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.

The stakes are high and the water is rough...but it's all worth it when you can lay down at night and be at peace with yourself. And more importantly it's all worth it when you know the one watching over you is at peace too.

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...

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.

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.

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.

Purging...

I started cleaning out his closet a few days ago. I have felt the need to clean out closets, get rid of clutter, re-organize my life. Get rid of all that is unnecessary and get back to simple. It feels almost like nesting, only I'm not nurturing a new life within me- I'm trying to create a new life around me. I finally finished his closet today.

Neatly sorted boxes of things I will keep and things I will give away. It is amazing how much one person accumulates during a lifetime. I'm astonished that there are five large boxes of clothes to give away, and only one box that holds the clothes I feel so strongly connected to that I want to fold them reverently and stack them gently as though they could be hurt in this process.

I was rather detached while doing it. They are just shirts, and pants, and belts, and ties...but I cry openly when I come across the t-shirt he wore the day the girls were born. Their tiny sets of footprints stamped on his chest in black ink after the nurse finished doing the same on their birth certificates. It was one of the happiest days of his life, and had you told us then that 10 months later he would be gone...

Out with the old, in with the new.
Purging.
Lots of purging...

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…

At a loss...

365 days have passed. For the first time in a long time I feel at a loss for words. This day is not what I expected it to be. It did not feel heavy and dark as I anticipated. Strangely, it has felt almost like any other day in this journey. Just another 24 hour period to get through. Just another succession of steps- one foot in front of the other.

The first post I did after Andie died stills seems appropriate after a whole year has passed…


Originally posted 09/5/10:

"So it's been a while since my last post. You've probably noticed a lot has changed on my blog. Well, that's because a lot has changed in my life. Andie passed away on June 18, 2010 and left me with two beautiful daughters to raise. It's taken me a few months to feel like I have my feet back on the ground and even that seems only momentary.

I considered not blogging anymore but have decided that it's a good way for everyone to keep up with how me and the girls are doing- I know you're all wondering. Raising twins is hard, but raising twins as a single parent is TOUGH- and humbling.

I've learned a lot about myself in the past few months. I've had to ask for help more than I'm comfortable with, I've had to compromise on a lot of things, and I've had to adjust my life plan. I've learned that I have more love and support than I ever knew was possible, but I've also learned that all of that seems inconsequential when you've lost your other half. I've learned that grieving for your spouse is just a small piece of the picture. You also grieve the loss of who you were as a wife, the loss of your hopes and dreams, the loss of the future you had planned, and most of all you grieve for your children and how they will never know and experience their dad as you did.

People often ask how I am doing. The truth is: it depends on the moment, the day, the hour, what song is on the radio, what street I'm driving on, or who's asking. I'm doing as well as I can with what I've been given. My girls are my saving grace and keep me looking forward to the next moment, day, or hour..."

Transitions...

This is such a time of transition in our household...changes are happening all the time.

The girls attended their first day of daycare yesterday and did wonderfully, though the morning routine was a little rough on Allie. Addie was very excited to go and thrilled about her new big girl lunch box. Allie wanted nothing to do with any of my best attempts at getting her excited about going. Addie tried to reassure her and make her feel better by giving her hugs and kisses. Then headed for the door eager to get in the car. Allie proceeded to throw her lunch box and pitch a fit. We managed to get to daycare and they only cried for about 15 minutes after I left and of course when I arrived to pick them up 7 hours later they weren't even excited to see me because they were having so much fun. I have to admit that I had envisioned the movie scene where the kids coming running across the playground and leap into your arms because they've missed you so bad. I barely got a nod and smile when I walked up before they went back to playing. All in all, I'm happy that this was not a difficult transition for them...or for me.

For a year now I have visited his grave every month and marked the time by how much grass had grown over the dirt patch. I had it in my mind that when the grass was completely filled in, and there was no longer any sign of the earth being ravaged, that then it might actually seem real. While the dirt was still fresh I just could not wrap my mind around the fact that he was in the ground...and this is still a hard concept to grasp. Yesterday afternoon I gave the final approval on Andie's headstone. It will be here in several weeks and is so symbolic of the finality of his death, and of this year. Seeing it there will serve as a reminder that this all really did happen.

