a new year

31st.

last day of the year.

i wonder how

it’s gonna feel,

leaving this one behind?

probably not as good

as i hoped.

heading out for the day

it was cold.

really cold.

and for the first

time in a

long time i had

to take off

liz’s

rings so i could

wear some gloves.

i put them

in my camera bag,

imagining what i

would do if

i forgot the

bag somewhere.





our new year’s eve event…

the sea and cake

playing at a little place

i spent a

few nights in.

liz

was here with

me a few times.

she sometimes hated

going with me

to concerts in

standing-room only,

small venues ’cause,

as she put it,

“i hate staring at some tall guy’s ass all night! plus people always spill their drinks on me!”

i never understood

this until she

made me duck down

a foot to

her eye level.

yes.

the whole thing

made perfect sense then.

but this place…

she loved this place

’cause they allow

people to stand

on the bench seats

running the length

of the room,

on the left and right

sides of the stage.

from that vantage

point, a woman,

4′11″ tall, could

see everything…

except some tall

guy’s ass.

and not once was

a drink poured down

her back.

weird.

i didn’t

remember this

until after the opener

had finished playing

and we walked

into the main room

to see the headliner play.

the band paused

at midnight

to let us know

that a new

year had begun.

great.

let’s hope it’s

better than

the last one

was all i

could think to

myself as we

all knocked our

drinks together.

A Mending Heart

Yes, I can feel my heart mending. Not healing, really, because I don't think it will ever be completely healed, but it will mend and have a permanent scar upon it.

But in the mending process I'm also finding out that it's growing a bit larger.

You see, I have met someone and we are truly enjoying each other's company and learning to care for each other.

I used to wonder how this would happen, especially since my heart was damaged beyond repair. But I get it now.

I remember when I was pregnant for the second time. I was really worried about being able to love this next baby (and the next, and the next and the next, etc!) as much as I loved Daughter #1. I thought it was impossible for my heart to fill with any more love.

I was completely wrong. As soon as my daughters were born (twins) I could actually feel my heart getting bigger, so that then more love could fill it. It didn't matter how many children we added to the group, our hearts just continued to grow and grow.

I thought that growth had stopped when Jim died, but I was wrong. It did stop ..... for a while.

For two years, actually.

But now it's starting to grow. I can feel it stretching to a bigger size and I have to say that I LOVE the feeling.

Who knows where this new relationship will lead .... if anywhere. But even if it doesn't it will have proved to me that my heart is capable of growing ..... in spite of its horrific loss.

It will have proved that I can move forward and that life can still be enjoyed and even celebrated for the things we encounter and learn.

Don't get me wrong .... Jim will never leave my heart .... ever. He will just stay in a certain part of it from now on..... and I'm sure he's just fine with that.

So to all of you on this path in the very beginning, where all you see around you is inky blackness, let alone feel that your heart will ever change again, please take a look at some of those around you .... and know that it's true. Your heart can also grow to accommodate more love one day ....probably when you least expect it.

Lordy Lordy Look Who's 40!

Forty and fabulous, for sure!! There is no doubt in my mind that this birthday may be one of the best ever for our wonderful Michele. I soooo wish I could be there, but if it is humanly possible to be there "in spirit" - I'm there.

I had to change this post a little because of Michele's post from yesterday. Her life in pictures is a great way to think about the passing of 40 years. (Sorry to keep saying it Michele: 40, 40, 40...welcome to the club! LOL ;) I've seen the screen saver capture of those 40 years and have experienced in person only the last 4. What a life! They say a person can be judged by the company they keep: two fantastic parents, 6 fabulous siblings, 3 wonderful children, a wonderful husband, a loving australian, a host of amazing friends, and a partridge in a pear tree! :) Let's consider these the cast in our story.

What about the plot? We find our heroine, beautiful of course, beset with trials worthy of Odysseus. A joyful life? Definitely! A life full of challenge and adversity? Yes! The past 40 years have been a roller coaster of ups and downs - the highs - so very high, and the lows? No one should have to go that low. But, and this is my point, and the point of our story - it is the trials that show us our strength. It isn't our circumstances that define us, but how we respond to those circumstances.

Life has thrown some intense challenges in your path my friend. You have withstood them, absorbed them, and made them yours. Your bumps and bruises are fading, and what remains? A strong, confident, generous, beautiful, and amazing woman, ready for the next chapter and the next 40 years. I'm looking forward to continuing the story. As cheesy as it is, I love this little saying and it makes me think of you and of us:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, But rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming"WOO HOO what a ride!"

Here's to you Michele, Happy Happy Birthday !!!!! Enjoy every moment of your very own day. I love you more than my luggage! ;)

Tacalla

My Screensaver Moment

The other night as I was wrapping gifts in my office, I glanced up at my computer screen. My screen saver is a slide show of all the photos saved on my computer. Each new photo brought a smile to my face as the last few years of parties, milestones, and random poses of family and friends lit up my desktop.

While the images of newborns and graduations flashed by one at a time, I realized that watching my screen saver slide show was sort of like watching my life flash before my eyes. In one photo my kids are half their current size, and still in elementary school...and in the next we are all attending my daughter's high school graduation. There are photos of the babies that have been born into our amazing brood (the three most recent are in the photo above), mixed with photos of hilarious family vacations, trips with friends, kids ready for the prom, and various people blowing out candles on birthday cakes. Some photos make me laugh out loud, and others cause a sigh at how quickly the time has gone by.

