My Farewell Wish for You.

This has been a significant week. On Wednesday my kids and I had a celebration of life, honoring my husband Michael's birthday. It was an uplifting occasion, really. In the past this was the most difficult of days. Well, also was our wedding anniversary and the anniversary of his death. Oh, and the anniversary of the day we met. Perhaps I should also list the various holidays that meant so much for us. You get the point.

Each day after entering the world of widowhood is difficult. There is no way around it. From the day our spouses die, and those days forward, our lives will no longer be the same. The joyful days that we used to celebrate will now take up space with realities of our loss. I have come to accept this, and find that I am becoming quite comfortable with this more and more. On the other hand, what I also find is that it is becoming easier and easier to deal with this. Experience and time speaks volumes.

I suppose there are those that might feel that the pain of my loss is less now that I am in a new relationship. I don't know if that is my truth. My loss is my loss, and it will never go away. I can say that having someone close who is willing to support me through these challenging times is of significant help. And although my relationship is still somewhat new, I know that I deeply love this person, and I know that I will spend each day striving to strike that right balance between what I had and what I have.

I recognize that where I am at, or what I speak of, may not sit well with many readers. Many of you are still in the early stages of your grief, and the thought of new love is hard to consider. I can say that I truly didn't expect to find myself here, and I didn't expect to find my heart expanding to make room for a new love this soon. Yet here I am, and I recognize that it is time to begin focusing on the person standing here in front of me. I know that this will take a lot of effort on my part. I don't know exactly how Abel feels, yet I imagine that it has been challenging to open his heart to a man who still holds onto another. I can remember a few weeks ago when we were lying in bed and he said softly to me "remember that I am the one who is here."

Hearing Abel's words made me realize that I was perhaps taking for granted how strong he was, and how willing he was to hold me when I was missing Michael. Those quiet words also told me that he is a vulnerable person, who fears having his heart broken. This reminds me of another past conversation when Abel acknowledged that we would not be together if Michael had not died, and that clearly Michael was the love of my life. I didn't hesitate one moment to be honest and clear with Abel, that Michael was not the love of my life, as I don't believe that there is just one love of my life. I believe that people come into our lives, by chance, or by purpose, and if our hearts are open, love can enter.

I have too much love to give, and I know that I want to live the rest of my life with love. I feel so fortunate right now, and yet it is not necessarily because I have romantic love. I have the love of my children. I have the love of my extended family and friends, and I will soon have the opportunity to love a grandchild. So yes, I am quite fortunate.

So here is my wish for you. Love, and be loved. I know that your heart has been broken, mine was too. Yet keep in mind that a benefit of a broken heart is that there are many cracks on the surface which can make the flow of love happen easily. Love others openly, and let them love you. Know that I love all of you, and will miss this opportunity to share my words and journey with you. You have each touched my heart in so many ways. Many of you are friends that I have met along the way. Many of you I know through your loving comments. Know that I will be reading, and will remain a part of this community, just in a quieter way.

With my departure it is now my pleasure to share with you the voice that will take up residence here on Sundays, Matthew Croke. Many of you may recognize Matthew, as he has been a guest contributor here on Widow's Voice. What you may not know is a bit of his story. Matthew lives in the NW suburbs of Chicago, and is raising three girls all under the age of 11. Matthew lost his wife Lisa three years ago in the same year they lost his wife's mother who they were also living with. In his own words Matthew speaks of his journey as "trying to find my new place in this world while helping the girls find theirs." What a lovely perspective. I'm already looking forward to reading his words each week.

Preparing for change.

It's time for change.

I have been taking stock into where my life has been, where it is at the moment, and where I want it to go in the not so distant future.

For many of us, well, for all of us I suppose, change was at one time an unwelcome visitor. Change happened to us. Change came up from behind, kicked our feet up from beneath us, and took something we most valued.

I know that when my husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor change happened to me. When that final day arrived and he was taken from me, change definitely happened to me. Since that day, change has continued to occur, both welcomed and unwelcome, expected and unexpected.

The way I tend to live my life, especially these past couple of years, is to anticipate what I think I will need. Rather than let change happen to me, I make the first move, and keep moving.

Lately I have known that it is time to make some changes, and after giving it some serious thought I have decided to change my writing. Firstly, I need to take a break from all writing for a short time. I need to focus on my day to day living, and put some focus on the new person in my life. I feel like I need to live my day to day life without over analyzing it. I also need to do this more privately.

With this in mind I have decided to end my regular writing here on Widow's Voice. Next week will be my final posting. I believe that when one person goes silent, another speaks. It is my hope that by honoring what I know is best for me, stepping aside, I will be creating a space so that someone new may begin. I often think of us all as making up a beautiful and rich quilt. We are all bound together through our hope and through our grief. Each of us is unique, and by sharing our own personal stories and comments here on Widow's Voice we create something that is so warm and comforting.

For now, I am preparing for change. I am formulating my thoughts and feelings, and will be writing one last message next week. And who knows, I may pop up every once in awhile here, or somewhere else. I don't think I can stop writing all together, yet I know that I need to begin writing something new. For now, know that I am already feeling some anticipatory loss just by making this decision, and sharing it with you.

Much love.

Dan

A Talk of Death

I just returned from visiting with my parents and aunt. I take the two hour drive every other weekend, as I know that my folks, and their generation of family members, won't be around forever. Of course none of us will be around forever, will we? It's just that my parents are in their late 70's, and with many health problems. My aunt is in the final stage of her cancer, and I'm all too aware of how precious time becomes when you know someone is leaving sooner rather than later.

Each time I take this trip, my car is loaded with my kids, my daughter's boyfriend, and on a few occasions, Abel, my new boyfriend. Today's trip felt quite intense. We visited with my folks first, then had them join us for a visit with my aunt. While at the visit my cousins were sharing with me that my aunt has chosen to end her chemotherapy. She has decided that her last days will be healthier and happier days without the misery that chemo can bring. It was kind of a sobering occasion.

