Holidays

Well it happened.

After a horrible birthday month, I finally skipped a year.  That pulled me out of that one.  Then I was sick for most of a month, just focused on living.  And November was good.  I was hesitant going into the holidays - which start for me on Veteran's Day - but it was good.  I did good.  I had busy-at-work to distract me, I had a couple good friend dates to pull me out of myself, and the little sister informed me they'd be in town for TDay whether or not I was cooking.  It's been good.

Last night is when I finally crashed.

There's a beauty about being 5 years into this now that has given me some experience so I have a better idea of what to expect.  (Half the issues of my birthday month stemmed from the fact that I've never had that serious an issue with it previously.)  I thought I'd crash sometime before Christmas, and that I lasted til December 15 is pretty remarkable.

And when I felt it coming, it wasn't scary or confusing - I knew just to ride it.  Let it come, don't fight it.

And it's here.  It's not vicious today, just there.  Like the dull ache of a missing limb that you live without, but still manages to hurt more on some days.

So I'm curling up with wine, books, and music.  I'm seeing 2 good friends this week, then it's work until Christmas Day and a whirlwind weekend, followed by college bowl games into January.

It's nice knowing what works.  It's nice not thinking that I'm crazy.  It's nice loving him this much, that he's still my everything, even as my life has changed so much. It's nice that the year gives us time to reflect on what we've loved,
lost, and was so blessed to have had.

It's the deeper side of Christmas, that it reminds us so of what we no longer have.  It gets smothered under all the good cheer and parties, but it's still there.  It gives a deeper, more intense meaning to this time of year when we celebrate love, peace and hope.

What could possibly be more Christmas than that?

The Thanksgiving I Forgave Him

Because it only took 5 years, people.

And I’ve always said “I don’t have to forgive him, because I don’t blame him for dying.”

And I don’t.  Sure, he could’ve woken up that morning knowing he was supposed to be in St Anthony, not St Cloud, and avoided the whole thing.  He could’ve been… whatever… and not sideswiped a semi.  But God put that other car in his path, so God decided that it was his time to go.  And I do trust God, implicitly.

But there is the sticky.  The we-weren’t-married-so’s.  

I forgive him for not marrying me… because if he’d known, he would’ve.

I forgive him for not putting me on his life insurance… because if he’d known, we would’ve been married.

I forgive him for not knowing about the disaster I was walking into, because he tried to warn me.  I just didn’t realize how severe it was.

I forgive him for leaving me with the emotional and practical mess I was in, because I chose to take care of him, I chose to make him a priority in my life, and I had blind faith that I’d make it through, somehow.

And I thank God, for getting me through, through the strength He gave me since the day I was born, the generosity of my parents, and the love of my friends.

And I thank my Babe, for believing in me, for knowing I was strong enough to weather the storm, and trusting that I would always do my best to take of him, and continue to honor his memory.  He was a special one, no one can contradict that.  I’m honored to have been his last love.

Difficult Year

Maybe some years are just going to be tough.

I don't recall ever seeing it covered in a grief book, but I re-read the part on anniversaries and holidays today, which is accepted as common knowledge.  (In case you're unaware, anniversaries and holidays are generally harder grief times.)  It makes sense that major milestones make one think of it more, and the impact harder to absorb.

I'm in my Fifth Year.  Yes, it deserves capitalization.  Because I've survived or am surviving 5 of everything now - 5 birthdays without him, 5 anniversaries without him (my first was within a month of him passing), 5 Memorial Days & 5 Veteran's Days (bonus grief days that come with him being a military man).  I'm proud of everything I've done in the past 5 years - and wish he was here to celebrate with me.

Then again, maybe it's just that life's finally evened out.  I have a job I chose that pays 100% of my bills.  The daily stress of what-to-do is gone.  Maybe it's that life has settled that means I'm circling back to... and I'm doing it without him.

Regardless, 7 months in, I'm finally accepting that it is no one big thing, it's not a milestone birthday or falling away of old friends, it's just a tough year.  And like I learned in the days, weeks & months after he died, you have to let yourself feel what you feel when you feel it.  If that means you break down crying, then cry.  If that means you have to throw something, try to not make it something with special meaning.  If that means you're just going to be depressed, be depressed.  Because if there's one thing you learned in the past 5 years, it's that this, too, shall pass, and good days will come again.

And all years eventually end.

New Happy

They say our lives are trying to get back to the one place in life where we were happiest.