When a photo of Phil comes up I find myself so grateful for the memory the snapshot delivers. In these pre-death photos I look innocent and happy. Then there is the photographic evidence of grief that tugs at my heart. We had a family reunion the year after Phil died, and I am certain that you can see the sadness in my eyes in every picture of that day. My widow community makes an appearance in my life slide show, and I feel a sense of kinship when I see these photos that fills my heart with pride and a very deep gratitude. When a photo of Michael and I in Australia pops up in the mix I find myself wondering, "Whose life am I living?" Who is that woman in the photo looking content and confident? I have to remind myself that the grateful, joyful person in that photo is me too.

My slide show has provided evidence of all I that have survived in the past four years. There is proof that I have attended parties I thought would be terrible, but I managed to smile. Each frame shows a little bit of growth, and a lot of gratitude. Every memory is laced with love and joy, even when I couldn't see the forest for the trees. This collection of pictures showed me all that has been added to my life since Phil left this earth. The photos with Phil in them remind me of the happiness he brought to my life, while the photos without him prove that life really does go on. Judging from the pictures on my screen, Phil has left me in very good hands.

Daffodils

I am like the daffodils that are blooming in my back yard (yes they bloom 2x a year in LA. I thankfully bloom more often.)

I crumble, letting the dirt and cold beat down on my brightness, making me floppy and weak, causing me to brown and shrivel. I go within too tired to care anymore. It is there I find the sustenance, the nutrients, all that I need to continue, to grow, to nourish me back into myself, brighter than before.

This is his gift to me. My transformation over and over and over again, until the pattern is so ingrained that I am not afraid of the floppy weakness but welcome it.

----

I managed to get us all on two different flights.
I have developed a healthy fear of flying. Perhaps it is because I have experience with the randomness of death.
We all arrived in Maine.
Our luggage did too.

That is all that matters.

A Stocking Full of Memories

Last Christmas my family started incorporating Michael back into Christmas by filling a stocking full of gift-cards, gadgets and more that Michael would have loved....but I could use. It was heart warming to see them remember and bring to life some of his favorite things and places from memories passed.

This year my family arrived and handed over Michael's stocking. It was light. At first, I had thought maybe they had run out of ideas on what to put in his stocking. I slipped my hands in ready to grip on to something.....paper. Sheet and sheets of paper filled the green velvet stocking sporting his name.

I opened one up to see stories and memories written by those who had known Michael. Some that had only known him briefly, others that had just were affected by his kind and giving nature, and my family, who had seen first hand the makings of my soul mate.

I started reading one in front of them before I announced that I would rather read these in private. After my family departed I ran straight to the pile of words that made up moments in time. The tears streamed down as I reminisced and re-lived some of the magic and mundane moments that others had shared with Michael.

It truly was the best gift. For in reading those letters, Michael came to life in my heart this Christmas day, our love boiled in the cauldron in which it is permanently located in my soul.

My chest pounds even as I type this.....with the love that never flees. It may feel dormant at times, especially those times in which I wish he was here the most. But, like any moment in time where i feel that, I am reminded that it is still coursing through my veins more then ever.

I love you baby...and am so in love with you.

“A place in thy memory, dearest, Is all that I claim; To pause and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name”- Gerald Griffin

this day

As you wake this Christmas morning, you may feel alone lying in your bed. You may feel far from your beloved that you've lost. You may cry and feel sorry for yourself. You may watch your children open their presents as tears roll down your cheeks.
But know that we are not alone. We are all facing this together. Your loved ones are with you, if in spirit, memory or in your children, whatever you may believe.
I know that, for me, knowing that you are experiencing a similar morning is enough to make me not feel so sorry for myself. I am not really alone. You know. You understand. You are facing the same day as me.
Try to find the light and joy in the day. Be thankful for all that we do still have left. Find joy in remembering all that we have had and the memories that we keep so close to our hearts. Remember to make new joyous memories.
I am thinking of you all today. Merry Christmas!!!!!

Merry Memories

This Christmas the veil between where Phil is and where I am seems to be much thinner than in years past. Michelle and I once talked about the "feeling" of knowing our husbands were in the room. Michelle remarked that she wasn't sure if knowing for sure that Daniel was right there would make her feel better or worse. If he were right next to you, but you couldn't touch him or hold him or hear his voice would that drive a person insane? This is what we wondered aloud.

Phil has showed up for Christmas sporadically over the years. Some years I have felt him very clearly, either through things he would have done or the many things I have learned to do in his absence. Other years I have wanted to scream into the heavens..."Where are you?" Every year since his death Christmas has been a little different. I miss him most when sitting on the couch watching the kids open their gifts. Or when I leave the family party and bundle up my kids to drive home alone. The empty bed that waits for me is particularly difficult to climb into at the end of a day filled with joy and laughter.

But this year Phil has been around more than ever before. Maybe he knows I need his assurance that the life changes ahead for me are okay with him. Perhaps he gets the idea that I can handle knowing he is near, but not be able to touch or hear him. I guess it could be that my heart isn't pierced by the happy memories of Christmases past like it has been in years past, so I welcome the visions of us instead of shying away from them.

In any case, my Christmas message from Phil this year is that he loves me and that he is never far away.

That may just be the message for all of us.

