janine" never needed them.
Ever.
And I'm angry that our society doesn't always recognize the chemical need that a brain has to stay balanced.
But mostly? Mostly I'm angry that most people don't realize that they need help .... that their loved ones don't notice, or don't know what to do even if they notice .... until it's too late.
It angers me that our society doesn't know as much about depression ..... and how to recognize it, or what to do about it ..... as much as we know about the iPhone.

And it angers me that some factions of our society claim that depression doesn't really exist, that there's no need for antidepressants, and that it's all a sham.
That angers me a lot.

And though I know that I'm going out on a limb here .... it angers me that people who commit suicide are labeled as "incredibly selfish".
Because I don't agree. I know that most of them were just unable to live one more minute with the pain inside of them. And most of them probably thought that their loved ones would be much better off if they didn't have to deal with someone who not only is in constant pain, who couldn't see an end to the pain and the "blackness", but who was also dragging everyone down with them.

We need to know more.
Much more.
And I hope that one day soon ..... we will.

As for me, I'm a lot more happy than I am angry or sad now.
I'm back to feeling more like me.
And this was the first time that I looked forward to New Year's since 2006/2007.
And that's too damn long.

I won't' say "Happy New Year" to you .... because I remember how much I hated hearing "Happy" anything ..... for quite a while.
But I will wish you comfort and peace and wonderful memories to treasure.
And I will remind you that you are NOT alone.
And that your grief will get easier to carry.
One day at a time.

looking backwards - looking forwards

2012-01-03T01:11:00.000-08:00

This is a mash-up of two blogs I posted on my personal blog on December 31 and January 1....

Goodbye 2011

Goodbye gripping sadness

Goodbye anger

Goodbye fear

Goodbye bad habits

Goodbye worry

Goodbye self-doubt

Goodbye hurt

Goodbye pain

Goodbye tiredness

Goodbye nastiness

Goodbye negativity and negative people

Goodbye self-loathing

Goodbye depression

Goodbye financial stress

Goodbye guilt

Goodbye caring what others think

Goodbye uncertainty

Goodbye bad luck

Goodbye deep grief

Goodbye 2011

Hello 2012

Hello love

Hello kindness

Hello grace

Hello better health

Hello better fitness

Hello new friends

Hello feeling safe

Hello good things for the kids

Hello confidence

Hello new wealth

Hello increased strength

Hello empathy

Hello good luck

Hello stable career

Hello permanent job

Hello fun

Hello good memories

Hello positivity

Hello learning new things

Hello old love

Hello new love

Hello 2012

Photo from here

Emerging

2012-01-02T00:00:00.000-08:00

from here

My latest realization about this process is that somehow I haven't emerged (yet) from this tragedy with a more negative outlook on life. If I had, I think it'd be pretty understandable. And to be honest, I'm not sure how positively I'd handle any additional tragedy in this stage of the process. But based on the progress I've made so far, I can clearly see that I actually have LESS negativity than I had before.

I truly don't know how this is possible. I also don't dare to think that this state of mind will always be. One thing I CAN count on is the roller coaster of emotions this process entails. I might be able to say that I have a positive outlook now, but a minute, day, week, month, or a year or more from now, I might be in a completely different state of mind. However, looking at the past 7 months, I can see how hope was there all along even when I didn't recognize it. It was hope that got me from one day to the next when I wasn't able to sleep, eat or think from the shock. It was hope that things wouldn't always feel as terrible as they did in the first few months that kept me afloat.

And now, it is hope that keeps me from packing it all in and giving up. I have stubborn hope that there's more out there for me. More love, more chances, more joy, more excitement.

There is another part of me that will probably always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. After experiencing what I did in June, I know even more than I did before how bad things can get. I remember a moment in the car on the way to the ER the day Dave was admitted when I said out loud to myself "Lightning CAN'T strike you a THIRD time. The odds are in your favor". Whoo boy was I wrong on that one. So now, there is a tendency to think that the next tragedy is just out there, waiting for me. I'm sure that when (not if, WHEN) life begins to feel peaceful and joyous again, there will be a part of me wondering when the bad stuff will rear its head again.

