Proof, edit, revise…repeat.
This is my life; a constant fluctuation of hopes, dreams, and plans evolving and changing. Some major life circumstances have changed for me in the past couple of days forcing me to revise my plans for building the house I have been planning for the past 3 years. I have revised the floor plan for the house no less than 7 times since I sketched out the first idea 3 years ago when Andie and I bought the land. And now the entire plan will be edited and revised again.
I will most likely be selling the land and looking for a different location to build, though I have no idea when that might actually happen. A week ago, I thought I’d be starting to build the house by the end of the summer. Now it is all an unknown again.
I have the sense that things work out for reasons beyond our understanding most of the time, so while I am disappointed, I am not discouraged. Okay, well I’m a little discouraged, but I have faith that things will be okay. Because somehow they always are.
Life isn’t a rough draft that we get to do over for a final version, but rather it is a working document. We’re always being given new opportunities, new challenges, new information that changes the rest of the story.
My life is a constant cycle of proof, edit, revise, and repeat…the glory being in that the edited and revised version is almost always much better than the original rough draft.
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Showing posts with label PUSH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PUSH. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Blur
There is a near constant fluctuation between my two worlds. More and more I feel like my life with Andie is vanishing and I’m grasping at things to hold onto, while also trying to be present and in the moment with my current life and appreciate it for all the good there is, but the lines keep getting blurred.
I recently changed several framed pictures on the walls. I took out a wedding photo and some of Andie and me with the twins when they were infants, and replaced them with the new pictures I recently had done of me and the girls together. My mom cried when she first noticed that the old pictures were gone. I cried then too because it’s all still so remarkably sad. But I justify it to myself by trying to believe that even if he were still alive I would’ve changed photos from when they were infants to more current ones. This doesn’t assuage the pain too much though.
This weekend I gave our dog away. The one I bought Andie for our one year wedding anniversary. I just was not able to keep up with the demands of an active dog anymore, and wanted him to be in a good home where he would get the attention he deserved. It was so hard to think of letting go of our first “baby”. So many memories returned that reminded me how innocent and naïve I was about life. How I never thought our dog would outlive my husband. How I never really thought our lives would be anything but mundane and normal. We would have a dog, a couple of kids, build a house, and be happy. I was reminded of the time when Andie’s best friend’s daughter was caught drinking out of the dog dish in our backyard, I think she was less than 2 years old then… I am saddened because I essentially don’t have contact with these friends anymore due to a minor conflict we had on the one year anniversary of Andie’s death. And though I apologized for my overly emotional behavior, (which I would’ve thought would be forgiven given the heightened emotional state of that day), and though I tried several times after that to reach out to them, I barely have contact with this couple. I hear from the husband through text messages on holidays, but the wife has not spoken to me since she emailed me the day after and said she was too upset to discuss the issue. That was 9 months ago. The dog is gone. The friends are gone. There is not one part of my life that has not been touched by his death and irrevocably changed because of it.
So I let go of our dog and wished him well to a better place, trying to believe that Andie is in a better place too. Hoping that it is true for both of them. And later in the day I had a wonderful afternoon at the river with this man who has become so special to me. We went to the homeowner’s park on the river where I have membership because of the land Andie and I bought together. Where we dreamed of building a home to raise our family. The dreams of Andie and I building our home there and raising our family are gone, to be replaced now with new dreams and new plans…I will build a home there by myself now. And I have to raise our children in a different way than I expected, creating a new idea of what family is...
My boyfriend and I had a picnic, and walked along the river and fished, and spent some quality time together. It was peaceful, and calm, and happy. As we were walking to the car he made a comment about the river park being a place where some great memories could be made together... “picture memories” were the actual words he used. I smiled at the thought of he and I creating new memories together.
The juxtaposition of all these old memories fading away and new ones being made to replace them seems surreal. It’s like two watercolors mixing…the lines blur and they seep into each other becoming a different color altogether. Changing the original state of both irrevocably.
That is how it feels for me now. The old and the new being mixed together, the lines blurring, and in doing so irrevocably changing what has been...and what will be.
I recently changed several framed pictures on the walls. I took out a wedding photo and some of Andie and me with the twins when they were infants, and replaced them with the new pictures I recently had done of me and the girls together. My mom cried when she first noticed that the old pictures were gone. I cried then too because it’s all still so remarkably sad. But I justify it to myself by trying to believe that even if he were still alive I would’ve changed photos from when they were infants to more current ones. This doesn’t assuage the pain too much though.
This weekend I gave our dog away. The one I bought Andie for our one year wedding anniversary. I just was not able to keep up with the demands of an active dog anymore, and wanted him to be in a good home where he would get the attention he deserved. It was so hard to think of letting go of our first “baby”. So many memories returned that reminded me how innocent and naïve I was about life. How I never thought our dog would outlive my husband. How I never really thought our lives would be anything but mundane and normal. We would have a dog, a couple of kids, build a house, and be happy. I was reminded of the time when Andie’s best friend’s daughter was caught drinking out of the dog dish in our backyard, I think she was less than 2 years old then… I am saddened because I essentially don’t have contact with these friends anymore due to a minor conflict we had on the one year anniversary of Andie’s death. And though I apologized for my overly emotional behavior, (which I would’ve thought would be forgiven given the heightened emotional state of that day), and though I tried several times after that to reach out to them, I barely have contact with this couple. I hear from the husband through text messages on holidays, but the wife has not spoken to me since she emailed me the day after and said she was too upset to discuss the issue. That was 9 months ago. The dog is gone. The friends are gone. There is not one part of my life that has not been touched by his death and irrevocably changed because of it.
So I let go of our dog and wished him well to a better place, trying to believe that Andie is in a better place too. Hoping that it is true for both of them. And later in the day I had a wonderful afternoon at the river with this man who has become so special to me. We went to the homeowner’s park on the river where I have membership because of the land Andie and I bought together. Where we dreamed of building a home to raise our family. The dreams of Andie and I building our home there and raising our family are gone, to be replaced now with new dreams and new plans…I will build a home there by myself now. And I have to raise our children in a different way than I expected, creating a new idea of what family is...
My boyfriend and I had a picnic, and walked along the river and fished, and spent some quality time together. It was peaceful, and calm, and happy. As we were walking to the car he made a comment about the river park being a place where some great memories could be made together... “picture memories” were the actual words he used. I smiled at the thought of he and I creating new memories together.
The juxtaposition of all these old memories fading away and new ones being made to replace them seems surreal. It’s like two watercolors mixing…the lines blur and they seep into each other becoming a different color altogether. Changing the original state of both irrevocably.
That is how it feels for me now. The old and the new being mixed together, the lines blurring, and in doing so irrevocably changing what has been...and what will be.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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Sunday, March 18, 2012
The release of Push in paperback is here!
The paperback version of Push is now available!
You can purchase here: CreateSpace.com
Or here: Amazon.com
A Kindle version will be formatted and available in several weeks.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Live for now
"The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but the live in the present moment wisely and earnestly." - Buddha
One thing I am grateful for in this process of loss is how it has forced me to discover the real me. It has forced me to understand that life is fleeting and I want to enjoy the rest of mine as much as possible. I want to feel alive and excited about my future. It has forced me to see that spontaneity and having fun is actually okay, I don't have to carefully and meticulously plan my life so as to always be the "responsible" one. It has shown me that it's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to do things my way and not care so much about what others think, and it's okay to take risks. I've learned so much about myself in the past year and a half. Grief has taught me to take an honest look at who I am and what I believe in. It has made me more aware of what is truly important to me.