On the long drive home Abel and I had a long conversation about health, death and aging. We talked about the various diseases that have affected our family's of origin, and how illness and death have touched each of our lives. At one point there was a pause, and Abel turned to me to ask, have you had a physical lately?

Funny timing. I do have a physical scheduled for this Monday. My health is definitely not something I take for granted. Although my kids are now teenagers, and young adults, I know that they still need me. I know that I still have much more parenting to do, and want to be sure that I am around for a long time. Remember, I will become a grandfather in less than two months. Last time that I met with my doctor, he told me that he was concerned about my blood pressure. It has always been borderline high, but now it is looking problematic. He reviewed my medical chart, and asked how long I have been on my anti-depressant.

Too long.

Like Janine, I have struggled with depression for many years. My depression has not been helped by the mental health problems that my two sons suffer from, nor has it been aided by the death of my husband. In the past two years I have tried twice to go off my medication, each time without much success. I usually do well for a couple months, then find myself sinking deeper and deeper.

I told my doctor that while I was not sure about going completely off the medication, I preferred to try going off the anti-depressant rather than adding another medication for high blood pressure. I'm worried, because I'm not sure I am making the right decision, but once again I feel that it is worth a try. I suppose that if there was an optimum time to try it would be when I am happily in a new relationship and looking forward to the arrival of new life. Is that enough? Is anything enough?

All I know is that I do feel a deep sense of responsibility to not die. Well, just not right now at least. One pill? Two pills? I will make that decision on Monday. Suddenly I have someone holding my hand, reminding me that he is quite invested in my being around for quite some time.

Hopeful New Year

No tears tonight. (It's New Year's Eve as I write.)

Tonight I celebrate what lies ahead of me. Tonight I take notice of what prior New Year's brought my way. I know that tonight a friend is celebrating a wedding anniversary without her husband. I know that tonight another friend is remembering this as the day she met the husband who is also no longer beside her. Yet knowing each of these women, I'm sure that even if tears are falling, there are beautiful smiles on their faces.

Looking ahead to the new year is our way of projecting hope into our future. For those of us who are widowed hope is not something we can always easily access. Yet for me, at this point in my life, I do have hope, and more of it than expected.

I know that years ago after learning that my husband was terminally ill, I thought I lost hope. Yet, in the days that followed his emergency surgery I found myself accessing hope that I couldn't recognize at first. It was that hope that spurred me on to seek out the right path for us as a couple, and it was that hope that allowed me to not get stuck so deep in my unexpected sorrow. It was also that hope that provided me with two more loving years with the man I gave my heart to.

After losing Michael I felt that once again I had lost all ties to hope. I was not able to see beyond the pain and sorrow, even as the days and months went by. I began to question if my future carried any real meaning. After surviving on scary night I decided to trust that hope was there, even if I didn't recognize it. I made a decision to set off in a new direction, and I trusted that there was something, not necessarily someone, out there for me.

Tonight I sit here in my home, with all the chaos that is included with a house full of kids and pets. I had hoped for a very quiet peaceful night, one like last year, yet it is clearly not what I am to have. The television is blaring, the dogs are running around, I have struggling with a miserable cold, and my new love is at work rather than sitting beside me.

Inside my head I keep hearing Mick Jagger singing these lyrics..."YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT." For those of us who find ourselves seeking out this blog, this is a bit of an understatement.

My point is this, no, I don't believe I got what I wanted. I got more. I got a lifetime of Michael's love. It wasn't my lifetime of love, but it was his. I know that he never stopped loving me, nor I him. I know that loving him gave me so much hope in my future. I know that loving him taught me that sometimes hope takes a different turn. Before meeting Michael I thought love had passed me by. I had somewhat lost hope. He renewed it. In learning that I was soon to lose Michael I thought I had lost hope. Once again, it was renewed. In losing Michael I was sure that I had lost hope. Yet, here I sit, being hopeful once again.

Let's all look forward to a hopeful year. Let's say our thanks for what we had, and let's be open to what the future holds.

Happy New Year.



You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

Open Wound

I wish I could report days of happiness and joy. But I can't.

I feel like I am walking around with an open wound. It's been like this throughout the whole holiday season. This year feels worst than the past two years. Why am I crying so much?

I suppose I can answer my own question.

Michael loved Christmas. He loved Christmas not because he had so many wonderful childhood memories, more because of all the magic and wonder it stood for. Michael always yearned for the good life. His life growing up was not easy. His mother worked two jobs to meet the needs of her two young boys. She was not a widow, but a woman forced to meet all of her children's needs due to a father who walked away.

I yearned to give Michael everything he wanted. He deserved it all. What did Michael want most? Me.

I gave Michael my heart completely. I held nothing back. I brought him into my life, into my home, into my family, then began planning for our life together. Just as those plans began to materialize Michael was diagnosed with cancer. It was a sobering wake up call. I learned that while my love would last the test of time, our time together would not.

I won't lie. I did my share of anticipatory grieving, yet I kept this in check. I would not be short changed out of any possible time of loving him, holding him and celebrating him. Take all of this...his love for Christmas, reminders everywhere I look and listen, and...tears. Lots of tears.

I'm a mess and I know it. I'm a mess and my boyfriend knows it. I'm a mess, and still, I am loved. I've decided not to run from it. I have never, ever, run from anything that appears scary or uncomfortable. I tend to be a "face it head on" type of guy. So if a song brings on emotion, I am allowing myself to sob as I sing. If my boyfriend's love and attention reminds me of what I lost, then the tears are again welcome.

I've decided to accept that I have this open wound. At the same time I have decided to accept that I have someone beside me willing, and wanting, to help me heal that wound. Abel is not expecting to completely fill the wound that I carry, and I don't necessarily want it completely filled. I think I want to feel both loved and fulfilled, yet with room to always acknowledge the place that only Michael occupies.

Open wound. Healing every day.

Hands

A simple photo opportunity.

A day in the sun. A day with the one I love.

Our hands.