But, somehow that pig-headed optimism that good is out there for me, has been, overall, winning the fight in my mind and heart. If it hadn't, I don't think I'd have gone to Camp Widow at 2 months out, or made so many new, wonderful friends, or taken a year off of work to sort out my feelings, or run a 5K, or gone to concerts, or considered selling my house and moving or traveled.

I could easily hunker down and isolate myself in my grief and opt out of life based on what it's dished up for me so far, but I haven't. I haven't settled for a restricted life based on fear and sadness.

This is not to say that decisions I've made or will make are not fear-based anymore, or that I won't do anything out of sheer sadness and grief. I know I will. I also am aware that I will look back on this time and realize that I wasn't fully emotionally stable yet and my mind wasn't yet fully functional.

But, upon reflection, I think I chose life much more often than not. I chose to live life as big as I could manage and plan to continue to do so, whenever I can.

Maybe this was partly due to my inherent will to keep going and kicking ass, but I'm convinced it had a lot to do with how my loved ones held me up when I couldn't hold myself up. Knowing they were there to catch me at every possible turn in this road kept me stronger than if I'd walked alone. There is no doubt in my mind that they were and are crucial to my survival.

However, at the end of the day, it's just me living for me now. The new me is emerging from the ashes. I keep getting little glimpses of perspective on how far I've come and how much farther I have to go. Even if I had spent the last 7 months hiding out in my house, it would be completely understandable. But I didn't. I didn't consider it an option. Some sort of blind and incredibly stubborn will to live kicked in and I chose life and all its inherent fears and beauty.

I am scared shitless, yes.

I'm also not done fighting. Not even close.

I will continue to emerge from this hell as a person who has not had her soul completely crushed. Bruised and battered, and continuously healing, but never crushed.

Hopeful New Year

2012-01-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

No tears tonight. (It's New Year's Eve as I write.)

Tonight I celebrate what lies ahead of me. Tonight I take notice of what prior New Year's brought my way. I know that tonight a friend is celebrating a wedding anniversary without her husband. I know that tonight another friend is remembering this as the day she met the husband who is also no longer beside her. Yet knowing each of these women, I'm sure that even if tears are falling, there are beautiful smiles on their faces.

Looking ahead to the new year is our way of projecting hope into our future. For those of us who are widowed hope is not something we can always easily access. Yet for me, at this point in my life, I do have hope, and more of it than expected.

I know that years ago after learning that my husband was terminally ill, I thought I lost hope. Yet, in the days that followed his emergency surgery I found myself accessing hope that I couldn't recognize at first. It was that hope that spurred me on to seek out the right path for us as a couple, and it was that hope that allowed me to not get stuck so deep in my unexpected sorrow. It was also that hope that provided me with two more loving years with the man I gave my heart to.

After losing Michael I felt that once again I had lost all ties to hope. I was not able to see beyond the pain and sorrow, even as the days and months went by. I began to question if my future carried any real meaning. After surviving on scary night I decided to trust that hope was there, even if I didn't recognize it. I made a decision to set off in a new direction, and I trusted that there was something, not necessarily someone, out there for me.

Tonight I sit here in my home, with all the chaos that is included with a house full of kids and pets. I had hoped for a very quiet peaceful night, one like last year, yet it is clearly not what I am to have. The television is blaring, the dogs are running around, I have struggling with a miserable cold, and my new love is at work rather than sitting beside me.

Inside my head I keep hearing Mick Jagger singing these lyrics..."YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT." For those of us who find ourselves seeking out this blog, this is a bit of an understatement.

My point is this, no, I don't believe I got what I wanted. I got more. I got a lifetime of Michael's love. It wasn't my lifetime of love, but it was his. I know that he never stopped loving me, nor I him. I know that loving him gave me so much hope in my future. I know that loving him taught me that sometimes hope takes a different turn. Before meeting Michael I thought love had passed me by. I had somewhat lost hope. He renewed it. In learning that I was soon to lose Michael I thought I had lost hope. Once again, it was renewed. In losing Michael I was sure that I had lost hope. Yet, here I sit, being hopeful once again.

