Good Eats; Alaskan State Troopers; Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives; and (most importantly) Wild hockey all on at the same time?  What's a widow to do with her Friday night?!?

3 1/2

Hit 3 1/2 years on Oct 12, also known as the 3 year anniversary of the day I realized I might actually survive.

Started a new job 6 weeks ago in a restaurant that brews its own beer.  A concept he would've loved.  An environment I love.  And downtown... where I saw myself working when I moved here 8 years ago now.

Life changes, moves and shifts.  And I still find myself thinking of him when something awesome happens, when I want to share my brewery experience, or just curl up on the couch for the night.

I love that he's still with me.

Good memories

There were days when I was working at a job I hated and he was laid off that I'd call him when I was leaving work and say, "Babe, put my class of 2002 [pint] glass in the fridge."  I'd come home to a frozen glass and good beer.

And we'd sit on the deck, relax, and do dinner.

Which tonight was an Italian pasta salad I love, except I did romaine instead of pasta.  And served myself in a serving dish, so it felt like a nice huge salad you'd get from a restaurant.  And I thought to myself how much he'd love it.

Good memories.

And then there are days...

And then there are days that it all seems to come together.

In the past two months, there was his anniversary.  Then I had viral diarrhea (soo not recommended) for a week, in the midst of which was a had-to-attend wedding shower.  Then was OUR anniversary.  Next came the bacheloretter and wedding extravaganza for the aforementioned wedding shower, which just happened to be for That Friend.  You know, That Friend who’s like a sister, has been there for me through everything, and loves me enough to both excuse me from bridesmaid duty and still gift me with an engraved flask, my long yearned-for wedding gift.

By the way, in the week between bacheloretter and wedding, work blew up.  And as That Friend has pointed out previously, yes, yes work does always blow up for me.  So this, then, was an atomic bomb.

But never mind, because I had a wedding to do.

And then it was back to work.

Which pretty much brings me up to today.

And reminds me how justified it is that I’ve been worn out, exhausted, completely lacking in energy, oversleeping and skimping on exercise. 

But then I get todays.  It’s only a single day off and generally I do get two in a row, and let me tell you, those are really good for recovering.  But even today, I was lazy with my coffee, I watched some episodes of a favorite TV show, and then I kicked my own butt outside.  Because it is finally sunny, for perhaps the 3^rd day this year.

And it is so often the deck where I am reminded of how blessed I am.  That I love my life, my view, my hobbies, and shunning what I shun.

Cosmo just told me I need to reinvest and rediscover my passions.  As previously stated, I’ve been exhausted, lethargic, and all over blah.  My passions – those things that I love doing above all else - are my deck and reading.  Well here I am and here I go.

It’s one of those days when I look around, consider how life could be, and go, “Damn I’m lucky.” 

I got the house, I can support myself with only one job, there’s money in the bank, food in the cupboards, I know what it means to love, and (today, at least) no one’s dragging me down.

Thank God for todays.

My Fifth Anniversary

It was 5 years ago today that the love of my life and I figured out that we had a thing for each other.  It was exhilarating.  It was terrifying.

I’d dated.  I knew what I was doing.  I also knew that I was holding out for perfect (for me) and let men go as soon as I realized they weren’t that guy.  And here I’d been lusting after this guy for 6 months, orchestrating how to spend time with him for 3, and was desperately hoping he wasn’t going to let me down.

That first night we ended up on the balcony at dawn, watching BOB (big orange ball) come up over the field.  He was directly behind me in his comfy work hoodie, with one arm on either side of me.  He was smoking, and at one point I lean into him and looked up into his profile.  The big man, the comfortable hoodie, the scrubby face, even the cigarette… it was everything I’d ever wanted, and thought I’d never have.   When I need to find my peace, I still go back to that place.

Then, a week later, he found out he’d gotten a job that required travel.   A lot of travel.

I went home and cried.  And moaned.  And asked why me.  I’d done the distance thing.  I’ve left men because of the distance.  I did not want to do the distance.

And then I saw how much this job meant for him, and I couldn’t ask him to give it up for me.  Me, who still considers anyone who actually enjoys what they do for a living to be lucky.  He had a chance at enjoying his life – he had to take it.

And so the question became, do I stay?  I sat on my deck and looked at the stars (which was highly prophetic of the way we would spend our favorite nights later in our relationship).  I thought of who he was, who I am, what I want life to be.  The thought occurred to me, This man could take you on the ride of your life, if you let him.

I let him.

6 weeks later the only place he slept (outside of a hotel) was my bed.  3 months after that I left my job, mostly so I’d have weekends off and actually get to see him.  On his first long-distance assignment we fell into the habit of talking every night and visiting every weekend.  We never stopped.  He officially moved in with me when he was spending 5 nights a week in a hotel 200 miles away.  And on two separate occasions we were at the courthouse for other reasons, looked at each other and said, “Should we…” and decided to wait for our families.