Wishing you peace, comfort, and memories that settle around you and calm your heart.

what she would want

i took maddy to

the same christmas

tree lot we went

to last year.

she helped me

pick out a tree,



something i always

hated doing when

liz

was here.

but i had

to do it.

i know this would

have been a really

exciting time

for us, maddy’s first

christmas, but it

just doesn’t seem

real, doesn’t seem

right without

her.

this year we

did’t buy the biggest

tree on the lot,

but i know that

liz

would have been proud

that i actually went

out during one of

the busiest shopping

days to buy one,

without her pushing me

to do so.

decorating the damn

thing was a whole

different story.

i went to a few places

and picked up

some ornaments.

and over the past few

weeks i’ve been

buying ornaments

at random places i’ve

visited with madeline,

so we can

continue the tradition

that we had.

there was no

way in hell i

was going to dig out

all the ornaments we

collected over 12

years of christmas.

i just couldn’t do it.

someday.

they’ll be there in

the garage, waiting

for madeline.

so i finally found

the will to

put the fucker up.

maddy watched as i

put the tree into

the stand and

covered the tree in lights.

i learned that

waiting until the

last minute to buy

tree-decorating items

is not a good idea.

we visited 5 different

stores and came away

with the last box

of lights in the la,

the lights that look like a

small net, normally used

to cover a small bush.

(thankfully i bought that tiny tree).

i also was unable to

find the little ornament hooks,

so i had to buy

some wire and make

my own.

madeline stared

at me as i cut

the wire and hung

the ornaments on the tree.

for someone who

hates christmas, i am

certainly doing a

lot of work.

and i actually

loved doing it,

’cause i know

that this is what

liz

would have wanted.

The Little Things

Sometimes it seems that grief wipes out every feeling except despair. Nothing matters, no moment is free of sadness, food doesn't taste good, family time is painful, memories are daggers to the heart, and life does not feel like a gift.

But once in awhile a different feeling floats to the surface of the dark pool of loss. Maybe laughter at something absurd, or gratitude for a sweet gesture, perhaps a smile that can't help but be returned...or the genuine curiosity of a baby wondering what he is doing on this big guy in a red suits lap.

Grief taught me to savor moments of unexpected lightness. The relief of feeling something besides sadness was palpable. I remember being a bit disoriented the first time I felt something, anything really, because nothing threatened to swallow me whole. I discovered that love really is more powerful than death, and love in all of its forms slowly heals the damage caused by the absence of feeling.

So today I am grateful for my children who love me with a devotion that sometimes overwhelms me. I celebrate the love of my family who have stood beside me or held me up, depending on the day. I thank God for my friends who willingly walk the journey of life with me no matter where the road leads. I am grateful for Phil's love which has enriched and changed me, and for the opportunity to love and be loved again by a wonderful man.

Love matters, especially in the darkness. Wishing you a ray of love light today.

Making Memories (and a few cookies too!)

It's that time of year. The time when everything takes on a rosy glow (when you stop rushing around long enough to notice the glow....). The time of year when people smile a bit more, say nicer things to each other, and we are, for just a few days, the people we strive less successfully to be the rest of the year round: generous in thought and deed, kind, forgiving, festive, living in the moment, grateful..the list goes on and on.

It can be a tough time, and the Christmas season has had it's ups and downs for the past four years. This year though, it's been mostly up and I'm grateful for that. Grayson and I have had a blast decorating our tree, decorating cookies, shopping, singing carols, etc. It's been great so far, and I'm looking forward to the next few days of relaxing and spending time with my family. In past years, I have felt Daniel's absence so much at Christmas, and being surrounded by the happy members of my extended family all so luckily accompanied by their spouses was almost more than I could bear. This year though, I am grateful to be with them, honored by the obvious love they have for each other, and so much less bitter about it.

Don't get me wrong, even in this wonderful joyous season I have my issues with God, and birthday or not...when I get up there, they will all have some splaining to do! But that conversation and it's illuminating answers is for a another day, and one that I honestly hope is way far in my future. In the meantime, I have a ton of life left to live in the long term, and in the short term: gifts to wrap and give, eggnog to drink, more baking to do, more hugs to give to Grayson, and just in general more love to spread around to the people who mean so much to me.

Merry Christmas (and happy Tuesday too!) - Michelle D.

Running With Phil

My husband LOVED to run. When we first began dating, he was training for the Los Angeles Marathon. At the time I could not imagine why anyone in their right mind would purposely run 26.2 miles, but as a newly in love girl I willingly accompanied Phil on many training runs. The upside for me was that my job only entailed riding my bike alongside him carrying his water and runner's fuel (goo packs to those of you who run). We spent many wonderful hours getting to know each other while he pounded the pavement, and I coasted along at his side.

Phil was a very disciplined runner. He timed every run, he lived his life by his training plan, and he judged how much he could eat based on how far he ran. Seriously. But watching him run was amazing. His stride was effortless, you could set a watch by his pace, and to see him run was to see grace in action. He also loved to coach running...you can see where this is going. I became both Phil's wife, and his running partner. One of our favorite dates was heading out for a trail run, then stopping to pick up tacos on the way home. Running alone was very rare during our married years.

