The First Mother's Day

Two days ago, I experienced my first Mother's Day without Megan.  Had you asked me back in January how I would have handled it, I would have expressed sheer terror at the prospect.  At that time, just two months since losing her, all I could imagine was that I would be an emotional train wreck, and would probably have just called my mother and mother-in-law to wish them a happy day, and stayed holed up in my house.

That isn't what occurred, however.  Yesterday was "OK", for lack of a better term.

Our tradition for the past few years had been for Shelby and I to wake up early, go downstairs, make a mess of the kitchen preparing bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee, and bring it to Megan in bed, along with a card and a small gift.  Shelby would turn some cartoons on and we'd sit and talk, all three of us, until Megan was ready to get out of bed.  It was a simple acknowledgment of how special she was, and that we would do anything for her.  We would clean up the kitchen and get our day started, where we would be visiting our parents and probably going out to dinner in the evening.

I woke up Sunday at that same early time that I always do, fully aware that it was Mother's Day, and painfully acknowledging the fact that for the first time in eight years, Megan wasn't there to cook breakfast for.  The dogs, having woke me up, were fed and let outside, and I went back to bed.  The bacon stayed in the freezer, and the coffee pot sat there cold.

Sunday was, well, just Sunday.

After a few hours, I roused and went downstairs to find Shelby watching some cartoons, and the dogs, as per usual, passed out on the couch beside her.  I asked if she was hungry, she responded with a yes, and asked if we could cook.  This suggestion seemed completely foreign to me for some reason.  I think that I may have forgotten in that moment that cooking breakfast wasn't just for special occasions, and I casually suggested we just go to McDonald's.  Even Shelby was somewhat miffed at this, as it is very rare that we eat McDonald's period, let alone on a Sunday morning.

We returned home, greasy, bagged food in hand, and sat out on the deck to have breakfast.  I began to think about what Mother's Day would or should be in the future.  I don't want random Egg McMuffins at 10:00 AM to be our new tradition.  This was one of those times where it would just be nice to shoot a text to Megan and say "What do you think we should do?"

I felt incredibly "single" at that moment.  This started as neither a depressing nor contented feeling.  It was just present, acting as a catalyst to my thoughts.  I'm a single parent.  Within the four walls of our home, Mother's day has lost it's happy connotations.  Now, it only sharpens the focus on Megan's death.  It serves as a reminder that Shelby will never make breakfast in bed for her own mother, ever again.  At just 8 years old, Shelby is celebrating Mother's Day by sitting on a deck and eating fast food with her dad.  This is not what I had in mind.

This brought me to thinking about the woman I am now dating.  Shelby adores her.  She has no children of her own, but I know she is an incredible mother nonetheless, and she understands (and sympathizes with) how confusing this journey is for not only me, but also for Shelby.  I am indescribably lucky to have someone that I can at least bounce things off of, and not have it seen as "baggage".  Undeniably, the thought crossed my mind that she may be celebrating Mother's day with us in the future.

As I sat and let all of these thoughts manifest, Shelby began playing with the dogs and laughing.  It was one of her deep belly laughs, the one you hear when you know she doesn't have a care in the world.  It was then that I knew that it will be Shelby that dictates how we celebrate her mother.  If it means cooking breakfast, and eating it ourselves, then so be it.  If it means eating fast food, then we'll do that.  She is old enough now that she can make her own judgments, and I will support her in whatever she wants to do, just as I did Megan.  Mother's day will now be Shelby's day.

I may make suggestions to her, but ultimately, I still have my mother to celebrate.  Only Shelby truly understands what it's like to have lost hers.  Perhaps in this case, she should be my guide.

My Two Mother's Days

I have struggled with Mother's Day all my life. I lost my own mother when I was nine, many of you know. I don't really remember my father knowing what to do with that day anymore afterwards. We had no other family around to celebrate, and so it just kind of became a non-holiday in our house. I sometimes wish we had continued to make it about her - but maybe he had the right way of doing things. Maybe it was too hard for him, and so he changed it. And perhaps, that was just the better way for us, who knows.

Through my twenties a few times, I tried to celebrate this day again in her memory... it went disastrously. The first time I went to a little french bistro and tried to order a lovely single dessert to just take home with me. The ten minutes I was there turned out to be a festival of triggers I was not prepared for. Mothers and daughters and daughters and mothers... I was surrounded on all sides. I held it together just long enough to get my dessert and anxiously bolt out the door... upon which the tears began to flow instantly. I don't even recall what I did the second time I tried, likely I decided to block the traumatic event from my memory entirely though. Needless to say, after two attempts, I decided Mother's Day was no longer a day I was going to associate with my mother. It didn't work anymore.

In my late twenties, I met Drew. Having no parents myself, I quickly became part of his family and began instead celebrating his mother on this day. It was always fun but bittersweet for me. I usually could not get through the day of watching him and his siblings with their mom without breaking down. It was still wonderful to celebrate his mother, but also compounded my awareness of mine not being here.

In a very odd way... Drew's death changed this for the better. Now, I have a new job on this day... to honor his mother FOR him. It has brought new purpose and meaning to this day and allows me to not only honor his mother but also him. I hate to even admit his death has brought good things... but this one I cannot deny. His mother and I have a bond now that we would have never had if he hadn't died. We both wish he were here and that we didn't needed to have such a close bond, we are both eternally grateful.

