Tuesday Night

It's just a Tuesday night….another night alone.  Tomorrow is just another Wednesday.  The sun set tonight and will rise tomorrow… another day without you.  They have gotten easier.  I feel stronger.  The sadness is still there. It fills my mind in quiet moments, makes my heart ache at "milestone" moments, makes me cry at unpredictable moments.  Yet I am becoming more comfortable in my new normal.  The memories remain strong, but the future finds its way to the forefront more and more every day.  I sometimes long for help with the decisions for tomorrow, yet other times find a little joy in the thought that I can do what I feel is best and right… or simply what I want to do.  As I continue to carve the path that is my future, my children's future, our daughters future, I know you are here with me step by step.  I think perhaps I am walking a little more on my own now, without your help, but I know you are always watching over us.  So as I gather things tonight, wrap presents, stuff stockings and have a silent toast to you…I miss you a little more on this not so ordinary Tuesday night.  I love you, and I miss you… more and more every day.  Merry Christmas my love.  

Good night my friends.  

Thanksgiving

Its Thanksgiving, we're supposed to be thankful.  I am.  I am thankful for my job, for being comfortable and able to support my family, for my friends who are there when I need a shoulder, for my health, but mostly for my children.  I am thankful I was able to bring them into this world, to smile and laugh, brighten everyone's day.  I know that in some way each of them will make a difference.  So, I am thankful this year…but it is hard…hard not to be angry, hard not to be tired of the "thankful posts" on Facebook, hard not to be tired of people encouraging me to "Have a Happy Thanksgiving", hard not to be frustrated with family and their idea of difficult, hard not to get caught up in what should be instead of what is, hard not to want him back… frying the turkey while I put the rest of the meal together inside, hard not to smile at the memory of Autumn running inside with a smile, out of breath saying "J needs another beer and the turkey has 15 more minutes", hard not to wish I could simply curl up and shut the rest of the world out.

I won't of course.  I'll get up tomorrow morning, just like every other morning I am granted.  I'll pick my baby girl up out of her crib, sing her songs, snuggle with her in bed for awhile because we have no rush to get moving.  I'll get dressed, put one foot in front of the other, breathe in, breathe out… and be Thankful, but not without a tear.  I miss you my dear husband, every day…but even more on your favorite holiday.  I am thankful for the time I had with you here by my side.  I only wish you were still here curled up with me on the couch in front of the fire.  Goodnight my love.

Now I lay me down to sleep…..

We had a routine at night, like most couples do.  I was still nursing so bath time was your favorite time with little Charlee.  It was a break for me that I often spent standing just outside the bathroom door listening to you both instead of being even the slightest bit productive.  I loved watching you with her… you were so in love with that sweet little angel.  You didn't want a girl… but you were surprised.  She stole your heart from day 1…. "a lot like her Momma" you would say to me.  Watching you with her made me love you even more, something I never thought was possible.  After bath time you would get her jammies on, then hand her to me for nursing and night time.  I would rock her in the recliner listening to her quietly nurse her way to sleep.  She would look up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes with so much love.  I'd find myself drifting off to sleep once she closed her eyes…then feel someone watching.  I would look up to see you standing in the doorway, your silhouette outlined…arms on the doorframe.  Tonight as I rocked sweet Charlee to sleep, I closed my eyes briefly.  Then suddenly I felt someone watching… I opened my eyes and briefly saw your silhouette in the doorway.  You faded too quickly, were you really there?  Were you with me?  And then I ask myself that stupid worn out question… "Are you really gone?"

The holidays are descending upon us quickly and I find myself struggling even more.  I had your armor on last year.  That hard outer shell that kept me standing and smiling when asked how things were going.  I was braced and prepared for the "first Thanksgiving"… the "first Christmas."  Perhaps my armor is rusting from a little too much rain… my strength seems to be fading.  My new normal is harder than I expected.  It is lonely, even when surrounded by so much love.  The holidays seem to make that more pronounced.  So I quietly wonder how to make such a difficult time for me so happy for the children.  I try and focus on their smiles, their wonder, their excitement… then pray they don't realize what's going on inside my head.

So tonight as I lay me down to sleep and pray the lord my soul to keep,
I will dream of you and a love so true…
I will dream of myself wrapped in your arms so tight..
I will pray for strength in this lonely fight.
I know each day brings me closer to light and as each day passes, I'll be alright.
I miss you my love… sweet dreams…goodnight.

</3… goodnight my friends.

Picture day

I haven't posted anything in awhile...I feel bad sometimes that it is mostly sad.   I want to bring happiness, cheer...promise.  I suppose that perhaps that is what I am searching for myself.  The change in the weather and the coming of fall has made this a little more difficult, and I find that unexpected.  To the logical side of me it has been a year and 1/2 since I became a widow....To my heart it still remains so fresh.  My new normal is here, I am living it... but for now it comes with a sadness and the same loneliness and ache in my heart for his presence.  I suppose it has faded some.  It still felt like yesterday until I looked down at my sweet girl...our baby girl...as I got her ready for picture day at school.