As I rubbed Phil's legs down after his first marathon, I mused about what a great accomplishment finishing a marathon would be. Phil said, "You could do it." I said, "I think I will, when I am 40." Don't ask me why I made this random statement, but that became our plan. He would run one more marathon, with me, when I was 40. We discussed locations, Hawaii was a favorite and Big Sur a close second. He told me he would be there for me, he'd pace me, carry my water, write my training plan, do all the runs with me, and he promised not to make me miserable in the process. As the years passed, whenever a marathon was mentioned he'd remind me that mine was still ahead.

When Phil died, I thought my love of running died with him. Being out on our favorite trail without him was torture. I could see him around every turn, I could hear his voice in my ears, and feel the pounding of his feet beside me as I navigated the paths we ran so many times together. I thought my heart would literally break each time I thought I "saw him" around a familiar bend. For the first few months after his death I quit running. But as the days passed I discovered that I needed to run. For me, for him, and for us. Slowly I learned to pace myself. I carried my own water. I found ways to push myself. I started heading out with an iPod full of inspiring music as my companion, and eventually I adapted to running solo.

My 40th birthday is next week. As the milestone year was approaching, I kept thinking about the plan I made with Phil. Now that life was so radically different...did I really need to run a marathon? As much as I have come to enjoy running alone, I wasn't sure I wanted to do all those training miles by myself. After a month or so of waffling I found a marathon and made a commitment to accomplish the goal I set long ago. I guess I felt I was honoring a promise to Phil by staying the course we set ten years ago.

So yesterday I went out for a run. I left my iPod at home so that I could think about all that I need to accomplish this week. As I jogged along my route I heard Phil tell me to loosen up my arms so that my neck wouldn't hurt. I automatically shook my arms out. A little while later he told me to get off the pavement because it is so bad for my knees. I swept off the sidewalk and ran along on the asphalt. The route I planned was hillier than I expected. Phil's voice chimed in reminding me that it would be all downhill on the way home. Every time I heard his voice, my body responded immediately. My brain was still busy planning the week, when suddenly I really HEARD him. And then I knew. Tears ran down my cheeks as I realized that I won't have to run the marathon alone. He will be there with me for every one of those 26.2 miles. We can still do this together.

One other bonus? I talked Michelle into running the marathon, too! Wish us luck ;)

A Wary Merry Christmas

**Our regular Sunday author, Kim, will be away for the next three weeks. Today we welcome back visiting author Wendy Diez. Thank you Wendy!**



I spent last December 22nd in the emergency room, which isn’t necessarily an unusual place for an extremely pregnant woman to be. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to deliver a bundle of joy but rather to find the source of the unrelenting headache that had kept Chris in bed for almost two days. Within an hour of arriving at the ER, my world started to crumble when the attending physician suggested I call some family to sit with me because something had shown up on the CT scan. After an additional tense hour of waiting and the revelation that there were two large “masses” on Chris’s brain, the slow crumble became an avalanche and my world furiously collapsed around me. “I’ll never enjoy Christmas again,” I thought to myself.

Chris spent the rest of the week in the hospital while the doctors ran tests and determined the best plan of action. It was especially difficult for him to be there on Christmas Day. Chris loved Christmas. I mean he really loved it (don’t even get me started on how many days—yes, days—it took him to decorate our tree). We ate the traditional Diez family holiday meal of Kassler rib and sauerkraut in his hospital room. Chris’s sister, trying desperately to bring some joy to the day, brought the meal to us in a picnic basket along with cloth napkins and real plates and silverware. Ian, in his dapper holiday outfit, visited daddy and marveled at all the machinery in the room. And all day long, I thought, “I’ll never enjoy Christmas again.”

My last holiday season was a tumultuous ride of major life events: terminal diagnosis, birth of a baby and death of a spouse within a three-week span. “I’ll never enjoy Christmas again, “ I thought for months.

But inexplicably, a little bit of the Christmas spirit has penetrated my guarded and grieving heart in the last few weeks. Maybe it is the continuous loop of Christmas carols running through my head or the abundance of holiday lights and decorations in my neighborhood. Perhaps it is the pure joy and excitement that Ian exudes when talking about Santa. Or possibly, it is the deep desire to feel “normal.” Whatever it is, I’m grateful that my grief has moved over and made a little room for happiness this season. “Maybe I might enjoy Christmas again…someday,” I have found myself warily thinking recently.

I know I am hardly the first widow to feel great sadness during the holidays. So, my earnest wish is that Santa may bring you all some bit of joy during this season. It is what our loved ones would have wanted.

I wish you a Wary Merry Christmas.

Happy Anniversary

December 23rd will mark the four year anniversary of our love eternal. We wrote our own vows, we rocked into each other the whole ceremony, we had a moment in time where all else melted away, we sealed our devotion with a kiss.

It wasn't about the dress, venue, gifts, or cake....it was simply about our love being personified.

Nearly three years of our marriage have been spent on different plains, yet it grows stronger and deeper with each breath I take for him...for me. He left me on this world with a kiss that I have been able to build a dream on....continue to build a dream on.

Here's to you my love...here's to us. And for ol' time sake, let's here Satchmo play the song we danced to nearly four years ago.....

