I love that I love my life. I could honestly say I loved my life the day before he died, and I have days that I love it again.
This doesn't mean that I don't miss him or I've moved on. It means I've (mostly) adjusted to my new reality, recognize the choices I've made that got me here, the responsibility I have in my own life, and I'm happy with those decisions.
It's nice have some sort of control over my own future again. It's nice knowing who I can count on and who I should write-off, what still makes me happy in the moment and what irritants aren't worth worrying about. I think some people call this balance.
I call it happiness. Knowing what to value and what to let go, where he fits in and having a very strong faith that somehow, life will work out. I don't know how people do this without faith.
"Faith, Hope and Love.... and the greatest of these is Love." And I will always have love.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Saturday, December 15, 2012
I don't need someone to love again
How can you wish that I find someone to love again? I didn't lose the love. I still love him - more than ever, actually - and believe me when I say he still loves me. How can you replace something you didn't lose?
What I did lose was someone to share my life with, grow old,
and hold my hand. These days, that’s
what I mourn. I mourn the life I thought
I was going to have, pity myself for being here without him, and alone. I don’t grieve for him – I’m a Christian, I
believe he’s in a much better place. I
believe he’s happy, at peace, at rest, finally.
I grieve for myself, being stuck here without him, having to endure the
rest of this world on my own.
Ah, glorious self-pity.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Love & hurt
A friend came over to share a grief night with me, and in the course of my whining and her whining (because we all have our own challenges in life) I found myself saying, "But this, what I'm feeling right now, I would never wish on anyone."
But I wouldn't feel this way if I wasn't loved, and if I hadn't loved. I wouldn't feel this way if I hadn't been able to open myself and say "You are the one I want forever, I want to make you my life." I sure wouldn't be feeling this way if he hadn't agreed and if we hadn't made each other our lives for almost two years.
And yes, it occurs to me that not everyone is capable doing that - opening themselves up for love - and trusting someone with all of themselves, and I do regard it as a gift that I am able to do so and found someone who wanted to share that with me. And I'll point out here that the first thing you have to be capable of is trust - and for both of us, trust in general was an issue and each other was the first person we'd met who we actually felt comfortable trusting to that extent. It was odd, new, and exciting that we could do that, and I think this is what holds up many people from loving to that extreme - for whatever reason, they are incapable of trusting. They've been hurt before, they're cynical, they know that opening themselves up like that means they also open themselves up to the possibility of hurt, and so they shut it down before they ever get to love because they don't want to allow for the hurt.
And as much hurt as I feel, as much pain as I'm in at times, regardless of what I told my friend the other night... I'll still tell you that it's worth it. It's worth it for the way he changed my life, the depth he added, the purpose he brought, the way he made me stronger and showed me every person I could be. It's worth it, because I never felt as loved, as beautiful, as cherished, or as important as I did with him.
It's odd how the more time goes by, the more I learn about myself and what we had. 2 years ago, I never would've thought I'd still be here: the holidays kicking me on my ass and deploying every coping strategy I've accumulated to carry on. I did think that somehow time would heal all wounds and we'd only known each other for 2 years so by 2 years in the future, I'd be somewhat okay, right?
Apparently not. Apparently that's not how I operate, and yeah, I should've known. I knew how rare our love was, how rare it was for both of us to find someone we could trust, and I should've known grieving that wouldn't just go away. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it's just indicative of how I love that I still miss him this much.
Maybe it's just grief process, this two steps forward and one step back. That I had such an awesome autumn let me forget how hard it can hit, when it hits all over again, and holidays are an infamous time for grief to make a visit. For me, holidays are about love and hope. With him I had love and I can still feel that love. Part of the love is that now I hurt. (I'm still looking for my hope.)
But what this all cycles back to, what my friend reminded me of the other night, is that we all have challenges. Grief (aka, hurting right now) may be mine, but someone else's may be divorce, abuse, bankruptcy, or illness. And we all have different skills and coping mechanisms which suit the different challenges we face. I carry on with decktime, retreating to the cave, and zoning out in front of the TV. I remember the good times, the love, and the faith we had in each other to help handle the grief I now feel. We all develop coping strategies to play the hand we're dealt.
Regardless of how life didn't turn out like we planned, we carry on. Because carrying on is living.