Let's all look forward to a hopeful year. Let's say our thanks for what we had, and let's be open to what the future holds.

Happy New Year.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

2012

2011-12-31T01:33:00.000-08:00

Holy smokes, Batman.

2000 freakin' 12.

I don't quite know how to simply describe 2011 or simply describe what I hope 2012 to be.

I feel I've excelled.

I feel I've failed.

I feel I've laughed more.

I feel I've been disappointed more.

I feel I've grown.

I feel I've shrunk.

I feel I've exceeded my expectations.

I feel like I haven't done enough.

I feel...as I type this...I'm a bit of a split personality ;)

Or a person who hasn't quite still found a steady balance in the crazy scale of life.

But I think there's a part of me that knows deep down I liked the excitement of running side to side, just long enough to keep my balance...find that center, but not long enough to ever feel that all will always be as it is...more so a time to know that one side will sometimes lean more than the other and my center will never look the same as the last time I balanced it.

Balance.

Even typed out it looks so linear...so horizontal....so not me.

So....2012 will be awesome.

Crazy.

Not what I expect.

Not always what I will have envisioned.

And more than anything... a little off-balance.

I'm excited for it...

For life in 2012.

Dodging Bullets on New Year's Eve

2011-12-30T04:00:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Eve is my #1 most difficult holiday. More than Christmas, more than Halloween and more than Maggie’s birthday weekend (2nd weekend in December.) Saturday will mark the third without a midnight Maggie-and-Chris lip lock. It’s difficult to imagine kissing someone else on that day and at that time since her lips are the only ones I’ve kissed at that special moment since 1999. Because of tradition and love and respect, it seems like that special moment is reserved, forever and ever, just for her. But this year I was going to try it and see how it went. I’m pretty sure my intended date had no idea the significance of the place she stood because she’d have no doubt bowed out for that reason alone. But it doesn’t matter; for unrelated reasons I’m going stag…. Again.

The last two New Year’s Eves have been less than pleasant. Each time there were two gun shots right to the heart – a double tap, executioner style. The first bullet is the silence just following the “THREE! TWO! ONE!” as the group kissing-fest begins. The second is the line of sympathy hugs from friends I get right after the kissers realize “Oh, Chris, the lonely widower!” Click, click! Boom! Boom! And I’m out.

This year I was hell-bent on changing things up a bit. I was going to bring a date. (Gasp!) And I was going to kiss her right there in front of everyone right at midnight. Oh yeah. It was going to be epic. But stay with me; I had given this a lot of careful thought. Yes, I’d get some attention from those in the crowds who knew me only as half of Team Maggie-and-Chris. But my thought on all that attention is that they’d have to deal with that themselves; I can’t be held captive to other people’s emotions. Most of my brain power, however, went to pondering how I would feel. Holy cow…. The crowd. The countdown. The smell of champagne. The memories of kisses past. (A thousand tiny cuts, it seems.) Then holding not-Maggie in my arms and kissing not-Maggie’s lips. Then holding not-Maggie’s hands and (the biggie) smiling and pretending like this was the night of my life! I gotta summon poker face. Could I do it? Could I pull this off?

Here’s what I came up with after a LOT of thought: It doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t really matter if I can “pull this off” because what matters is that I try. What are the chances that I break down into a puddle of mess right in the middle of the celebration? Not huge. Not insignificant but not huge. What are the chances that I shed a silent tear and look a little pensive for a few minutes? Pretty good, actually. What are the chances my date notices? Probably also pretty good. What does it matter her reaction? A) She could be upset which tells me a lot. B) She could even make a scene which would tell me even more. C) She could rock the tender moment by squeezing my hand, smiling and letting me work through my complex emotions while giving me gentle, silent support (and maybe even running a little social interference for me while I get my game face back on.) But no matter her reaction, I win. I win because I did it! I took a huge step forward and conquered one more first - the first New Year’s Eve kiss with a not-Maggie.