Proof that he is here for me. Proof that he exists here in my life. Proof that he offers his hand to me.

I sit here looking at this innocent photo that I took today.

My hand on his. His hand at ease. His hand already used to mine finding it's way over to his.

I am very fortunate. I never forget this. I never take the offer of his hand for granted.


It reminds me of another photo I took four years ago.


Another day in the sun. Another day with the one I loved.

Our hands.

Proof that he was there for me. Proof that he existed here in my life. Proof that he offered his hand to me.

My hand on his. His hand at ease. His hand already used to mind finding it's way over to his.

I am very fortunate. I never forget this. I never took the offer of his hand for granted.

Bittersweet Christmas

I got up this morning with one important task to accomplish, decorate the front of the house with holiday lights. I've notice the number of houses in the neighborhood slowly being lit up with beautiful lights of every color. My daughter has been asking when we would show our holiday spirit by lighting up our house as well.

As I don't do anything small scale, I ventured out to find all the newest, and latest, house lights on the market. I found a nice supply at a local big box store, then came right home to get started. After setting up all the cool things I had purchased I decided that I needed more. I decided I would head across town to a department store where they would likely have something different for me to choose from. After finding just what I was looking for I decided I should use the opportunity to buy some gift wrap, stocking stuffers and a couple of new stockings for the two new people in our lives. I grabbed one for my daughter's boyfriend, then another for my own new love.

The store was filled with shoppers. The shelves were stocked high with bright holiday items, and there was the continuous sound of beautiful holiday music. As I pushed my cart down the isle I could feel the earth beneath me sinking. No the ground was not actually sinking, but my heart was becoming so heavy that it felt like my whole being was caught in some kind of quick sand. Within a minute or two I was fighting off the crowd, trying with all my might to get to the damn cashier. I felt like I could barely breath, and then it happened.

Tears.

Why does it still hurt so bad? It's been over two years since he left. It's been three years since he was here to celebrate Christmas with me. It was four years ago that we celebrated Michael's "perfect Christmas." He knew that he was dying, and he didn't know if it would be his last, so he wanted to have the perfect old fashioned Christmas he never had as a child. We did it up wonderfully. It was just that, perfect. The following year he was still around. That year he called it his "bonus Christmas." He wasn't doing as well by then, so our celebration was much quieter, and modest.

In the year that followed we had a white stocking that hung in the front room. Throughout the days leading to Christmas the kids and I filled it with hand written memories and some of his favorite treats. Last year was a bit easier, as I was busy moving into a new house, and didn't take much notice of the holiday until the last minute.

This year there is someone new. I think I will call it my "bittersweet Christmas." I've noticed a phenomena that occurs throughout my week. The days that my new love, Abel, is around I am at peace. I feel loved, and I feel quite content. The days that he is away I feel Michael's absence. I remember his love, my heart feels heavy, and I feel sad. I know that in time I will be able to better blend the love I feel from, and for, both of these two beautiful men. In fact last night I had a dream, and in my dream both Abel and Michael were one being. I remember being with the him they became, and feeling both loved and confused. I know that I continue to struggle with the emotions of my heart. I continue to seek a better understanding of who I am. Michael's husband, Abel's boyfriend, a widower, someones lover.

Bittersweet.

My life has become bittersweet.

Thankful

Two Thanksgiving celebrations down, and one to go.

It's been an interesting couple of days. Friday night I hosted an office Thanksgiving potluck at my home. Almost every person from the office came, along with their families. There was so much food, wine and desert, and everyone was in a very good mood. Most had hoped to meet Abel, and since he had to work, I was explaining all night as to why he wasn't present.

Since most of the folks I work with have never been to my home I took the time to give each of them the official tour. What I realized is that this crowd of people never knew Michael, or of my life with him. Of course many have likely heard that I am widowed, but it is something that is more historical information to them. As each entered my bedroom they were greeted by the large wedding photo of Michael and I, which is balanced across the room with his urn. To create a festive mood throughout the house I had votive candles everywhere. Two specific candles are often burning on each side of the urn. I think these images were a bit jarring for each guest, as it put some reality into what I have experienced over the years.

On Saturday I had another early Thanksgiving celebration, this time at my parents' home. All of my brothers and their families were present, and with each person that greeted me there was the same question, "where is Abel?" That part was very similar to the questions and responses on Friday night, only this crowd had a very personal perspective of not only my loss, but of theirs.

I was enjoying a glass of wine with my sister-in-law, and having a real heart to heart when she commented about how quickly life can change. She was remembering her weekend visit to my home at the end of the summer, and how I was expressing that I was now ready to begin dating. She pointed out that the expression on my face now is very different than times in the recent past. She said that I look happy for a change. As we spoke more about Abel she shared with me that even though she is happy for me, and Abel seems like a nice guy, it is very difficult to see me with somebody new. She told me that even though it's been two years, she still thinks about how much she and everyone loved Michael, and how she misses him. My sister-in-law said that Michael was such a special person, the type that doesn't come along very often.

I appreciated what my sister-in-law shared with me. It was a good reminder that others around me continue to be affected by Michael being taken so soon. I know that my family is pleased that I have found happiness with someone new, but they will need time to adjust, as they don't see me, or us, often.

Before we began to eat our Thanksgiving meal all of us formed a circle in the room. We joined hands for the Thanksgiving prayer. My father voiced a collective thanksgiving for all that we have, and for what God will continue to provide us. These words sort of took me to another place. Yes, I am thankful, yet part of me is still feeling the sting of personalizing that God took Michael from me. I know that this internal debate, did he take him, or was it just his time, is not something worth wrestling with. I know that if God did take him, it is not for me to know why. So for now I will focus on being thankful for what I have.

I am thankful for my children, and the love we share between us. I am thankful for all of my extended family, and for the many years my parents, and each of my brothers, have been given in their marriages. I am thankful for all of my widowed friends, and all those that come here to read, connect, and heal. And yes, I am thankful that for now, and for how ever long I am blessed with this new person in my life, I have companionship.