(psst... still one of my favorite songs is Tim McGraw's "Carry on")
But I wouldn't feel this way if I wasn't loved, and if I hadn't loved. I wouldn't feel this way if I hadn't been able to open myself and say "You are the one I want forever, I want to make you my life." I sure wouldn't be feeling this way if he hadn't agreed and if we hadn't made each other our lives for almost two years.
And yes, it occurs to me that not everyone is capable doing that - opening themselves up for love - and trusting someone with all of themselves, and I do regard it as a gift that I am able to do so and found someone who wanted to share that with me. And I'll point out here that the first thing you have to be capable of is trust - and for both of us, trust in general was an issue and each other was the first person we'd met who we actually felt comfortable trusting to that extent. It was odd, new, and exciting that we could do that, and I think this is what holds up many people from loving to that extreme - for whatever reason, they are incapable of trusting. They've been hurt before, they're cynical, they know that opening themselves up like that means they also open themselves up to the possibility of hurt, and so they shut it down before they ever get to love because they don't want to allow for the hurt.
And as much hurt as I feel, as much pain as I'm in at times, regardless of what I told my friend the other night... I'll still tell you that it's worth it. It's worth it for the way he changed my life, the depth he added, the purpose he brought, the way he made me stronger and showed me every person I could be. It's worth it, because I never felt as loved, as beautiful, as cherished, or as important as I did with him.
It's odd how the more time goes by, the more I learn about myself and what we had. 2 years ago, I never would've thought I'd still be here: the holidays kicking me on my ass and deploying every coping strategy I've accumulated to carry on. I did think that somehow time would heal all wounds and we'd only known each other for 2 years so by 2 years in the future, I'd be somewhat okay, right?
Apparently not. Apparently that's not how I operate, and yeah, I should've known. I knew how rare our love was, how rare it was for both of us to find someone we could trust, and I should've known grieving that wouldn't just go away. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it's just indicative of how I love that I still miss him this much.
Maybe it's just grief process, this two steps forward and one step back. That I had such an awesome autumn let me forget how hard it can hit, when it hits all over again, and holidays are an infamous time for grief to make a visit. For me, holidays are about love and hope. With him I had love and I can still feel that love. Part of the love is that now I hurt. (I'm still looking for my hope.)
But what this all cycles back to, what my friend reminded me of the other night, is that we all have challenges. Grief (aka, hurting right now) may be mine, but someone else's may be divorce, abuse, bankruptcy, or illness. And we all have different skills and coping mechanisms which suit the different challenges we face. I carry on with decktime, retreating to the cave, and zoning out in front of the TV. I remember the good times, the love, and the faith we had in each other to help handle the grief I now feel. We all develop coping strategies to play the hand we're dealt.
Regardless of how life didn't turn out like we planned, we carry on. Because carrying on is living.
(psst... still one of my favorite songs is Tim McGraw's "Carry on")
Sunday, November 4, 2012
#1
Sometimes - most of the time - I just miss being #1 to someone. Sure I have parents, siblings and friends. And yes, my parents, siblings and friends have been outstanding. But I'll never be #1 to them like I was to him. It's just the nature of the relationship. Your life partner is always the person who is uppermost in your mind, and I miss knowing that I hold that place in someone else's life. (He's still mine.)
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Roadtrip!
One of my favorite memories will always be of this massive roadtrip we took. His brother was getting married 3 states away, and I'd never seen that part of the country so we took a week and a half and drove. It was marvelous. People would say "And you're still together?" but the same thing that brought us together in the first place surfaced in the car - we liked to just be together and appreciate life.
So you can understand that roadtripping without him is monumental. MONUMENTAL. Driving to my parents' house 3 hours away was difficult. Leaving my house - at all - was difficult. So being away from my house and driving about 1400 miles is, for me, a huge milestone.
And I loved it. I loved every second of it. Something I learned from my earlier (smaller) trips this fall is I'm doing really well with driving by myself. I chill out, I talk to him, I go into my head, I zone. Somehow, even tho I used to hit my limit of driving around 3 hrs, I can go all day behind the wheel of a car now (I credit him).
This definitely goes into my new life: doing the things I want to do, things that used to make me happy, used to enjoy - alone. It's huge that I can enjoy these things at all without being overwhelmed by grief. It's awesome that instead I'm walking away with a feeling of accomplishment, of ability. I'm centered. I feel like I know myself better and that I'm living the life I've chosen rather than the one that's been pushed on me. I'm feeling more like myself.