But, alas, despite all my ponderings, I’m going stag. Taking not-Maggie as a date for the night-of-all-nights is not going to happen, for unrelated reasons. So here I am facing a two-shot firing squad again. But this year I’m not going to have it. I’ve made a plan. For better or worse, I’m leaving the party just prior to midnight. I really don’t want to experience that discomfort again so by the time the ball drops, I’ll hopefully be at home with my puppies drinking a beer by myself. Actually, now that I think about it, if I make it home by midnight, I’ll have plenty of kisses at midnight - stinky-breath puppy kisses. Ah, they won’t care if I cry. Suddenly, this plan just got better!

Aging Gratefully

2011-12-29T00:01:00.000-08:00

I am filling in for Jackie today because her computer is in the shop...but she will be back next week!

Today is my birthday. I am 42 years old, three years older than Phil was when he died six years ago (crazy to think he would be 46 right now!). My first birthday without him I remember wishing time could just stand still. I didn't want to age without him;I didn't want to celebrate being alive with birthday songs and presents; and I didn't want to continue on a forward path that moved away from the life I loved with Phil. Overall, December 29, 2005 was not my best birthday.

Truthfully, finding a way to appreciate the opportunity to live another year took some time. I moved from being down right pissed off about my repeating birthdays to being a bit ambivalent about the passing of time to finally accepting the fact that until my number is called my job is to seize the day.

Seizing the day is a broad concept that, for me, includes both taking as many opportunities for adventures as possible, and also taking time to cuddle a baby without looking at the clock. When I am living my best life I say what I mean, and I follow those words with actions. Making the most of the time I am given is a goal that is never far from my mind, and is firmly planted in my heart, because I know that one person can make a difference. Phil taught me that. But I didn't know how huge his influence on me was, until it was too late to tell him. I try to remember that the words I use may become an enduring memory for someone I care about, and I try very hard to speak words of both praise and gratitude. I may have only one chance to utter them. Time is something I no longer take for granted.

In fact, time is now something I relish in ways large and small...I love giggling with my kids, and running with good friends. I've discovered that Alaska has rain forests, and that Texas is actually huge. I've both cried, and laughed uproariously, with widowed people from all walks of life. I've witnessed both births and deaths and found them both to be an amazing honor. Over the past six years I walked on beaches on the opposite side of the earth from my home, hiked in majestic mountains, and looked over my shoulder for bears while trekking through the above mentioned rain forests. I spent New Year's Eve in New York City, and have driven alone on country roads from Ohio to Indiana. I've walked with friends through cancer, divorce, the loss of a home, and the pain of losing a baby. I have not been just an observer of life, I have rolled my sleeves up and jumped in with two feet time and time again. Because life is short. You and I know that better than most. So now I choose not to waste a single day that I could be making a difference.

President Abraham Lincoln suffered through the deaths of three of his four children, and was well known to be prone to depression. Having come through one particularly dark period, a good friend told Mr. Lincoln that he had been afraid his despair would swallow him whole. President Lincoln responded:

"I have an irrepressible desire to live until I can be assured that the world is a little better for my having lived in it."

Cheers to another year full of opportunities to improve the world, one small bit at a time.

**If you believe that Widow's Voice, and the programs of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, have made a difference for you, we'd be honored if you would consider us for a tax-deductible, year-end donation of any amount. SSLF is a non-profit organization that creates and maintains communities for widowed people around the world. We believe in the power of shared experience to heal, to inspire, and to lead the way to a hope filled future for widowed people everywhere. Thank you for sharing your widowed journey with us all year long. Donate now in support of SSLF. We are so grateful for the many ways in which you all support our mission.

Is It Just Me ....

2011-12-28T00:03:00.000-08:00

picture from here

.... or does anyone else ever feel like moving away and starting over?
From everyone that knew them "before" .... and from all of those friends who can't seem to see you as anything but "different" ..... and it all seems to get worse as time goes on?