"Give me a kiss before you leave me
and my imagination
will feed my hungry heart
Leave me one thing before we part
A kiss to build a dream on"

life without a mirror

Photo by h.koppdelaney

I had a dream that I found Jeff. I was so totally overjoyed and so excited that I attempted to jump into his arms. The shock and confusion, even hostility, that he looked at me with was horrifying. He didn't recognize me. He didn't know me anymore.
He scooped up our little ones in a tight embrace and laughed at how they've grown and who they are. They snuggled into his chest and glowed.
He ignored me. He didn't know who I was. I was a stranger. I was outside his embrace. I was no longer 'his'.

Losing Jeff has changed me. I am stronger, braver and more capable....I think. But without him to act as my mirror, I can no longer see myself through the eyes of someone so close who loves me so dearly. Part of the reason we love our spouse is who they see and believe us to be. Without that rose-tinted reflection, I often don't know who 'I' am.
I see myself as horribly blemished. Terribly scarred. A monster at times. Wiser but angrier. More able but less patient because I have SO much more to do. More capable of standing up for myself but louder because of the necessity to be heard.
I know that he would laugh at these neurotic thoughts that plague me. The thoughts that I am unsuited to be a mother, a sister, a friend. I can feel without a shadow of doubt that he would roughly snuggle me close, kiss the top of my head and tell me that I was the 'sweetest, most loving person he has known'.
But with only a memory of these statements and the knowledge of my metamorphosis into 'widow' and all that entails, I wonder if his kind description would still stand.
Would he know me? Would he love me? Would he still want me?

supposed to be

supposed to be in hawaii

with

liz

this weekend

(fucking reminder popped up on my blackberry the other day to make me feel like shit).

instead.

i sit here

thinking about nothing

but the fact that

she

died 2 months ago today.

(i fucking hate the 25th now).

how can i not

think about it?

there are too many reminders.

everyday

i have to look out

the picture window

in the front of my house

to see her car,

parked in her spot.

like she may just be

sitting out there,

like she did so often,

finishing up

one of her post-work

calls to chandra.

(i stare out that window way too much).

i have to see her

black, elastic pony-tail holders

on every door knob in

the house.

i don’t know why she

chose to put them

there, but there they

remain.

Coming Out on Top ....

I think I realized this week, for the first time, that I will survive this. Interesting timing, since Friday will be the 2 year deathiversary, but there ya go.

I could not have said that a year ago. I didn't want to survive it. Heck, there are still days that I don't want to survive this, but I know I will.

This grief, which is so much more than a feeling .... it's a living, breathing being .... will not beat me. It may piss me off .... and it does .... often, but it won't beat me.

It may slam into me as I try to keep my balance in this strange and horrible ocean, but it won't drown me. I won't let it.

It may try to convince me that I'm totally alone, but it lies. There are people who love me and who are rooting for me. There are other men and women on this path who are here for me and get me. There are my children .... who need me.

There is my God, who has carried me during most of the past 2 years .... sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes too weak to move, but he's carried me nonetheless.

And there is Jim. I can't see him, but he's there, knowing that I won't be beat.

And so I won't.

I may feel lonely many days up here and I may feel miserable. But not every day. Not any more.

I will come out on top.

I will.

Buoyancy

Buoyancy (defined) is the upward force that keeps things afloat. This force enables the object to float or at least seem lighter. "At least seem lighter..."

I was thinking about Michele's post from yesterday and this word kept sort of popping into my head. I have a number of people who help me stay afloat and I wouldn't be here (or anywhere else for that matter) without them. My long-time friends, family, co-workers, and of course my new-found widow community. There isn't enough room here to list the number of people who make things "seem lighter" for me. I have a mental image of myself in a giant mosh pit of these people, pushed up and along by the force of their love and support. I can't help but smile with that image in my head!

Some days the weight of the world came make buoyancy feel impossible - impossible for me alone maybe, but not impossible with all of the wonderful people I have in my life. I can be lighter because of them, and for them.

Happy Tuesday! - Michelle D.

Widows Rock

Last week was a whirlwind of party planning, traveling, and meeting new people who have been touched by the work of Soaring Spirits...and this blog. I attended three of the four holiday events (sorry Austin, I so wanted to be there!) planned by some amazing women, and supported by fantastic sponsors from all walks of life. I traveled up and down escalators wearing my Widows Rock! t-shirt, scurried to beg for ink pens when we discovered that we'd forgotten them, missed a flight due to some crazy regulations, arived in time for party number three but needed to change clothes (and curl my hair) in a restaurant bathroom in Seattle, arrived in New York at 9:00PM to discover that the ride I thought would be waiting for me was unavailable, juggled miscellaneous Death Sucks merchandise from one flight to another, and once again was repeatedly blown away by the power of community.

Watching the interactions between widowed people always astounds me. At every event I attended there was at least one person who discovered a different connotation to the word widow. And the change occurred as they spoke to another person to whom that label also applied. Being together took the widowhood loneliness away, if only for a few hours. Talking to someone who didn't want to fix the problem (anyone own a magic revival wand?), allowed for honest conversation about how much we miss the person we grieve. Honest conversation led to both personal revelations, and also to much needed laughter.

As I flew home at the end of my trip, I was struck by the realization that my own concept of the word widow has radically changed over the past four years. I don't know exactly when the word widow no longer horrified me. I remember so clearly not wanting to be called a widow in the aftermath of Phil's death. For weeks? months? a year? I could only associate the word widow with death. Each time the word was applied to me I felt as if I'd been hit in the stomach. "This is Phil Hernandez's widow," was a sentence that caused me to feel nauseous and angry all at once. When I looked in the mirror I didn't see a widow. I didn't LOOK like a widow!