One thing I am grateful for in this process of loss is how it has forced me to discover the real me. It has forced me to understand that life is fleeting and I want to enjoy the rest of mine as much as possible. I want to feel alive and excited about my future. It has forced me to see that spontaneity and having fun is actually okay, I don't have to carefully and meticulously plan my life so as to always be the "responsible" one. It has shown me that it's okay to make mistakes, it's okay to do things my way and not care so much about what others think, and it's okay to take risks. I've learned so much about myself in the past year and a half. Grief has taught me to take an honest look at who I am and what I believe in. It has made me more aware of what is truly important to me.
Some of you may remember that not long after Andie died I briefly, but seriously considered packing up and moving to Costa Rica for a year. I had the sudden urge to flee everything I had ever known and start over. I wanted to not take one more minute for granted and wanted to take advantage of every opportunity to do something fun, and exhilarating, and crazy.
Well, while I am not moving to Costa Rica permanently, I have rented a house there for a month this summer. I want my girls to have fun childhood memories to look back on. I want them to remember the mother as someone who enjoyed life, and really lived. I have made a promise to myself that every summer we will travel somewhere fun, and exciting, and to a place where they can learn about the world and a different culture.
I've also decided to get a tattoo. Something Andie would totally be against. But that's okay, because I've decided to get the tattoo for me. I haven't completely decided on the design yet but it will be something in honor of him. I'm sure it will incorporate my mantra "Push" to remind to always keep pushing.
Keep pushing the boundaries of my comfort level.
Keep pushing myself to grow as a person.
Keep pushing myself to move forward and live authentically for me.
Just keep pushing...
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Push me...
This is hard
This is hard
This is hard
This seems to be the refrain running through my mind most of the time these days. Aspects of my grief are being brought out daily as each new day is a new experience with someone new and I am constantly reconciling the new with the old. Constantly readjusting my focus. Constantly experiencing happiness and joy with the underlying tinge of sadness that this isn’t really how it was all supposed to turn out. The tears come so easy these days. Quick and hot on my cheeks. I am not the tough, strong girl I used to be. I allow myself to be more in touch with my emotions these days but it hurts. I question whether I am really ready to be in another relationship yet if I feel so emotional about all of this. But the answer is that you’re never really ready- no matter when it happens all of these issues will bubble up and you have to endure to move past it.
I thought I had gotten to a place of calm functioning with my grief. I was not doubled over in pain every day anymore. I could make it several days in a row sometimes weeks without crying. So to have it all brought back out and on the surface again feels doubly painful and confusing. How could something that makes me so happy bring me so much heartache. All I can think is…
No, I’m not going back here.
I was past this.
I don’t want to feel this again.
But I have to. You cannot know how grief will color and overshadow everything you do for the rest of your life until you walk into each and every new experience. You cannot prepare yourself for how it will feel to fall in love with someone else until it starts happening. And it hurts because you grieve all over again for the loss of the one you once loved. You can’t begin to understand how it will feel to have another person literally in his place at the table, sitting beside you in church, and holding the children, until you see it happening.
Being with someone new and trying to put all of my trust in them to be there for me only reignites my abandonment issues. The two most important men in my life both died suddenly and unexpectedly… my father when I was 15, and 15 years later it was my husband. The fear of that kind of loss happening again is paralyzing. I simply could not manage to pick myself back up from that kind of devastation.
I don’t want to revisit the pain so it seems easier to run from it. I think about sabotaging what I have in this new relationship and I even give it a pretty good effort, but in the end can’t bring myself to walk away from this incredible man who is so freaking understanding of it all. Who wants to help me heal and wants to be beside me in the process to support me through it. And as he reminds me, I could put this off but inevitably I will be with someone someday and all of this will come out again. Pay now or pay later.
So in pushing him away I’m really acting out of self-preservation but in doing so then I stay stuck. This is when I need someone to push me. To be behind me and say it’s all going to be okay and I will survive this. And he does. He does so with such dignity and gentle encouragement that I can’t help but believe him.
So I’ll continue to let him push me.
But damn it hurts.
This is hard
This is hard
This seems to be the refrain running through my mind most of the time these days. Aspects of my grief are being brought out daily as each new day is a new experience with someone new and I am constantly reconciling the new with the old. Constantly readjusting my focus. Constantly experiencing happiness and joy with the underlying tinge of sadness that this isn’t really how it was all supposed to turn out. The tears come so easy these days. Quick and hot on my cheeks. I am not the tough, strong girl I used to be. I allow myself to be more in touch with my emotions these days but it hurts. I question whether I am really ready to be in another relationship yet if I feel so emotional about all of this. But the answer is that you’re never really ready- no matter when it happens all of these issues will bubble up and you have to endure to move past it.
I thought I had gotten to a place of calm functioning with my grief. I was not doubled over in pain every day anymore. I could make it several days in a row sometimes weeks without crying. So to have it all brought back out and on the surface again feels doubly painful and confusing. How could something that makes me so happy bring me so much heartache. All I can think is…
No, I’m not going back here.
I was past this.
I don’t want to feel this again.
But I have to. You cannot know how grief will color and overshadow everything you do for the rest of your life until you walk into each and every new experience. You cannot prepare yourself for how it will feel to fall in love with someone else until it starts happening. And it hurts because you grieve all over again for the loss of the one you once loved. You can’t begin to understand how it will feel to have another person literally in his place at the table, sitting beside you in church, and holding the children, until you see it happening.
Being with someone new and trying to put all of my trust in them to be there for me only reignites my abandonment issues. The two most important men in my life both died suddenly and unexpectedly… my father when I was 15, and 15 years later it was my husband. The fear of that kind of loss happening again is paralyzing. I simply could not manage to pick myself back up from that kind of devastation.
I don’t want to revisit the pain so it seems easier to run from it. I think about sabotaging what I have in this new relationship and I even give it a pretty good effort, but in the end can’t bring myself to walk away from this incredible man who is so freaking understanding of it all. Who wants to help me heal and wants to be beside me in the process to support me through it. And as he reminds me, I could put this off but inevitably I will be with someone someday and all of this will come out again. Pay now or pay later.
So in pushing him away I’m really acting out of self-preservation but in doing so then I stay stuck. This is when I need someone to push me. To be behind me and say it’s all going to be okay and I will survive this. And he does. He does so with such dignity and gentle encouragement that I can’t help but believe him.
So I’ll continue to let him push me.
But damn it hurts.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Throw momma from the train...
Last night I freaked out. Totally, overboard, off my rocker, freaked out. I’ve been in this relationship for about four months. Long enough for us to discuss the future and see ourselves together in it. Long enough for it be (in my crazy head) time to be making out a timeline of when things might happen. I don’t do well with unknowns. I think this is something a lot of widows struggle with, especially when the loss was sudden and felt out of our control. We want to control everything else so we don’t ever have to be blindsided again. But, I readily acknowledge that this is also just part of who I am at the core. I like plans. And goals. And knowing what’s around the bend and what I’m up against. The problem is there are a lot of uncertainties in both of our lives right now that can’t be rushed. And it’s not that I want to rush it. It’s just that I want to know a general idea of how it might all play out.