I know I've reverted to this several times.  First, finding what was my happy (which largely involved getting rid of everything that was not until I was left with... "Oh, this is perfect").  Then, almost a decade later, after years of trying to do the adult thing, came sitting down and saying "But that was perfect... and I can do most of it again."  As life evolved and added things I hadn't had when I was younger, my happy got better.  Then it all ended, and I spent a year grasping at anything to keep it, a year being mad, a year finding my badassery (that's a word), then going back to what I could count on.

But there are new things in my life I couldn't have when I was younger - or variations I couldn't have when I was younger.  I'm wiser, I've learned, I've discovered little things that should make me happy don't and I no longer apologize if what my happy is isn't what consensus declares it should be.

And it occurs to me today, I'm no longer trying to get back to an old happy, but tentatively exploring a new one.  Some things are the same, some are different.  Some have come back into my life after a long absence, something things are slowly fading out.

It's a good feeling, after living several different lives, to realize my new happy is yet to come.  To be able to feel it developing... well this is just fun.

My Someday Life

They say don't wait for the life you want to live, start living it now.  Even if just in small ways.

Someday, I want to have my own little house (if I go country) or condo (if I stay city) where I have easy mornings, read books in the sunshine, then maybe go to the bar for dinner/evening time.  The bar is not a place of drinking for me, but a place of fellowship, conversation, and sports on TV.  I'm okay working at the bar, if I'm still able.  It's more being in the environment that I want.

This week I have 3 days of easy mornings, reading a bit, then going to work.  I work in a bar.  This looks shockingly like the life I always wanted.

I may be working more hours than I wish, and more days.  There's both a 7am shift and a mid shift in my schedule this week as well.  I may currently have more responsibilities at work than I'd choose.  I need the security and benefits that come with taking on those responsibities. But overall, if you line up the current life with the someday life.... damn.  It almost looks like I know what I'm doing.

The Next 64 Years

And September was rough.

I honestly have no idea.  It was my FIFTH birthday without him.  The fifth.  Isn't this supposed to be getting easier?  Or more "normal"?  Or something???

But one thing I'm learning is that it really doesn't get easier, and  you don't go back to your old life.

In the past year, I've made some huge strides towards getting "my" life back - that is a life that does not revolve around him, the fact that he died, trying to keep his memory alive, or trying to achieve the life we wanted together.

And the automatic inclination is to go back to when you were happiest, do what you did then.... but then it just reminds you that he's dead.  And that's sooo not fair.

So I'm working on myself.  I'm working on pulling together a life - an identity - for myself that is ME, and THIS me.  Not the girl who grew up in a fishbowl, who struck out on a career no one thought was plausible, and threw it all over to take care of one man.  This girl knows a job isn't important as long as it pays the bills, blends easily into a big city, enjoys doing things by herself, and has survived a great loss.  This girl takes care of herself, does what is right for herself, and doesn't give critics free space in her head.

Put that way, I kind of feel like a badass.

Which I supposed I am.  Which is what makes it hard when the grief comes out of nowhere - I forget that that's okay.  I forget it's to be expected that sometimes I just need a moment by myself, to process, to grieve.  I try to push myself into this new life, and forget that grief is as much a part of my life now as he was when he was alive.

Maybe it's just acknowledgement.  Maybe it's just saying, "this is a part of my life" that allows it to be, rather than control.  Maybe it's just not forcing anything and learning when to say, "Sorry, that hurts more than I want to, so I'm going to skip it." 


I turned 35 a few weeks back.  For some reason, I was having a problem with 35.  36, I'm ready for, but 35 was giving me a mental block.

Then I hit on something.  If I live to be 100 (which I've been saying for years, then started kicking myself for it once he died and I realized how long I had to live without him), I only have 65 more years to go.  Actually 64 and 3 weeks, now.  That made it easier, knowing that this isn't going to last forever, that someday I will die, that I will see him again.  And the next 64 years doesn't have to look anything like the first 35 - CAN'T look anything like the first 30.  And it's up to me to say what the next 64 years looks like.

If I want to avoid that which hurts me, it's my right.  If I want to take off on my own for weeks at a time, that's my choice.  If I want to choose who gets into my life, it's my decision.

Crazy thought that finally made it easier, but it does.

And, it's making me enjoy this fall more - I only have 64 more to enjoy!

What do you do?

Because 5 years later, he still didn’t get me a birthday card.  I think that’s what preempted this… I had a birthday, and while I received cards, Facebook notes and even a couple gifts, he wasn’t here to make it special. 