Yesterday she was 7 months old.  She couldn't walk, not even crawl.  She said few words, in fact Dada was her best.  She knew that night that Momma wasn't right, but she had no idea how her life had changed.  Today as I dressed her for her pictures I was taken aback by the amount of time in HER life that has passed.  She will be two years old next month.  She runs from point A to point B and lives life with an enthusiasm that'll make anyone's day bright.  Her smile is amazing and her eyes sparkle and shine.  She has a single dimple that reveals a sweetness that contains just a little bit of spice...just like her daddy....And she is loved beyond belief.  She's a bright little apple who loves to sing and dance, who's mischievous and loving all at the same time.  Her hair falls down her back with beautiful soft curls and her smile will light up any room.  She's an angel to many with a little bit of feisty.  A beautiful soul.  It is when I look at her that I realize how much time has passed.  He's here, he's watching... and I know he's so proud... Proud of what a beautiful little creature she is... and is becoming.  I still wear her Daddy's ring and thumbprint around my neck and she often fiddles with them as I hold her.  In the past I have kissed them and moved them off to the side so her sweet head will lay comfortably on my chest.  Tonight she put her head down, but realized they were in her way so she picked them up and put them to my lips.  I kissed them as she said "Daddy" and then laid them on my shoulder before she curled up and fell asleep.  Just "yesterday" she was simply a little baby...but today on picture day...I am reminded of what a beautiful, smart, kind, funny, ornery and loving little being she is becoming.   I am fascinated by what she brings out of her siblings.  I will never tire of watching them play with her, care for her, read to her, teach her, LOVE her.

So as I watch her sleep tonight, so peaceful, I am reminded of all the wonderful things her Daddy brought into my life.  I still miss him like crazy, ache for him daily, but know he's watching over us both.  One thing I know for sure...I'll see his devilish little grin in the pictures she took today.  We miss you baby...

Good night my friends.

Autumn Leaves

As I watch a leaf slowly float to the ground and feel the crispness of the morning air, I smell change coming again.  It is good, life moving forward, but as it does I feel my heart ache.  It is still, after all this time, hard to get used to him being gone.  There is a heaviness as autumn approaches.  I have come to a realization, one that may have been blatantly obvious to many of you, but eluded me until now.  I have suddenly realized I am never going to get "over" this, nor is this something I am going to get "through."  It's always going to be there.  My heart will always carry this scar.  I am not going to wake up tomorrow and find him sleeping next to me.  He is not going to come home from work tomorrow.  I will always find myself slightly surprised by the pang I feel looking for a birthday card as I pass the ones labeled "husband"... surprised by the sting of tears as I hold them back watching a husband and wife share a kiss.  I will continue to work toward the balance of managing home, work and life without him.  I will always carry the anxiety that comes with knowing first hand how rapidly life can change.  With this realization, I have found a return of my anger and a tiredness that seems to have settled in.  I think there was a naive part of me that thought that if I held strong and made it through the first year and all the hurdles that came with that, I would feel better.  

So as the leaves start to change and the chill returns to the air, I turn the page to start a new chapter.  A chapter where I continue to put one foot in front of the other.  A chapter that while I know the beginning... I'm not so sure what it holds.  Sometimes I find myself angry with the change, and other times willing, ready to move forward. It will always feel strange, moving on without him by my side.   I still find myself occasionally wanting to scream "Wait!  We're going on without him!"  Our daughter will turn 2 in 6 weeks.  She was only 7 months when he was killed, one more reminder of how fast time passes.  Was it really almost a year and 1/2 since the last time I rode with him, wrapped my arms around him as we took in the North Carolina scenery?  Has it been 2 years since we enjoyed his favorite time of the year with a cold beer on our front porch?  Has it been 16 months since I felt normal?  Yes...  And no, I don't feel better.  As the holidays once again descend upon us, I wonder how can I find a way to make a difficult time for me joyful and exciting for the kids?

I know how this chapter will begin.  It will begin with me, holding on tight to the belief that I can do this.  It will begin with me, tucking in my sweet angel every night making sure she knows how loved she is.  It will begin with me, guiding my children through school, sports, life.  It will begin with me, waking up every morning to face the day.  It will begin with me, trying to rebuild my physical and emotional strength.  It will begin with me, craving a comfort I pray I will find again.  It will begin with me, wondering if ... 'I'm not broken just bent and can I learn to love again?' It will begin with me, wondering...   

What will this chapter hold?

Goodnight my friends...


    

The Beach Trip

While the anniversary of his death has come and gone, the "firsts" continue to surprise me, often catching me off guard.  At times I expect them, see them coming, yet they still knock the wind out of me like a poorly timed sucker punch.  The kids wanted a beach trip.  I hadn't made any plans for a summer vacation, so I searched and found a nice house in Oak Island.  The older two invited friends and I reminded them this would be a "beach trip".... meaning we would spend days on the beach, grill at night and chill out at the house.  It made me smile to see them excited, chattering about the upcoming trip.  I reminded myself... "You can do this."  

So, we packed up the Armada and off we went.  I could feel the nerves settle in a little remembering the last time I went to Oak Island... with my husband and my family...29 weeks pregnant with the sleeping angel in the carseat.  Everyone was so excited to get in the water that after I put sunscreen on everyone else (including J) they ran off to swim in the ocean.  Guess who never got sunscreen on their back... Can you say LOBSTER???  I rarely burn, but apparently 6 hours on the beach with no sunscreen on your upper back gets just about anyone.  

As we hit traffic just outside of Raleigh, I encountered my first hurdle.  There was an accident, a motorcycle accident...A mangled motorcycle laid on its side, a tarp covered a body.  I felt it all come back... the numbness, the panic... I imagined him there under that tarp.  I stopped at a gas station shortly after that so I could let out the tears I had struggled to hold back, breathe and regroup.  I grabbed a cold diet pepsi, checked the topper on the truck to make sure it was secure, climbed back in the truck and reminded myself... "You can do this."

