Revisions

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.

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.

This place

Source: facebook.com

This is the place where I still feel Andie's presence. This is the place where I still talk to him and I know he hears me. This is the place where for just a second my life is still the same as it always was. This is the place of dreams...

Limbo

Before Andie died there weren't so many questions. Things were relatively permanent. I was married to this man. I would raise these kids. We would live in this town. Our kids would go to these schools. We would stay in these jobs.

Now everything feels so in limbo. One piece of the puzzle missing dramatically alters the whole picture. I keep up with the other widows who started this journey about the same time I did. We are all in limbo. Some are in new relationships, some are engaged, some are merging new families and becoming step-parents, some have moved homes, some have changed jobs. Some have done more than one of these things. Some have done none.

It is hard to have your life pretty well mapped out only to find yourself in uncharted territory without a compass. It is hard to make sense of this feeling; exhilarated about a second chance and new options while profoundly sad that none of it is what you ever really wanted. I suspect that like me, they too have some anxiety about it all. Longing for the ease and normalcy that comes when you think you know how it all will work out.

Tell me lies...

I was just saying to someone the other day how strange my life feels.  How quickly all of it seems to be flying by...as though what time I had with Andie was really only a dream.  It's hard to grasp that I built a life with someone and now it has all just vanished.  If I didn't have my girls as tangible proof that he and I existed as a unit together I would go mad not really believing that any of it really happened at all.  Even looking at Addie smiling in the rearview mirror this morning on the way to school I struggled to see that she resembles him.  I was trying to see what everyone else sees but it has been so long since I've actually seen his face, and the girls have changed so much in that time that I barely see the connection anymore.  They are becoming their own selves more and more each day. Slipping even further from him as they come to look more feminine and less babyish. 

I came across this quote the other day:
"Life asked death,
'Why do people love me and hate you?'
Death responded, 'Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth.'"

It does really seem that way some days...that all the great and good was really just a lie, an illusion, a phantom-like dream and reality never really hit me until the day he died. The truth being that none of it really lasts as long as we want it to. Now that I am trying to move on and enjoy life again I wonder if I'm just telling myself sweet little lies about how good it can be or will be...nervous about when the truth will strike again.

Answers...

We do cuddles on the couch every night before bed and as we walk to their room we say goodnight to a picture of Daddy and ask him to bring us sweet dreams. Usually the girls kiss the picture and say "night night Daddy". We've always done this ritual despite the fact that he is really only an abstract being to them. I have always felt it was important for them to know him in some sense, even if it's just in pictures.

Over the weekend while we were doing cuddles on the couch Addie blurted out, "I need daddy." I didn't really know how to respond at first and she said it again, to which I replied, "I know baby, I need daddy too." She seemed content for a few minutes but then kept on saying she needed him in a yearning way. I don't know what prompted it. I asked her if she wanted to go see his picture and give it kisses, but that would not appease her. Then she went down the list of her favorite people as she often does, and asked if they were coming over.
"Is Shay Shay coming?" I tell her no.
"Is grandma Coco coming?" I tell her no.
"Is Daddy coming?" No, he's not coming either.

I put her to bed and spiraled into a dark place. A place I have not been for many months. The kind of pain that literally hurts in your chest and takes your breath away. There is no pain as great as that you feel for your own children when there is absolutely nothing you can do to ease theirs. When there are questions to which you have no decent answer. Nothing makes you feel more inadequate.

He is on her mind a lot these days. Later in the weekend she drew a picture and said she wanted to show it to him. Today when I picked her up from school she pulled out a piece Valentine artwork she made and said she wanted to show him that too. Then on the drive home she handed me a piece of paper from her school folder and said it was "for Daddy".

I knew the day would come that they would have questions, or would realize that they are different in that they don't have a father in the way other children do...I just didn't think it would be so soon. I know this is something that will continually come up over the years as they hit each new developmental stage and begin to understand his absence in different ways. I just hope the answers start to come a little easier...

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.

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...

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.

Opening back up...

I am writing again these days and it feels good. It's almost like exercising after a long break. It hurts to do it but you know you should, and when you're done you feel proud, and lighter, and better for it.