One more Thanksgiving to go, which will be just my kids, Abel and me. No explanations needed.

Sunday

So this is the first occasion of my newly assigned day.

Sunday.

A day of sun, as I see it, is a true blessing. For so many of us, worry, hardship, and the basic toll of life, can really bring us down. When the weekend is upon us, we tend to wonder how much we can get accomplished on Saturday, and how we want to spend a day of leisure on Sunday. For those shaking off the trauma of loss, a day of sun can feel quite foreign.

Today, as I write, it is Saturday. I spent the day with a full car load of those I love, running errands and having lunch. As we moved back and forth about town, the sun was not shining, as it was raining. A lot. At one point someone commented about the weather, as if none of us would find pleasure in it. Very quickly my daughter and I both shouted out, I love rainy days.

Rainy days always give me a sense of comfort. For so long my days were filled with tears. It didn't matter how sunny it was outside, in my heart and soul, it was always stormy and wet. For so long a day of sun was incongruent with my mood. For so long it felt like the sun's only purpose was to shine down the truth of my loss and despair.

A funny thing happened last night. My new love, Abel, was spending the night, as he is still recuperating from a knee injury, and being here with me is a nicer way to spend days of relaxation than in his lonely room at home, I suppose. Anyway, as we climbed into bed for the night, I turned to him and said, Did you take your medicine? Abel said thanks for reminding him, then jumped, well, slowly climbed, out of bed to take it. While he was in the bathroom fumbling with his medication I was lying there feeling the aftermath of my words.

For two years I climbed into bed with my husband, who was fighting off a brain tumor. For two years I would remind him, asking, Did you take your medicine? Talk about a sobering moment. When Abel returned he could see that my mind, and mood, had drifted off somewhere. He asked, and I said that I was fine. He reminded me that I could talk about anything.

Well, it's just that I spoke those same words to Michael every night, and, well, it scares me to say those words to you. What if something should happen? What if I one day have to always remind you about taking your medicine?

His reassuring smile reminded me that all is well right now. It may be raining outdoors, yet right now, at this moment in my life, it is mostly sunny within. I suppose I can't go around expecting dark rainy days all the time. Right? Funny, when did it happen? When did I go from expecting days of sun, to knowing only days of rain? Well, perhaps the day my husband died. Perhaps the day I learned of his cancer. Whenever it was, the sun was something I had to make a concerted effort to recognize.

Now that time has passed, I find that I'm beginning to expect the sun. When I have days without much sun it can be a welcome change. Not that it brings sorrow, but it does bring contemplation. It tells me to light a fire, wrap myself in a blanket while lying on the sofa, and to reflect. These days I can reflect on my loss with a mutual sense of grief and joy. Joy that I was gifted in my love for Michael. Joy that I have learned so much on this journey. Joy that I have made so many lovely and kindred spirited friends. And joy that I have opened myself up to let the sun in once again.

Sunday.

A Son's Perspective

I was sitting in the living room, warmed by the fire, with my boyfriend Abel to my left, and my son Remy to my right. I was trying to think of what to write about, then saw a perfect opportunity to find out what my son thought about his dad, a widower, newly dating again.

My husband, for those who do not know, died a little over two years ago. He and I had only been a couple for 18 months when he was diagnosed with brain cancer. My kids learned to love and accept him, then soon learned that they would also have to say goodbye to him. It was nothing I ever expected to go through with a new relationship, and nothing I ever expected my kids to experience while they were still young. But here we are, two years later, many bereavement groups later. Many changes, and many nights of grieving through tears, laughter, and stories.

A couple of months ago I met someone. We began to date, well, we began to have a relationship from the beginning. It didn't feel so much like dating, as we were relating to each other daily, talking, sharing, and growing close, quickly. I introduced him to my kids, well, teenagers, and we went from there.

Here is a brief discussion that occured while I sat here. It began with a simple question to my 13 year old son.

What's it been like having your dad dating someone new?

Remy: Well, at first I felt like Abel was taking away my dad's love for Mike. And I thought, well, like you guys have already done stuff together, and I feel very different now. At first it felt like it was going too fast, it was coming on too strong, because I thought you didn't give up Mike yet, and I thought that he was taking away that love of Mike. But then later on I realized that he was a person you really love, but I thought you still loved Mike, and Abel was really new, and I didn't know Abel like a father. It felt like with Abel you were ready to move on, and I wasn't ready for it. Now I understand that you are ready, and that you want love again.

Abel: I would never try to replace what Mike had with you guys.

Remy: I told my dad that this is confusing for me, and now I feel like maybe you aren't the same father as Mike, but I know that you care about my dad, and you care about all of us. I hope that my dad does care about you.

Abel: I do love your dad, and you and Arianne. You all have a special place in my heart Remy.

Remy: (turns to me to say) I feel like you guys are going to be together for a long time. I feel like if you are dating Abel, and if it's been going on for a long time, it's already like he's a dad to me. I know Abel would do anything for us as a family. I know Mike would be happy for you dad. I know that he would be happy for Abel to have a great guy like you. I think Mike would be very happy, and he'd be happy mostly that you moved on, and found love again.

I then asked Remy if there is anything else that he worries about.


Remy: I might worry that me calling Abel dad, that Mike might not like that, but that's just how I think. I'm still worried about what if Abel is not going to stay, then I think about negative stuff, like what stuff could happen.

Remy said he worries about possibly losing Abel, then was unable to continue to talk. I spoke to Remy about how all parents who begin dating again worry about their kids getting attached to someone when dating, then having to let go if the relationship doesn't work out. I told Remy that with a widowed parent that becomes an even deeper concern. I reminded him of how he and the other kids learned to love Mike, and how they came to accept him as their second dad, only then to lose him.

Remy just told me it was okay to say that at this point he cried.

Do I worry about this? Yes. Does Abel worry about this? Yes. I suppose these are the conversations we should be having. These are the things that go through the mind of our children. Do they want us to be happy again? Yes, but it is so much more complicated, isn't it? There are so many feelings that our new relationships bring up for them. There are so many insecurities that get tapped into. I have always known this, but I think I need to remind myself of this more often.

