(not so) Ordinary Life

My favorite picture of Jeremy with our precious first born

And so the countdown begins...

In 56 hours or less (not that I'm counting or anything), I will be holding a new little life in my arms. One small person I helped create. One tiny little reminder of what life is really all about.

My sweet little baby boy has no idea what his life represents already in this world. In a place that can be so cold, sometimes stabbing, unfair, and down right hopeless...my little miracle is a reminder that life can and will go on, and that it can and will be beautiful again.

This afternoon, I was watching my 7 year old concentrate so hard on her homework, trying to write sentences. As I watched her expressions, the curves of her face, the movements of her body, I was in awe of the fact that she used to be this 6 pound little miracle that introduced me to motherhood. I felt her daddy beam with pride at her inside me and I just couldn't stop taking her in. Memorizing all the pieces that are just her - how did she all of a sudden evolve into this beautiful young lady?! I had several of these moments today with all of my children. Maybe it's hormones, or maybe it's the clock ticking away reminding me that once again I will hold a new baby and blink an eye and he'll be 7 years old....but whatever it is, I'm trying to hold on to as many moments as I can.

I continue to be reminded of what bittersweet really means. The life of a widow seems to be plagued with this word. But maybe it's the bitter that makes us appreciate the sweet. And maybe we can only experience real bitterness because we've tasted sweet.

One of my favorite quotes is "time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." This epitomizes my journey. The moments that I remember and hold most dear in life really aren't the grand ones (although those are great too) but they're the ones where life stands still for just a moment and I'm able to observe and appreciate what life still brings.

I honestly cannot wait to start memorizing all the details of my son's features, hold his tiny hand, and soak in every moment I can before they slip away.  I'm excited to watch my used-to-be-broken family put one more piece back together.

I'm ready to live out the rest of this not so ordinary life.

Sharing both pain and joy

 

A friend posted this picture on facebook today.  

I agree with the premise of it - I do think we need to  share the everyday joys in our lives.

The things we are grateful for.

The people we love.

I tend to do this in pictures: photography is my therapy, and my camera lens my rose-coloured glasses.

I post photos of the things and the people I am grateful for - my children, my surroundings, a flower, sunlight and warmth.

But.

I do think it is also important to share our pain.

Our dark days.

Our black moments.

Our little niggles and our enormous problems.

Sometimes, having a good whinge is therapeutic in its own right.

Posting facebook statuses commanding people to "stop being so negative" gags those who want .... or rather need... to reach out to someone else and say "Life is not good right now.  I need support". 

It gags the sad and it gags the desperate.

...and it gags the suicidal.

Sometimes it takes real courage to say "I'm having a really hard time right now.  Please send me some love".

I don't know about you, but those early days of grief spent reading the ups and downs of widows and widowers like Michele, Matt, Dan, Kim, Janine, Taryn, Jackie, Michelle and others like Megan and Supa helped me see that what I was experiencing was REAL.  

Not sugar-coated.

Not all happy-happy-joy-joy that other people want to see..... the "happy" that friends and family want so badly for us because they are kind and can't fathom the depth of grief we are experiencing.

But in sharing the ups and downs of their grief, these bloggers showed me that life goes on.  

Not all good, but by the same token, not all bad, but life in all its multi-coloured glory.

I hope I am able to do the same.

Each week I strive to "blog my now".  

....  the sinking pain and the intense joy.  

....  the furious, fierce love.

So while I commend anyone who takes the time to look for the joy in life, wherever it can be found, I stress the equal need to voice those fears and troubles that can become unbearable if borne alone.

To paraphrase a woman who is amongst the strongest I know, a woman who voices her ups and downs in equal measure: "by sharing the sad days in life with friends, there's one less miserable person in the world because they've found support and love to get them through it."  

Amen to that sister!

The small things

When Michele asked me to write here, there is only one thing I clearly remember her saying in the brief - write as honestly as I can from where I am NOW.

So that's what I try to do each week.... write my now.
my truth.
As honestly as I can.
My soul stripped bare.

Some weeks, I am OK.  Good even.  But other weeks, I am not so good.
This is one of those weeks.

I am sick.  My chest rattles as I suck air in and out. My head pounds.  My eyes leak. My energy has evaporated and I am light headed whenever I try to do anything.
I am tired.
I am sick of the petty squabbles over who farted on who's pillow.
I am tired of cooking and cleaning when I am not working or preparing for work.
I am sick of being in charge of everything.  All the big things and all the small things.
I feel like I'm sinking under the weight of a life that was meant to have two parents involved in bringing up the children.
I am angry at a God I no longer believe in (I said I was being honest - I didn't say my thoughts had to make sense to you).
If anyone had told me I'd still be feeling this aching pain 26 months later, I think I would have given up right then and there when I first heard the news that he was dead.

I feel like I am going backwards into my grief when I have been trying so long to move forwards through it.
This is not like me at all.
I am a do-er.
A pick-yourself-up-er.
A set-your-goal-and-go-for-it-er.
A great believer in the almighty I CAN do it.
And I always achieve what I set my mind to.
Except when I don't.

Early this morning, I sat on our my bed and the tears just ran in rivers down my face. I wanted to be held by his arms.  I wanted someone to look at me like I was the most beautiful and precious jewel they'd ever seen.  I wanted someone to tell me they loved me above all else.

....and then my kids came in with their hilarious home-made Mother's Day gifts.
The small things they had painstakingly made out of bits and bobs they had collected.
....and they hugged me, and told me I was the best mother in the world (they are easily pleased).
...and I realised....
I am loved.

Life still sucks beyond the telling of it, but I am loved.
These two little souls are here, in front of me, looking at me like I am the most precious jewel they have ever seen.
Holding me in their arms.
Telling me that they love me so much.


....and I say a silent prayer of thanks to the God I no longer believe in.
The God of small things....

Handmade jewels