And the worse thing about grief (okay, one of them) is that everything that’s supposed to be fun and celebratory is automatically sad because I can no long share it with him.  Or the way I want to celebrate involves him and …. Well…

So my patience ran out, one of my dear employees stopped me and said, “You know you can’t talk to people like that,” I cried at work for the first time at this job, and then I gave up trying.

That’s what I always forget.  I feel it coming on, so I try to keep going – keep doing life, keep my attitude up, keep being me.  But when I finally started relaxing, when I finally started feeling like I might survive this wave was when I gave up.  I had a couple cigarettes, more Diet Coke, and a few bites of junk food.  I gave up the diet, the healthy living, and said, “Today is successful because I managed to leave the house” and left it at that.

Happy Birthday, Momma

Relationships with parents tend to be complicated, and mine are no more or less than most.  As a child, my mother was the one who questioned why an A- wasn’t an A, forced me to curl my hair for church so I would look presentable, had her own idea of what I needed to do to be presentable, and a definite idea for what my life should be.  

 

As I grew into adulthood, my mother became the woman who realized my life was not going to be what she thought it would be, and took whatever place I was willing to allow her to have in my life.  She’s the woman who learned how to drop her ideas of a perfect life and say “Well, honey, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”  Over the years, she learned how to mean it, too.  Mom allowed me to have a Momma.

To some degree, I always did have a Momma, too.

Momma is the one who shared stories and laughs with me even when I was a kid, still living in her house and anxious to be anywhere else.  We would always get giggling fits together, which would proceed to full-on laughing fits, that we wouldn’t be able to get under control until one of us ducked out of sight.

I know about my Momma’s upbringing and family, stories upon stories.  It’s just the connection we had – she would tell me things.  To a large degree, I’m honored that she saw something in me, even when I was young, that made her comfortable sharing pieces of her self with me.

Momma is the woman who recognized how miserable I was on a family vacation to DC and just started making up a whopper of a story to make me laugh.  It involved Mammy, Ol’ Henry and a couple other characters, and was told in a deep Southern accent.  For years after, one of us could mention Mammy or Ol’ Henry and we’d try to remember what they did or claim they did something new.

Momma moved me to college; Mom refused to take me home until I gave it a chance (I never went back).   

Mom cleaned every place I ever moved into, and my bathrooms every time she’s in town.  Mom says I hold down a full time job, so it makes sense that I can’t find time for housework (seriously, that’s what my Mom says!).

Mom showed up when he died, and was as unobtrusive as possible while still doing everything I needed done, be it get out of my way and let a friend drive me to the burial so I could try to believe this wasn’t really happening, or wash the hoodies we pulled out of his car that were soaked in gasoline.  Mom sent me a card on the day of the month that he died for 4+ years, and Momma grieved because she knew how much it took for me to let someone into my life, and she hated that I’d lost it.

Mom makes sure I have clean sheets to sleep on at her house, and Momma – who hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol in my life – pulled out my brother-in-law’s handle of rum the Christmas I showed up and announced I had an emotional breakdown 20 miles out but still made it to their house.

Mom rearranges her schedule to catsit for me when I go on vacation, is thrilled to meet me at baggage claim when I get back, and then leaves me alone (as in, leave the house, leaves me alone) for the first 2 hours so I can decompress and breathe after a day of being crammed on a plane with other people.  She understands when I say I need to hibernate and learned how to email me so she can stay in touch when I don’t want to talk.

Momma is the woman who supports me, has chosen to have a relationship with me, does what I ask, and occasionally just does it regardless.  Because “Mom” is her real name, “Momma” is her nickname.  It’s what I call her when I’m talking to my friend, not an authority figure.

I’m 35 and this is definitely something that takes time.  It also requires a Mom who’s willing to accept and love anyways.  I could’ve left my parents in the dust at any time in my life, but they chose to be involved in whatever way I allowed and let me live a life I chose for myself.  They don’t push themselves on me, and when I said I was happy with my chosen career, all they asked was if I had healthcare and a 401k.   

I set out to carve my own life for myself, and much of that (for me) was saying that I didn’t want most of what I was taught life was as a child.  It’s my parents who chose to stay in my life regardless.  I’m very aware of parents who never let go of who they wanted their child to be.  I’m aware of how rare it is for parents to wholeheartedly embrace a child who turned out differently than they’d planned, with no resentment.  I know how crazy special my own set are and how blessed I am that God gave me to them. 

Happy birthday, Momma. 