The trip was a success.  The weather was beautiful, the house perfect and the children had a great time.  Charlee chased waves, birds and her brothers.  The boys hauled everything out to the beach each day, played football in the waves, body surfed, built Charlee a "swimming pool" and aggravated the girls.  The girls made lunches for everyone in the mornings, boogied on the boogie boards, went for walks on the beach and played with the baby.  

For me, the trip was so much harder than I thought it would be.  It was the first vacation for me by myself with the kids.  No family, no friends... just me.  As I sat on the beach, playing with the baby, watching the older kids goof off, I longed to share the moment with him.  I watched families playing on the beach and missed him.  I watched a dad playing with his little girl for the first time on the beach and missed him.  I watched a man running with his wife on the beach and missed him.  I grilled dinner each night for the kids and missed him.  I watched our little girl squeal with delight as she chased the waves back and forth and missed him.  I carried her to bed, exhausted, but beautiful with sunkissed cheeks and missed him. I sat on the porch with a cold beer, listening to the waves, watching the beautiful day fade to night and missed him.  And then I packed everything back into the truck, loaded up the kids, drove back home and missed him... but I reminded myself... "You did it." 

Miss you baby!

Goodnight all... 

A Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day on the lake.  The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect and my baby girl was sleeping on my chest as I lounged across the back seat of the boat.  I smiled watching the man who drove the boat, shirt off, sun on his shoulders, the dragon across his back moving in sync with the waves.... Then someone asked a question and brought me back to reality...It was still a beautiful day on the lake, my littlest was still sound asleep on my chest as we bounced and swayed with the waves, but he was still gone.  The moment was so vivid I had wanted to gently place my little one aside and wrap my arms around him.  Moments like this are not uncommon in my life and I'm sure there are other widows that can relate.  I wonder sometimes if they are noticeable.  Do the people around me notice?  Some are so vivid and real, I swear he's there.  Some bring tears, some bring a smile, but ALL of them bring that ache in my chest... the one I now know is my "heartache."

I find myself playing these "movie reels" in my head.  Some are beautiful memories... some are dreams of what might have been.  Some are triggered by a song, a smell, a familiar moment, a couple I see... some are a little like land mines... catching me off guard...so powerful I feel that wave of grief wash over me.  Others will make me shake my head and wonder briefly... "Is this real?"  Yep.

People are right, time does "heal."  You realize life does move on, and amazingly, you've made it on your own now for over a year.  You find yourself imagining that happiness is out there somewhere.  Perhaps it'll find you again.  For now, you find that happiness in those around you.  It lies in your friends and family.  For me, most of it comes from my children... watching my oldest slowly grow into a strong, slightly grumpy at times, teenage boy...  The beauty in my pre-teen, moody daughter as she suddenly looks more like a young woman than a little girl... The goofy blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sensitive boy who never fails to get a laugh... and especially the beautiful, smart, obstinate and daring little toddler whose sweet hugs and kisses keep me going every day.  "Wuv you Mommy!!" she cries as I put her to bed.

So...it WAS a beautiful day, a day I felt him share with me.  I put aside all the things that needed to be done and enjoyed nature, friends and family.  A day that makes me miss him even more.  A day that weaves a little more confidence and strength into the scar that is slowly forming in my heart.

Miss you baby! Goodnight all...

Clouds

I love the clouds.  I love watching them move, fade, change form, rain, darken, thunder... frame a rainbow, let the sun rays through.  Today while watching the clouds I was reminded of how quickly they move, how quickly time moves.  It's been almost 14 months since J's accident.  I often wonder some days how it can feel like its been forever, yet just yesterday all at the same time.  I can still play that night over in my head... not a detail left out.  I can still feel the pain... feel it strangle my heart.  I can still remember his kiss...the last one I would ever get.  I remember what he was wearing...the warmth of his hug...then how cold he felt the next time I touched him.  

They say time heals and I suppose they are right, but mostly it just gives you time to get used to the cold fact they are gone.  I stumbled upon an expired driver's license today... his picture, his signature... and still, after 14 months I found it hard to believe he was gone.  Maybe, just maybe, if I wished hard enough he would walk through the front door just one more time.  Then the cry of our little girl waking up from her nap..."Momma!"...brought me back to reality.  Just like life itself, dealing with death/grief is a little like a roller coaster.  I find myself making great strides, feeling stronger, more confident, looking forward, climbing... then plummeting back into a darkness.  I often stand with my face to the sun, feeling the warmth on my skin only to be knocked over by a wave of grief that takes my breath and leaves me feeling cold.  

I am lonely... A loneliness that doesn't subside when friends and family hold me close, lift me up.  It is a loneliness I feel deep inside.  It's the part of the relationship that makes you want to send a text to tell them something funny, the part that leans in a little closer when you are watching TV at night, the part that reaches for them in bed while you're sleeping, the part that had a bad day only one of those special hugs will fix. Some days I feel a blanket of depression lying over me...other days I am curious for the future as I brace myself for what's next.  I know the overall gain is positive.  I must admit there are days that scares me.  Sometimes it feels like I'm letting go of his hand and that trying to move on will make his memory fade.  Silly, I know.  I know that he will always live on in my heart, in his son, our daughter.  Was it really 14 months ago?  Today it feels like yesterday.