This stems from my insecurity and fear of loss and abandonment, I know. I worry about letting my guard down, giving someone my heart, and possibly getting hurt again or God forbid, going through loss again. Some days it seems it would be easier to stick to what I’ve got. It’s not the most fulfilling, but at least it’s what I know and I’m comfortable with it. I’ve spent 19 months doing it my way, on my own, without anybody else’s input. It’s hard to think about letting someone else in on the routine, into my space, into my head, and mostly into my heart. Relationships of course take lots of compromise and I haven’t had to compromise for quite a while. Change brings disequilibrium. I want my equilibrium back.
So I started freaking out. Maybe this really isn’t what I want. Or maybe I want to rush it too fast and jump into something before I’ve given it due time- I worry this will scare him away. What if I’m making a huge mistake? What if we disappoint each other and get hurt in the process? What if, what if, what if…
I feel like I’m on a train that’s headed to a great destination. Or so I think. The problem is I can’t see what’s around the bend. I can’t tell if we’re gonna crash and I’m gonna get hurt. So maybe I should just jump. But that’ll hurt too…so I have to hedge my bets. I’ll definitely get hurt if I bail out now and lose such a great man. And I might get hurt if we go around the bend and there’s an obstacle in the tracks. Maybe if I continue to be this difficult, and overanalyze and worry too much about things that are out of my control it’s going to push him away and he’ll actually end up throwing me from the train. Or maybe, with a stroke of luck I’ll round the bend and utopia will be waiting for me. Only time will tell. A concept I despise.
When I share all of this with him he is the epitomy of perfect. He listens, reassures, empathizes, and validates. I’ll spare you the “he said”, “she said” of it all, but I will tell you that after he hears my neurotic and over-analytical musings, he says something to me that strikes me deep inside. He saw right through me and called me on it. Not in a bad way, in a way that showed me that he understands how my mind works maybe as well as I do. He’s only known me 4 short months and already understands how I think, how I feel, how I process in ways that only my best friend understands. He’s got an intuitive sense about what I need from him on an emotional level and isn't afraid to provide it. He truly gets me in a way that nobody ever has and it shocked me. My normal course of action would be to dodge and weave when I feel like someone’s seen all my cards, to divert the attention to something else. But all I could do was acknowledge that he was right. That he hit it square on. And it felt so good to let someone see me for me, and know they still accept me that way.
So when I tell him that I feel like jumping from the train and calling it quits to save us both pain down the road, he says he’s not letting me jump.
He’s holding on tight and gonna keep me safe.
And the cool thing is...I actually believe him. :)
This stems from my insecurity and fear of loss and abandonment, I know. I worry about letting my guard down, giving someone my heart, and possibly getting hurt again or God forbid, going through loss again. Some days it seems it would be easier to stick to what I’ve got. It’s not the most fulfilling, but at least it’s what I know and I’m comfortable with it. I’ve spent 19 months doing it my way, on my own, without anybody else’s input. It’s hard to think about letting someone else in on the routine, into my space, into my head, and mostly into my heart. Relationships of course take lots of compromise and I haven’t had to compromise for quite a while. Change brings disequilibrium. I want my equilibrium back.
So I started freaking out. Maybe this really isn’t what I want. Or maybe I want to rush it too fast and jump into something before I’ve given it due time- I worry this will scare him away. What if I’m making a huge mistake? What if we disappoint each other and get hurt in the process? What if, what if, what if…
I feel like I’m on a train that’s headed to a great destination. Or so I think. The problem is I can’t see what’s around the bend. I can’t tell if we’re gonna crash and I’m gonna get hurt. So maybe I should just jump. But that’ll hurt too…so I have to hedge my bets. I’ll definitely get hurt if I bail out now and lose such a great man. And I might get hurt if we go around the bend and there’s an obstacle in the tracks. Maybe if I continue to be this difficult, and overanalyze and worry too much about things that are out of my control it’s going to push him away and he’ll actually end up throwing me from the train. Or maybe, with a stroke of luck I’ll round the bend and utopia will be waiting for me. Only time will tell. A concept I despise.
When I share all of this with him he is the epitomy of perfect. He listens, reassures, empathizes, and validates. I’ll spare you the “he said”, “she said” of it all, but I will tell you that after he hears my neurotic and over-analytical musings, he says something to me that strikes me deep inside. He saw right through me and called me on it. Not in a bad way, in a way that showed me that he understands how my mind works maybe as well as I do. He’s only known me 4 short months and already understands how I think, how I feel, how I process in ways that only my best friend understands. He’s got an intuitive sense about what I need from him on an emotional level and isn't afraid to provide it. He truly gets me in a way that nobody ever has and it shocked me. My normal course of action would be to dodge and weave when I feel like someone’s seen all my cards, to divert the attention to something else. But all I could do was acknowledge that he was right. That he hit it square on. And it felt so good to let someone see me for me, and know they still accept me that way.
So when I tell him that I feel like jumping from the train and calling it quits to save us both pain down the road, he says he’s not letting me jump.
He’s holding on tight and gonna keep me safe.
And the cool thing is...I actually believe him. :)
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
It's here!
The first installation of my book has been published! It's a coffee table style book and is therefore at the higher end of the price range due to increased publishing costs needed to print on high quality paper and to include photos.
There is a version for ipad and iphone that is cost efficient, and I am currently working on the paperback version which will be at a competitive price range with other paperbacks that are currently on the market. The paperback version will also be available for Kindle users.
I'm not sure when the paperback will be released, but rest assured the process is underway and I'm "push"ing to get it done!
Click on the link above or to the right and you will be directed to the website to preview and purchase. Happy reading!
There is a version for ipad and iphone that is cost efficient, and I am currently working on the paperback version which will be at a competitive price range with other paperbacks that are currently on the market. The paperback version will also be available for Kindle users.
I'm not sure when the paperback will be released, but rest assured the process is underway and I'm "push"ing to get it done!
Click on the link above or to the right and you will be directed to the website to preview and purchase. Happy reading!
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
It's coming...
Many people have encouraged me to publish the blog or write a book about my grief journey over the past year. It's a deeply personal decision but one I feel compelled to do, if for no other reason than to have a compilation for my girls to read one day.
Soooo....
I have decided to move forward with the blog-to-book project. It will be self-published so it's nothing too fancy. I am currently working on formatting and editing the blog into a book format and hope to have it complete by the end of the year. It will be a compilation of all of the blog posts during my first year of grief. I am considering the idea of also adding some of my "never-seen-before" private journal entries to further complete the story of my grief process. People still contact me and tell me that they are referring others to the blog for support so I figured an easier way for people to get the whole story is through a book rather than clicking backwards through a gazillion blog pages.
Just wanted to give all of you who are interested a head's up that the project is underway...plus I figure if I put it out there to the world then I have to follow through and get it done. No more procrastinating!
Soooo....
I have decided to move forward with the blog-to-book project. It will be self-published so it's nothing too fancy. I am currently working on formatting and editing the blog into a book format and hope to have it complete by the end of the year. It will be a compilation of all of the blog posts during my first year of grief. I am considering the idea of also adding some of my "never-seen-before" private journal entries to further complete the story of my grief process. People still contact me and tell me that they are referring others to the blog for support so I figured an easier way for people to get the whole story is through a book rather than clicking backwards through a gazillion blog pages.
Just wanted to give all of you who are interested a head's up that the project is underway...plus I figure if I put it out there to the world then I have to follow through and get it done. No more procrastinating!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
It's over...