#LivingSolo

I love my friends.  I have some truly incredible people in my life who have loved me and supported me through the past 5, 10 and 35 years.  The more I do this living widowed thing, the more I've given up on people I wish were supportive me or simply cared.  The bonus in letting go of those relationships instead of trying to force them and constantly being disappointed is it's letting my real relationships shine so much more.  There's no whining and wishing when I'm with my friends because I've hit the point of it-is-what-it-is and so-what's-new-with-you?

I'm also giving up on some other things that haven't necessarily been working.  Or, instead of trying to force things to look exactly how I think they should, I'm just letting them be. Holidays?  Not doing them.  Birthday?  It'll be me on a couch.  Bar nights?  Now consist of me in sweats with a bottle of wine.

And this is how I didn't even try negotiating to get someone to go to the fair with me.  People have kid commitments, work commitments, and money commitments.  I offered to my fair buddy, expecting she wouldn't be able to (she couldn't).  I wanted to go anyway.  And so I went.  Solo.

This is where we note that I am an introvert.  I don't need other people to entertain me; even people I love and want around often end up draining me.  I am perfectly happy - thrilled, even - to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else.  Often, I hate being forced to be part of the group, follow a plan, and go along with what everyone else wants to do.  I've discovered I actually can do exactly what I want to do, just as long as I'm solo.

Thus was my Fair Day.  There was no plan.  I woke up and enjoyed my morning coffee.  Eventually I meandered to the express bus.  No one was waiting for me.  Wandered in the new transit gate and promptly got lost.  No one cared.  Saw mini-donuts and located the Grandstand.  Spent all the time I wanted to in the museum and looking at all the heritage-store goodies.  My first beer was a Fulton Lonely Blonde Ale (the irony cracks me up).  Wandered thru barns and up to the bandshell.  Was able to find a nice chair for just myself because I was just myself.  Checked out the lumberjack show and moved on as soon as it proved less than entertaining.  Hung out at the bandshell some more and a friendly Minnesotan was kind enough to watch my chair when I needed a bathroom-beer-run.  Went down to check out the bullriders and wandered on out when I was ready for another beer.  Visited briefly with a friend who found me there - because it is, after all, the great Minnesota get-together and you're bound to see someone you know eventually.  Then, when the crowd was turning to young drunks trying to hook up, I finished my day with night sky, bright midway lights, and Sweet Martha's cookies on the way back to the bus.

And that was, hands-down, one of my favorite days ever - living solo.

The Occasionl Hi

We promised forever.  Occasionally, the depth to which he takes that is a little more clear than others, and I get a little wave from the other side.

I'm at the doctor's office, waiting.  I hate doctors.  I'm there because I think I noticed something (turned out to be nothing).  I'm talking to him to calm down and he's responding - as he always does, in my head.

I'm freshly showered, brushed teeth, wearing clean clothes.  There are no cigarettes in my purse.  Last smoke I had was last night; it was my 2nd cigarette of the week. (He had been a pack-a-day smoker, I started up occasionally - as in, a pack will last me a month - when I decided to finish his last pack.)

And the doctor questioned me on tobacco use because he smelled it when he walked in the door.

And accepted the "I was just talking to him before you walked in and he was a smoker" reason.

Why I, as an Introvert, Love Facebook

Facebook gets lots of abuse, and I get that.  People think it’s replaced real interactions (although people are now arguing just as vocally that Facebook interactions are as “real” as face-to-face interactions), we get in Facebook fights where we fling mud at our friends’ friends whom we’ve never met and know nothing about, and when we only see what people choose to share about their lives, we forget that they, too, are dealing with workplace drama, car troubles, kids misbehaving, etc etc.

But I love Facebook.  And I’m an introvert.  Which may actually be WHY I love Facebook – it allows me to choose my interactions.  There’s no one in my face demanding a response.  I can choose whether or not to comment.  I can choose who can comment on my posts.  I can choose who can see my posts.  Granted, I’m prepared to back up everything I say in a court of law, but I make full use of my privacy settings, and thus Facebook actually allows me to be exactly as introverted as I choose to be.  I choose to share certain things with the general public, some with only people who know me, people who support me, or simply my friends and family.  And Facebook doesn’t get in my face, demanding that I share more of myself than I want to.

Also, Facebook allows me to enjoy other people.  (Yeah, introversion doesn’t mean I hate people – haven’t you read all the pro-introversion articles & books lately?)  People are, quite possibly, the most fascinating creation ever.  Seriously, God knew what He was doing when He made us.  And I hope He is sitting up there getting a kick out of everything we do!  In the same way I sit here, keep up with the 200 or so people I’m actually interested in “keeping tabs” on, and am not obligated to respond in any society-ordained-“appropriate” way.  It’s like a great movie.