Happiness is not an easy matter. But it is something worth striving for.

Overcome By Grief

Another lovely day in San Diego. The sun was up high and shining brightly this morning. I was awoken by a call from Abel, which is our usual morning routine. It's a wonderful reminder that someone is thinking of me.

As the day went on my mood began to fail me. My daughter kept asking if I had not slept well the night before. When she pointed this out I realized that I was feeling quite low in energy, and said well, I thought I had slept well, but I was terribly tired none the less. I ran out to do a few errands, as I was having some friends over for a pumpkin carving party.

As I left the grocery store it hit me, I wasn't tired at all, I was overcome by grief. With that simple realization the tears began to flow. How is it on such a beautiful sunny day, with life going so well, with a festive day ahead of me, that I was to succumb to my grief?

Of course I know the answer to my question.

Because it never really leaves me, and once in awhile, maybe more than once in awhile, it needs to rise to the surface and reveal itself.

Now it's the end of the day. I had a wonderful evening with friends, and the pumpkin carving was such fun. The biggest surprise was that Abel ended up not working, and surprised me with a visit.

Now I end my day, the way it began, yet the sun is shining on the inside. Who knows how I will feel tomorrow. Yet, I don't worry about it too much. It's an all too familiar occurrence. I accept that grief and I go hand in hand. It is my companion.

Overcome by grief. It doesn't have to overwhelm me. It just is. And then it moves on.

To Be Happy Once Again

Well, yesterday was a step into the next phase of my relationship with Abel, and the beginning of my family getting used to seeing me with another man.

It was the occasion of my niece and her husband baptizing their newborn baby boy. I drove up with two of my kids, and a new person at my side. It was not a surprise to them, as I had broken the news of this new relationship with them one week ago. Each of them were surprised to learn that I had been dating, and that I had chosen not to share the news with them for well over a month.

I let my family know that I needed some time to feel secure in being part of a new twosome before having to deal with the looks of confused emotion on their part. My family loved Michael, and they, like me, continue to grieve his absence from their lives.

Abel himself was a nervous wreck. I suppose it's always a big occasion when the new love gets introduced to the extended family members, and he wasn't quite sure how he would be received. He knew that my family had grown used to seeing me either as Michael's husband, or later, as Michael's widower. For the past two years they grew used to seeing me in a continued somber state of mind and emotion.

Once at the house, most of Abel's concerns began to melt away. My brothers and parents were very gracious in introducing themselves to him, and each spent some time getting to know him and wanting him to feel comfortable in their presence. At one point Abel leaned over to me and pointed out that my mother kept glancing our way. I reminded him that this is the first time that she has seen me with another man. It has to be both pleasing and bittersweet. Around this time my mother told me that my decision to move to San Diego has been the best choice I made for myself. She reminded me that I now have "a lovely home, a good job," and looking at Abel, then back at me, she said, "and now you have this."

On the long drive back to San Diego from our day in Thousand Oaks, I received a text from my older brother telling me that his day was great. Among those events that made his day was seeing me happy again. After reading the text to everyone in the car, my kids both chimed in, saying "Abel, we are so happy that you and my dad are dating."

Oh, to be happy once again.

Expressions of Love

So High. So Low.

My week has been different than what I'm normally familiar with. I'm experiencing such high moments. Moments of feeling the excitement of new love. I look forward to his calls. I smile from ear to ear whenever we are together. I feel so excited with each plan we make.

I also come home each late afternoon, and as I close the door to my bedroom the tears fall down my face. I wrap my arms around myself, and hold on tight. I lay on my bed, and feel such sorrow.

One wanted me to be happy. Another is making me happy.

One gave me all of his love. Another looks forward to sharing more days together, with hopes of a love that can signal a future together.

For two years I slept with his pillows taking up the space he used to occupy. I held onto these soft objects that no longer carry his scent. For two years my arms and legs clung to a form that served to remind me that yes, he was here, but now he is gone.

This weekend someone new occupied his space. My arms were wrapped around this new person. The space he takes up is different. He is not the same person. His form feels different.

There is comfort. There is affection. There is warmth.

Tonight the pillows will be back. Tonight I will grieve the one that is gone. Tonight I will miss the new one that is absent. Tonight I have a longing that is less clear. Tonight there are two that occupy my mind. Tonight there are two that fill my heart.

Wednesday is, was, our wedding anniversary. It's a very odd day. Yes, it is the day we wed. Yes, it is the anniversary of a wonderful love filled day. Yet, it is also an occasion we never celebrated together. Michael died one month shy of our first wedding anniversary. The wedding came later in the relationship. It was a day we never expected would be possible. We seized the opportunity to stand before our loved ones and pledge our love to each other. With all that happened in the year after we wed, few ever remember the day. His death eclipsed any type of celebrated remembrance.

Perhaps this year I will simply celebrate love. I will celebrate that I stood before a man, and pledged my love. I will celebrate that I made a vow, a promise, that I kept. I will celebrate that while I have yet to say those words to someone new, those words have been on my mind. I will celebrate that one day soon, those words will be spoken again. I will celebrate that my heart is filled with love.

I will celebrate that there is room enough for the love of both of them.

Bedroom Conversations

I have never reposted anything here, as I prefer to speak in the present, yet I wanted to share something I wrote on my own blog a few days ago. It's something that is still very much on my mind, and something that is likely on the mind of those around me.


Funny how lying on a bed can bring about soul searching, or heart wrenching, conversations. My bed is no different. It has been host to many discussions in the past, and continues to host myself, and various people I love, as we explore our intimate thoughts and feelings.

Earlier, after coming home from work, and getting out of my work duds, I was lying alone on my bed, looking at Michael's urn, and feeling a variety of feelings. I wanted to smile, and I felt like crying. I'm in a good place right now, and yet my grieving continues. As I began to bury my face into the pillow, and allow myself to give up control, there was a knock at my door. It was my 13 year old son, who asked if he could lay on my bed with me. We lay there, in silence, with my arm across his body.