So now as I watch the clouds, I find myself noticing even more how beautiful the world around us can be.  I notice the comfort of fluffy white clouds in a sunny blue sky, the power of a big thunderhead towering toward the heavens, the defiant look of the trees standing strong against a stormy sky, the way they dance on a windy day, the simple beauty of sun rays finding their way to earth.... and the colorful rainbow that emerges after the storm.  While the storm is slowly fading, I am still searching for the rainbow.  I miss you baby.  

Goodnight all... 

The Ring

The Wedding Band...

It's different for everyone.  What it stands for, what it means, how it feels.  Some choose to never wear one, others to never take it off.  To some its a commitment, a sacred symbol, a blessing.  To others its a ball and chain, a feeling of being trapped or simply an unnecessary token.  When I married J, it made me feel proud...proud to be wearing "his" and proud that he wore "mine."

Some people don't wear one.  Perhaps they consider it material, and that it doesn't matter because they love their spouse more than anything.  Perhaps for them, the "physical" things don't matter, a name change, a marriage license and much less a ceremonial piece of metal.  I get that.  Others won't take it off.  Many years ago, my Grandpa, who recently passed away, went for surgery.  He was an opinionated man, a grumpy and ornery man, but he loved his wife and made quite a little scene in the pre-op that day because HIS wedding ring was NOT coming off.  When we visited later, I vividly remember his wedding band wrapped in surgical tape, still on his left hand.  I'm not sure I thought much about it then, but I do now.  Another good friend who isn't that big on the acronym we call PDA has "outgrown" his wedding band over the years of his marriage.  He refuses to cut it off despite a job that technically requires its removal.  That makes me smile.  One friend has continued to wear hers for years and I was shocked when she told me how someone asked her why she still wore hers after her husband died.  Their comment... "It's not like you're married anymore."  Just like every other part of this process, its different for everyone.  So its ok to ask, but don't judge.

As J and I were looking for his wedding band before we were married he commented that he had never understood the symbolism of a wedding band... until us.  When I spotted one I thought looked perfect on him, he wouldn't look at another.  He never took it off.  

When the man or woman that put that ring on your finger passes away, so many things in your life change as you work on that "new normal" that initially, your wedding band doesn't even cross your mind.  (Well, unless you go get a manicure to get out of the house and the lady asks you to remove it.... She looked at me shocked when I defiantly replied "No!")  So when do you take it off?  What does it mean when you do?  There is no answer to either of these questions that is right or wrong.  I think the answer is... you'll know.  

As a surgeon, it took me weeks before that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach quit washing over me every time I removed mine for surgery.  To me, it felt like that was one of my connections to him and in taking it off, I was letting go of his hand.  It was like the proverbial feeling of him slipping away every time I slid the ring off my finger.  Now I realize that will never really happen because every day I see him smiling back at me in Charlee's sweet face.

For myself, I chose the anniversary of his death, the one year mark.  A date just shy of our 3rd wedding anniversary.  I am sure some have noticed, others haven't. It felt strange at first, but I was tired.  Tired of random explanations.  With a 1 year old in my arms all the time, I got tired of the comments and questions about her Daddy.  "She's a doll!  I bet she has her Daddy wrapped around her little finger."  "Her Daddy won't get much sleep when she starts dating!" "Where's your help?"  "I bet her Daddy gives her anything she wants with that face."  All very benign, innocent and real, but often gut wrenching at the same time.  So... the week of the anniversary, I found a nice spot, a little place by my bed, took a deep breath and took it off.  Of course I still wear HIS around my neck.... Baby steps.  

Goodnight all. 

I Remember

I remember so often, all the parts of OUR life.
I remember so many things, I loved being your wife.
I remember our rides on the back of your bike.
I remember your hand on my knee, holding tight.
I remember sunny days with the kids by the pool.
I remember hectic mornings getting kids off to school.
I remember adventures, we'd camp, hike and swim.
I remember cooking dinner, cold beer and nights in.
I remember our fights, disagreements and amends.
I remember our first kiss, our first date, our first night.
I remember a tailgate, beer, friends and moonlight.
I remember this man who wasn't perfect, but MINE.
I remember a man who'll have a piece of my heart...
    till the end of time.

I Love you, I miss you.

Your wife,  SS

The Physical Side of Grief

If you haven't experienced grief, especially a grief that has a significant impact on your daily life, you have no idea its true impact.  I didn't.  You watch movies, you witness friends, you see scenarios take place and they tug at your heart.  What you don't realize... is how real the physical side of grief can be.  For myself, it started with the notification.  Once I realized I wasn't getting up to let J in the house, my sympathetic nervous system took over.  I knew immediately something was wrong, my stomach knotted, my heart was racing.  When I learned what had happened, I remember my arms, legs, fingers, face all tingling, going numb.  I vividly remember telling myself... "Do NOT faint... you are holding a baby!!" I feel bad for the man who delivered the news.  He was very obviously a rookie and I would love to help him learn to do it all a little better... not that there is an easy way to do that, but he could definitely use a few pointers.  He asked then if I was alone, did I have anyone to call... I had no response.  I truly had no idea what to do next.  I still to this day thank heaven for all of my "first responders"... those people who helped me navigate those first several days.  After that, obviously, a numbness sets in.  I suspect that for those for whom this happens differently have the same physical impacts early... they are just a little different.  A spouse is diagnosed with a terminal disease.  The diagnosis comes with a shock, a numbness... then an "ok we're going to fight this"... then a realization that that fight isn't going to be successful... and finally a shock and frustration that it really wasn't.