Facebook exposes me to new things.  I devour news & books.  And most the time, if I read about new concept, article or movement these days, it’s on Facebook.  It’s because a friend shared a link or a story and I clicked over to something.  I can not turn on my TV all day, but I check my Facebook feed.  It keeps me updated.

It keeps me connected.  At times, I need to hibernate.  I don’t want to talk to people.  It’s not that I’m not concerned or interested.  It’s that actual vocal interaction takes something out of me that reading a post – even responding to a post – does not. 

It allows me to communicate.  Need to get something out to everyone who’s concerned about what’s up with my life?  Yup, Facebook.  Usually utilizing one of the afore-mentioned lists of people who have supported me in life, and not a public broadcast.

It allows me to screen out people who are draining or toxic.  I can choose to not “follow” people, and restrict what they see of me to only what I’m comfortable sharing with the public.  I use these settings.  It makes my interactions so much simpler, more fulfilling, and cuts out 99% of my life’s drama.

Facebook allows me to put my best foot forward and reminds me of how awesome I am.  I don’t have to share that I was screaming into my pillow last night because the grief hit me so bad.  I don’t have to share that so-and-so told me I’m a horrible human being for enforcing rules at work.  I don’t have to share that someone just insulted me to my face or behind my back.  All I have to share is what I choose – and I choose to highlight the things I love.  The things I love about my life and my self.  So when I am having a downer day – and who doesn’t? – all I have to do is scroll back through my own highlight reel, and I remember how awesome I am.

For that – for all of that – Facebook is fabulous.

On Ordination and Marriage

Part I

So last night I became an ordained minister.

Yup.

It’s just as easy as you hear.  You go online (theamm.org), enter your legal name, accept their terms of service, which include that you agree with their 3 tenets, and they issue you a certificate and letter of good standing.  They are a legal non-profit operating out of Washington, and thus can ordain according to their own beliefs and such an ordination is legal.

And thus I, the woman who never got legally married, is legally able to solemnize the union of anyone I choose.

Due partly to my upbringing in a Conservative Christian Church and partly to who I am as a person of integrity and spirituality, I’ve never taken religion or faith lightly.  This is part of why I was so offended when the CCC minister told me I was going to hell if I resigned as a church member.  From a church who told me I could never be a pastor simply because I was a woman, a church who doesn’t welcome anyone to the Lord’s Supper unless they have proof they are also a member of that same synod, and a church who told my younger sister she was going to hell for being in a bisexual relationship.

Because I was taught as a child to have a personal relationship with God.  I was taught Jesus loved us all.  I was taught if we repent our sins and accept Jesus as our Savior, we are a part of His family and someday will join Him in heaven.  How the church that taught me all this personal salvation and love is the same one as the church who decreed everyone who doesn’t agree with them is going to hell, I don’t know.  I can’t explain that.  But I’m thrilled that when I had my crisis of faith, I retained my belief in God and went back to what I was taught as a child – God exists, He loves us, He sent Jesus to earth so we may be saved, learn how to live, and love.  That’s what I’ve believed and attempted to live by for most of my life now.  That God is love, and while churches may be the worldly representation of God, they can be wrong as often as they are right.

And because I do take my faith seriously, when I went to see if I could get ordained last night, I read all the tenets.  I read all the terms of agreement – ALL of them.  These are the 3 main tenets:

1. All people, regardless of race, gender, or sexual orientation, have the right to marry.
2. It is the right of every couple to choose who will solemnize their marriage.
3. All people have the right to solemnize marriage.

And I found nothing I disagreed with, so I clicked through.  And thus, I became an ordained minister.

I’ll be marrying my baby sister at the end of July.  I’m more than a little awestruck.

Part II

I’ve always been the girl who didn’t believe in marriage, but really it’s more complicated than that.

I believe in marriage too much.

I believe that marriage is between two people, is a permanent commitment not to be taken lightly, and can be the greatest blessing in the human experience.

I hate that people treat marriage casually, as one thing to check off on their checklist of life, as an achievement.  I hate that the wedding day attracts so much attention that the party often overshadows the commitment.  I hate that we heap so much money and attention on what should be the most solemn moment of a person’s life.