"Dad, can we talk?"

Yes, Remy, whatever you want to talk about.

He wanted to talk about my developing relationship with this new man in my life. He expressed, as well as a 13 year old boy can, how conflicted he feels about how quickly things appear to be moving for this person and me. He said that it is clear that I am happy, and he is happy for me, but what must Michael be feeling right now? Before I could answer, he said that he knows that Michael would be very happy for me, because Remy knows that Michael wanted me to be happy, and to love again. Yet, Remy wanted to know, "Don't you think Michael might be just a little bit mad?"

It's been two years, two very long years. And yet, it also feels like it just happened yesterday. In the two years that Michael lived with his death sentence he would speak of my next boyfriend, and what my life might be like. I would ask him not to talk like that, but he never would stop. He was very clear with me. He wouldn't be happy, if he knew that I wasn't happy. He wanted to die knowing that I would find love and happiness once more. He believed that I deserved that.

One day, long ago, my older son Dante was having a conversation with Michael. He told Michael that he worried that I wouldn't survive after Michael died. Michael told him, in his usual humorous way, that he certainly hoped that I would be heart-broken, and that I would miss him, but that he had no doubt that I would survive. After all, Michael was there with me when I went through many a trial in raising my kids.

Today, while lying there with Remy, I reminded him that we are all so capable of loving. I love him with all my heart. I love his brother and sister with all my heart. I love Michael with all my heart. And, I can love someone new with all my heart.

One love does not negate another.

Tonight, lying in my bed, I spoke with this new person in my life, his name is Abel, and we too spoke of Michael, of Remy, of Dante, and of Arianne. We spoke of my journey as a widower. We spoke of my heart-break and healing. We spoke of the time needed to grow into love, and we spoke of how we can carefully navigate all this while being mindful of younger minds and hearts.

This has become a part of my nightly ritual. The nine o'clock hour arrives, I pick up the phone, I call him, we talk, we listen, we laugh, and we smile.

I have the ashes of my husband to my right, and I have the voice of a new love interest to my left. Is this balance? Is this chaos? Is this right? Is this wrong? Will it last? Will it not? Will I be happy? Will I be sad?

There are no easy answers, but then, I'm not looking for easy answers. I'm looking, and planning on, more work ahead. I'm expecting struggle, and I'm expecting ease. My life is a journey that I often have little control of. At this point in my life, I no longer seek to control it. I choose to experience it, and to embrace as much of it as possible as it unveils itself to me.

I consider myself gifted by this new person in my life. I am experiencing hope once again. I'm feeling like I have much to offer, and I feel like someone is extending a gentle hand my way.

After an hour of intimate conversation, it was time to say goodnight. There was a longing there, which we both verbalized. It gave me a feeling of anticipation when I will have this person before me once again. I rolled over on my bed, and looked up into the brightly lit night. I thanked Michael for his love. I thanked Abel for his open heart. And, I smiled.

A Very Nice Day

I hate to share too much, as it's something very new, and something that is going very well.

I am dating.

Yes, I decided to try it once again. I attempted to re-enter the dating world at the beginning of the summer, and had a rather quick go of it. At the time I felt like I wasn't connecting well with the guys I was out with, yet at the same time enjoyed being out. It was fun to be out with another adult, and to feel like I was back in the game. But just as quickly as I tried it, I decided to put it on hold. Shortly after that I fell into a bit of a depression, as I'm so easily prone to.

Recently I started an online chat connection with a really nice guy. We chatted for a couple of weeks, almost daily. It was going rather nicely, but at the same time I was not wanting to get too caught up in an online relationship that might just go no where if and when we met. I did my share of Internet dating many years ago, and it never went well. Yet this time, I found myself really connecting to this guy. We exchanged photos, and both seem pleased. Our talk was about the type of things we enjoyed doing, or how we were spending our days. Then one night we started going much deeper. We spent about 90 minutes talking about our family histories, and past relationships. After listening to his stories I decided it was time to share more of mine. I told him about my husband Michael who had died two years earlier. I told him about my three kids and their special needs. He had many questions, and responded very well.

Last week we met for a walk downtown, had a nice dinner, and listened to a cool blues band. It was a very nice evening. Today he came by my house at 8:30am, and we spent our day at the zoo, out to lunch, then back to my home to hang out with kids, and have dinner. What can I say about today? It was wonderful.

It has been so long since I sat across a table and saw someone staring back at me with such romantic interest. It has been so long since I walked through a park, and ever so slightly brushed arms against another person with such excitement. It has been so long since I had my arms around another person, and felt their strong embrace in return, one with no rushed separation.

All this, with no hesitation to speak of Michael on my part. All this, with no hesitation to question about Michael on his part.

A very nice day.

Meaningful Moments

This weekend I was out running a few errands with my daughter. We were at Lowes buying a replacement microwave oven. And, because I love gardening, anytime I'm at a store that has a garden section, there you will find me. I was walking down the isle, pushing my cart, and looking at all the varieties of plants. I had something specific in mind, but at the same time realized that I didn't really need another plant, nor did I have a place for another plant.

I began to wonder, what am I doing here? What am I searching for?

Suddenly I felt a bit light headed, and lost. I stopped moving, and looked to see where my daughter was. Within seconds she was walking up to me, asking if I found what I was looking for. I told her that I felt like I was wasting my time away. I felt like whatever it was I was doing at that moment was insignificant.

Why is it that after two years, my life still feels somewhat insignificant? I explained to my daughter that before Michael died, every moment was significant. I was always busy taking care of my family, researching cancer trials, filling prescriptions, and being mindful of every waking moment. Everything I did was either for Michael, or with Michael. Every moment of joy was spent with him. I didn't want to lose a single second of my time with him. I didn't want to look back and regret moments that could have been spent loving him.