I took some time off because frankly I was tired of grieving. Tired of hurting. Tired of exposing my inner most thoughts and feelings to the world. I quit reading other widow blogs for a while too. Staying connected to this circle of loss felt too heavy and depressing. I needed to nurse my own wounds for a while and protect myself after having been so exposed for so long. I needed to focus on happy things and moving forward. I needed to force myself to have some fun and look towards the future. And I did those things, I continue to do those things, but I still continue to grieve as well.

So I'm back now. Back to writing. Back to following others. Back to processing some of which I purposely avoided for a while. I usually am not inspired to write unless it comes from a place of pain, anxiety, or the need to process the many sides of grief. I find that coming back to this circle is like a warm blanket. I read other blogs and again am wrapped in the comfort of relating to their words. I am cocooned in safety because there is in fact someone else out there who I can relate to. I find that writing and sharing in this format is cathartic and healing.

A lot has happened over the past few months in which I have chosen not to share every detail of my life as I once did before. I have found that some things are worth protecting and keeping private. But I'm ready to let you all in again on how my life is shaping up, but more importantly I'm ready to open myself up to the support you all give me.

The journey of grief never ends and as my life continues I find it only gets more interesting and complicated. Each new step I take in moving forward has to be reconciled with the person I used to be and the life I used to have. The struggles now are not so much about accepting that he is gone (I get that part.  I live every day without his presence), but about accepting that he won't ever be here again, which actually are two very different things.

Take a step...

“We must be willing to let go of the life we had planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” – Joseph Campbell

This process is a constant struggle of moving forward and letting go. And in the moments where I’m forced to recognize that I have to let go a little bit more I get scared and emotional.

I can’t believe that it was almost 2 years ago already that Andie and I bought the land to build our dream house on. And almost a year ago that I did the consultation with the builder about how to site the house and what trees to clear off the land. A year ago I thought I was ready to jump in full force and build the house. But after that consultation I got scared again because moving forward and building the house we had planned without him felt like too much to take on by myself at the time. So I put the project on hold for a while.

But I’m feeling the itch again…there is so much I’ve had to let go of since he died. I’ve let go of the title of “wife” and given up the idea of having more children. I’ve lost the dream of reaching a 50th wedding anniversary with someone and traveling to all the destinations we said we’d go to for each decade we made it through. I’ve had to let go of the life we worked hard to establish, the friends we had as a couple, the dreams we had together. I’ve had to rebuild a new circle of friends, a new way of life as a single parent, and I’ve had to create my own dreams about how my future will look without him in it. And every step of it has been painful and heartbreaking.

But the house is the one last thing we had together that I just can’t let go of. I want to build the house to fulfill something we had. I want to build it as a way to honor him, to acknowledge that while my life has to go on without him, there are still parts of him and what we had that I don’t have to give up. Moving on doesn’t have to mean letting go of everything. And it doesn’t mean forgetting him. I think that’s what I’ve been afraid of. That if I move on, his memory and his legacy will be forgotten over time. I don’t want him to just fade away.

I’ve struggled with how to keep him as a part of my daily life while building a new normal for me and the girls. I still think of him throughout the day, and most nights I talk to him before I say my prayers and fall asleep. And what I’m realizing is that I can mesh the life I had with the one I want to create. I don’t have to give up one to have the other. And more importantly, I can do all this at whatever pace I want to set. If I wait until I’m “done” grieving I’ll never move forward. Cause the truth is, I’ll never be done and it’s not fair to me or the girls for me to stay stuck in this place of pain just because I’m scared.

So I’m going to move forward in the direction of building our house.
Only, I’m going to have to do it by myself.
I just have to take the first step...

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. :)

Fill the hole...

I’m halfway through the second year. I still can’t believe that much time has passed already. They say the second year is harder and in some ways I completely agree. There are still so many little things that are like a slap in the face and remind me that the life I had is gone.

The other day I was filling out some paperwork and the marital status section didn’t have “widow” as an option. I used to hate checking the “widow” box but this time I felt incensed that I didn’t get the choice. I am not married. I am not single. I am not divorced. I do not identify with any of these and I felt irritated that “half of me was unexpectedly stripped away without my consent” wasn’t an option. So I scrawled “widow” in and moved on.