I hate that a marriage isn’t “real” until it’s legally recognized by the government.  I firmly believe a marriage is between two people – and their deity of choice, should they choose.  I do not believe the government gets a say in what is a real union and what is not.  I hate that legal marriages get benefits that real-but-not-legally-recognized unions don’t.  It’s a huge piece of who I am that I hate other people trying to tell me how to live my life; my reaction to the government telling me what I have to do to be legally married is knee-jerk reaction to that.

I love the concept of marriage.  That two people agree to spend the rest of their lives together, loving and supporting each other regardless of what hardballs life throws their way.  I love the idea that there’s one person who’s going to be by your side no matter what.

I hate that some people walk away when the going gets hard.  I hate that some people don’t think it through before they make the commitment, only to realize later that they made a mistake and walk away then, often destroying the partner who did think it through and wanted that commitment.  I hate that some people seem simply unable to keep their vows, and hugely respect those who stay together and figure it out.

I do believe that marriage is a solemn commitment.  I believe it takes effect the moment those two people agree to spend the rest of their lives together.  I remember that moment on our deck, when we both said this was it.  We paused a moment, then I said, “Babe, did we just get married?”  He looked into the dark for a moment, then back at me, “Yeah, I think so.”  And that was it.  Just us and the universe.

I get that a wedding is a celebration.  I get that some people are so thrilled to be committing their lives that they WANT to share that moment with everyone they know.  The day you make that commitment SHOULD be the most important day of your life.  Unfortunately, it often comes off more as a “I’ve achieved this checkmark in my life!” than “I’m thrilled I’m committed to this person forever!”

Never should a party overshadow the commitment that is taking place, never should you forget that you are committing your life to this person and your life is no longer solely yours to do with as you choose.  As marriage is a union, your life is now subject to another person’s wants and desires as much theirs is to yours, and compromise and a true love – that of putting another person’s happiness above your own – is your new way of life.  And if you’re not ready for that, you’re not ready for your marriage.

It’s not that I don’t believe in marriage.  It’s that I believe too much.

The Ring

Occasionally, you're bound to run across insensitive people in this world, but in the last week I've gotten three variations of the same insult.

"Why are you still wearing a ring if he's dead?"

Let's skip for a second that it's my body and style, therefore I am the only one who gets a voice in it, and thus "because I want to" is a fair answer.  Let's get to the deeper answers.

Because he was such a huge part of my life I can't bring myself to remove it.

Because it makes me feel connected to him on a daily basis.  It's what I rub if I'm feeling anxious, if I need to talk him.  If I'm thinking about him, talking about him, missing him.  It's my talisman.

Because he's dead, not our relationship.

Because I'm loyal.

Because I love him.

Because we did not break up.  He simply died.

But the root of the answer is this: Because I'm ME.  This is how I choose to relate to my deceased spouse, this is how I choose to remember him, this I how I choose to relate to him.  These are not your choices.  They are no one else's decision to make.  A number of his buddies got tattoos in remembrance.  I have not.  I wear a ring.  Not everyone wears a ring, and it means absolutely nothing about how they relate to their deceased spouse.  This is simply who I am.

And I refuse to remove it simply because he's dead.

(and pssst... I've worn a ring on the finger since I was 16.  On a certain level, it's simply the finger where I wear rings.)

Blessings

There's something gorgeous and so blessed in being able to enjoy my morning time with no demands on my time.  I never wanted kids, but this is when I appreciate it most - when I can do exactly what I want to do.

This blessing is also made possible by my job - my crazy, odd hour job that makes people think I work "all the time".... because I'm usually working when they're not.  But that means when they are working - i.e., mornings - I'm enjoying lazy coffee time.

The Fourth Year

Today is the 4th anniversary of his death.

And the 4th year was crazy.

When he died, I got lots of the same sentiments from people who knew-but-didn't-really-know me.  They were good sentiments coming from a good place - oh it hurts to lose someone you love, you are so young, you will love again.  The stress I always heard on those sentiments was "I want you to love again because that will tell me you are okay."

Then there were the people who knew-me-knew-me.  People who knew that when I let him move in 6 weeks into our relationship, around the same time I generally started kicking people out, I was letting him fully into my life.  People who may have not known the moment when it happened, or even the month, but when they realized he was considering this to be his home as much as my home and I was welcoming it, that this was for real.  That that was my moment of no return.

I remember being in my Gram's apartment and commenting that I was 3 years old when my Grandpa died.  She unhesitating, for the first time in my life, knew my age - I was 23.  That was my moment when I realized how great a loss she had suffered in losing him.  I can't imagine living 20 years without the love of my life, and here I am at 4. 