I remember how after he died, I felt like time just stood still. It was like nothing else mattered anymore. Now of course my children still mattered, but what I was feeling was about my adult self, my married self. Suddenly my other half was gone, yet the void wasn't half of me, it was all of me. I have since struggled to regain a sense of feeling complete, and finding joy as a single adult once again. And, there is joy, and there is pleasure. Yet at times like this, walking casually down the isle in a nursery, with nothing, or no one to rush home to, time doesn't really seem to have the same value.

The rest of my weekend went the same. I did absolutely nothing. For many people, the idea of doing absolutely nothing is highly valued. Others complain about being too busy, and having no time to slow down and appreciate what they have. Yet for me, at least for now, I still have too much time on my hands. I think that in time my daily life will be filled with more moments of value, but I also think that I'm just not wanting to fill it with a bunch of insignificant moments. I don't want to busy myself, unless I become busy with things that truly mean a lot to me. What those will be I'm not sure.

So, I will continue to remind myself that as long as I find myself contemplating these thoughts while I'm out and about, then I'm on the right track. In time, moments like this will begin to feel significant once again, and I will find myself valuing every one of them.

Another What If.

This past week I was experiencing some health problems. Of course it was an emotional week, as most of you are now aware of, so I was already feeling emotionally vulnerable. Like any time we are not feeling well, or are experiencing changes in our health without explanation, we begin to worry.

Like any other man, I kept telling myself that it will all blow over, and I'll be just fine. Yet, as each day passed, and the problems persisted, I began to worry. It's always a matter of either wait and see, or make an appointment to see the doctor. Being that I am new to my job, I don't have many sick hours on the books. Any that I do have need to be used when I take any of my kids to their doctor appointments.

As each day came to an end, and the symptoms persisted, and no movement to get help, I began to worry. Yet, here was the problem. Who do I share this with? I didn't want to worry the kids for no reason, and I didn't want to call anyone out of the blue. It's a difficult position that we are all in. For most of us, we no longer have another adult in the home. We no longer have that other person around to share our worries, whether they are great or small. And, by the end of the week, I of course, began to diagnose myself.

Cancer. Of course that's what I thought it was. Isn't everything related to cancer these days? Every time we turn on the news, or go in the Internet, or talk to others, there is always a concern about something leading to cancer, or something being a sign or symptom of cancer. Now, of course I didn't have cancer, but that's where my mind went.

I began to wonder how would I manage if I did have something that serious? Which also had me thinking about how I would respond if ever given a diagnosis of cancer. I have been down that road already, right? Not my own cancer, but his. I realized that in the past I would have been very scared, and would have feared death itself. Yet, in these past few days, as my imagination would take control late into the night, I realized how peaceful I was feeling about such a possibility.

Now, I don't have a death wish, but I also don't fear it. I began wondering what really happened after death. I have all the beliefs planted in my mind that I was taught growing up. I have all the images that I read in preparation for Michael's death. I had the expectation that a guide would appear to take me to the other side. I had the words that others have shared with me often, how Michael would be there waiting for me when my time came. Yet, in these few days, I began to really worry, not about death, but about the prospect that all those stories and beliefs were wrong.

What if he isn't there waiting for me? Will I be angry and disappointed? Hell yeah.

I suppose I have plenty of time to settle this internal debate, as I'm perfectly healthy. Well, healthy after filling a prescription the doctor recommended. And, feeling a bit silly, for waiting so long, and worrying so long, before seeing a doctor. Yet it all has me wondering, do I want to continue to be single, and have to get through real health scares in the future alone? I think not. Will I get through such times if I am alone? No. I will have to ask for help. Will he be there waiting for me when my time comes? That remains to be seen.

Sending out an SOS

I'm not sure if this is the right thing to do. But I'm falling apart here at work. I need to express myself without speaking, as I am unable to speak without tears. Heavy tears.

I came into work today expecting it to be like any other day. I am a family court counselor, and I meet with parents to help them reach agreements regarding the custody of their children. Sometimes they reach agreement, other times I utilize my skills as a counselor to give recommendations back to the court.

Today an odd case was assigned to me, and it arrive late, without adequate time to prepare. There was no father and mother sitting before me. The two parties were the mother and paternal grandmother, as the father died last year. We were discussing issues regarding a 12 year old son. I tried my best to work with these two parties, and needed to take a break to get some supervision around some of the goals of our session. In discussing these, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into my own issues and grief. I let my supervisor know that I need to maintain some distance, and be aware of any counter transference that might be occurring. As I began to explain this, all I had to say was that tomorrow is the anniversary of my husband's death, and the dam I had built began to break.

With those words, I fell apart. Sobbing.

This has never happened to me before. I have always been able to be in complete control at work. I am the ultimate professional when it comes to utilizing the skills and experience I have attained throughout the years. My supervisor was wonderful, immediately taking the case from me, and telling me not to give it a second thought, that she would take care of this. She suggested I take a break, yet I can't wander far, as I am on-call to testify in court any minute. So here I sat, at my desk, knowing that rather than let go, and get out what I need to emotionally, I needed to pull myself together, and find another way to deal with this.

I'm having my own issues with my 13 year old son. He is going through a difficult time, and I am having a difficult time adequately addressing his issues, as we are both continuing to grieve. Unfortunately, each of our grieving process is not always going to end each day with a sense of growth, peace, or resolve. It is going to be a very long process, and I, as the now only parent once again, will need to rise to each occasion knowing that I am still quite broken, and ill prepared for what life throws at me.

That's it. I need to get through the day. I need to get through tomorrow. I also need to learn that I am human. Even now, as I sit here, I am beating myself up about losing control of my emotions. I am judging myself because of breaking down here at work. I am worrying about how this family is being served, knowing that I was already told not to worry about it. This is definitely something new to work through.

So while this is not something I usually do, I need to put this out there at a time when I usually focus solely on work. This is my outlet right now. All I need to know is that someone is reading this, and you understand. Thanks.

UnHappy Anniversary

Not sure where to begin.