It's an awesome, awesome feeling.
It's not that he's not with me - because he always is - but it's that I'm no longer trapped by what I've survived.
So you can understand that roadtripping without him is monumental. MONUMENTAL. Driving to my parents' house 3 hours away was difficult. Leaving my house - at all - was difficult. So being away from my house and driving about 1400 miles is, for me, a huge milestone.
And I loved it. I loved every second of it. Something I learned from my earlier (smaller) trips this fall is I'm doing really well with driving by myself. I chill out, I talk to him, I go into my head, I zone. Somehow, even tho I used to hit my limit of driving around 3 hrs, I can go all day behind the wheel of a car now (I credit him).
This definitely goes into my new life: doing the things I want to do, things that used to make me happy, used to enjoy - alone. It's huge that I can enjoy these things at all without being overwhelmed by grief. It's awesome that instead I'm walking away with a feeling of accomplishment, of ability. I'm centered. I feel like I know myself better and that I'm living the life I've chosen rather than the one that's been pushed on me. I'm feeling more like myself.
It's an awesome, awesome feeling.
It's not that he's not with me - because he always is - but it's that I'm no longer trapped by what I've survived.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Two and a half
It was two years ago today that I started feeling like I might survive. I’d been waiting for 26 weeks – 26 weeks seemed like a lot – and now it’s been 130. And I’m still here.
It's surviving something that I wasn't supposed to experience, wasn't prepared for, had no clue how to handle, and flat out didn't want to do. It's surviving coming home every night to an empty house, cooking for one with no one else to enjoy it, finding a new job to replace his income, taking roadtrips by myself, and making over the house in the way we wanted to do the new house.
I still miss him. I'll always miss him. I miss the spice he added to my life, support when I had a bad day, the person I thought of before anything. I still visit the cemetery, wear his hoodie on the deck, smoke his brand just to smell the familiar scent and drink his beer. We chat all the time (and I swear he talks back) and in many ways, it feels more to me like a new stage in our relationship rather than no relationship at all.
I still can’t explain how much he gave to me or what he meant to me. He was my everything, and in so many ways still is.
I wonder where my strength comes from, and I think it comes from him. It comes from the love we had together, and the faith we had in each other. It comes from steadfastly believing this was not something he chose, this is not how he wanted to leave me, and he always wanted a better life for me than this. I know what he wanted for us, and for reasons beyond his control, he became unable to provide that. So now it’s just me and it's up to me to provide it for myself. I owe it to him to do so.
You don’t think at 30 that you have to recreate your life, that in a blink of an eye all your plans for the future will just be gone. You don’t think that you might be spending the next 70 years living without him. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.
He wouldn't want me to roll over and stop living my life. So my life... this weird combination of with him and without him... I'm living.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Be your own happiness
Happiness is often a struggle, which really shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. One thing I've been "working on" this year is being my own happiness... trying to remember what made me happy before him, and get those things back. Or, happy with him, but that I can do on my own.
One thing I always loved was getting out of a town. Give me a 3-day weekend and I'm a happy camper. Go north, south, east - wherever my friends are or they want to meet me, I'll go. And, of course, so would he. It makes it more complicated that he was the destination for some of those roadtrips, he was with me for others, and our major roadtrip we took together. So as much as this is happiness, it's also melancholy.
My friend convinced me into 2 roadtrips this fall, in addition to a college reunion. This raised the additional problem of what to do with the house, since I developed an anxiety in leaving the house in the months after he died (people asking to come take things from it whenever they want will do that to you). But for the first time in almost 2.5 years, I wasn't anxious.
It helps that I took 'him' with me. It helps that brother checked on the cat. It helps that I have a homebound neighbor who notices everything. And I gotta think, yes, it was just a matter of time.
And yes, this is a huge step for me.
And then, just to nudge further...
I had the pleasure of having dinner with 2 good friends. We caught up about everything, and at one point the husband said to me, "Reading everything you write and hearing about how people have treated you, it just makes me think, 'It's time to be AJ.'" And that's as clear as anyone's ever put it, and as clear as they can. I've done enough, and it's time to be me.