I have learned some things about widows since I became one. I know that widows are warriors, assigned to a war they didn't want to fight. I know that widows have a clear inner voice, even when it is buried in uncertainty. I know that widows reach out to each other in the most amazingly generous ways, and often discover that giving and healing go hand in hand. I know that widows need to be allowed to be real people, no matter how devastating the damage death has inflicted becomes. I know that widows may look great on the outside, and be bleeding from the inside out every single minute of the day. I know that widows have been taught the most important life lessons by living their worst nightmares. I know that widows are stronger than anyone can comprehend. Above all, I now know that widows need each other.

The day the word widow lost its power over me must have been the day I realized that Widows Rock.

Counting

Day 42

I count ...

the days.

I count to remind myself that I have only begun, that I am a newcomer to this kind of grief. I count the days to get me to the next one. Each time I count a day I tell myself that some day, when there are three or four numbers in that count, it will not hurt so deeply.

I count the days to remind myself not to expect too much.

Sometimes I count down. Only 4 more hours till this day is over. The only comfort it holds is that another day is done.

I cry ...

so deeply that I am used to the sound of it. I never liked the sound of my crying. It was harsh, raw, rough and completely un-feminine, I thought. But the sound has changed. It's deep, full of such...full of such distress and shit-will-I-make-through-this-ness. The sound makes me cry more. It's the kind of cry that no one can listen to and not cry themselves. It's the kind of cry that only time can lessen.

I believe...

what someone told me, thatgrief is like waves of the ocean. I am treading water. At first the waves that wash over me are huge, they crash in over my head, pounding me down, slamming me into the bottom of the ocean. I am turned around and confused. I am not sure which way is up. I panic as my need to draw air intensifies.

Each time I come back up. Each time I am exhausted from the effort of just being. They say in the beginning the waves are numerous and fierce and then they diminish in size. And even lessen in strength.

They say...


that there will always be big waves but that they won't come as often or with such intensity as they do now. And it is then that I can start thinking about what direction I want to go in. Instead of just trying to stay afloat, I will be able to swim to dry land.

I pray they are right.

Napping before the show....

I'm tired.

I've miscalculated my energy for this month, which has equated to many a'naps.

In the midst of the over-exertion and holiday bustle, I drained my tank with no one in sight to grab me some gas. It's just a month of lots of everything!

December 23rd will be our four year anniversary and December 27th will be my birthday...heck, and lets throw in Christmas to make the party a little bit more fun ;)

Like any lead up to a special date or days, I've come to learn and know that it is the "pre-show" that messes with my mind. When the days actually arrive I see that it is like any other, yet it isn't. I have the ability to take another day in my life without Michael, but make it one he looks down on in celebration, one that isn't doom and gloom.

Until those days come, and I am given the blessed option to take an amazing day(that I know unluckily I can't share with my love) and make it even more amazing by sharing our love with other's who believe and support it, I will nap and most likely be drained to the core.

I'm resting up for the party, and letting the "pre-show" run its course.

Party on Wayne...Party on Garth......

“No day is so bad it can't be fixed with a nap.”

-Carrie Snow

a place for you, my love

I've struggled this past year and a half to find the 'right' words to mark Jeff's life and his person on a commemorative bench on the West Coast of this island, in a the small fishing village where we met, fell in love and started our life together.
I needed to find something that would bring 'him' to life in a phrase for those who knew him and for those who didn't, a taste of who he really was. I poured over letters and cards he wrote me, his favourite songs, poems, common phrases, even his funeral program. In frustration, I asked our very good friend, Jimmy (aka Dad) how he would describe my love. Without hesitation, he said, "Jeff Chandler - A Truly Loving and Irritating Man"
In those brief words, he summed up Jeff for those who knew him. He hinted at his persona to those who didn't.
I was concerned that some may feel offended or feel that Jeff had been insulted. I called his family for their feelings on it. Everyone laughed. Everyone remembered Jeff as he was - 'loving and irritating'.
He was a pest. Those he loved, he loved ferociously and protectively. He laughed often. He joked always. He was full of hugs and kisses (and licks to the face) even for his buddies who hated it - and he loved that they hated it.
I am pleased that those of us who knew him will conjure these images when we read those words and sit upon his bench. I am so glad, as well, that those who didn't know this kind, loud and humourous man will read the inscription, laugh and wonder. Even in his death, he is making others chuckle....And I think that is right. I think that it so fitting.
So with a fond smirk and eternal love for the man who could love and irritate like no other, a bench has been placed upon a point of land overlooking the sea that he so adored. I hope that it offers some solace for those of us who are missing him and a giggle for all who read the inscription.

six weeks ago

today was tuesday.

and it sucked.

started the day working

on the stuff

i didn’t want to

work on.

wrote the check for

liz’s

funeral today.

and mailed

two copies of

her

death certificate

out to some folks

who need them.

also had to

get something from

her

closet.

and for the first

time was faced with

her

hamper full

of dirty clothes

and

her

wall of shoes.

they made me

cry.

Feeling Small .....

I'm feeling a bit lost and small as I head towards the second year mark of Jim's death. This grief thing is so much bigger than I am and it draws me in to places I don't want to go.

I don't want to be sad and I don't want to feel like I have no energy. I don't want to wish that I weren't here, but I seem to have no control over how I feel ..... and I hate that.