The school year has finally come to an end and as of yesterday I'm officially finished with work for the year. I tend to measure my years by the school year rather than a calendar year as many who work in schools do, and being that Andie passed away this week last year it only deepens the feeling that "this past year" is coming to a close. I always welcome the summer when I can mentally put away all the stresses of the previous school year and start fresh in a couple of months. I especially feel this way now. I am looking forward to a summer this year with hope and excitement of having some time to enjoy with those I love. I want to savor all the good times and continue to strengthen the bonds I've developed with new and old friends. My relationships with others are so much more important to me now and I don't want to take them for granted.

So much has changed in the past year and there are so many new things on the horizon for us. New adventures and experiences for us all. New relationships are starting, and old ones are evolving. Most of them in good ways, with a deeper bond and appreciation for those around me ever present on my mind. I have a renewed focus on doing what is right for me and the girls and reprioritizing so that it fits our needs, not what I think everyone else wants. This has been the hardest year of my life but it has brought me some perspective and maturity.

I'm looking forward to all the new transitions we have headed our way.
I feel positive about our future for the first time in a while.
I am ready to start the rest of my life with a new focus.
As they say...
The only thing that stays the same is...
Everything changes.

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.

Quiet mind...

“Go in all simplicity; do not be anxious to win a quiet mind, and it will be all the quieter. Do not examine so closely into the progress of your soul. Do not crave so much to be perfect, but let your spiritual life be formed by your duties, and by the actions which are called forth by circumstances. Do not take over much thought for tomorrow. God, who has led you safely on so far, will lead you on to the end.” - Francis De Sales

I love this quote because now more than I ever I feel like my life and the decisions I have to make are the product of circumstance. This is certainly not how I planned my life. And it surely is not how I could’ve ever imagined it. But it is my life, the only one I have, so I must take it as it comes and make decisions based on the hand I’ve been dealt. And I must believe that God has a greater plan that I just can’t understand at this point.

I know it will be a difficult process as I continue to walk the fine line between being excited about someone new, while still actively mourning the loss of Andie. I am not naïve enough to think that my grieving is done. I am not “over it” and I have not “moved on”.

It has been a struggle to decide when I should let the world in on the fact that I am seeing someone. I didn’t want to make the announcement too soon only to find that this relationship would fizzle out and I’d then have to face all the ensuing questions. I didn’t want to keep it a secret as though it was something to be ashamed of, but at the same time I needed to feel secure before I announced such a momentous step.

And while I have had a couple of months to adjust to the idea and process my feelings about it, those who are just now learning of him are still shocked and surprised. Which only makes my comfort with it all the more awkward. I think they expect me to not be ready so soon, but I’ve done a lot of emotional leg work to get to this point. I've simply had a head start.

I am sensitive to the feelings of those who are still hurting, and who are not ready to see me “move on” with my life. I understand that Andie’s family and close friends will have a harder time accepting this than my own family and friends. I know it will take time for people to get to a place of acceptance.

I know that people ultimately want me to be happy. Many have said as much to me on several occasions. In the weeks after his death people told me that it was okay to eventually move on. But saying that, and actually being okay with it when it happens are two very different things. I think people have been okay with the idea of it, but when they actually see another man beside me they have almost a gut level reaction to it. I can see it in the subtle shifts of facial expression or body language. It seems that people are okay with the idea of it if it fits their version of how it should go and when, and not necessarily my version of it.

I have grappled with the idea of moving on for almost a year now. Mainly because people would often say to me that they knew I would find someone new one day. My own father in-law has had this discussion with me at least three times that I can remember. I almost felt a pressure about it in the early months after his death and it made me angry and indignant. But with time I have come to accept that this is in fact what I want for me and for my children. And it is also, I believe, something that Andie would want.