"It isn’t for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for the long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh
After a lot of heartache and much discussion, the new guy and I are over. Our life circumstances were just too much to overcome. He lives close to 300 miles away and it would be a year before he could even entertain the idea of moving. We would have to maintain a difficult long distance relationship that would be very expensive with the amount of travel required to see each other. We both have children who are our first priorities, and leaving his daughter isn’t an option. Uprooting mine right now to move to be with him is also not an option. Not to mention, there is a lot of emotional baggage to deal with on both sides of the table when there is a widow involved. He had his own emotions, thoughts, and feelings regarding my widowhood and where he fit into the equation. And I have mine. Navigating all of this just became too much. The hardest part to accept is that we were really great together. It’s hard for two people who want desperately to be together to call it quits… to let something so wonderful go when you know that if the circumstances were just a little different you could be great together. Luckily the split was amicable with no hard feelings on either side, and we will maintain a friendly relationship. Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to have our paths cross again someday under different circumstances.
Though the relationship was short lived it taught me a lot. It was the push I needed to want to live again and to love again. It taught me that I want to be adored and cherished by someone. I want to be that very special something to someone. It taught me that my heart really is open to receiving joy. I loved being married and I love being in relationships- I crave emotional intimacy with another. I want to be married again. I love the security of being with one person.
It was so nice to be appreciated and admired again. It was great to have someone enjoy my children and be around to help me with them. It was nice to have a shoulder to lean on and an open ear. It was wonderful to have a man make me feel gorgeous and great just the way I am. He motivated and challenged me to be a better person in so many ways. We seemed so perfect for each other; we connected intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally. We had great chemistry- people who saw us together could tell we had a true, genuine affection and love for each other. He is a phenomenal man who set the bar very high. I’m afraid that nobody will be able to measure up and be as patient, mature, and understanding as he was. I have a hard time believing that any other man would be so willing to take on the difficulties of a widow with young twins and do it with the strength he did.
I am saddened that we couldn’t find a way to make it work. My evenings will once again be very lonely with no one to look forward to talking on the phone with. No one to text me during the day just cause they’re thinking about me. The loss of comfort and companionship will reopen some of the wounds of grief that were not yet healed. A risk I knew I was taking when I entered into the relationship…but knowing you could get hurt doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I will always remember this relationship with fondness.
I will always remember him with admiration.
When I started this relationship I was constantly nervous because it all seemed too good to be true.
I just wish I hadn’t been right…
After a lot of heartache and much discussion, the new guy and I are over. Our life circumstances were just too much to overcome. He lives close to 300 miles away and it would be a year before he could even entertain the idea of moving. We would have to maintain a difficult long distance relationship that would be very expensive with the amount of travel required to see each other. We both have children who are our first priorities, and leaving his daughter isn’t an option. Uprooting mine right now to move to be with him is also not an option. Not to mention, there is a lot of emotional baggage to deal with on both sides of the table when there is a widow involved. He had his own emotions, thoughts, and feelings regarding my widowhood and where he fit into the equation. And I have mine. Navigating all of this just became too much. The hardest part to accept is that we were really great together. It’s hard for two people who want desperately to be together to call it quits… to let something so wonderful go when you know that if the circumstances were just a little different you could be great together. Luckily the split was amicable with no hard feelings on either side, and we will maintain a friendly relationship. Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to have our paths cross again someday under different circumstances.
Though the relationship was short lived it taught me a lot. It was the push I needed to want to live again and to love again. It taught me that I want to be adored and cherished by someone. I want to be that very special something to someone. It taught me that my heart really is open to receiving joy. I loved being married and I love being in relationships- I crave emotional intimacy with another. I want to be married again. I love the security of being with one person.
It was so nice to be appreciated and admired again. It was great to have someone enjoy my children and be around to help me with them. It was nice to have a shoulder to lean on and an open ear. It was wonderful to have a man make me feel gorgeous and great just the way I am. He motivated and challenged me to be a better person in so many ways. We seemed so perfect for each other; we connected intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally. We had great chemistry- people who saw us together could tell we had a true, genuine affection and love for each other. He is a phenomenal man who set the bar very high. I’m afraid that nobody will be able to measure up and be as patient, mature, and understanding as he was. I have a hard time believing that any other man would be so willing to take on the difficulties of a widow with young twins and do it with the strength he did.
I am saddened that we couldn’t find a way to make it work. My evenings will once again be very lonely with no one to look forward to talking on the phone with. No one to text me during the day just cause they’re thinking about me. The loss of comfort and companionship will reopen some of the wounds of grief that were not yet healed. A risk I knew I was taking when I entered into the relationship…but knowing you could get hurt doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I will always remember this relationship with fondness.
I will always remember him with admiration.
When I started this relationship I was constantly nervous because it all seemed too good to be true.
I just wish I hadn’t been right…
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Brace for impact...
“Peace: It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”
This time next week will be a hard day. All the pomp and circumstance of the one year anniversary the day before will be over. Just like after the hustle and bustle of funeral arrangements end and you manage to survive the actual day of the funeral, it is the day after when the quiet ensues and the let down of emotion begins to surround you. If I steel myself for it and brace for impact, then maybe it won’t wipe me out so hard…or maybe it will.
When I reflect on this past year I am amazed at how fast it has gone. I think because most of it was spent in a stupor and I didn't really even realize days were going by for so long...it's like the first 6 months were a blur, then I woke up and the last 6 months have crept by. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it all crept by, day by day, in the beginning and lately time has sped up. I’ve come so incredibly far, yet still have so very far to go. I think about the coming months and all the “big” dates that will be fast approaching. The ones that did not even register on my radar last year because I was still in shock. My birthday, the girls’ birthday, our wedding anniversary, the holiday season…they will feel different this year, I know. The sting will be stronger because the numbing anesthetic of shock has worn off.
Though this year will be harder, there is also so much more to look forward to. There are so many things on the horizon for me that give me something to hope for. This time last year my outlook was so bleak- I did not think I would ever find any joy in anything ever again. I am especially grateful for some of the friendships I have that have deepened through this experience. I feel so supported and loved by such a great group of friends who have unconditionally supported me in my pursuit of hope and healing.
This coming week feels heavy and overwhelming. I’ll be busy all week with last minute plans and tasks to help get the 5k run in honor of Andie off the ground- we will run on the one year anniversary on Saturday. There has been a lot of focus on all the details over the past few weeks and it’s been weighing on my mind heavily. I’m also meeting with the home builders this week to go over the first round of plans for the house. I’m still not sure I can afford to build it on my own so that’s part of the discussion we’ll have. But I’m excited about the prospect of having a project to look forward to, and for the opportunity to literally “rebuild” a life for me and the girls somewhere. I was supposed to go out of town to visit the new guy this past weekend to give me a small mental break before this week wiped me out. Plans changed quickly though when he called and said he had an impromptu job interview down here and would be coming my direction instead. He interviewed on Thursday and we spent the weekend together. If he gets this job and moves to this area it will push our relationship to a different level. One in which, we can actually see if this could work in a real world sort of way instead of just weekend visits every now and then. I’m excited about it. But it’s also a lot to take in and consider, giving the timing of it all. He is supposed to know by midweek if he got the job or not. I must also approve the final sketch of Andie’s headstone this week. Almost a year to the day of laying him in the ground, I will finally approve what will mark his presence there forever. There’s a lot of weight in that decision and it’s not something I’m looking forward to. And, as if all of that wasn’t enough, I’m starting the girls in daycare this week for the first time ever. I’m so excited that they are growing up into sweet little girls, but this huge milestone also reminds me they are not babies anymore. I am so sad about how fast they are changing and growing. I want to hold onto these sweet years with them, it is hard for me to even remember what they were like a year ago…not even walking or talking. They are the starkest reminder to me of how much time has passed and the fact that life keeps moving whether you want it to or not. Might as well get on board and enjoy the ride.
