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.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
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.
Friday, February 15, 2013
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.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Love
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.
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.
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.)
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