And I took that attitude with me into that weekend and the next. I was me - I was the me I was before him, the older woman he made me, the wiser woman losing him made me - but I was just me. And that's all I can be.
Meeting him changed my life, losing him changed it more, but at the end of the day the only person I can be is me. I can't change that for anyone. I can't change my grief for anyone. I can't change my lifestyle for anyone. I'm just... me.
And somehow, that put it all into perspective.
I started out talking about happiness and this is what it boils down to: I'm happiest when I'm just being me. When I've been driving this fall, and just me, I've been happy. When I've been sitting on my couch with a good book, I've been just me and I'm happy. When I'm with a friend at happy hour, I'm just me and I'm happy. I can accept his loss as a part of my history and it's changed me.
When people try to tell me how it changed me, should change me, or what I need to do differently now, I get confused, mad, and lose my way. When I look to other people to reflect what I think should be my happiness, I get disappointed. But when I'm just me, I'm happy.
And I love that I'm finding 'me' again. Some things I've loved forever - roadtrips, books, football - other things come from him - beer, our deck, food. The new me isn't the old me, but it is working into a combination of the two, and this new identity is as much a part of me as referring to myself as 'widow' rather than 'wife.' It's accepting what's happened, working it into my life, and discovering my new happiness.
Because at the end of the day, we all need to be our own happiness.
One thing I always loved was getting out of a town. Give me a 3-day weekend and I'm a happy camper. Go north, south, east - wherever my friends are or they want to meet me, I'll go. And, of course, so would he. It makes it more complicated that he was the destination for some of those roadtrips, he was with me for others, and our major roadtrip we took together. So as much as this is happiness, it's also melancholy.
My friend convinced me into 2 roadtrips this fall, in addition to a college reunion. This raised the additional problem of what to do with the house, since I developed an anxiety in leaving the house in the months after he died (people asking to come take things from it whenever they want will do that to you). But for the first time in almost 2.5 years, I wasn't anxious.
It helps that I took 'him' with me. It helps that brother checked on the cat. It helps that I have a homebound neighbor who notices everything. And I gotta think, yes, it was just a matter of time.
And yes, this is a huge step for me.
And then, just to nudge further...
I had the pleasure of having dinner with 2 good friends. We caught up about everything, and at one point the husband said to me, "Reading everything you write and hearing about how people have treated you, it just makes me think, 'It's time to be AJ.'" And that's as clear as anyone's ever put it, and as clear as they can. I've done enough, and it's time to be me.
And I took that attitude with me into that weekend and the next. I was me - I was the me I was before him, the older woman he made me, the wiser woman losing him made me - but I was just me. And that's all I can be.
Meeting him changed my life, losing him changed it more, but at the end of the day the only person I can be is me. I can't change that for anyone. I can't change my grief for anyone. I can't change my lifestyle for anyone. I'm just... me.
And somehow, that put it all into perspective.
I started out talking about happiness and this is what it boils down to: I'm happiest when I'm just being me. When I've been driving this fall, and just me, I've been happy. When I've been sitting on my couch with a good book, I've been just me and I'm happy. When I'm with a friend at happy hour, I'm just me and I'm happy. I can accept his loss as a part of my history and it's changed me.
When people try to tell me how it changed me, should change me, or what I need to do differently now, I get confused, mad, and lose my way. When I look to other people to reflect what I think should be my happiness, I get disappointed. But when I'm just me, I'm happy.
And I love that I'm finding 'me' again. Some things I've loved forever - roadtrips, books, football - other things come from him - beer, our deck, food. The new me isn't the old me, but it is working into a combination of the two, and this new identity is as much a part of me as referring to myself as 'widow' rather than 'wife.' It's accepting what's happened, working it into my life, and discovering my new happiness.
Because at the end of the day, we all need to be our own happiness.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
It's normal to get introspective on your birthday. At least, it is in my opinion. And I just had a wonderful week with a very good friend who not only understands my life situation, but possesses that invaluable skill in a friend - the ability to make you feel more like YOU.
And since she was here, I did more than I would've otherwise - the fair, the bar, my fav sushi - and overall, I've decided it was good. It's far to easy for me to slip into extreme reflection - as good as that is for the soul - that it was good instead to be able to say "Here's what we're doing today." And today, I have my day free for football. And reflection. (I wouldn't be me without it.)