As the year anniversary draws near I think of how most of the world wants to you to be pretty much done with the grieving process by now. One year: the universal marker of healing. Most other people have moved on in their lives and they realize that certain days will still be hard for you, but for the most part they don’t want you to wallow anymore. They don’t want to keep hearing about your dead spouse or how hard your life is. This is when people start pushing you to be happy again, or get out and do things, to move on already. They don’t realize how much of your life and your major life decisions are still impacted by the loss of the person who used to help you make those decisions; or how much you still miss sharing with that person on a daily basis. Then there are those who believe you are moving on too fast, taking on too much, or who just aren’t ready to move on themselves so they are hurt by the pace you’ve set.
Those of us who grieve know that the timeline is arbitrary. It is personal to each of us and fluid in its movement. Some days we are ready to shut the door on the old life and embrace the new. Other days we want to go back in time and stay stuck in the memories of the past, hoping that somehow we can just wake up from this bad dream. We feel pulled between two worlds, stuck in the middle never knowing which direction is the right way to go. There is no right way, of course. You just have to go with your gut and hope that it’s the right decision for the time. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m not sure if I’ll build a new house, or manage a brand new relationship well, or ever be okay with the fact that the girls are continuing to grow and becoming farther and farther from the babies they were when he died…but I do know that I feel a peace in my heart about all of my decisions.
I know this next year will be hard.
I know there will be struggles and difficult decisions to make along the way.
I know my children will always serve as a vivid timeline for me, how each day we all get a little bit farther away from him.
But all I know to do is keep moving, keep striving for better, keep praying,
And of course…keep pushing.
This time next week will be a hard day. All the pomp and circumstance of the one year anniversary the day before will be over. Just like after the hustle and bustle of funeral arrangements end and you manage to survive the actual day of the funeral, it is the day after when the quiet ensues and the let down of emotion begins to surround you. If I steel myself for it and brace for impact, then maybe it won’t wipe me out so hard…or maybe it will.
When I reflect on this past year I am amazed at how fast it has gone. I think because most of it was spent in a stupor and I didn't really even realize days were going by for so long...it's like the first 6 months were a blur, then I woke up and the last 6 months have crept by. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it all crept by, day by day, in the beginning and lately time has sped up. I’ve come so incredibly far, yet still have so very far to go. I think about the coming months and all the “big” dates that will be fast approaching. The ones that did not even register on my radar last year because I was still in shock. My birthday, the girls’ birthday, our wedding anniversary, the holiday season…they will feel different this year, I know. The sting will be stronger because the numbing anesthetic of shock has worn off.
Though this year will be harder, there is also so much more to look forward to. There are so many things on the horizon for me that give me something to hope for. This time last year my outlook was so bleak- I did not think I would ever find any joy in anything ever again. I am especially grateful for some of the friendships I have that have deepened through this experience. I feel so supported and loved by such a great group of friends who have unconditionally supported me in my pursuit of hope and healing.
This coming week feels heavy and overwhelming. I’ll be busy all week with last minute plans and tasks to help get the 5k run in honor of Andie off the ground- we will run on the one year anniversary on Saturday. There has been a lot of focus on all the details over the past few weeks and it’s been weighing on my mind heavily. I’m also meeting with the home builders this week to go over the first round of plans for the house. I’m still not sure I can afford to build it on my own so that’s part of the discussion we’ll have. But I’m excited about the prospect of having a project to look forward to, and for the opportunity to literally “rebuild” a life for me and the girls somewhere. I was supposed to go out of town to visit the new guy this past weekend to give me a small mental break before this week wiped me out. Plans changed quickly though when he called and said he had an impromptu job interview down here and would be coming my direction instead. He interviewed on Thursday and we spent the weekend together. If he gets this job and moves to this area it will push our relationship to a different level. One in which, we can actually see if this could work in a real world sort of way instead of just weekend visits every now and then. I’m excited about it. But it’s also a lot to take in and consider, giving the timing of it all. He is supposed to know by midweek if he got the job or not. I must also approve the final sketch of Andie’s headstone this week. Almost a year to the day of laying him in the ground, I will finally approve what will mark his presence there forever. There’s a lot of weight in that decision and it’s not something I’m looking forward to. And, as if all of that wasn’t enough, I’m starting the girls in daycare this week for the first time ever. I’m so excited that they are growing up into sweet little girls, but this huge milestone also reminds me they are not babies anymore. I am so sad about how fast they are changing and growing. I want to hold onto these sweet years with them, it is hard for me to even remember what they were like a year ago…not even walking or talking. They are the starkest reminder to me of how much time has passed and the fact that life keeps moving whether you want it to or not. Might as well get on board and enjoy the ride.
As the year anniversary draws near I think of how most of the world wants to you to be pretty much done with the grieving process by now. One year: the universal marker of healing. Most other people have moved on in their lives and they realize that certain days will still be hard for you, but for the most part they don’t want you to wallow anymore. They don’t want to keep hearing about your dead spouse or how hard your life is. This is when people start pushing you to be happy again, or get out and do things, to move on already. They don’t realize how much of your life and your major life decisions are still impacted by the loss of the person who used to help you make those decisions; or how much you still miss sharing with that person on a daily basis. Then there are those who believe you are moving on too fast, taking on too much, or who just aren’t ready to move on themselves so they are hurt by the pace you’ve set.
Those of us who grieve know that the timeline is arbitrary. It is personal to each of us and fluid in its movement. Some days we are ready to shut the door on the old life and embrace the new. Other days we want to go back in time and stay stuck in the memories of the past, hoping that somehow we can just wake up from this bad dream. We feel pulled between two worlds, stuck in the middle never knowing which direction is the right way to go. There is no right way, of course. You just have to go with your gut and hope that it’s the right decision for the time. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m not sure if I’ll build a new house, or manage a brand new relationship well, or ever be okay with the fact that the girls are continuing to grow and becoming farther and farther from the babies they were when he died…but I do know that I feel a peace in my heart about all of my decisions.
I know this next year will be hard.
I know there will be struggles and difficult decisions to make along the way.
I know my children will always serve as a vivid timeline for me, how each day we all get a little bit farther away from him.
But all I know to do is keep moving, keep striving for better, keep praying,
And of course…keep pushing.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
11...
11 months today. So close to a full year. What's the difference really, between now and one more month? No difference in the grand scheme of things. It has all gone by so fast. I think about a conversation I had with a friend when the girls were younger. We were talking about how you report your children's age in weeks for awhile, then in months. There is no clear transition as to when to switch over. Are they 24 weeks old, or 6 months? I feel the same about this...when do I stop counting the months and start counting years. At 13 months will I say my husband passed a year ago or will I continue to mark the months in time?