Crazy how time goes by.

And you just wake up and do the day, and the day becomes the week and the week becomes the month and next thing you know, it's been a year.

The way we as humans count time means by the time you commemorate the first year you've had your year of firsts.  So now, I've had my year of fourths.

Fourth birthday without him - I've given up trying to make it special, I simply can't enjoy it as much any more.  Fourth anniversary of the day I realized I might actually survive - I was in the midst of brewery training, going home and bawling every night because he wasn't waiting at home to hear all about it.  Fourth Turkey Day I almost skipped.  Fourth Christmas I should have skipped.  New Year's Eve was a new thing - voluntarily working - and I enjoyed it.  VDay was nothing special, altho I think I took him to work with me.  And his birthday was more celebrating and raising a glass than sad.

As I've been approaching the fourth anniversary, I've been shocked at how together I am.  For those who knew-knew me, they understood that I don't let people into my life and how deeply attached I had been to let my life and my identity become so intimately entwined with another person.  The ones who understand still hold their breath when I say his name, knowing it's a deep piece of my soul.

But sometime in the last year, I've been able to address him as a piece of my soul.  Not a piece of my past or my missing spouse, but simply a piece of me that exists someplace else now.  And this is when it gets tricky.  Because I spoke with people after he died who weren't sure about the whole life-after-death thing.  They didn't know what death meant, where we go... they had no frame of reference or belief structure for it being anything other than a horrific ending.

But one thing that I got from him as much I brought to him was the concept that we do go "somewhere" when we die.  And label it as you choose, but we both had a strong belief that those who die go to a different "plane of existence" - his phrase - and maybe they look down on us, maybe they drink at Fiddler's Green, maybe they become angels in the choirs.  We didn't know but we both felt there was Something.

It's the Something I feel more strongly now.  As I piece my life back together, reacquaint myself with who I've always been and how I've changed for having known him, as I've shifted my direction back to a singular I rather than a plural We... I feel him, on a different plane, encouraging me, egging me on, reassuring me, and being amazed at me.  He's said so many times in the past year that he didn't even know how strong I was, until this year.  That he always knew I was something special, but this, this is something new.

A piece of healing is doing the act of living - sleeping, eating, breathing.  Once that was achieved, I could venture into thinking.  Thinking led me to a life I choose for my single (widowed) self, letting go of some dreams that I would've only enjoyed with him, and creating others.  It wasn't the letting go that was the hardest, it was the first tentative stop towards "Hey, someday..."

In the Fourth Year, I entertained the possibility of returning to a job of my choice, had my boss/friend see it in me and push me to go for it, grabbed at a dream and got it.  Getting it meant my daily life changed, in ways I wouldn't have chosen if he'd still been here.  And he encouraged me, throughout it all. 

The Fourth Year was the year I started dreaming again.  I always have believed in Faith, Hope, and Love - I had that passage read at his funeral.  My Love came back to me fairly quickly, after he passed.  Faith I clung to by a thread.  But Hope, Hope has been elusive.  Hope means dreams, a belief that one can achieve, that there is a future out there.  This year, I started seeing what my life could be like.  I've become happy with my daily existence, my 50 hours of work as well as my 118 hours of free time.  I can recognize that my choices and abilities have brought this to my life, and my choices can bring me a future. 

When one realizes - as some do - how much my future was tied up in Us, one realizes how amazing it is that I can conceptualize a future of Me.  How much it took for that to no longer feel like a betrayal of Us but rather Just Me.

And this is where the crazy kicks in.

It was three years of surviving.  The third year my backbone came back to me and I started asserting my will again. 

The Fourth Year, I started acting on my backbone.  Getting back to a job I love, letting go of relationships and habits that are bad for me, being strong enough to have dreams, believe I am entitled to have dreams and a life of my own, and that doing so is not disrespectful of his memory, because he can come with me anywhere I go. 

It's a crazy, crazy idea, when you recognize that almost 6 years ago I willingly merged my life completely with his.  It's a crazy, crazy idea, when you realize how much that took.  It's even crazier that we were two people who never thought we would have that person who loved and supported us 100%, risked enough to grab at the chance, and then lost it all without warning.  Craziest that we still have our 100%.  And simply unfathomable that I could ever again stand on my own two feet, make my own life happen, create my own dreams & somedays, and he would support me through it all.

And that's what happened, in the Fourth Year.