I have now passed the 4 year mark.
This is my life.
I am no longer married.
I am single.
I get that.

And yes, I am different than I was, but I'm pretty much accustomed to the fact that my husband is dead, has been dead for 4 years and isn't coming back.
I want to be treated the same way that they treated me 4 years ago.
I don't want to be treated with "kid gloves".
I don't want to stand out in any way.
I just want to be Janine.

But that's not what's happening.
My "couple" friends seem to feel like I'll fall apart if I find out they're doing things together, as couples.
So they do things, but they feel like they can't let me know.
I hate that.
And I don't get it.
It's been 4 years.
If I'm used the to the fact that I'm not married anymore, why aren't they?

I live in a smallish community.
Many people knew "us".
We've lived here for 20 years and have been very active.
So most people remember.
They remember Jim and they remember Jim and me.
And I guess they have certain expectations ..... or maybe they have no idea what to expect and so they go out of their way to not treat me the same.

All I know is, that after 4 years ..... I feel like I need to move away.
I need to move somewhere where no one knew "us".
No one sees me as Janine, Jim's widow.
Poor Janine.

I don't want friends to feel that they have to treat me in some special way.
I don't want friends to feel that I expect to be treated in some special way.
I'm sick to death of being "special" because I'm a widow.
And I'm ready to move forward.
Wherever that may be.

I realize that I'm the "first" person to be widowed amongst almost all of my friends.
I realize that this has all been new for them, too.
I know that they, pretty much like me, don't know what they're doing, so I can't blame them for flying blind here.
But come on! It's been four freaking years!
Trust me ..... I know he's dead!

Is this just me?
Are these just my friends?
Or have any of you felt this way?
Have any of you actually moved to start over?
That's exactly how I feel. I want to start over.
And while leaving here and leaving some of the memories would be sad, the possibility of a new place, new people, no memories and no expectations .... feels exciting.

For those of you who have moved to a new place .... how did it impact you? Both negatively and positively?
Did you feel more freedom to start over as just "you" in the new place?

Or is this just a "phase" of being widowed?
And it will pass before long?

Please share your experiences with us. Because I need a change. And I can't believe I'm the only one.
I just want to make sure that if I do it, I do it right.

And please ..... tell me that it's not just me.

2 down, 48 to go...

2011-12-27T01:11:00.000-08:00

Christmases without Greg, that is.

Given my long-lived female relatives, I know I can expect to see the age of 90 if not 100 years old. (Longevity seems to be a heritable trait in my family ... as does early widowhood.)

Which means 48 more Christmases to endure even with the more conservative estimate....

...and I don't want to do another single one, leave alone another 48 or more.
.
.
.
.

...and that's where my head is. Not pretty, and I know I should pull myself together because ... well ...
I didn't die ....

People who don't know me, or who don't have a basic grasp of psychology will tell me it doesn't help to keep thinking this way.

... but it does...

If there is one thing I have learnt in this mess that is widowhood: grief will always out.

Better to brood and cry and moan every so often, than to button it down, don't think those dark thoughts. ...and have it hit you full force at the most inappropriate times at a later date.

So, I'll spend a bit of time feeling sad and sorry for myself. I'll brood about having to live for so much longer without my man. I'll cry in the shower and I'll swear a lot.

But after that, I'll feel OK again and keep plodding on. I'll keep moving forward and not think about having to keep living long after my love died.

...and I won't beat myself up about not taking it all on the chin ALL the time. I'll allow myself to have a little wallow in grief and self pity every so often without feeling guilty.

So you'll excuse me while I go play some sad songs and have a little cry .... I'll feel better for it tomorrow, I promise.

I Think I Do

2011-12-26T00:00:00.000-08:00

from here

It’s so strange how much easier the holidays were than I expected. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't been easy, just easier than expected. I've been feeling almost spooked by the lack of horrific pain I've felt in the last week or so leading up to Christmas.