This morning as I am getting ready for work I think about what jewelry I want to wear. I have a little pile of jewelry that holds special meaning on my counter. I choose the necklace with my Push and 10-4 charms. I put my wedding ring on my right hand as many widows do. It's the first time I've put it back on in any capacity since I took it off a few weeks ago. The weight of it feels good. Like it's meant to be there. I put my pink gold anniversary bands that he bought me in honor of the twins on my left hand. I have lost so much weight that I must wear them on my middle finger now. Shoving them over the knuckle I broke in middle school that healed crooked. I feel like this is a metaphor for my life: shoving past things to make myself fit. To try to get back to normal.
I go to put on my socks and realize the ones I pull out are his. They are slightly too big for my slender feet but I wear them anyway. Last night I wore one of his "Sheriff" t-shirts to bed.
I guess subconsciously I'm trying to stay connected through tangible symbols, but feel more and more like I'm losing grip on it. The always tenuous and delicate connection to him feels like it is slowly fading.
I visit his grave before work. The tears flow easily this morning as I listen to some of the music from his funeral and several other songs that remind me of him. Like a teenager who self-mutilates just to feel something rather than feeling numb, I choose to listen to this music to get to that deep place of emotion I rarely allow myself to visit. It is cathartic to release the tears and I feel better.
As I drive to work I recall a conversation I had with my ob/gyn yesterday. It was the first time she has seen me since my follow up after the girls were born. I talked on the phone with her right after Andie died but hadn't seen her until now. She wants to know how I'm doing- how I'm really doing. She commends me on how well put together I seem. She comments that I have "strong faith" after I tell her I just do what I have to do to keep going on most days. She says I'm doing a great job to be raising the girls alone. All I can think is how great I've gotten at putting up a good facade most of the time. She asks to see pictures of the girls and is stunned by how much they look like him. "I can just see him sitting right there in that chair," she says pointing to where he sat during my exams. "As if it were just yesterday," are the unsaid words hanging in the air. We give each other a knowing glance and she hugs me. I wonder how long I will run in to people who don't know or I haven't seen since his death and I have to have the awkward conversations.
I realize that though the connection feels like it is slipping he is still here. Not in the way we all want, but in the only way he can be. In our memories, in the faces of our children, and in our hearts.
"You're still here" by Faith Hill
Thought I saw you today
You were standing in the sun then you turned away
And I know it couldn't be
But my heart believed
Oh it seems like there's something everyday
How could you be so far away
When you're still here
When I need you you're not hard to find
You're still here
I can see you in my baby's eyes
And I laugh and cry
You're still here
I had a dream last night
That you came to me on silver wings
And I flew away with you on a painted sky
And I woke up wondering what was real
Is what you see and touch or what you feel
'Cause you're still here
Oh you're everywhere we've ever been
You're still here
I heard you in a strangers laugh
And I hung around to hear him laugh again
Just once again
Thought I saw you today
You were standing in the sun then you turned away
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
With appreciation...
In helping others, we shall help ourselves, for whatever good we give out completes the circle and comes back to us. – Flora Edwards
Most of the posts I write get commented on. Usually by my faithful followers. But what amazes me is how often I get emailed privately about my posts. Several times a week I get an email from someone telling me that something I have written resonated within them and made them take pause. Most times it is by someone who is not even grieving, but rather they can identify with the emotional undertone of my post as it relates to their own relationships. I am told that they can see themselves in me, or that I have made them change the way they look at things.
In my selfish act of baring my soul and using the blog as my own personal therapy, I am touching others. Making them reflect and self-evaluate, and in the end hopefully helping them become more self-aware people.
This is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. That through my personal pain and catharsis, I might be helping someone else to heal one of their wounds.
And in return, I heal a little more too…
It is with a humble heart that I thank all my readers today for continuing to push me along in my journey by choosing to share what’s in your heart.
Most of the posts I write get commented on. Usually by my faithful followers. But what amazes me is how often I get emailed privately about my posts. Several times a week I get an email from someone telling me that something I have written resonated within them and made them take pause. Most times it is by someone who is not even grieving, but rather they can identify with the emotional undertone of my post as it relates to their own relationships. I am told that they can see themselves in me, or that I have made them change the way they look at things.
In my selfish act of baring my soul and using the blog as my own personal therapy, I am touching others. Making them reflect and self-evaluate, and in the end hopefully helping them become more self-aware people.
This is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. That through my personal pain and catharsis, I might be helping someone else to heal one of their wounds.
And in return, I heal a little more too…
It is with a humble heart that I thank all my readers today for continuing to push me along in my journey by choosing to share what’s in your heart.
Monday, May 9, 2011
ugly side
Looking back at some recent interactions I have had with those close to me I realize now how emotionally guarded I must have been my whole life. I didn’t really understand how much I have kept people at a distance. And continue to keep others at a distance…until now. Now I see me for what I am: vulnerable, terrified of getting hurt, afraid to show weakness.
It is hard for me to accept that sometimes “good things” just happen…I’ve always felt like the kind of person who draws in the “bad things happen to good people” vibe from the universe so I always have my guard up. I’m in a constant state of hyperawareness, overanalyzing, planning my escape route. Waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop, and never wanting someone else to get the best of me. It takes me a long time to trust someone and even those who are in my closest inner circle rarely get a glimpse of how I truly feel. I’m a born skeptic, constantly thinking about the “what if’s”. I find myself pushing the limits to see how far I can go, sure that when I cross the limit and someone finally gives up on me, I can stand back and place the blame on them for not being able to take all that I dish out. Not always giving due credit for what they did do and how long they did endure.
Ridiculously immature of me. I see now the ugly side of me. The martyr, the “woe is me”, the “can’t I catch a break” whiny side. I wonder how difficult Andie must have found it to be in this constant sparring match of wits with me. Always trying to stay one step ahead and continually reassure me. Sometimes feeling as though he could never win…in truth, cause he couldn’t. I never let him. I see now that when I thought he was giving up on me, he was really just refusing to engage in a losing battle. Knowing I’d always come around somehow. I want to tell him how sorry I am. That I didn’t realize how difficult I was being. That if he were still here I’d start letting him win every now and then. Recently, I have begun to embrace the idea of sharing my honest feelings and have been surprised by how freeing it is to allow someone to see through you. To the real you. And I like it.
The grief process is funny; it’s not always about the grief. More often it turns out to be about you and your underlying issues. It continually challenges us to reevaluate who we are and face things we were never forced to face before, and in doing so we have a new perspective on who we once were. We see ourselves through a vastly different lense. It’s not always fun, and it’s definitely not always pretty.
I realize now how unfair it is to keep people at a distance.
I want to let them in.
I want to be able to share myself on a genuine level.
I just have to start letting go of the fear…
It is hard for me to accept that sometimes “good things” just happen…I’ve always felt like the kind of person who draws in the “bad things happen to good people” vibe from the universe so I always have my guard up. I’m in a constant state of hyperawareness, overanalyzing, planning my escape route. Waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop, and never wanting someone else to get the best of me. It takes me a long time to trust someone and even those who are in my closest inner circle rarely get a glimpse of how I truly feel. I’m a born skeptic, constantly thinking about the “what if’s”. I find myself pushing the limits to see how far I can go, sure that when I cross the limit and someone finally gives up on me, I can stand back and place the blame on them for not being able to take all that I dish out. Not always giving due credit for what they did do and how long they did endure.