What happens after the death of your spouse is different for everyone, yet for many, very much the same.  We react, we survive, notify friends, family, make plans, arrange, comfort our children, accept condolences.  Looking back now, a year later, I realize how strong the physical response can be.  I don't think I ate much of anything for several weeks.  Not bad for losing baby weight, but not great for staying healthy and strong.  Things suddenly didn't taste good, I had no desire to eat.  I was preoccupied and distracted.  Too bad because everyone was bringing food to the house.  It was all very much appreciated... but after a couple of weeks, I looked at the kids and said "put your shoes on, we're going out to eat!"  I still didn't eat anything, but it felt good to get out.  In the first several weeks, I would make a sandwich or grab a bite and then wonder where I put it down only to find it in a strange place a few days later.  Still, a year after J's death, I don't completely have my appetite back.  I often forget to eat and things I loved to eat before don't sound very appealing.  For some it is the opposite.  The grief brings a longing for comfort, and many will search for that in food.  A good friend of mine who also lost her husband and has been a wonderful help to me gained almost 70 pounds trying not to drown in her grief and depression. 

I have always been an active person, one who loved to exercise.  This was something J and I enjoyed doing together.  We had tested together to achieve our second degree black belts and were about 4 months away from testing for our third degree.  After the dust settled, I put my running shoes on and decided I needed to get out there to help with the stress... I couldn't do it.  I ran for about 10 minutes and then cried the rest of the time I had set aside to exercise.  I tried returning to Tae Kwon Do, and the knots in my stomach never allowed me to make it passed the front door.  A year later, I still haven't returned.  I did, after about seven months, find a way to return to exercise.  I had many people offer to keep the baby, but struggled with the thought of any more time away from my little Charlee. 

Anxiety... wow.  The attitude I have tried to carry in life is one of "do my best, take care of my own and try and hang with the curve balls life throws your way."  I'd like to describe myself as fairly laid back. Kids are going to get bumps, bruises, illnesses.  Accidents are going to happen that you can't prevent (ok... yeah... got that one!).  I was never one to conjure up the worst case scenario... until then.  But worry and anxiety aren't always obvious.  It sure started out obvious... what if something happens to Charlee... is she breathing ok?  Why didn't she wake up at her usual time?  What if something happens to me?  Who will take care of Charlee?  Did my older kids and their dad made it to the beach safely?  Will the finances be ok? How will I do it all?  ... Then it settled into a physical response.  For several months I found my blood pressure up, my chest would sometimes feel heavy and I learned what a panic attack was.  And then I was embarrassed.  I felt weak, ashamed.  I needed to be strong for the children.  I still have moments when sleep eludes me, others when that's all I'd like to do.  I am slowly getting over a strong desire not to leave the house.  Travel has been difficult and anxiety provoking at times, but I am slowly planning vacations with the kids... and perhaps a short getaway just for me. 

Time does heal.  Not as quickly as many of us would like.  I will admit that I still struggle daily, but I have found time to exercise, I usually remember to eat, I rarely find myself in a panic anymore and while I still cry on a regular basis, it isn't daily.  I still have days that seem impossible, but life itself continues to unfold beautifully in front of me.  For now, I still live life with a little numbness.  I focus on the kids, survive work, smile with the lives I'm blessed to bring into this world, and continue to put one foot in front of the other.  I am thankful for those who've taken me under their wing, some from close by and others afar.  If it weren't for them, the world would be a much darker place for me these days.  Tonight I had dinner with one of my closest friends.  Her family is now mine.  It made me smile to listen to all the laughter, the chatter.  They say when one chapter ends, another begins.  "Every storm runs out of rain."... While many days it still rains, I see the sun on the horizon.  I miss you baby and I still love you more and more every day, an emotional and very much physical pain I feel every day in my heart.

Goodnight all. 

Done Cooking

There are many adjustments to life as a widow, life without your spouse, your other half.  Many of those are difficult, painful, hard to figure out... but not all of them.  Some are nice, almost easier.  Does this shock you?  Probably not if you are a widow reading this.  Don't get me wrong.  I would give almost anything to have him back.  We were just shy of our two year anniversary, we had a 7 month old baby girl.  All was good.  Early in the marriage we were still enjoying the honeymoon, still building our life together.  For every widow, the timing in their particular marriage may be different.  The relationship is at a different place.  Some are newlyweds, some struggling with marriage problems,   Where am I going with this?  Well... some things may just simply be better now, easier now that your spouse is gone.  These are the things that when you learn to live as a couple, you adapt, adjust and learn to accommodate one another.  For example... it wasn't long after J had been killed that I was working in the kitchen and couldn't open a package.  I reached for the kitchen scissors.  As my hand touched the scissors, I felt this odd giggle form inside me.  I could hear him so clearly.  "Don't use those!!!  Those are for meat, not packages!!  Give me that!"  He would then have taken the package into the other room and opened it with his pocket knife.   There were things he changed to do my way when we got married and things I changed to do his way.  For J and I... these were small, trivial things.  We hadn't really been married long enough to have much else.  Another example... My Grandpa recently passed.  While he was sick, both my mother and aunt stayed with him and my Grandma many nights.  One night in conversation, my Grandma mentioned that when he was gone... she was done cooking.  A comment that may have caught my mom and aunt off guard... but made me smile.  In their almost 60 years of marriage, she cooked for him almost every day.  Something she was wonderful at, but tired of doing.  So when he passed away... she was done.  It was a release of a sort.  It doesn't mean they are loved any less... but sometimes there are little things that are easier when they are gone.