For one thing, Dave and I never made a big deal out of Christmas. We’d hit his parents’ house for Christmas day because they expected us, but we didn’t put up a tree (We gave up on a tree after the cat knocked the thing over and ate the needles) and didn’t wrap presents up for each other. We got each other gifts so frequently throughout the year, that at Christmas time, we’d usually just pick a joint gift for the house that we’d been wanting and call it done.

Because it wasn’t a special time of year for us, maybe I just didn’t feel his absence any more than I do on a normal day. I miss him every day, so this day was like all the others. It was hard to see couples and families, but that’s always hard. It’s almost harder on ordinary days. Even couples and families who don’t want to be together often feel duty-bound to spend time together during the holidays. It’s the normal days when there’s no expectation to be together that the togetherness I see around me hits me hardest.

Dave was wonderful in many ways, but one way he was very different than me was that he didn’t need the company of many people. In fact, he was quite satisfied to be with me, and only me, every day. The thought of holiday parties or get-togethers made him very uncomfortable. Because of that, I spent holidays either alone with him, or attending an occasional party without him during the holidays. I never really thought I minded terribly, but a part of me I didn’t even know existed just soaked in all the time spent with my friends this year. The reason for that is tragic, but there it is. I can’t deny that I very much enjoyed all the socializing, even while feeling this giant hole in my life and heart where Dave used to reside. My friends saw to it that I'd be surrounded by them and their love during the holidays and this alone was the most incredible gift of all.

Also, since we don’t have kids, I didn’t have to pretend to be strong for their sake and I didn’t have to see them experiencing Christmas without their father. I can’t imagine that kind of pain. All I had to worry about was my broken heart and not theirs too, or about being strong for their sake.

Then, there's numbness. I'm pretty sure that it plays a part here. I think I'll know better in hindsight, but I'll venture to bet my mind is protecting me a little by going somewhat numb.

I’ve also been feeling some pride. I’ve made it 7 months. I have reached out for help and love from those who love me. I’ve begun building this new life from the rubble his death left behind. I’ve survived. I am stronger than I ever believed possible. And now, I’ve survived the holidays (well…almost) and can maybe, just maybe, see a ray of hope for next year. The chance to create new traditions and celebrate my survival of another year is there for me if I want to accept it.

I think I do.

Speaking to the Ghost of Christmas Past

2011-12-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

The day Phil died, my world was irrevocably changed. No amount of crying, wishing, or begging could switch my new reality back to the reality of what seems like only moments ago. The first Christmas without him, I sat on the coach alone watching the kids open gifts that only I chose, purchased, wrapped, and stowed under the tree...barely able to keep from bawling all over their happiness. I swear I could hear my heart breaking again as reality slapped me in the face on what is touted as the merriest of days. I didn't believe the pain of missing him would ever lessen. I couldn't see how that was possible if Phil was still going to be dead...and unless there was some kind of amazing magic wand under the tree that could reverse my reality, Christmas seemed doomed for ever more.

What I know now is that the pain of missing Phil hasn't lessened. In fact, because the pain is part of my everyday life I have stopped watching it with a wary eye. So on occasion that powerful longing has the ability to sneak up behind me and sucker punch me in the gut...taking my breath for a moment in an unexpected swoop. But I now find this breathlessness bittersweet. Because missing him reminds me of how much I still love him. Temporarily being unable to believe that he really is dead oddly cements his memory over and over again. And each Christmas I find myself briefly visiting in my mind's eye the me that sat alone on the couch that Christmas morning in 2005, and wishing I could tell her that she will never forget the moments she is living. In fact, she will revisit them time and time again. But not for the reason you may think.

So today, I'd like to share a few things with my Christmas 2005 self in the hope that if you find yourself sitting alone thinking that this will never get better these words may help you, too....

It's okay to cry. You won't drown, though I know you are afraid that you might. Let people love you. It really is the only thing they can do, on Christmas Day or any other day. Life could be worse. I know that is hard to hear right now, but it is true. Hold onto that. You won't forget. Even though the timber of his voice will fade, you will never forget the way he spoke to you or how his voice in your ear made you feel.