Ridiculously immature of me. I see now the ugly side of me. The martyr, the “woe is me”, the “can’t I catch a break” whiny side. I wonder how difficult Andie must have found it to be in this constant sparring match of wits with me. Always trying to stay one step ahead and continually reassure me. Sometimes feeling as though he could never win…in truth, cause he couldn’t. I never let him. I see now that when I thought he was giving up on me, he was really just refusing to engage in a losing battle. Knowing I’d always come around somehow. I want to tell him how sorry I am. That I didn’t realize how difficult I was being. That if he were still here I’d start letting him win every now and then. Recently, I have begun to embrace the idea of sharing my honest feelings and have been surprised by how freeing it is to allow someone to see through you. To the real you. And I like it.
The grief process is funny; it’s not always about the grief. More often it turns out to be about you and your underlying issues. It continually challenges us to reevaluate who we are and face things we were never forced to face before, and in doing so we have a new perspective on who we once were. We see ourselves through a vastly different lense. It’s not always fun, and it’s definitely not always pretty.
I realize now how unfair it is to keep people at a distance.
I want to let them in.
I want to be able to share myself on a genuine level.
I just have to start letting go of the fear…
Friday, April 29, 2011
A Big Step...
I am not discouraged, because every wrong attempt discarded is another step forward. – Thomas Edison
I have taken a huge step in this grief process.
I have taken off my wedding ring.
I feel the need to keep pushing myself onward through this and I can’t co-exist in two worlds. One in which I am still betrothed to my husband, and one in which I will allow new relationships and new beginnings into my life. I cannot continue to be committed to someone who is not here. “Til death do us part”…I said those very vows and I thought that I meant them. Turns out I meant “Til death do us part, plus 10 months just to be sure”.
So in an effort to keep moving and keep growing, to get out of the stagnation of grief, I have done something that tells the world that I am no longer married. I feel at ease and at peace with the decision. Something I could not even fathom just weeks ago.
It has taken me a long time to accept this for myself. I have taken a few steps forward and many steps back in this process. I know my steps will continue to falter along the way.
But I’m ready to embrace the new life set before me.
The life I must now cultivate and create based on my needs.
And I simply cannot do that if I stay married to a dead man.
I have taken a huge step in this grief process.
I have taken off my wedding ring.
I feel the need to keep pushing myself onward through this and I can’t co-exist in two worlds. One in which I am still betrothed to my husband, and one in which I will allow new relationships and new beginnings into my life. I cannot continue to be committed to someone who is not here. “Til death do us part”…I said those very vows and I thought that I meant them. Turns out I meant “Til death do us part, plus 10 months just to be sure”.
So in an effort to keep moving and keep growing, to get out of the stagnation of grief, I have done something that tells the world that I am no longer married. I feel at ease and at peace with the decision. Something I could not even fathom just weeks ago.
It has taken me a long time to accept this for myself. I have taken a few steps forward and many steps back in this process. I know my steps will continue to falter along the way.
But I’m ready to embrace the new life set before me.
The life I must now cultivate and create based on my needs.
And I simply cannot do that if I stay married to a dead man.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Finding meaning...
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be “healing”. A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days. We imagine that the moment to most severely test us will be the funeral, after which the hypothetical healing will take place. When we anticipate the funeral we wonder about failing to “get through it,” rise to the occasion, exhibit the “strength” that invariably gets mentioned as the correct response to death. We anticipate needing to steel ourselves for the moment: will I be able even to get dressed that day? We have no way of knowing that this will not be the issue. We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.”
- Joan Didion in The Year of Magical Thinking
There is a dissonance between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is.
They are rarely one in the same, never really rising to the expectation of the other.
We search for meaning in all of it, often finding no satisfactory answer. Eventually relegating ourselves to the fact that we are not meant to know the answers, or it is futile to continue the relentless search. Giving up on finding meaning.
But sometimes, just sometimes you find meaning where you thought there was none to find.
What you think is going to knock you on your ass and throw you for a loop is sometimes exactly what you needed to PUSH forward...to confront that which you so feared.
And in the quest to find your purpose, you give your life new meaning.
- Joan Didion in The Year of Magical Thinking
There is a dissonance between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is.
They are rarely one in the same, never really rising to the expectation of the other.
We search for meaning in all of it, often finding no satisfactory answer. Eventually relegating ourselves to the fact that we are not meant to know the answers, or it is futile to continue the relentless search. Giving up on finding meaning.
But sometimes, just sometimes you find meaning where you thought there was none to find.
What you think is going to knock you on your ass and throw you for a loop is sometimes exactly what you needed to PUSH forward...to confront that which you so feared.
And in the quest to find your purpose, you give your life new meaning.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Spirit...
We've got spirit yes we do, we've got spirit, how bout you?
I remember that grade school cheerleading chant so well...
Us widows tends to shy away from the compliments we get about being strong. It feels undeserved to say we are strong when we are only doing what must be done to survive. We didn't choose to walk through the fire, we were forced to and we feel the burn. So we feel like a fraud to take on the "strong" label because it doesn't feel like we rightfully earned it. It was just given to us.
But the truth is, we are strong. And we should own it. Not everyone can suffer a devastating loss and continue to move through the world with grace and poise. Not everyone can lose everything that ever mattered and still choose to get up the next morning and keep going. Not everyone can continue to hold their head up while in the depths of deep despair. But we do. Not because it's something we wanted or chose, but because we have to. We choose not to give up when we lose. And in the words of a current Sugarland song, "Sometimes you gotta lose til you win."
So maybe we shy away from being called strong. Perhaps we could wear the "spirit" label better. We are strong and we are courageous, because we have spirit.
My aunt gave me this sign and I love it.
Because it speaks to me about the unbroken spirit.
It speaks to me about getting back up when life has knocked you down.
Pushing back when life pushes you.
It speaks to me about bouncing back. Getting back on the proverbial horse.
It speaks to me of resilience.
And that is something I can own...
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Intangible...
The necklace with his ring on it is sitting on my bathroom counter amongst a pile of random jewelry that I haven’t gotten around to putting back in its proper place in my jewelry box. I took it off 9 days ago. I thought I’d make it to a year at least before I decided I didn’t need the weight of its security around my neck.
I took it off mainly because I got sunburned that weekend and it was irritating the back of my neck. I had intentions of putting it back on when my sunburned faded. But I didn’t. And I’m okay with that.
At least I feel like I’m okay with it. I haven’t missed it over the past 9 days. I’ve enjoyed being able to wear some of my other necklaces that have been patiently waiting their turn in my jewelry box.
But. Ever the analytical one, I worry that I’m just deluding myself into thinking I’m more healed than I am. I worry that I’m not really working the grief these days, but just putting it on a shelf to deal with later. I’m afraid that I feel too okay about this. I worry that I should not be doing so well. I feel like I should be hurting more. I should be searching for joy, not already finding it. I should be hoping for peace, not experiencing it. I should be wracked with guilt about disconnecting from him, even if it’s only in a symbolic way; not resigned to the quiet acceptance of it.
What I’ve realized is that holding onto the tangible doesn’t make him any less intangible. Wearing his necklace with his ring on it, continuing to wear my wedding ring, keeping his clothes in the closet right where he left them…none of it means that he’s not gone.
My biggest fear is that the more I heal, the more I fear I will forget him.
And that is what makes the pain return and the tears fall.
The thought of him being just a faded memory when all I want is for him to still be vivid,
and real,
and tangible.
I took it off mainly because I got sunburned that weekend and it was irritating the back of my neck. I had intentions of putting it back on when my sunburned faded. But I didn’t. And I’m okay with that.