This is a hard position for me to be in. Wanting to be happy and being okay with this transition for myself, but also understanding that others are not yet ready for me to make this transition. However, what most people cannot even begin to fathom is the emotional work I have done to get to this point. It is I who has had to live every second of every day without him. I am the one who has two beautiful, yet constant reminders running around that look just like him, reminding me that he is not here. I am the one who remembers what it was like to have his face be the first thing I saw every morning, and the last thing I saw every night. Nobody else has had to deal with his absence on such a global level. Nobody else’s life was changed with such magnitude. Most people get the emotional reprieve of going on about their own lives in their own schedules, which allows them to feel some normalcy. I have not had that luxury; nothing about my life has stayed the same. Nothing is as it was. And nothing feels normal. It has been a long, hard, process to get to this point.

He still consumes my thoughts for much of the day, albeit in a different way than before. Now it is often with fond memories. Sometimes I talk to him in my mind, imagining how he would guide me in daily decisions. It is rarely with pain that I remember him anymore. I would venture to say that to most people though, he is only a fleeting thought. He probably does not cross the minds of his friends daily anymore; only when something happens that triggers a memory for them. I can tell that me and the girls are not on people’s minds as much by the drastic slow down in contact from others checking on us. And this is okay. It means that everyone is healing, and everyone is moving on…just at a different pace.

The bottom line is that I have to do what feels right in my heart. What makes me happy, content, and fulfilled. I have to move on with my life in a way that gives me a quiet mind. Worrying about what other people think of my actions only increases my anxiety and apprehension. And letting go of the control feels so freeing. This is a new part of me that has emerged through this experience. A more mature part of me, and I like it. I don’t have to control everything in my life, and I don’t have to have it all planned out. Controlling comes from a place of fear. I don’t want to live my life in fear. I want to appreciate what I have while it’s here instead of always planning for the worst case scenario.

The circumstances of my life have drastically altered who I am, who I want to be, and where I want my life to go. I am giving it all up to God with faith that he will lead me in the right direction in the end.

Leap of faith...

"Sometimes you just have to take the leap and build your wings on the way down" - Unknown


There is a wonderful new blessing to my life. Someone who through fate, timing, answered prayers, or maybe just dumb luck eased his way into my life over the past couple of months.

First through emails, then through texting, followed by phone calls and visits…never pushing past my comfort level. Letting me move at my own pace, but standing by all the while ready to walk this journey beside me. Allowing the connection to grow and evolve on its own. Slowing down to allow me to catch up if he got a step ahead of me. He has stepped aside to give me time and space as I need it…never selfish in his pursuit.

He is honest and respectful. Understanding and reassuring. Strong and confident. Gentle and kind. Caring and insightful. Interesting and intelligent. Protective and accepting. And above all, he is patient with me and this convoluted process.

He inspires, motivates, and challenges me to be a better person. He pushes me to let go and just trust in him, believe in the possibility of us, and have faith in God.

He is the answer to the repetitive prayer I’ve prayed: For God to allow my heart to be open, and accepting of whatever or whomever He puts in my path. For me to trust that if love walks into my life I can accept its presence with grace and dignity.

I have to admit that when I have heard stories of other widows who have moved on there was always a sense of judgment on my part. How could they move on so soon- how soon is too soon? How could they proclaim to still love their dead husband, but still have enough room in their heart to love another? I couldn’t understand how that could even be possible. There was also a sense of jealousy that they had gotten lucky enough to find love again; I did not think that would ever be possible for me. But once you start down this road the issue becomes, how do you continue to hold the love in your heart for your husband while making room for new love to grow there too? I’ve found it’s like having more than one child- your heart expands to fit the need. How do you incorporate who you were then, with who you are becoming? How do you integrate your old life with your new life? I don’t have the answers to these questions. These are still challenges I must face and I realize they will continue to be for some time…

I never imagined that I would be in the very position that I had scoffed at. I couldn’t fathom that I could ever let go of my pain, or that I would ever even want to let go of the pain long enough to find happiness. After all, holding onto the pain has been all there was to hold on to. And I think that’s why this worked. He eased his way into my life ever so gently that I didn’t even know he was beginning to take up residence in my heart until it was too late to deny it.

I am on the precipice of something exciting and grand. I’m ready to take the leap of faith and see where I land and where this experience takes me. My perspective has shifted again and I find myself back in the place of believing that there is a power greater than us that guides us in the right direction even when the fog is too dense to see through it. I am acknowledging that I don’t have all the answers to how my life is going to work out, nor am I supposed to.