My life today is nowhere near where I thought it’d be 5 years ago.  I discovered everything life could be with him.  I lost all of our plans and our lives when I lost him.  And I’ve spent 3 years getting back to the place where I can even confront the idea of a future again.  But one thing hasn’t changed: we still love each other.

One of my books calls it Plan A(mazing).  It’s not your Plan A.  It’s not even your Plan B.  It’s what you come up with after.   And it will be amazing.

If a mere 5 years in life can take me on this ride, who knows what the next 5 will bring.  But one thing I already know: I am thrilled, beyond belief, that I let that man take me on the ride of a lifetime.  We had a blast, it was worth it, and yes, Babe, you’re still my favorite.  Life maybe didn’t go quite as we’d planned, but I wouldn’t have missed knowing you for the world.  I love you, and thank you for loving me.

Being Sick

Being sick sucks.  There's nothing like going to bed perfectly fine, only to wake up feeling a little bit off - and then get progressively worse throughout the day - to remind one of the frailty of the human body.

And what do we want when we're sick?  That's right, someone to take of us.

Which leads me to my Friday night.  After a day of getting progressively worse was culminating in not being 100% sure I could walk down the hall, I found myself crying into my pillow on the couch, screaming like I haven't in... probably a year.  And I've had grief surges in the past year.

It was awful.  It was pathetic.  It reminds you exactly how much that person was always there for you.

And then, once you're cried out and no one's come running because, well, no one can hear you, you pull yourself together, manage to make it to bed, and sleep to another dawn.

And sometimes you forget...

3 years was a week and a half ago.

Tonight, I'm cleaning the kitchen with The Voice on.  I miss who Shakira chose and I automatically called into the living room, "Babe, who she'd choose?"

And it's been Three.F---ing.Years.

That's what it's like, Living Widowed.

What I appreciate the most

I read yesterday that it’s the things you loved the most and appreciated the most that you grieve and yearn for the most. 

I miss someone sitting with me on the deck, coming home to, coming home to me, planning dinner with, reviewing our days, going to the bar, laughing, watching hockey, trying new beers.

We were going to drive all over and try new breweries, get married in a park with a bbq theme, let me quit my job so I could spend more time with him and take care of him better.  Buy a house with a piece of land a little bit outside the city, so we could get a huge dog and he’d have room to roam, have bonfires in the backyard and sit on our deck out there, in the middle of nowhere, and look at all the extra stars we can’t see here.

We had plans, dreams.  As much as we just took life as it came (one of the things I loved best about him) we had somedays and eventuallys.  I can’t do any of those things without him – they’re things I wanted because of him, because I’d have someone to share it with, someone to laugh with me, have to put up with a massive dog because I loved him and wanted to see him happy.  None of it, none, is stuff I can do on my own, or want to do on my own.  It was doing it all with HIM that made it special.

What did I most appreciate about him?  That he allowed me – and even encouraged me – to do exactly what I wanted to do with my own life.  That so much of what we wanted coincided is the grace of God and spells out how much we were meant for each other.  With him, I could’ve worked parttime, kept up the house, and travelled around the state with him.  That’s the life, those are the dreams, that I miss the most.

Could I do it all with someone else?  Hypothetically, sure.  But like I just said, it was doing it all with HIM that made it special.  He, who knew what it was like to be the black sheep of the family, cast off their plans for him, and make his own life for himself.  He, who kept true to his values even if they weren’t the most popular.  The guy who at age 25 had already had a full life, given back to his community, his world, done things 99% of our population can’t handle.  The man who said “I want to do that” and made it happen, and it was never something boring or normal.  The man who’d been kicked around enough that I thought he was 10 years older when I met him, and who knew the best place to be, the place to find as much peace as a man can in this life, is on the deck, looking at the stars.  The man who knew that a quick kiss on the shoulder says “I love you” more than all the diamonds in the world.  The man who made me feel like he would never leave me, and always have my back.

But that didn’t happen.  And now here I am, trying to cover his back and doing a piss-poor job of it, honoring his memory and his life in the few ways left for me.  All I can do now is hope the people who matter come around sometime, sometime when they can understand, and ask me who he really was. 

And then I’ll sit them on the deck, hand them a beer and a smoke, and start talking.

Purpose? Enjoy Today.

It's a general human condition that to feel useful, to feel like our lives are worthwhile, we need a purpose in life.  I don't know why.  I'm sure we can trace it to some Puritan ethnic if we really wanted to.  But regardless where it comes from, the question we're always expected to be able to answer is "What's your purpose in life?"

He was my purpose.  Supporting him, loving him, helping him find life again.  I may have not seen it 100% at the time, but I definitely see it in retrospect.  Before I met him, I honestly think my purpose was my job (danger! danger!).  It was all about getting to the next level.  Everyone I worked with knew I could do it and saw things in me that I haven't recognized until lately.  But, as it's wont to do when your purpose is an external thing, it all became barren and dull.  It was when I recognized that I needed spice back in my life that I started hanging out with my regulars – because my happiest times in life, up until then, had been on the fraternity's front porch in college, chilling, drinking and smoking – that I met him and all that followed.