Life will keep moving whether you like it or not. And eventually you will move, too. It's okay. Phil did not take the best part of you with him when he died. No, he didn't. Don't argue with me. Forever does not apply to life, but it does apply to love. You will always love him. The holidays aren't the hardest days. Rainy days when he would have called you ten times hurt worse.

Ask for help. I know you hate appearing needy, but you can't do this alone. You need people who care. On that note, when you ask for help you give someone who loves you a gift. They want to help, but don't know how. Help them help you.

Don't worry about always hating what has always been your favorite time of year. YOU will come back, it just takes time. I know that patience is not one of your virtues, but this time you will have to wait it out. There is no shortcut.

This is not the end of the road for you. You have so much to do in this life, and so many opportunities to honor your love for Phil by living large. He would want that and deep down you know it. You will never be the same after losing Phil. Someday you will value this fact.

As the tears stream down your face many times today, know this: You can survive Phil's death. And you will.

The funny thing about the above list, is that even if I could have told myself all of these things, I doubt I would have believed them. But that's okay. I believe them now, for me and for you. One day you will value the tears you cry today. They are streams of love.

Merry Christmas, darling. Loved, and never forgotten.

Loveinity

2011-12-24T00:08:00.000-08:00

If I had to choose between loving you and breathing, I would use my last breath to say, "I Love You."

**Yesterday marked the 6 year anniversary of our marriage! I think theis blog from last year still sums it up. Love you, Baby!**

This Thursday will mark our 5 year wedding anniversary. As I've stated through the years, this day has always been more difficult for me than any other...including the day he was killed.

You see, I don't define Michael's life and our life together by the day he was killed, I've always defined it by our eternal love, and no day signifies that more than when we exchanged vows.

We clasped hands from the first moment, rocking into each other, looking into each others eyes in a sort of dream like gaze, exchanging words that were more than words, letters that when compiled and verbalized explained our unfaltering devotion and feelings towards each others. Verbalized our future and our present, all that we were thankful for the other teaching/allowing us to experience.

With the go-go-go of the past couple of months, it feels good to sit here and reminisce about a moment that lives on in me forever, and through those that for a brief period in time, saw the union of two souls connected beyond measure.

I miss looking into his eyes, kissing his lips, knowing that that moment in time all was as it should be. But the angst of separation is still overpowered by that which surpasses all the physical, something that words haven't been created for, yet we exchanged them that evening. The knowing...the absolute knowledge that we will spend eternity together, even if briefly in two different realms.

One of the last letters Michael and I exchanged, I told him there were no words created for just how much I love him...so I created one. I called it: loveinity.

I loveinity you baby (and am so in lonveinity with you)...Happy Anniversary, My Love.

Cheers!

2011-12-23T03:59:00.000-08:00

I'll start today with a few toasts to the holidays! Cheers! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! and drum roll please.....Death still Sucks!

Two more days til Christmas, and as usual....I'm not ready yet. I still have a shopping list, I've still not wrapped my gifts, and I haven't watched all the movies I want to see or drank all the eggnog in the fridge. BUT, I'm working on it! Carl, on the other hand, is done with his shopping and has only two gifts left to wrap....he's incredible! I'm not threatened though...this is how I roll at Christmas, and while everyone is nestled all snug in their beds, I'll be up wrapping gifts and watching "Scrooged" until 2 am. It's a tradition developed as an only parent - squeezing in the shopping, wrapping, etc while the little guy sleeps, and doing it all by myself.

This year is so different, it makes my head spin. Carl has done some of my shopping, and I've been able to do some shopping by myself too. Carl took G shopping for me - he did it last year too, and it was so nice not to have to ask someone to take him (note to friends and family of widowed folks - take your widowed friend's kids shopping for them - it has to be done, and it is a difficult thing to ask for).