I’m learning to enjoy it one moment at a time. To take things at face value without questioning or analyzing them to the point that I destroy them or push them away. I’m learning to let go. To surrender the control and accept that it’s out of my hands…I’m learning to place the responsibility on the shoulders of someone much grander than I.

In my journey to find happiness…I am finding peace in my heart.
In my journey to find comfort…I am experiencing a calm stillness within.
In my journey to find love…I am opening my heart and allowing myself to take a risk.

Here I stand, humbly accepting that the universe indeed has more to offer me than I ever thought possible…

Contingency plan...

This morning I went to a meeting with the committee planning the 5k in honor of Andie. It feels good to be doing something to honor and celebrate his life. I am pleased that I have chosen this as a way to mark the one year anniversary of his death, and I hope that it can be a peaceful day for those who loved him to come together in friendship and have a good time.

After that I had to go to another meeting. A meeting that will essentially memorialize him and permanently mark the end of his life. I went to the cemetery office today to finalize the plans for his grave stone. I picked out the design very early after he died. I was still in a complete haze of disorientation then, so I ask her to show me what I picked because I honestly don't remember...I was pleased to find that even in the the shock of grief I still had good taste. Though expensive taste I am reminded, when I have to pay the several thousand dollar balance in full. I opt to not change anything.

The next step is determining what I want it to say. Which font do I like? What color do I want the background? Which color granite do I want? Do I want any special emblem or symbols? I choose to keep the design simple, masculine, and classic. Something he would approve of.

Then we get to the part about my name. I originally ordered a stone large enough to put my name on should I decide to be buried with him. But I don't want my name on it right now in the event that I move, or get remarried, or just plain decide I don't want to be buried but rather cremated. There are so many contingencies to consider. More than once she says that it doesn't happen often that these contingencies have to be considered...she is a little befuddled at how to handle such a young widow. "Oh yes, I didn't think about that..." she says when I throw another hypothetical situation at her.

The plaque with my name must be ordered now- it is not an option to do it later. Though she is quick to reassure me that the plaque can be moved to a different stone should I be buried elsewhere or with someone else. I would just have to buy a new piece of granite to put it on. I am not happy about my name being on a grave stone at this age, but I acquiesce and agree to this.

The next step is to determine exactly how we want our names printed on the plaques. I choose full names- first, middle, and last. When we get to my name I stump her again. But what if I do get remarried? This plaque will say "Simmons"...she offers the suggestion of using my maiden name. No, that won't do. We talk some more about the options for all the contingencies that could befall me in the course of my life. I am one who always has a back up plan. Who always plans out all available courses of action in order to make the most rational decision. But I eventually realize that this something that I will have to consider when the time comes as I cannot predict my future at this point. She asks for my date of birth. As she finishes writing, "July 23, 1980" she says to me, "You're too young." Yes, this I know.

If all goes well, I will have at least another 30 years ahead of me. Likely more. It is hard to fathom that I actually have more time ahead of me than behind me, and already I have essentially ended one chapter and am beginning a new one. Life as I knew it is over, and I am starting afresh. It is within the realm of possibility that I could be married to a new person longer than I have actually been alive up until this point. And yet, my name with my husband's surname will appear on a grave stone... waiting for me to die. It is mind boggling and surreal to consider.

My day will culminate in a visit from a guy I have been emailing and talking with for several weeks. He lives almost 300 miles away so we have only seen each other once before now. I am excited to see him again- to see if the connection we have established through conversation is as good in person. The last time I saw him went well, so I imagine this will too. We will spend the weekend going to dinner and concerts, meeting friends, maybe going to the lake, and getting to know each other better. I am happy about this development in my life. It brings me hope for my future. I know some will judge me and say I am moving on too soon. Or I am trying to distract myself from my grief, and there really is no way I could be ready. Some will judge him and wonder what in the world he could possibly see in a widow with young twins who lives 300 miles away. That's an awful lot of baggage for him to take on. But if I've learned anything in this process it is that there is no right or wrong way to do this. I can only proceed in ways that leave my heart and mind feeling content and at peace.