Then he died, and I had no purpose.  And so, my purpose became living for him, keeping his memory alive, trying to do him proud and do the right thing.  Because, really, what else are you going to do?

Now time’s passed, his family and most of his friends are no longer around, I honor him in the best ways I know how, but it no longer consumes my life.  What do I do now?

You know what?  I always hated goals.  I was the kid who said, “let me be flexible so I can go wherever God needs me, whenever He needs me there, and to do whatever He needs me to do.”  And so my grand record of job employment is 2 years.  Less, actually, if I remember correctly.  And isn’t a purpose just a goal with a different word?

So screw having a purpose.  Screw trying to focus my life around a meaning.  Life is only understood in reverse anyways, so ask me when I’m 100 what my purpose in life was.  Right now, I can tell you the most meaningful thing in my life is love – of him, of friends, of family, of strangers I’ve never met by whom I try to do the right thing.  Is that the meaning of life?  Who knows, could be.  I can claim it is.  But we’ll never really know until we're old and looking back.

Screw having a purpose.  Live each day, appreciate the blessings therein, and have FAITH that God’s going to put me in the right place at the right time. 

Living means enjoying what we have and where we are.  My plan?  I'm going to enjoy today.

1000 Days

1000 days came and went.  This was a milestone, because waay back in the days where I wasn't sure if I could last for an hour, I started looking at time as a reminder that I COULD do it and WOULD survive.

6 months was my first biggie.  That's 26 weeks.

Then a year was sort of a blur.... I was being disappointed by some people I should've been able to lean on, and it overshadowed the grief.

Then a year and a half reminded me of how I felt the previous year, and I marked off another year of piecing life back together.  (I had my new job by then)

2 years was surreal.

2.5 years was shocking and amazing that it'd seriously been that long.

Then I mentioned to my mom that 1000 days would be an interesting milestone to know.  And she, bless her heart, sat down and figured it out.  With leap years.

And when it rolled around (Jan 7, 2013) and she told me... I was shocked and amazed all over again.  That I'm still here, that I've emerged into such a strong person, that I haven't stopped loving him and don't think I ever will.  That here I am 1000 days later, viewing myself as still in love, still "taken", and still talk to him - regularly - and I've managed to piece together some sort of life for myself.

It's odd, it's unique, it's amazing.  It's something I never thought this life would be, and while I wouldn't have chosen this for the world, I'm loving it.  I'm loving that I'm making it, I'm remembering him, honoring him, and standing up for myself.

I'm loving that I'm drawing on everything I knew as a single woman for 28 years, and altho I'm a different person now, it's given me a starting point to regain my balance and forge a new identity.  I love that I can sit here and honestly love my house and my life (again) in a way that I know many people in this world do not.  I love that it's as much because of him as it is because of me, because I've never doubted that he loved me, that he died loving me, and he was planning to take care of me and share my life for as long as he possibly could.

And I love that 1000 days later, I can finally start separating some of the people who dishonored him, disrespected me, and no longer deserve my time or attention.

Regaining my backbone was a big part of my growth in 2012.  And some things, we can appreciate only with time.  One thing time's given me is my self-respect back and confidence in what we had.  It's given me a perspective to realize the people who overshadowed my first year and a half of widowhood are few and self-centered, and do not reflect the world at large.  It's made me unafraid to live my life again, as the wounds they gave me have healed enough that it'd be difficult to open them again.

Many of us have to deal with ugly people when our spouses pass - people determined to shame our relationship, discount our love, shove aside our promises.  I'm here to tell you love trumps ugly.  And 1000 days later, it's the love he and I shared that's my overwhelming memory - it's the life we were building together, the one we thought we'd share.  And as much as I've lived 1000 days as a widow, easily half of that has been reclaiming what others tried to take from me.

And you learn that time will tell.  Time will tell what you had together, who's around for the drama, who's around for the hurt, who's using you to get what they want, and who thinks they deserve more.  You learn some people are more interested in what's left behind than who he was, what you're going to do next than who you're becoming, and what they can get out of you rather than what they can give you.

You learn who to trust, who not to, how ugly people can be, and how amazing people are.  You learn more about yourself, your values, your strength, and where your patience ends than you ever thought possible.  And you learn that as much as life changes, some things will always be the same.

Like how much he loves you, and you love him.  Crawling under his grandmother's quilt and chatting before falling asleep, chilling on the couch on a winter afternoon with the remote and a bottle of wine.  Discovering new foods, new places, revisiting favorite haunts and favorite teams.  My fierce side that still comes out when someone tries to belittle him and make him into something he never wanted to be.  The faith and loyalty that we had in each other, that we are worthy, we are loved, and we are awesome, just the way we are.

Those are the things that haven't changed, 1000 days later.  The ugly people are gone, the awesome ones are still around, I have a new job, and I'm making do with a life we didn't think I'd have to live... because I still have everything that matters.  That's what makes me strong.  That's what makes me able to sit here and say, honestly say, I love my life and I am so, so blessed.

1000 days later.