I wish I could tell you that I've embraced my grief and just let it teach me all kinds of deep truths, but that would be a lie.

I hate this grief and how it's changed me. I know ... in my head ... that it's brought me some blessings, but today .... I just hate it.

Today, a little over a week until that day, I just want my "before" life back. I try not to go there .... to that place of wanting and longing for what I cannot have .... because I know that it is a waste of time. But in these days that is exactly how I feel ..... like I am wasting time.

This feeling is so difficult to describe and explain to people who aren't where we are. The feeling of heaviness, of loneliness, of feeling lost. The feeling of complete exhaustion and yet not being able to sleep. The feeling of feeling very, very small in this grief.

My head also knows that these days will pass and that they are usually much worse than the actual "day" itself. But my heart doesn't seem to be paying attention to my head lately.

And so I will feel what I feel .... until I don't.

Which, I hope, is soon.

Wading Through

So it's been one of those weeks, filled with wonderful things: Widow's Rock Austin was a great time, with some great widows and friends of widows (thanks to all who came!!) and we raised money for Camp Widow 2010 (yay!!!); my sister surprised me at Widow's Rock - she flew in unexpectedly from England for the event and will stay for a week; Grayson had basketball tryouts and an awesome choir concert which went well....on the other hand the week was filled with stressful things: at work I have been second guessed and condescended to in ways I haven't since I was just starting out in my career, I have a had a crick in my neck for four days, and I have a nasty case of PMS....good times!

I've let the stressful things get the best of me this time and have been wading through the muck with a crappy attitude and a stiff neck. I'd really love to run away to a tropical island for an extended appointment with a bottle of rum and my flipflops. Unfortunately for me, this isn't an option. I have to face the music and choose to have a good attitude about it or allow myself to wallow in the shit. If your wondering if this is a new "make a list of the things that are good" post....it's not. It's great I have good things in my life. Focusing on the positive things won't help me resolve my current issue. I've been challenged in the last few years to be clear with myself about who I am: what I like, what motivates me, how much I am willing to give, how much I am willing to take. I think I'm reaching a threshold and I have to decide what it means. Does it mean I have to suck it up and plow through, or does it mean I have to suck it up and go around?

I'm not certain yet of the answer. I'm digging deep to make sure the decision is the best one. Either way, sucking it up and moving forward in one way or the other will be the answer. I try to keep my life a "no whining" zone. Lately it's been me that's been the whiner. Enough is enough already. I'm done.

Happy Tuesday! - Michelle D.

A Gift

My husband died less than one hour after being hit by a car on his bicycle. I arrived at the scene before the ambulance did, and stood at the foot of his bed in the emergency room as he took his last breath. I watched the color leave his face, and I recognized the moment when his spirit no longer inhabited his body. And I consider myself one of the lucky ones, because I was there for his last moments surrounding him with my love.

Last week I sat beside the bed of another dying person, my great aunt Martha (pictured here with her sister at our 2006 family reunion...she is the one on the right). Auntie was a very spunky 90 year old girl with a zest for adventure, and one of the kindest hearts I have ever known. Two weeks ago she was in my kitchen cooking enchiladas for my kids, telling stories about her time in Australia, and insisting on helping with the dishes. Less than a week later she suffered a massive stroke, and our family sat by her bed as she struggled to separate her spirit from her body. As I stroked her hair and tried to decipher her garbled words, I realized that we were sharing our last moments. The severity of her stroke indicated that she would not recover from the brain damage that followed. And so I sat, knowing I was saying good bye.

Harder than saying my own farewell was being an observer to the pain of my family as they each wrestled with the concept of a life without their: wife, mother, sister, grandmother, friend, and beloved auntie. My uncle stood beside his wife and stroked her cheek in a beautiful display of love and affection. My mother kept vigil by auntie's bedside for over a week, playing music, adjusting pillows, combing her hair, and rubbing her feet. Auntie's children each spoke to her with love, and arranged things they knew she would enjoy...like putting the Laker game on in her room so she would know the score. As I came and went from the house she shared with her husband of over sixty years, I was overcome with how much love this lady showered on those around her, and how clearly they were impacted by having her in their lives.

Phil died so quickly that before I could get my head around the fact that his injuries were life threatening, he was already gone. There was no bedside vigil, or final words shared. Witnessing the gift being given to my aunt by every person willing to look death in the face, literally, was a powerful experience. As she lay in bed waiting to begin her next grand adventure, Martha was covered in love. She wasn't alone. The people who loved her held her hand, even though they were afraid, and in pain. I am in awe of this gesture of devotion, and so grateful that auntie was cared for with love right to the very end of her life.

I love you Auntie, thank you for teaching all of us the meaning of devotion.

I Believe in Fairy Tales

Michael's my prince charming. He saved me from the poisoned apple, kissed me out of an eternal sleep, slayed the dragon, and swept me up into his safe arms. And as soon as I was swept up, I felt like he was pulled away from me.

But, I still believe in fairy tales. It has been through my fellow widows; their stories, pictures, memories and thoughts....that I realized there were others in this world that had found their Aladdin, Beast, and Prince Phillip. It reinforced that I have felt the greatest of love's yet survived the largest of tragedies....and I was not alone in surviving.

It reinforced that love will always live on.