It's definitely a time of reflection. Tomorrow, Tuesday, will be two years. What is appropriate for a two year anniversary?

The first year is paper. Last year at this time I was ...wait a minute. Don't you usually 'celebrate' anniversaries? Seems like the two words, anniversary and celebration, go hand in hand.

Yesterday for some odd reason I was thinking about my Widow's Voice day, and realized it was going to land of the eve of the second anniversary. It had me thinking about all the eves, such as Christmas Eve, and New Year's Eve, and The Three Faces of Eve. Okay, if you are young you won't know what the hell I'm talking about. Can you tell that I'm in an odd mood? Anyway, I was thinking about the excited anticipation that the eves entail. There is always so much planning and preparation. Sometimes there are gatherings and rituals.

This time last year I wasn't working, so I had lots of time on my hands. I was planning a contemplative day to myself on the first year anniversary of Michael's death. I had decided that I would get up early, and just drive around my newly adopted city, and spend time walking, and sitting, in silence. I carried with me a pocket full of Michael's ashes, and where ever I went, well, so did he. I would talk to him, and sprinkle a bit of ash where ever I went. Eventually I ended up at the beach, and spent a lot of time walking through the water, and crying.

This year I have no plans, other than to work. I forgot to request the day off, and by the time I thought about it I had a full calendar of appointments. I decided it might be good to just go with the flow, and not try too hard with this anniversary.

You know, when Michael died, it was just one month shy of our first wedding anniversary. We had been together longer than that, and previously celebrated the day we met as our anniversary, yet who knew that for a brief moment the state of California would see fit to allow our love to be sanctioned, and blessed, by way of a wedding. Yet for us it came a bit late. I knew when we took our vows that there was a good chance I would lose him by the time our first wedding anniversary arrived. So by the time that day did arrive, October 19th, I was alone. There was no romantic dinner. There was no champagne. There was no intimate expression of our love that night. Instead, I received a simple, yet traditional gift of paper. A death certificate.

As I sit here, I am wearing what I'll consider the proper second year anniversary of Michael's death gift. Cotton. An old cotton t-shirt of his. It says Maui. It was from an early vacation we took. Earlier today I was looking at a picture taken of us on that trip. In the photo we are both so naively smiling. Who would have believed that this would be where I am today; Sitting here, on our bed, pathetically wearing an old beat up t-shirt that used to belong to my now dead husband.

Alright. I supposed it is time for me to stop with all this nonsense, and apologize for the ridiculous way I have been carrying on here. The reality is that I have been in complete agony these past couple of days. Two nights ago it all hit me, and I spent the whole night wailing out of control. I haven't been in that much pain for such a long time. I don't really know why it all came down on my like that. Well, maybe I do. I have been providing online support to another recent gay widower, who lost his husband just a few months ago. We have been trading our thoughts on the support network I provide for other gay widowers. It hit me that night, as I read his very raw emotional words, that he was talking about the man he loved and lost. Reading his words must have put me squarely into a place of remembrance, for his husband's name was also Michael. Here I was, reading those painful words as if they were my own.

I felt so lost that night. I had no one to call, or no one to know that I would be here in my room, crying my eyes out. Of course, I suppose there were people I could call, yet I didn't. And, there were people in the house, my son and daughter, yet I did not seek their support either. I was alone, and I knew that no matter who came to my side, it would not be the one that I desired. I know it's where I'll be again tonight. I know it's where I will be again tomorrow. And, I know that when I get through all of this, I will be okay.

I tell you. I can only say I will be okay because of all of you. It's because no matter how alone I feel, or how alone I actually am in the middle of the night, I know that each and every one of you know what I am going through. Each of you have had those nights. Each of you may still be having those nights. And, each of you will make it through them. I know, because I have, over and over again.

Sitting

I struggle to find something of substance to talk about. Each Sunday comes around, and the awareness that my post is due by midnight is always on my mind. Usually there is something that I have been mulling over throughout the day, or something that has been with me throughout the week, that quickly becomes my post. Today I just feel empty.

I'm not a numbers guy, I don't really turn to them to find order in my life. I don't usually look to them to validate where I am with each given day, which I know is of help to some. Yet it is September again, which for my sons means a new beginning. School begins for them on Tuesday. For me though, September will always be a reminder of the end.

Two years ago I was approaching the final week of my husband's life. I felt like I was running a marathon, as there was so much to do in his day to day care. Yet in my marathon there was no winner, and there was definitely no victory lap.

I'm always aware of how much my life has slowed down since that day. The majority of my life seemed to come to an end that day. And trying to regain the pace of life has not been that easy. I think the main reason for this has been a lack of motivation. I haven't fully come to a place where life feels worth much of the effort, or that there could possibly be a payoff worth the effort.

It's not like I feel this way 24/7. I work hard at my job, and I really feel a sense of pride when I accomplish a goal or receive positive feedback. I keep my family and home together, and have created a new life for us here in San Diego. I enjoy the benefits of being closer to my extended family, like having my brother and his family visit for the weekend. Yet, with each of these, I still feel so empty and stagnate.

I think I tend to compartmentalize each of these areas of my life, and feel the lack of something significant that should string them all together. At the end of each day I sit here and wonder if any of the day's events were really worth the effort, as I just end up in the same place, feeling the same sense of emptiness.

Okay, this is all terribly depressing. Yet, so is much of my life. There is really no reason to sugar coat this. I know it won't be like this forever. Well, I suppose I don't really know that. At least people tell me it won't always feel this way, and I being a trusting soul, want to believe them. Truth be told, I don't expect much to change. I busy myself with distractions. I put out some effort in hope that something will change for me. Whether it happens or not is really not in my control. All I can do us get up each day, get the kids off to school, go to work, come home, make dinner, take care of the household, surf the net, and sit.

After all, sitting is not a bad thing. It is kind of a reward after accomplishing all the trivial pieces of life that sustain me, but do not feed me. Some day something, or someone, will come along and give me reason to get up and do something new. In the meantime, I'm in no hurry.