I also had to fill out some medical information sheets for the girls. I got to the parent information section and under “father” I write “deceased”. The next half of the page remaining blank because I do not need to fill in his address, contact information, insurance data, place of employment or any other mundane detail about him that no longer exists. The blank page staring back at me is like a metaphor for my life…everything is going just fine and then there’s a big blank spot all of a sudden where he is just not there anymore. Like the moments when the girls do something remarkable or funny and I think, “Andie needs to see this,” but of course he doesn’t because he’s just not there.

I got my yearly renewal policy for my home owner’s and auto insurance in the mail. I open it and see that they hadn’t dropped his name off of the documents even though I called them months ago to rectify this situation. I call and re-explain that he died and it is just me now. They are embarrassed for the mistake and offer condolences. I find myself trying to make the lady on the phone feel better because she feels so bad. This happens often…I find myself saying in these situations, “No really, it’s okay.”

I get some form in the mail from Social Security that wants me to document how I’ve spent the benefits I receive for the girls. Frankly, I feel it’s none of their business. Parents receiving child support don’t have to answer to anyone regarding how they spend their money…why does the government have the right to pry into my life in such a manner? The money he earned and contributed to Social Security is rightfully mine to do what I want with it… though of course if they must know I spend it on exorbitant child care costs consisting of both daycare and a nanny in the mornings to get the girls off to school because I can’t manage to do the carpool by myself and still get to work on time. I spend it on food, clothing, medical care, and shelter for my children- things they need to survive. I spend it on family vacations in the hopes that I can create some happy childhood memories for them. I spend it on maintaining some semblance of a normal life for them.

I struggle with this hole in my life, this absence of him, this blank page to fill. On one hand I’m sick of having these little moments keep bubbling up to remind me of what I’ve been through. But on the other hand I don’t want the alternative, which is to fill the spot, to check a different box, to let go...

The dilemma of wanting my children to experience a family unit and have a father figure versus wanting to eternally preserve this sacred spot for him and not allow someone else to fill that role is almost a constant struggle. It’s hard to let my guard down and imagine that I could love someone like that again and run the risk of going through all this for a second time…

But I'm learning to let someone new in, and each day a piece of that wall comes down and I see the hope and joy of what it could be like to actually fill the hole...

New year...

This time last year I was dreading the arrival of a new year. I did not want 2010 to end, as it was the last year that my husband was alive and somehow the calendar change felt like closing one more door on my old life. I wasn't ready to exist in a year in which he never would.

This year I'm not minding the thought of starting a new year. I have a pretty fresh perspective on things. I'm learning that I like the new "me" that has emerged since his death. I'm more assertive in speaking up for my own needs. I communicate much better...If I think it, I say it. I don't put as much stock in what other people think of me, and am living more authentically for me. I value the people in my life even more than before. Strangely, I even have less anxiety about the future on most days. I still have moments where I want to control everything and plan out how the next 5 years will go, but on most days I'm at peace with not knowing what the future holds. I've finally accepted that even if I plan it...it usually doesn't happen that way. I've allowed God into my life even more and my faith has continually been strengthened. I focus more on having fun and enjoying what I have while I'm here, instead of looking for things that need improvement or change. I still think of Andie every day and talk to him every night before I fall asleep. He shows me he's here less and less through signs, but I know that's because he knows I need to move on. Though I don't doubt that he's still very close by, protecting the three of us. I've been involved in a very special relationship for a few months and it feels comfortable and peaceful to have someone in my life again. It feels good. And it feels right. My girls are shining beacons of hope for the future. They grow and change every day and remind me that life is not stagnant. It keeps going whether we want it to or not.

This year, I'm happy to be along for the ride.

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!

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!

Catch...

Most days are good. Most days are filled with joy and laughter with the girls. Andie still crosses my mind every single day, and it is usually with fondness that I remember him. I still talk to him every night before I go to sleep. But there are still moments that cause my breath to catch and hot tears to well up in my eyes.

