Calendar

I'm a planner. Always organized with events on the calendar well in advance. At least I used to be. I'm not so good at it anymore. I always carry a calendar/planner in my purse. Today I took the 2010 planner out. I've stumbled across it several times since Andie died but always throw it back in. It's one of those little things I haven't wanted to face so I just let it languish at the bottom of my purse for almost a year now- right next to the 2011 planner.

Today I took it out and thumbed through it. So strange to see remnants of a normal life documented. Doctor and hair appointments neatly penciled in. Vacations and and days off of work. I was going through some health issues at the time and my doctors were playing around with my medications. Taking me on and off to see if my symptoms would subside. There are notes in this calendar about when to stop the medicine or start it again; comments about if my symptoms were getting worse or better so I would know what to tell the doctors when I went back in for a check up.

I see the days where I circled the date four days in a row in a repetitive pattern and am reminded of how regimented the schedule can be when you are married to a cop. Andie's schedule was always rotating making it very difficult to plan things in advance. He worked 5 days on, 4 days off, another 5 on, another 4 off, then 6 days on followed by 4 days off. Then the whole cycle repeated again. I would go through the calendar months in advance and mark his rotation of days off so that when I was planning things I didn't have to sit and count the days over and over. I remember how irritated I would get when I would get off by a day and mess the whole pattern up, then I'd have to start from the beginning again to figure out where I went wrong. Grief is a lot like that...playing things over and over in your mind, going back to the beginning again to try and figure out where it all went wrong. Wondering where was the one moment that shifted everything in your universe? Only there's no erasure marks and do-overs with grief.

I look at the week he died. There is nothing there except the notation of when I started my menstrual cycle. We were on vacation when he died and I find it strange that I did not have the vacation written down. It's just a blank week on the calender, as though nothing happened. As if it were just a boring, uneventful week in our lives. I keep looking and see that I had worked out his days off rotation until the beginning of August. Obviously planning for him to be around. Never imagining that I could stop caring what days he had off of work on June 18, 2010. The week after he died is completely blank too. Then the activity picks up again and there are meetings with lawyers, HR reps, insurance people, the funeral photographer, and a host of other things penciled in. Dying is busy work for those left behind. The barrage of paperwork and decisions seems endless. Almost a year later and I'm still dealing with estate paperwork and final decisions on his headstone.

This planner is like a time capsule.
A glimpse into the mundane rhythm of life we had.
A written document that proves I had a normal existence once.
I consider throwing it away but instead decide to put in a drawer with the rest of the memorabilia that I have kept.
But for the life of me I can't think of a rational reason why...
It is just a calendar after all.

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.

New...

"Were it possible for us to see further than our knowledge reaches, and yet a little way beyond the outworks of our divining, perhaps we would endure our sadnesses with greater confidence than our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered into us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy perplexity, everything in us withdraws, a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent." – Maria Rainer Rilke

So I was watching Oprah the other day and they showed a clip from an old show when Dr. Phil used to be on as a guest. He was talking with a woman who was stuck in her grief, 10 years after losing her daughter. She had not been able to move on and let go of the pain and anger. He said something to her that struck a chord with me.

He asked her if her daughter would feel betrayed in some way by her mother moving on and leading a happy life. The lady of course replied that her daughter would not feel betrayed by her moving on, but rather would actually be mad at her mother for continuing to be miserable every day. Her daughter wouldn't want that kind of life for her.

Dr. Phil replied, "Maybe the betrayal is focusing on the day of her death and not on the event of her life."

This hit close to home for me. I find myself continuing to struggle with the idea of moving forward, finding joy, and living again rather than merely existing. Sometimes I feel like it is a betrayal to not still be debilitated with grief. But at the same time, I'm really tired of being emotionally drained, and want to have the same optimism about life that I used to carry with me before I became a widow.

Hearing Dr. Phil reframe it in this way made me realize that I can celebrate the life he had and the life we had together, without focusing on his death, which was really only one day in the grand scheme of his life. He is so much more than his death. He truly would not want me to be miserable every day. He would want me to feel fulfilled, and excited about life and my future. He would celebrate how far I've come, and he would encourage me to continue to carve out a new life for myself.

Many days I still feel caught between two worlds. The life I had, and the new life I must now create. Going through this process is like being stripped to the core and rebuilding from scratch. Relearning what you value, how you view things, and who you want to be.

As the quote above says, "...a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent."
A stillness, a sense of peace eventually comes and you realize that it is okay to be new again.
To start over.
The newness stands silent, waiting patiently, until you are ready to accept that it is there, then it welcomes you with open arms and allows you to become whatever it is that you want to be...