So I will wake tomorrow, out of my glass case, surrounded by seven dwarves but no prince...within sight. I will take on this world, this tale we started....and in the end I will have my happy ending, as we will be together, and live happily ever after....and until then, I shall always believe in fairy tales and the FACT that they do come true.

"Only those who truly love and who are truly strong can sustain their lives as a dream. You dwell in your own enchantment. Life throws stones at you, but your love and your dream change those stones into the flowers of discovery. Even if you lose, or are defeated by things, your triumph will always be exemplary. And if no one knows it, then there are places that do. People like you enrich the dreams of the worlds, and it is dreams that create history. People like you are unknowing transformers of things, protected by your own fairy-tale, by love."
-Ben Okri

plumbing prowess and other miracles

Tonight, as I attempted to turn off the water to the tub, I was hit with a major plumbing emergency. Initially, as I was unable to shut off the water to the already very full bath, I thought, "Oh, *^%$#. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!!"
Turning the knob to the left did nothing. Turning it to the right had the same undesired effect. Saying my most favoured and shocking swearword, unfortunately, didn't help either....
So I took a breath. I stopped. I thought (really, really quickly). I unplugged the tub. I got a screw driver, a pair of vice grips and an adjustable wrench. I took off the tap with the screw driver, I turned off the water with the vise grips and I removed the cartridge with the wrench.
Before Jeff died, I may not have known how to conquer this house's plumbing monsters. I didn't know where the water shut-off was. But even if I did, I still probably would have let him deal with these things. I wouldn't have believed in my abilities to fix these dilemmas correctly or I would have just allowed him to do 'his job' in the variety of household repairs that spring up. It would have seemed daunting and overwhelming.
But tonight, I didn't panic (much) as I performed my plumbing magic; because I now know where the shut-off for the hotwater tank AND household water is if I need to shut the whole thing down.
Although this is post sounding like a plumbing how-to, it isn't. It is a testament to the strength and growth we experience and gain after surviving any tragedy. It is a statement of how, although we think we may not be able to make it, do it, survive it - we can. We learn how. We grow. We grudgingly troup forwards.
All of us have this in us, it is just forced to the surface when you find yourself suddenly alone. Suddenly solely accountable for everything that occurs in our household. The strength and courage rise to the surface whether it is a major minor plumbing issue or a catastrophe involving our loved ones and our lives.
This, I believe, is one of the blessings of grief.

photos

sunday night.

2:00am.

for the first time,

just saw some photos of

liz

posted to flickr by anya

and i lost my shit.

photos of

liz

(almost all taken by me)

have brought me

lots of comfort

over the past few weeks,

but these were different.

these photos were taken

by someone else

during happy times

that i wasn’t a part of…

her bachelorette party

and

various girls-only weekends.

all of a sudden

now i think i know what

it’s like

to look at this from

a strangers perspective

and it’s awful.

i found myself

thinking the

same things everyone

else has said,

“what a beautful woman”

“so full of life”

“can’t believe she’s gone”

holy shit i miss

liz

so much right now.

We Made It ....

Widowhood is a very, very long road but we made it past Thanksgiving, didn't we? We may have not wanted to, it may have been yet another punch in the gut, it may have been less horrible than we anticipated .... but we did it.

We all keep putting one foot in front of the other (most days) and as we walk we grow stronger and stronger. We don't feel as strong as many people think we are, but we are growing.

I myself dreaded this holiday, as it was the first time for my husband's family to be together .... sort of .... since he died. His mother died 5 months after he did so we had two huge holes in our holiday. I did have a few rough times ..... times where I went off by myself and cried for what I've lost, for what my reality is, but most of the time it was good to be with our family. I knew that I was loved and supported there, in spite of sometimes feeling "separate".

So one huge holiday down, a couple of others to go. We can do this. We have each other and the knowledge that others have made it before us. Again, we may not want to and it may be oh so very difficult, but we can do this.

Just keep breathing .... and stepping .... one foot at a time.

And know that you are not alone.

The View from my Mind

Well it was Thanksgiving number 5 without Daniel. I've said it before, but really, it is just hard to believe. It seems like he was just here.

This was the first one that wasn't quite so difficult to bear. Grayson and I usually go to the coast with my family and spend a couple of days fishing, collecting sea shells, feeding the sea gulls (like this picture) and just relaxing. Every year for the past 4, I have at some point had to take a moment or 30 alone to cry my heart out and just wallow in the missingness. This year the need just didn't occur. It wasn't that I didn't miss him, I did. It just wasn't so painful this time. It was more normal - more" this is the way it is". I was grateful for it, and sad about it too.

I knew the day would come when it would be more normal for us, and on my darkest days I looked forward to that time. However, having reached that point (at least for now, I'm sure a wave will come again in the future - that much is guaranteed), having reached that point, it makes me a little sad. How can it be so long that it doesn't hurt as much? The distance that thought creates in my mind is hard to bear. The less painful it is, the less close I am to the feelings and memories of him. Right? I expected that to happen, but now I'm not so sure. I don't feel farther away from him or less attached to the memories. I just feel more peaceful about it, and find myself smiling at my many memories instead of crying.

It is a minor shift, but when I open my eyes and truly see what's in front of me....when I stop focusing on what isn't there and appreciate what is....wow, how nice. I feel peaceful in a way I haven't in a long time.

Happy Tuesday - Michelle D.