I don't have a whole lot this year. Part of it is I have lived this life long enough now that so much of the initial drama has calmed down. The other part is I'm finally done with things that don't make sense for me. I felt no need to have a big blow-out and invite everyone I know to celebrate me. I had little things that people showed up for if they cared to share. If they didn't... it's a new thing for me this year to let that go.
And that's my major development for this year - almost 2.5 years into living widowed, I've finally hit the point where I'm done trying to accommodate others and instead, do just what pleases me.
We say we shouldn't interfere in others' grief because we all grieve differently and we need to respect each others' processes. This year has become the year of respecting my life, because we all have to live differently. My life is odd to so many, but it is what it is, and I love that I honor him, cherish him, and miss him so much more on special days. My life wouldn't be what it is without him. There's something that feels so indescribably right about acknowledging that.
Instead of many little things or check marks on the year, I instead have this: It's time for me to live my life. It's time to stop thinking about what I should be doing, how it looks, or who should be around. It's time to start being me, and recognize that the people who are special enough to want to know me will always be around.
And since she was here, I did more than I would've otherwise - the fair, the bar, my fav sushi - and overall, I've decided it was good. It's far to easy for me to slip into extreme reflection - as good as that is for the soul - that it was good instead to be able to say "Here's what we're doing today." And today, I have my day free for football. And reflection. (I wouldn't be me without it.)
I don't have a whole lot this year. Part of it is I have lived this life long enough now that so much of the initial drama has calmed down. The other part is I'm finally done with things that don't make sense for me. I felt no need to have a big blow-out and invite everyone I know to celebrate me. I had little things that people showed up for if they cared to share. If they didn't... it's a new thing for me this year to let that go.
And that's my major development for this year - almost 2.5 years into living widowed, I've finally hit the point where I'm done trying to accommodate others and instead, do just what pleases me.
We say we shouldn't interfere in others' grief because we all grieve differently and we need to respect each others' processes. This year has become the year of respecting my life, because we all have to live differently. My life is odd to so many, but it is what it is, and I love that I honor him, cherish him, and miss him so much more on special days. My life wouldn't be what it is without him. There's something that feels so indescribably right about acknowledging that.
Instead of many little things or check marks on the year, I instead have this: It's time for me to live my life. It's time to stop thinking about what I should be doing, how it looks, or who should be around. It's time to start being me, and recognize that the people who are special enough to want to know me will always be around.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
It's true, I miss him more when I'm bored. When I'm home on a day off, looking to fill my day, and there's no one to fill it with.
It's not like we were constantly together, or had to do everything together. It's just that he was THERE, you know?
And when I sit down on the couch at the end of the day, tune into something mindless to settle down for the night, I would've looked at him and commented on whatever it was we weren't watching. Or critique his channel choice. Or wonder aloud how he can spend so much time .... doing whatever. It's then, when there's no one to hear your comments, no one to tease, no one ask exactly what the hell we're watching anyways that you realize... he's still gone.
And it's not that I need to replace him, because how do you replace that anyways? Can you put on your Match profile "Looking for someone to not watch tv with me every night, complete compatibility a must"? Would it actually net anyone other than the usual almost-divorced guys looking for their next not-girlfriend? Doubtful. Cuz that was a life we learned - one developed over time - as complete compatibility became complete comfort became life.
And I still love my life. More and more everyday. But that doesn't mean I don't have these moments of comfort where I think, "If only he were here."
It's not like we were constantly together, or had to do everything together. It's just that he was THERE, you know?
And when I sit down on the couch at the end of the day, tune into something mindless to settle down for the night, I would've looked at him and commented on whatever it was we weren't watching. Or critique his channel choice. Or wonder aloud how he can spend so much time .... doing whatever. It's then, when there's no one to hear your comments, no one to tease, no one ask exactly what the hell we're watching anyways that you realize... he's still gone.
And it's not that I need to replace him, because how do you replace that anyways? Can you put on your Match profile "Looking for someone to not watch tv with me every night, complete compatibility a must"? Would it actually net anyone other than the usual almost-divorced guys looking for their next not-girlfriend? Doubtful. Cuz that was a life we learned - one developed over time - as complete compatibility became complete comfort became life.
And I still love my life. More and more everyday. But that doesn't mean I don't have these moments of comfort where I think, "If only he were here."
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