Like when the girls brought home artwork from school when they were learning about families. Little balloons on construction paper. Each balloon labeled, "Mommy", "Daddy", "Addison", and "Allison". I see the word "Daddy" and debate in my head whether is is more appropriate for them to have given him a place in their artwork or not...I decide in the end that I'm glad he was included.

Or like the moment in church this week when I had take a few deep breaths to hold back the tears because all of a sudden memories of us sitting in the pew whispering and snickering to each other like children came flooding back...

Or watching the girls play in the bathtub and realizing that he never got a chance to see their beautiful, playful personalities start to emerge...

Or the moment two nights ago when my wedding ring sitting on the bathroom counter caught my eye. I was compelled to put it on again to remind myself what my hand used to look like with it on...it felt so heavy. I didn't remember it being so heavy.

Or even as I sit and type all of this and acknowledge to myself that the pain is still in fact, very much there, and very much real.

These are the kind of moments where just for a second the world stops again.
Where I am thrown back into a kind of surreal existence in which I have to make myself believe again that it all really happened.
These are the kind of moments that cause my breath to catch...

Think less...

I decided to sell Andie's truck since it has been sitting in my driveway for over a year and is rarely used. His cousin came down from Oklahoma to purchase it this week.

Yesterday I was running errands around town when I pulled up to a stop light. At the light perpendicular to me was Andie's cousin. Driving Andie's truck. It caught my eye from a distance and my breath caught...as I got closer and realized it really was his truck the tears immediately began to fall. Seeing his truck out of context like that was almost like seeing a ghost. I was wiping away tears before I even realized I was crying. Before I even had a chance to try and stop them...

It's funny how a deep emotional reaction always happens at least a split second before your rational brain can process it. One of the reasons it's so hard for people to hide their true emotions I suppose...the facial expressions of pain and anger that flash across the face a second before we can compose ourselves is almost always a dead give away.

This makes me think of how whenever I ask the girls to apologize to one another for something, they never actually use any words despite the fact that they can talk. They always choose to give each other a hug and kiss as a way to say they are sorry. They actually feel it rather than just think it and say it. They're still innocent enough to be okay with processing emotions instead of shutting them down like adults do.

Maybe they're on to something there.
Maybe the emotional center of the brain that short circuits the rational mind is programmed that way for a reason.
Maybe we all need to allow ourselves to feel more...and think less.

Alone...

24 hours have passed in which I have been 100% completely and utterly alone.

My children are away with their grandparents for the weekend. My mom is out of town. My best friend is doing her own thing.

I have not been alone and by myself for more than a few hours in well over a year. There is always someone here to keep me company, distract me, entertain me, check up on me, or rely on me for something.

I have been anxious and terrified to spend this time alone. I have dreaded it for days...but now that it is here I realize I am surviving it. Just like I have survived every other moment for the past year. The anticipation of this has proved worse than the actual experience of it, which is usually the case.

I have had moments of feeling lonely, but more than anything I feel triumphant.
One more thing that I have done, and done alone.
Literally.

voice...

I have lost my voice.
My writing voice.
I have not posted in a while because I cannot wrap my mind around how to explain the place I'm in. There is a lot going on that I'm not sure should be shared with the world. There are good things happening, sad things, angering things, exciting things, and even some scary and anxiety provoking things.

There are things I literally cannot write about- expressly forbidden actually.
There are things I want to write about, but out of respect for those involved will not.
And there are things I simply am choosing not to write about to protect myself...I need to not be so bare to the world right now.

I'm not sure if I will ever come back to writing like I used to. It served a wonderful purpose in allowing me to cathartically release my grief and emotions for a long time. But I don't know if that is necessary any more.

Maybe my voice will find it's way back to me in time...

heartache...

The girls have been particularly interested in Andie's picture again lately. I find them often standing near it. Talking to the picture, gesturing, waving, carrying it around, kissing it...

I watch how they interact with the men in their lives. Their grandfather, uncle, male friends of mine, even how they were with the new guy. They love to curl up and cuddle with a big guy, they love to horseplay and be silly with a man, they crave the kind of interaction with a male that I can't provide.

It will only be another year or so before they realize they don't have a father and the questions will start.

My heart hurts for that day...