This creates guilt in many widows.  I know it does for me.  When I do something my way, and realize I'm very much going against what he would have wanted...I often feel guilty.  We hide these simple things, don't admit... "wow, this is easier now."  We're not sure others would really understand.  They might think... "How could she say that?"  So if you're a widow and reading this... you're not alone.  If you're not a widow... please know that just because we might be glad we don't have to cook anymore or don't have to adjust our lives for someone else, that we miss them any less.

Anger

Anger... a stage, a step... part of healing.  It took one year and a week for me to really, truly feel this one.  I had people ask me... comment... "you must be angry"... "you must be mad at him for riding his motorcycle"... "for leaving you".... and until this week... I had never.  I still don't feel anger for him going out for a ride.  Hell, I'm the one that told him to go.  But for some strange reason I can't explain, I feel angry this week.  Perhaps I spent last week (the anniversary of his death) trying so hard to be "ok"... trying a little too hard to be strong.  Perhaps its the 19 month old testing her boundaries while I have no one to hand her to saying... please... I need 10 minutes.  Perhaps its the lacrosse tournaments, the swim practice, the end of school... the child throwing up, the kid who forgot their lunch.  Perhaps I am simply overwhelmed.   Perhaps I simply miss the man who said he'd never leave me.  His comment "Billy Joel had it right... only the good die young.  I think you'll be ok baby."  I guess he was a little "gooder" than he thought he was.  

So this week I am angry.  Angry because I am alone, because I miss him, because I need him and he said he'd always be here for me.  Angry because the kids miss him.  Angry because the kids worry about me.  Angry because my heart hurts and I want to feel good again.  Angry because some days I'd like to hide my head in the sand.  Angry because I want to feel strong again both physically and mentally.  Deep down I know better.  I know that HE did not make this choice... but today, I am still angry.  

"Daddy's Eyes"

I often wonder if you'll ever know

How much I love watching you grow.

How much my heart aches wishing you knew

The strong and handsome man I knew...

The man who helped create you...

I often watch you, a peaceful child so deep in sleep, 

A silent prayer "your soul to keep" 

I worry and pray, please let me be here, 

To love and care for you each year. 

To watch you grow and sparkle and shine

You once were OURS, now simply MINE.

We'd smile and laugh as you moved inside

My belly growing, your Dad full of pride.

Your daddy loved you so much my love

He will always watch over you from above. 

So never be mad and please don't be sad, 

Wondering why... or "Where is MY dad?"

Because he's right here in both our hearts,

In your Devilish grin, and all your parts.  

But most of all each time you smile, each time you cry...

I see you both...

      In Your "Daddy's Eyes"

'Til Death Do Us Part

Two days ago I celebrated the anniversary of your death... Today I celebrate the anniversary of our marriage, tomorrow your service.  When you lose someone, you have those times... A time of year, a holiday, a particular season that is hard.  For me... this is the week.  We were married on Memorial Day, May 31st, 2010.  You were killed the day after Memorial Day, May 29th, 2012.  Your funeral was June 1st.  The magnolia trees are blooming, school is ending, the boys are thick into Lacrosse...All of this brings memories even closer to the surface.  The air smells different, its beautiful outside, the pool opens.  This time of year will always bring tears for me... But the trees have bloomed, the grass is green and the sun is shining.... and with that, the promise of life moving forward.  Happy Anniversary my Love!  <3

The anniversary

I never seem to be at a loss for words.... but tonight I am.  Almost exactly one year ago, my life changed forever.  My heart broke, my world came crashing down and there I stood with a baby in my arms wondering what tomorrow would hold, how would I survive.  So I started out simply... One step at a time, one breath at a time, one day at a time.  Now, it has been a year.  I'm done with the firsts... the first summer, Charlee's first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, your "first" birthday, my "first" birthday... and the list goes on.  The funny thing is... It isn't the big landmarks that are the hardest.  The hardest part of all of this are the things that catch you off guard.  You see, its the little things.  It's the couple holding hands, the motorcycle that pulls up beside you on a beautiful day, the man with his baby girl, a simple song, a simple smell, a man helping his elderly wife out of the car.  It is these simple moments that bring the most tears.  I know there are many more tears to come...that while my heart is healing, it aches everyday.  I love you my dear, my sweet, strong and amazing husband.  I will always love you and hold you close to my heart. While my heart is broken, I know it will heal... and in that scar, you will forever live.  

What's next?

So, after the shock, you wonder... "what do I do next?"  I even remember asking the officer that came to the door... "What do I do now?"  This plays out in a few ways depending on whether things were sudden or more gradual.  If you're like me, it was sudden and out of the blue.  If you're like me, you are fortunate enough to have never dealt with much death/dying in your family, so you truly have no idea.  So those around you help... contact a funeral home, make plans, discuss options, scheduling and the list goes on.  And then it all quiets down, you look around and think wow... He's never coming home.  You look at the front door that he's never going to walk through again, the couch he'll never sit on... His side of the bed.

Those with young children still living at home may have more of a focus...You may not be sure what to do with your own heart, your own feelings, your own tears... but you know exactly what to do with those of your children...You listen, you nurture, you dry their tears and hug their necks.  It's hard sometimes though.  There are times when you just need a break.  You just want to sit down, bury your head in your hands and cry... but you're trying to remember Algebra, sign homework sheets, wake up at 2 am for a crying baby and send in teacher appreciation gifts.  