Grayson is on a different plane himself this year. His differences are mostly about age. He is old enough now to want to buy gifts himself and not just let me pick things out. Today, G and I will do some shopping. He's very excited to buy gifts for Carl and K, and has a couple ideas for his grandma too. I'm looking forward to some one on one time with G. We don't get as much of that as we used to, and we really enjoy the time when we get it. We'll head out with Christmas carols blasting in the car, stop for something fattening and caffeine-loaded at Starbucks, and hit it hard at the shops. My mom calls trips like this "combat shopping". I agree with this naming - we plan to take no prisoners!

I re-read some previous year's Christmas posts from myself and others, and the difference is amazing. Although it doesn't seem like it can be possible, each year is a bit easier than the last. Overall, this Christmas my head is relatively quiet and my heart is pretty darn full. Death still sucks. Daniel still isn't here. But we ARE still here, and we are making the most of it. So to all of you my lovely widowed friends - from one of us who is a bit further along this trail. I'm holding a light up for you. It does get easier.

Cheers! Death sucks indeed, but life can still be good. My new year's wish for all of us is PEACE. Even if it only comes to you in fleeting moments, enjoy it when it does.

Sticky Toffee

2011-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

Guest blogger Wendy Diez is filling in for Jackie today...thanks Wendy!

Picture from here

I’m on my way to pick up the kids at preschool and decide to stop at Panera to grab a decaf with extra, extra cream and no sugar. I wait in line thinking about all that I have accomplished in my kid-free two and a half hours when I hear the woman in front of me order a Sticky Toffee cookie. I’m transported back in time.

I’m in England five years ago with my dad, stepmom, stepsister and Chris. We’ve just spent a week in Ireland and are finishing up our vacation with a three day stay in London. We are eating a traditional English meal at a pub and after our dinner, our waiter asks if we would like dessert. He lists the options and ends with, “And then there is the Sticky Toffee,” with a typically British accent that makes the dessert sound much grander than it actually is. The delivery is so convincing though that, don’t you know, five minutes later we are all enjoying several servings of this delicious concoction and cracking ourselves up by repeating to each other over and over again, in our pretend accents, the words: Sticky Toffee.

“Would you like some Sticky Toffee?” Cue uproarious laughter.

“Why, yes, sir, I will have some Sticky Toffee!” One of us coughs out a chuckle

“Would you be so kind as to bring me some more Sticky Toffee?” Giggling erupts through Sticky Toffee-stained teeth.

“Have you heard about our world famous Sticky Toffee?” Someone actually snorts.

The pints of beer we consumed earlier in the evening only intensified how hilarious we thought we were.

This was our running joke for the rest of the trip. A few weeks after we returned, my dad, stepmom and stepsister came over to look at the pictures from the trip and Chris surprised everyone with homemade Sticky Toffee. He was a fantastic cook and his version rivaled the original one. And again, we amused ourselves by sitting around repeating the words “Sticky Toffee” to each other.

After a few weeks, as can happen with inside jokes, the Sticky Toffee references came less often and eventually, we dropped it altogether. Only on rare occasions would it randomly come up when our Ireland/England trip was referenced. And then, I completely forgot about it. Until the woman in front of me at Panera orders a Sticky Toffee cookie.

Now all I can think about is that trip and how my husband was a saint to agree to take one crabby, old man, one sweet but slow old lady and one thankfully normal stepsister on a vacation with his wife of just one year. As an extremely experienced traveler, Chris took on the responsibility of planning the entire trip from the towns we would visit to the places we would stay to the sites we would see. He was the only one brave enough to drive a car through the unpredictable terrain of Ireland all on the wrong side of the road. He tolerated complaining, cancelled plans, unexpected delays and way too much family together time. I won’t say he did it all with a smile on his face because anyone who knew him, knew that he liked things to be a certain way. He liked to be in control of his time and didn’t normally have patience for people that slowed him down.

And yet, he did it. He embarked on this adventure because he knew I wanted to do the trip this way. He did it because he knew it would make me happy. He did it because he wanted to see Ireland and England with me even if it included some tag along travelers. He did it because he loved me that much.

I could hug that woman in front me at Panera who ordered the Sticky Toffee cookie. She just reminded me how lucky I was to have experienced that kind of love.