So while I started the day with a meeting to honor and celebrate the life of my husband, and followed it with a meeting to memorialize him forever, I will end the day with the opportunity to do something that helps me look towards the future. I have given up on always having a contingency plan. They never work out how I imagine them anyway. I am learning that the more I try to control my life, the more God shows me ways that I can't. He is the one who makes the plans.

So maybe, just maybe...
this new great guy who makes me happy,
is God's contingency plan...
for me.

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

Connection...

In the beginning there is an obsession with the one who has died. A desperation for the thread to not unravel, to hold all that you had as couple together for as long as possible by trying to keep every memory you have in immediate awareness. Striving to stay connected by any means possible. Eventually some acceptance settles in that no matter how hard you try, there is no way to keep them alive through memories alone. The constant drive to stay connected tapers off; the fire within subdues and the rumination lies dormant.

After a while there is a stirring inside. Something sparks a curiosity. A yearning for new connection.
Real.
Human.
Connection.

A desire to be fulfilled by another. To be appreciated, understood, comforted, and admired.
There is a longing to be touched. To be whispered to. To develop the subtle give and take that comes when two people develop a unique bond and share in the human experience together.

Once you’ve experienced fulfilling love the desperation to have it again can be intense. At times, the desire to interact with another on a level that is unique to only the two of you can be powerful and overtaking. I find myself watching other couples in public. Jealous of the nuance between them that only they truly understand. A certain look, a tilt of the head, a hand placed on the shoulder just so.

When you know what you’re missing, you suddenly have a new appreciation for it and seek to find it again. Perhaps that is why they say that widows who were in fulfilling and happy marriages tend to remarry sooner…because they crave that kind of closeness.

Eventually the rumination returns, but with a new focus when you begin to see that you might find another worthy of your attention, and they in return may also find you worthy.
When it comes within striking distance you seize it for fear it will get away.
For fear that you might miss your one shot to be truly happy again.
And the connection becomes the new obsession…

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.

beginning afresh...

Be patient with everyone, but above all with yourself. I mean, do not be disturbed because of your imperfections, and always rise up bravely from a fall. I’m glad that you make daily a new beginning; there is no better means of progress in the spiritual life than to be continually beginning afresh. – Francis de Sales

I’m trying to remember to learn to be patient with myself. This process of grief is long, hard, and often paradoxical in the way it forces you to yearn for an old life while also learning to appreciate the new one you’ve been given. “To be continually beginning afresh”…

Yesterday was a particularly hard and emotional day for me. I had no idea I was going to get blindsided by it. One of the songs we sang in church was one that we played at Andie’s funeral. Then we went to his parents’ house for lunch and for the kids to do an Easter egg hunt. All I could think about was this day last year when the girls were not even walking yet, and Andie and I talked about how fun it would be this year to see them actually hunt for eggs. It was like a movie continually being replayed over and over in my mind, of how this day was just a short year ago.

The “firsts” of my birthday, the girls’ birthday, and our wedding anniversary came so soon after he died that I was still in a complete fog of shock and disbelief. I was still completely numb, so they didn’t hurt. For Christmas this year we went out of town- something completely out of the ordinary so I didn’t have to be at home doing the same old routine and traditions. So Easter was the first holiday that was kind of the same ol’ thing. It was the first holiday that I’ve come across so far that felt routine and familiar. And in the routine and familiar, the pain seeps in because the void of the person missing is so apparent.

And while all of this hurts deeply, and makes me question if I’ve made any progress at all rather than just spiraling back around to the same issues, I’m still finding things to be joyful in. I’m still learning to appreciate new experiences, new friends, and a new way of life for myself. I’m finally getting to the point where I can accept, albeit in small doses, that happy experiences don’t mean I love him any less. I can hurt and ache for him, and still hold love and fulfillment in my heart- it's not all or nothing. It doesn't mean that if I have one, I can't have the other.

It just means that healing is taking root. Hope is on the horizon.
It means that I make daily a new beginning.
Each day I begin afresh.
Each day I rise up bravely from the fall…