If you've had children, do you remember during your pregnancy when you felt the need to have the house perfect, clothes folded and in their place, cabinets cleaned out, garage clean, old toys donated (and the list goes on)?  Well, I seemed to do that first. It felt like a version of "nesting."  It seemed to occupy my scattered mind.  We had planned to paint and decorate the kids rooms... suddenly that was a huge priority.  I needed pictures hung, things cleaned... (I appreciated all those first responders who cleaned that first week :)... and I didn't want to leave my home.  I still struggle a little with that one.  I am safe here...at least I FEEL safe here.  I feel my husband here and I feel less "watched" here.  So as for me, I spent the first couple of months trying to figure out "what next."  I floated aimlessly some days. I made many lists so I wouldn't forget what to do, who to pick up or what I was going to the grocery store for.  After several U-turns to return home for my wallet, the diaper bag or my phone, my children began to giggle and ask every time we got in the car:  "Mom!  Wait!  Do you have your phone, your wallet, your keys?"  They would often grab the baby's diaper bag and yell "I've got the bag, don't forget the baby!"

So I slowly reviewed things, eliminated bills I didn't need, tried to make changes that made life simpler.  Gradually things seemed to be a little more under control, minus all the crazy mishaps we've discussed before of course.  Slowly, I began to see life moving forward... Began to see that the impossible was becoming possible.

Still, a year later, I find myself wondering "what next?"  At first it was just survival....many days, it still is.  However, there seems to be a little more focus amidst the chaos that was and still is my life.   I have many people to thank for that...my "first responders", my co-workers, my family... but mostly...my children.  It is they who have pulled from me, a strength from within...The strength to move forward...The strength to love despite the pain...The strength to heal.  

Goodnight my friends.  

It'll be OK

When you become a widow, there seems to be this rule of nature that makes things go wrong around you.  They are mostly trivial things, but you are in a fragile state and it makes them seem almost catastrophic.  One book I read briefly said at least 3 things will break, need fixing or just plain go wrong shortly after life tries to settle back into your "new normal."  I should have read that BEFORE all the stuff started happening around me... It might have made me laugh and maybe saved me a few tears.  A storm hit, lots of lightening and suddenly 1/4 of my house was out of electricity... this had happened before, J and I had figured it out together previously.  So, when it happened, I immediately grabbed my cell and actually made it all the way to tapping his name on the favorite contact list before I remembered... he wasn't going to answer.  My poor friend who actually received my distress call as I was trying to figure out how to get the garage doors open in time to go pick up my children... Not sure he could even understand a word I said.  It all worked out... and now I know.  The theme for me was electricity.  There were at least 4 more events which then lead me to throw the book I read that said "THREE things will go wrong" against the wall.  But... it all works out.  And I think those things happen for a couple of reasons.  1.  You learn to ask for help... you learn that its ok to call one of those people who said "Hey, if you need anything call me."  That they won't find you weak or incapable.  2.  You learn that it will be O.K.

Where I would like to differ from the "self help books for widows"... is that it really doesn't stop there.  You slowly realize how many little things the two of you did as a team.  You realize how as a team you made life run a little smoother.  While because I was in a marriage before that wasn't quite what I wanted, I DID appreciate a lot of the little things he did, once he was gone it was like WOW... How can I do this on my own again??  Simple things... he'd often notice when my truck was low on gas and run up to the gas station to fill it up... he would swap cars with me and get my oil changed... he kept the propane tanks full so we never ran out... he organized maintenance guys like the exterminator, the HVAC guy, the heating and oil guy, kept the mowers running, cleaned the toilets, did the dishes when I cooked, watered the indoor plants, fed the dog.... and the list goes on.  There were ways that I differ from other widows... I did the financial work, paid the bills, I make my own money, I organized our schedule... that helped decrease the stress...I didn't have to worry about how to support the kids, pay the mortgage, figure out the bills that were due.  I can't imagine how hard that would be... your mind isn't exactly thinking straight (not sure mine is yet) and I am thankful that stress was avoided.  But the gist of it all is... for the young widow with children, the burden increases.  Like I've said before, it keeps you busy, less time to sit and wonder "why me?"... but I do believe it makes the process slower.  There are things I read in books or online that others experience a few weeks after their spouse's death that took me months to encounter.  At first I struggled with that... Then I looked around at my kids, my house, my life and I realized... screw the books, I'm doing OK.

So... what should come from this post for other widows, or simply people learning to live without another... It's ok to ask for help, support, comfort.  I still struggle with this one sometimes, but I'm trying.  Also... perspective... The AC/heat going out for the 3rd time... It's fixable... and it will be OK. Finally, we all do this at a different pace and as long as we continue to put one foot in front of the other, continue to love our children, our family, and look for our new normal... we're doing OK.  As one of my partners said to me shortly after J was killed... "left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot... breathe in, breath out... repeat."

Goodnight all....

For my Friend

So tonight my post is not about me... not about MY loss... but another's.  I am a widow... and now... she is too.  While my heart is in pain, and the hole is there... I have started to heal.  My scar has begun to strengthen, hers... to form.  It is amazing to me how loss can be so different, yet so similar.  I had a very short time with my love... her, a lifetime.  Me... a small child.  Her...a grown child, a grandchild...SO many memories.  The comfort of a presence, a soulmate that has been so close to your heart, that like your wedding ring... you no longer notice that it is there... only that it is gone.  We are different, yet the same. We are two sides of the same coin.  For me... so sudden...no chance to say Good-Bye, yet there was no suffering.  For her... the pain of watching the one you love so dearly struggle and fight for one more day... not wanting to say Good-Bye, but knowing it is near.  I ask tonight that you pray for her and her family.  I will tell you my friend, that God has a new angel, and you, a new Guardian.  Please know that soon you will find your "new normal."  Reach out to those around you, feel his strength within... you will survive.  Much love to you and yours.  

