The Death March Part 2

 Starstruck by the immensely talented and all-round nice guy, Aaron Aldrich.

So I am still feeling mostly .... fine.

A few extra tears have crept in though.  Not those snot drenched sobs that come from my guts and leave me heaving and shaking, but the silent, delicate raindrops that leak from the corner of my eye as I remember all he was and all I have lost.

I seem to dwell more on the mechanics of how he died at this time of year.

It still kills me that I kissed him goodbye at 7am, just like I did every single day ..... and never saw him again.
Ever.

It still kills me inside to know that there was nobody there but his workmate (who died shortly afterwards) as his life and consciousness drained away with all that blood.

It still kills me that I didn't insist on spending time alone with his body before the funeral.
He was so badly hurt that everyone from the policemen who attended the scene to the mortuary assistant were all adamant that I could NOT see him.  At all.  Not even his hand.

It kills me that I had to tell my very small children that their beloved Daddy had died.  I can still remember them looking at me like I must have been playing some sort of mean trick.

It still kills me that instead of feeling the love that I know was being poured on me, I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into my skull as I entered the church at his funeral.

It kills me that I never looked up from the carpet to see the packed church and all the people who loved him.  I saw only my children, my family, my best friends, the ministers (there were three of them) and the screen that failed to capture his essence in pictures.

But despite all my regrets, he remains dead.
I don't get a do-over, nor do I want one.

....and that's where I am in this part of the death march.....

A year with no regret

source

I always admire people who can say they live life with no regrets. Maybe I'm a little cynical, but I don't believe most people have no regrets from their past. I sure do. There are a lot of things I wish I could go back and do differently. But I know those are the things that make us who we are, help shape us into the people we become.

After coming out of intense grief, one of the few things it teaches me is to move forward with no regrets. I'm not so naive to think I won't make mistakes or forget to embrace life - I'm human. But I have loved and lost and I don't like wasting time in this life not using it to let the people around me know how much I love them. Perhaps if I lose someone I love again, I'll never feel like I said enough, did enough, embraced enough....but I will keep trying.

I love that starting a new year brings about hope for so many people. A hope for change, a hope for something new. So many possibilities on the horizon for the year that lies ahead. For those who are in suffering, though, grief can be a reminder that the world moves forward while theirs is ending, and they have to drag over into a new year kicking and screaming. Two years ago, I couldn't escape the horror I felt watching time tick into a year that Jeremy would never see. I cried myself to sleep long before midnight because I couldn't bare the thought of celebrating....and I prayed I wouldn't have to see the year either. What a year can change. Last year, I went on a first date palms sweaty and heart racing, so unsure of where my life was headed....but I had hope. This year, I will do my best to pay that hope forward by living with no regret. Of loving when I know I should, of speaking up when I feel the need, or keeping my mouth shut when it's necessary, of soaking up every day moments with my children, of putting myself and my health as a priority, of loving every bit of the second chance I've been given.....no regrets.

This is not an easy task. I'm constantly in shock by the hurt that few people can cause. On my personal blog, I have gotten some pretty awful comments - hurtful, accusing, demeaning. I don't post them anymore, as they have gotten progressively worse, and I refuse to give them the satisfaction. In fact, they don't upset me anymore because there is no weight in them for me. The only upsetting piece is that it's someone I know. I just feel pity for people who live in such pain that they feel the need to impose the pain and hurt and misunderstanding onto others....especially others who have already been through so much (and I'm not just talking about me here.) I've heard the ridiculous things that people have said to widows, you can add to that the things people try to tell that same widow when she tries to date or remarry....it's enough to make anyone go mad!

I will no longer tolerate such negativity to weigh me down. I'm human, and words can be especially hurtful, but I lived through my worst hell, what can one person's opinion really do to me? Not any more pain than I've already suffered. This year, I move forward. No regrets. Leaving behind my mistakes, but bringing the lessons I've learned from them and the good pieces along with me.

The life lessons I've learned from grief will not be in vain.

How Boring!

from here  

Two women I had just been introduced to the other day began to discuss their Valentine's Days with their husbands. They both agreed that it had been like any other day for them. One said she couldn't even remember what she and her husband had done and the other said that they'd just ordered in and watched a movie. "How boring!" they both agreed.


 They didn't know I was recently widowed. For all I know, they probably assumed I was married, too.

I stood there, frozen, wanting to take them both by their collars and pull them close to cry "WHAT I WOULDN'T DO FOR ANOTHER BORING VALENTINE'S DAY WITH MY DAVE!!!!"


I wanted to do that, but not in anger. I know that before Dave died, I made comments like that all the time. I was always grateful for our love, but I would make lighthearted, "Oh, we've been married since the dawn of time," comments to get laughs, or to commiserate with other married people. These women  weren't bitterly complaining. They were just commenting on how humdrum their longtime marriages had become.


It wasn't anger I felt at all. It was urgency and envy so strong it made my knees almost buckle. I wanted them to know that what they think is a boring night at home is what I now long for every moment of every day. 


To settle in, with your love, on the couch at the end of a hard day and know that you have each other, even when the rest of the world feels out to get you? To feel THAT again? I'd do anything.

I wanted them to know how much they'd miss that boring life if it were torn from them. How they'd feel the loss of that like a black hole in their gut. That they'd wish they'd gotten a million more of those boring nights at home.


But in the end, I didn't say a word. I stood there, stiff and awkward, and waited it out, like you do a painful cramp or bout of nausea. I didn't cry. I didn't run for home. I just went on with the night.


It's getting easier to wait those moments out, but they still slice into my heart and turn my mind into a spinning mess.


On the other hand, I'm relieved that those two women didn't know I was widowed. If they did, they might have self-consciously censored what they said in my presence, or at the very least, worried about saying something that might upset me. I can always feel that kind of tension in people around me. That discomfort is very understandable, but also palpable and in turn makes me uncomfortable too.


There was something a little comforting about being treated like anyone else, even though I still felt so separate from "everyone else" that I felt like a visitor from a different planet.


We all take things for granted, I suppose. We can't live every moment of every day being aware that we and those we love could die at any moment. It's too intense. We take our health for granted until it fails us. We take our freedom for granted until it's taken from us. We take our loved ones for granted until they leave us. That's just human.


But, I suppose there will always be a part of me that wants to shake people who are loved by a spouse and say "DON'T TAKE A MOMENT FOR GRANTED!" After all, that everyday, ho-hum moment they take for granted might be their last together.


What an important lesson to learn. Can it only be learned the hard way?