Brave

The transformation of will that happens in grief is nothing short of remarkable.  You find inside you a determination and strength you never knew you had.  Your thoughts, habits, and every way of being change drastically.  In some ways it's startling.  In other ways it's exhilarating. 

Where before I was always careful, methodical, rational, and anxiety ridden about doing everything right, I've now become more carefree, more confident, braver.  In my old life I would never do anything too far out of the norm or risky with my money.  I was diligent about saving and planning for retirement so as to be responsible.  Now, I've done something that the old me would've considered crazy.  I bought a vacation home in a foreign country.  It was impulsive.  It was on a whim.  It was brave.  And it feels exhilarating!

I've learned the hard way that tomorrow may not come.  And that I would've never had some of the opportunities I have now if my husband had not died.  I feel the need to take advantage and live as fully as I can. For me and for my girls.  I want them to grow up being fearless, determined, adventurous, and all of the things I was not.  I don't want them to not take risks for fear of failure.  The only way to teach them this is to be an example of it, so I am continually challenging myself to push my limits and in doing so I'm finding who I want to be.

My home in Costa Rica is now available to rent for any of you who might need to get away and renew your spirit.  I promise this place will change you for the better!

Gemela's Casita- Playa Ocotal, Costa Rica

Weaving

The weaving together of the old with the new is the most bittersweet part of grieving. It's what you want but it's also what hurts.  I experience these moments daily- wanting to smile and cry at the same time.  Things that bring joy also bring heartache.

Being blessed enough to have such a loving relationship with Andie's family that we all still go to dinner on Friday nights just like we did when Andie was here, but now there is someone else there with me.  And they have welcomed him in with open arms as if he was their own and has always been the one there.  It is all I could ever hope for.  To be able to feel comfortable moving forward  and not hurting them in the process...but I do hurt for them.  I hurt for his mother who must look across the table at times and wonder what the hell happened in her life to have lost her son and is now accepting seeing someone else walk me and her grandkids to the car at the end of the evening.  I watch his brother who every now and then makes a facial expression or moves in such a way that for half a second I think it's  actually Andie...and I wonder how he feels joking and talking in a brotherly way with this man just as he would with have with Andie.  I think of his father who now invites my boyfriend to go fishing with him...the thing he and Andie loved to do together, and I wonder how he handles being alone on the water for hours with someone who is not his son.  I wonder if they feel it too...the bittersweet of the weaving.  The pain being replaced slowly by happy moments, only to be reminded of why it all hurt in the first place.

Wanting the girls to have a father and seeing them develop that kind of relationship with someone who is not their father...it's beautiful and painful all at the same time.  They are opening their hearts to love him in their own time.  They were tentative at first...always comfortable with him but still always wanting me at the end of the day when it was time to cuddle.  Always wanting me to tuck them in bed.  Now they lay their heads on his chest in the evening and let him take them to bed.  Not always, but sometimes...as though they're testing out if it's okay to let someone else love them besides me. 

To be truthful, we were all tentative. Sometimes we still are, but it is settling into a familiar life now making my old life feel ever more distant. In the beginning he was respectful to not overstep his bounds and let me do the parenting and correcting. Now he is comfortable with stepping in and parenting them...loving them when they need it, and scolding them when they need that too. And I'm okay with letting him.  In the beginning I was hesitant to give up that control. It was hard to let someone else take part in that role as I have always done it alone. But now if feels good to have someone on my side, tag teaming the difficult moments with me.

They ask where he is while he's at work and get excited when he comes home.  Running to hug him and screaming his name with delight...just as I would imagine they would do with their daddy.  Giving him kisses and telling him they love him before he leaves for work and again in the evenings before they trot off to bed.  Then immediately walking to their dad's picture and saying goodnight to him and kissing his picture.  They have room in their hearts for both of them just as I do, but it's so bittersweet to watch it play out with them.  Knowing one day their father will just be someone they've heard stories about but have no emotional tie to because they don't really remember him.  And this man will be the one they think of as their father figure.  The one they will actually run to, seek advice from, and love.

It takes time...the weaving.  And it seems tedious when you're in the middle of it, as though it will never actually all fit together just so.  But then you look back and realize it's happening and you're farther along than you thought you were. There's snags along the way and it's not perfect, but it works.  And it's becoming the warm blanket that gives you comfort when the cold moments of grief start to seep in.

Not the same...

I’ve had a lot of emotions stirring lately. I think it’s because so much has changed in my life in such a relatively short period of time and it’s hard to wrap my mind around just how vast the changes have been…and how swiftly life continues to move.


The girls were 10 months old when he died…now they are over 3. They could not feed themselves, dress themselves, walk, or talk…they could not do anything independently. I carried them everywhere. I fed them. I consoled them.

Now they speak in full conversations, they not only dress themselves but have opinions about what they want to wear, they use the potty by themselves. They not only walk, but run, and jump, and climb. They brush their own teeth. They sleep through the night. They say, “Mommy, I love you so much,” and ask me to say their prayers with them when I tuck them in at night. They ask who their Daddy is and what is his name. They cry for him when they are upset with me, though they are crying for someone they have no tangible memory of.

I am so very happy now with my life, even happier than I ever remember being before. My girls are so very happy. And yet strangely, it makes me immensely sad to admit that I am so happy, so content, so fulfilled. It feels like a betrayal in a sense. It feels like it means I’m okay with leaving him behind while we move forward. I feels like people will think I have forgotten him…something that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I still think of him multiple times a day and it still takes my breath away for just a second.

None of us are the same as we were then and it makes me feel so far away from him. He doesn’t know the people we are today, he never will and that feels so final. He will never know his children the way I do, and in the ways I am privileged to get to continue learning them.

Life feels like that river that Heraclitus referred to…ever swiftly moving…you can’t step in the same place twice, you can’t make it stand still and have the past integrate with the present no matter how badly you want it to…

For it is not the same life…and you are not the same you.