At least I feel like I’m okay with it. I haven’t missed it over the past 9 days. I’ve enjoyed being able to wear some of my other necklaces that have been patiently waiting their turn in my jewelry box.
But. Ever the analytical one, I worry that I’m just deluding myself into thinking I’m more healed than I am. I worry that I’m not really working the grief these days, but just putting it on a shelf to deal with later. I’m afraid that I feel too okay about this. I worry that I should not be doing so well. I feel like I should be hurting more. I should be searching for joy, not already finding it. I should be hoping for peace, not experiencing it. I should be wracked with guilt about disconnecting from him, even if it’s only in a symbolic way; not resigned to the quiet acceptance of it.
What I’ve realized is that holding onto the tangible doesn’t make him any less intangible. Wearing his necklace with his ring on it, continuing to wear my wedding ring, keeping his clothes in the closet right where he left them…none of it means that he’s not gone.
My biggest fear is that the more I heal, the more I fear I will forget him.
And that is what makes the pain return and the tears fall.
The thought of him being just a faded memory when all I want is for him to still be vivid,
and real,
and tangible.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Re-birth
9 months today and my thoughts are scattered but I keep coming back to the notion that it takes 9 months to grow a life. 9 months to nurture a baby in your womb. 9 months to create a living being and bring them into the world. Yet it takes only a second, just one moment, for a life to end.
I am bitter about that-there should have been a little more time. Sudden, unexpected death is so wrenching, ripping, aching, mind-blowing. Similar to giving birth though there is no reward at the end of death. No gift in the end that is so great that it makes you forget all the pain you went through to get there, and be willing to do it all again for a just a little taste of the joy it brought.
No, in death you are left with nothing but the reverberating pain that echoes off itself. Continually bouncing back at you. Never knowing which angle it's coming from. Never really going away and always right below the surface. The pain never becomes a memory with death as it does after childbirth- the pain is always felt even if dulled with time. The sting is still there.
Those left in the wake are forced to re-birth themselves; to make themselves new in light of all that has been forced upon them. I am rebuilding myself; out of necessity, not by choice. Little by little learning who I am again. I'm angry about this too because I don't want to do this. It's hard. It's a struggle. Growing pains I guess. Angry because this process will take much longer than 9 months. Much longer.
I took the girls to his grave today for the first time. I showed Addie his temporary marker on the ground and said, "This is Daddy." She immediately kissed her hand as if blowing him a kiss and then touched the stone. Allie copied her. I cried as both of them continued to blow him kisses. How do they know to kiss a stone they have never seen, that only abstractly represents a father they barely remember? This blows my mind and is incomprehensible to me. We brought balloons to the grave. They each kissed their balloons and then let them go so we could send kisses to Daddy in heaven. They loved watching those balloons float away and all I could think is how badly I wish we could float away too. Drift somehow to a place where we could see him. Meet again even for just a minute.
But when that minute ended would the pain well up again as bad as the first time he was ripped away from me? Would I start all over again in this... this ugliness?
That I could not bear. So the alternative is to keep moving forward. Keep growing.
Keep pushing...
I am bitter about that-there should have been a little more time. Sudden, unexpected death is so wrenching, ripping, aching, mind-blowing. Similar to giving birth though there is no reward at the end of death. No gift in the end that is so great that it makes you forget all the pain you went through to get there, and be willing to do it all again for a just a little taste of the joy it brought.
No, in death you are left with nothing but the reverberating pain that echoes off itself. Continually bouncing back at you. Never knowing which angle it's coming from. Never really going away and always right below the surface. The pain never becomes a memory with death as it does after childbirth- the pain is always felt even if dulled with time. The sting is still there.
Those left in the wake are forced to re-birth themselves; to make themselves new in light of all that has been forced upon them. I am rebuilding myself; out of necessity, not by choice. Little by little learning who I am again. I'm angry about this too because I don't want to do this. It's hard. It's a struggle. Growing pains I guess. Angry because this process will take much longer than 9 months. Much longer.
I took the girls to his grave today for the first time. I showed Addie his temporary marker on the ground and said, "This is Daddy." She immediately kissed her hand as if blowing him a kiss and then touched the stone. Allie copied her. I cried as both of them continued to blow him kisses. How do they know to kiss a stone they have never seen, that only abstractly represents a father they barely remember? This blows my mind and is incomprehensible to me. We brought balloons to the grave. They each kissed their balloons and then let them go so we could send kisses to Daddy in heaven. They loved watching those balloons float away and all I could think is how badly I wish we could float away too. Drift somehow to a place where we could see him. Meet again even for just a minute.
But when that minute ended would the pain well up again as bad as the first time he was ripped away from me? Would I start all over again in this... this ugliness?
That I could not bear. So the alternative is to keep moving forward. Keep growing.
Keep pushing...
Sunday, March 6, 2011
I'll be alright...
I cleaned out Andie's sock and underwear drawer today. I threw all of it away except for a few pairs of his running socks that I kept for me to wear. The rest went into the trash. No sentimental value in underwear and socks so it wasn't too emotionally charged to get rid of it. I am now using that drawer to store the flags from his funeral, notes and pictures, memorabilia, and odds and ends that were his.
I also cleaned out the armoire that I will be getting rid of in a couple of weeks. One of the drawers was mine and one was Andie's. Mine had almost every card and love note he had ever given me. I chose to pile them up and put them in a different drawer in my dresser without looking through them. I didn't have the emotional energy for that today.
Andie's drawer had his shoe polish stuff, several gun holsters, a magazine of bullets for his gun, a badge holder, random little things a man needs now and then. I kept most of it and tossed a few old receipts and things that were of no use. I thought I had emptied the whole drawer and was about to put it back in the armoire when I noticed something small in the back corner. It was a black elastic band. Took me a minute to figure out what it was. It was the black band that officers put around their badges when another officer has died to show respect for their fallen comrade. The kind that every officer that attended his funeral was wearing on their own badges that day. Ironic...he won't be needing that anymore. I almost threw it away but at the last second decided to keep it with his other "police duty stuff".
It only took me about 30 minutes to go through all of this stuff. It was a small way to ease myself into what it will be like when I actually have to clean out his closet. Not that that will be anytime soon.
Going through it all wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. Just had to give myself a little "push" to do it. Guess I'm gonna be alright again afterall...
I also cleaned out the armoire that I will be getting rid of in a couple of weeks. One of the drawers was mine and one was Andie's. Mine had almost every card and love note he had ever given me. I chose to pile them up and put them in a different drawer in my dresser without looking through them. I didn't have the emotional energy for that today.
Andie's drawer had his shoe polish stuff, several gun holsters, a magazine of bullets for his gun, a badge holder, random little things a man needs now and then. I kept most of it and tossed a few old receipts and things that were of no use. I thought I had emptied the whole drawer and was about to put it back in the armoire when I noticed something small in the back corner. It was a black elastic band. Took me a minute to figure out what it was. It was the black band that officers put around their badges when another officer has died to show respect for their fallen comrade. The kind that every officer that attended his funeral was wearing on their own badges that day. Ironic...he won't be needing that anymore. I almost threw it away but at the last second decided to keep it with his other "police duty stuff".
It only took me about 30 minutes to go through all of this stuff. It was a small way to ease myself into what it will be like when I actually have to clean out his closet. Not that that will be anytime soon.
Going through it all wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. Just had to give myself a little "push" to do it. Guess I'm gonna be alright again afterall...
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