My Happy

I've heard from 3 separate people in the past week or so that they "know good things are coming" for me.  They're sure there's someone out there for me.  They're sure I won't always be "alone."

They want to see me with someone again.  They think that Another Person in my life will ease the pain of living alone.

They may be right.  Companionship can be nice.  But companionship is not simply having Another Person - another body - around.  Another body gets in the way.  Another body demands my time and attention.  Another body means I can't just do what I want when I want.

And so, I pity these people - just a little - who think I need someone else in my life.  They don't get that Another Body doesn't guarantee anything.  They don't get how deep my loss is.  They don't get that it can't be repaired.

And they don't get that I have a full life.  I've experienced a love greater than some people get in their lifetimes.  When we leapt, we knew it was a leap and it wasn't always easy.  But the leap was worthwhile and always will be. 

They don't get that as deep as my loss is, it's a precious loss because of what he meant and still means to me.  They don't get that we're still in a relationship - we still talk, fight, and hang out together.  I still have a relationship - as morbid as it may seem.  It's not a relationship that needs to be replaced.

And I know people are well-meaning.  I know they want to see me happy and that's what their happy looks like.  I respect that they want to see me happy, and am humbled that they are so concerned for me.

But I know that my happy is sitting here in my jammies drinking too much coffee.  I know that my happy doesn't revolve around having another body in my house.  I know that my happy is taking off in my car with no schedule and no constraints.  I know that my happy is standing alone, looking out over God's creation. 

Maybe it's because I am an introvert by nature and I believe time alone in the woods is one of the best things a person can do for the soul.  Maybe an extrovert needs to have Another Person to get the same feeling Another Person usually prevents from happening in me.

But I have rebuilt my life.  And I have built it around only me - my house, my car, my deck, my schedule, my books, my trips.  He's gone, people who proved themselves hurtful or disrespectful are gone, and the people who love me know how much solitude restores and energizes me.  

My happy is already here.

Reorganizing...

Reorganizing is always hard.  It's the same thing as redecorating.  Which is the same thing as admitting that the house-in-the-country didn't happen in 2011 because oh-that's-right-he-died.

And granted, I've been tackling huge projects lately.  My kitchen looks brand new (it's not).  My bedroom.  Bathroom.  Painted downstairs.  And now the "office."

And first of all, I can hear him in my head: "Are you sure that's where you want it?"  "How about this over there?"  "How does that make sense?"   And then, as I'm cleaning out shelves, I'm finding things.  Things I forgot I stashed.  That I now have to find a new home for and confront "Does this really mean something?"

Ironic that "reorganization" has been cited as one of the stages of grief - you have to reorganize your life without that person alive.  And reorganization simply reminds one that he's no longer here.

2013

If 2010 was the year my life ended, 2011 was just shit, and 2012 was the year I found my backbone... 2013 was the year I started finding my life again.  It was the year I was finally able to say "It's been more than a year since..."  It was the year that I started saying, "This is what I would've wanted to be doing if that hadn't happened."  It's the year I figured out I could still have SOME of the things I want, and that I still really really like who I am.

And it's the year I started seeing how much has changed.  The year after Nate died, I needed people around me for every.single.event.  Now?  I'd much rather be alone.  There was a time I wallowed in my grief, because it needed to felt and acknowledged.  Now, I nod at it, do my best to not let it overwhelm me, and try not to sound like a broken record when it does threaten to drag me under.  There was a time I felt like a paper bag, getting kicked around and beat to shreds.  Now it turns out that paper bag is actually made of indestructible steel, and if you kick me long enough, I'll just roll away from you. 

This is the year I accepted that some people have no place in my life, and stopped trying to keep them there.  It's the year I learned to say, "That hurts, so I'm not going to do it anymore."  It's the year I got some of my self-respect back and a new perspective on my own life in the process.

In short, I love my life.  I love who I am and what I do, for a living and for living.  I recognize that I have to take care of myself first and foremost, whatever that looks like, and those who truly care for me and want the best for me will respect how I choose to do that.  My past has made me who I am and not everyone will understand it.  The ones who get it are the ones who matter, and worth their weight in gold.

2013 has been a year of serious growth for me.  I feel much more myself now than I have since he died.  I love this feeling - I love feeling that I found myself, am finding myself, and shaking off some things that have no place in my life.  I just started thinking about things I might want to do some day - that's a huge step for me.  I have two things on that list right now, but it's two more than were on that list a year ago.

So here's to 2014.  May I continue to be AJ, listen to my own needs first and foremost, enjoy the world around me, and remember how to live life.