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.