A spark

We started as a spark... A physical attraction.  You had this confidence, this air about you, and this armor that you wore around your heart.  You'd been loved, left, hurt and you weren't going to let it happen again.  But we both felt it, wanted it... we tried to walk away, but couldn't.

Then I found that chink, that hole in your amor and worked my way in... and you let me in.  But we struggled.  I'd never let someone take care of me.  You'd never let someone truly love you.... and you were scared to let me.  But we made it.  I showed you what true love meant...That it didn't leave when times got tough... it held you, waited for you, loved you.  You showed me it was ok to ask for help, to let another's love care for me, cradle me... Now, you are gone.

Now I am wearing that armor, that smile I must wear, the tears I must hide.  I play the strong widow taking care of my family.  What choice do I have?  For me, there is no other choice.  I will not let my children down.  I will not forget to love them, play with them, read to them, cherish them, cheer for them or stand behind them while I wallow in the grief and self pity of love lost.  

Sometimes I think being busy makes it better, easier... As everyone says... "At least you have the kids.  At least you have sweet Charlee."  And yes, they are right.  But I've come to realize that it makes the process just a little bit slower, a little bit longer... and I continue to hide behind that armor.  I pray every day that it's strength will hold me up, when before... that was you.  I believe it is still you.... YOUR armor that you left behind to protect me, our family, our baby girl.  You are OUR guardian angel, YOUR strength... OUR love.  

Each day is a struggle, full of challenges, frustrations, sadness and loneliness.  Yet each day brings it's rewards, its triumphs... I made it.  I got up, got dressed, got 4 children off to school, myself through work, cared for my patients, homework done, played with toys, got to practice on time, counted toes, children fed, bath time done, necks hugged, lips kissed, 4 children tucked in... and then I miss you the most.  How can our home feel so empty yet still be so full.  I wonder... but it always comes back to you... YOU are missing.  I lay down alone, often reaching for you, still, one year later.  I dream about you often... OUR dreams... OUR future.  Then the day starts again... and I survive.  I WILL survive...for you... for me... for the kids.

I know this storm will pass, but that this pain will not go away.  I know it will fade.  I know that my heart, while scarred, will heal.  I know that out of sadness, I will find happiness again... Until then... Goodnight my love.  

Numb

There's a numbness that comes with something so tragic.  An invisible shield that seems to blanket your mind, your heart.  You hear things, you see things.... You watch the clouds move across the sky, the sun rise, the sun set, the trees sway with the breeze, birds chirp in the distance, cars drive by, people come, people go... and all the while you wonder..."How can all of this keep moving when MY world has come crashing down?"  You hear people talk, you see them touch you, they help you stand up... but you don't FEEL any of it.  You plan a service, but you weren't ready.  HELL... you just got married and you thought you'd be celebrating your second anniversary in 2 days.  The writing started then...a story, the story of us.  The pain started then... and so did the healing.    

The beginning

I started this blog because the writing I've done over the last year has helped me survive...It has helped me move forward, get up every day, take care of my kids, function in life.  It helps me get things off my chest, express my feelings, but most importantly, cope with my new normal.  Perhaps there is someone out there who might read this... who might find their day a little easier knowing they aren't alone.  Knowing that what they feel or felt or might feel... is ok.  That "Life Ain't Always Beautiful... but its a beautiful ride."  

A little background.  I am a widow.  My husband was killed May 29, 2012 in a motorcycle accident that still remains a mystery.  It was a second marriage for both of us... We brought to each other passion, love, 4 children... me (3... two boys and a girl)... him (1.. a boy).  We loved our chaos.  Boys:  13, 11, 7 when we married.. and a sweet girl 9.  We wanted a child together and on 11/3/11 had a sweet angel we named Charlee Elizabeth.  Her name is important because she carries her daddy's first name (His name was Charles), and my middle name.  Little did I know how glad I would be that she would carry his name both first and last... the same as her Grandfather.  It's funny how life works sometimes.   Her Daddy died when she was just 7 months old.  

I will never forget that night.  The kiss before he left that beautiful May night for a ride on his bike, his willingness to help with the kids... yet I told him to take a ride.  His last texts... "I love my life"... my response:  ":) good!!  Be safe! Because those of us IN your life love you."  Him:  "Trust... I love all of you too."   I had never gone to bed without him... especially on nights he rode his bike.  That night God, or whomever you believe in, took care of me.  Charlee woke up, I nursed her, then laid down to wait for him to come home.  I fell asleep (I can't imagine my worry had I not) only to be jolted awake by a firm knock at my door.  I was confused and thought for sure I'd locked him out, thought briefly about being angry when I saw that it was 12:55 and he had said he was coming home at 10:00... And then I saw the officer through my front door.  With my daughter in my arms, I answered that door as I felt my heart start to pound.  Something was wrong.  And then I knew... "I'm sorry to wake you ma'am... but how do you know ((this man))?"...  "ummm... he's my husband."... "I'm sorry ma'am, he's passed away."  The rest is a blur... yet so clear.  And the nightmare began.  I've posted many poems and thoughts and things to Facebook... but I thought I'd start a blog... for me... and maybe for someone else who might find reassurance or strength.  I live this night over and over and over.... I often wish I could simply rewind.  Tell him ... "Don't go"... "take someone to practice"... "mow the lawn"..."stay with me"... Please... I miss you!!