Now, almost three years after his death, that is still how I am doing things. His mother, and his grandmother, are the center of this day for me. And my mom? She still has a Mother's Day... I just decided to move it to her Birthday instead. I figured out that this works better because it is not a holiday EVERYONE is celebrating... instead it is just OUR day. It makes it far easier and eliminates all the triggers so that I can just focus on my mom. I buy her a card and write something to her, buy myself some flowers, and a small piece of cake or dessert and some wine that I enjoy for her. I honor both her and myself on this day, as I think honoring me would bring her such joy. It's also a great excuse to eat some seriously bad-for-you cake.

I think when anyone we love dies, we are forced to make a decision - either adapt ourselves to the traditions or to adapt the traditions to ourselves. It sucks. But there it is. Sometimes, we might decide we don't even want to celebrate certain events or days anymore. And that's okay. We might decide to change it or even walk away from a holiday entirely for a few years and revisit it later when we are more healed and ready. Maybe not every holiday is like this, but there will be some.

The point is... We always have the permission to change things. To do it our way. To find a new way that works for us and our immediate family. Even if that means moving Mother's Day to February 26th like I did... or choosing not to celebrate Christmas at all until you are ready, like a good friend of mine did for several years after her husband died. Or assigning the job of hosting Thanksgiving to another member of the family, like my mother-in-law did after Drew died. We always have a choice to change it if it isn't working or if it feels like too much. No one will hate you. And if they do, that's their problem.

Now I celebrate my mother--in-law and all of the other mothers in my life on this day. It has taken many years and a very long and winding road through grief, but now I am able to see all mothers as an extension of my own mother's love... and so honoring them in fact is always honoring her, too.

Into the Unknown...

©Sarah Treanor

Along with being a writer, many of you know that I'm an artist. You may also know, as I've sometimes shared here, that I've been working on a photographic series for the past year all about my journey through grief. What began as just a small idea, to take a self portrait every week and share it on my blog, has snowballed into something of a whole new direction for my life. I was only a hobby photographer before I set out on this journey.

Now, a year later, I am looking back and seeing just how much has changed... how much I have changed. I am just this week kicking off my first international show, in Rome. What the hell? And have won quite a few awards at recent shows for my work in this series. Looking ahead, I have goals to publish a book of the series and begin speaking about death and the healing power of creativity. A year ago, none of this was here. I was completely and utterly lost. And still very broken. Somehow, this project put me back together. It rebuilt me into someone new who has bold things ahead of her. It's exciting and really daunting all at the same time. I am frequently terrified of where this freight train is taking me and of whether or not I can handle it all.

"Still, Life" has been easily the most significant, most difficult and most life-changing project I have ever worked on. It has taken every ounce of me... creative, conceptual, technical, physical, emotional. There have been many many weeks when I just wanted to give up entirely. I cursed enough to make a sailor blush because the burden felt too big. I hit walls of resistance and would inevitably have no choice but to force myself to get up and shoot something, anything. I was consumed by anger for the fact that I am even in the situation to be doing a project all about death and grief. It has been a long and difficult journey. I don't think I need to make it apparent just how much this project has aligned with the challenges of grief itself. The struggles of creating this have so deeply gone hand in hand with navigating the waves of emotions from losing my fiance.

There have also been good things. The small glimmers of hope when I finally begin to see an image taking shape that I have worked hard on. The bright and brilliant moments of winning awards for the work that I could and would not be doing if it was not for him. The quiet moments of deep meaning when someone writes or shares with me how much one of these images resonated with them on their own journey with grief. It's those quiet moments especially when I realize that telling my story is helping someone else to tell theirs. Which also aligns with the journey of grief itself.

Reflecting back, I realize that this project has been not only a physical manifestation of one woman's inner voyage through grief, but also an example of the simple power of telling our stories... however we choose to tell them. It is in telling my story that I've been able to journey deeper into it, deep enough to find the gifts within the darkness. Telling my story is what pulled me back out of the darkness - by connecting me with others who feel it too. Allowing my story to be heard heals me, strengthens me, and teaches me all the time that death has given me something very valuable - knowledge and wisdom and experience with which to help others. Death has given us all that.

This project came to a close for me this week... quite unexpectedly. I sat down to write about the next image, and instead, a final statement ended up pouring out of my fingertips - which you can read here on my blog. By the time I was finished typing, I was in shock. It happened almost without me... as if some part of me willed the thing to come to a close. It was a sharp reminder not only of how I cannot control the creative process, but of how I cannot control life... or when things may end or begin in my world. It has of course stirred me up. I've been emotional the past few days. I'm sensing a need for some time to grieve and let go of the project itself (or at least the initial year of it) just as I would let go of any chapter of my life.

I know deep down I was ready for this to come to a close. I have been ready for a new chapter to begin in my artistic world but scared to initiate the change. And so I suppose I just got pushed into it somehow. It was certain: I was done being at the end of something, and ready to be at the beginning of something else. A very very huge statement in this journey as a widow. I'm not even sure what I am ready to be at the beginning of yet... or what this new chapter of my life will be or look like. All I know, is that I am ready for change again... or at least as ready as I'll ever be.


You can view the full "Still, Life" photo series on my blog: 12moc.com

The Cold Front Comes In

Photo Courtesy of Diana Varner

The cold front comes in
and chills my bones
with the reality
that you are not coming home -
not now
not tomorrow
not ever.

That none of my family is.
not my mother
not my father
and not you.

So many people I have lost already
in thirty-two years of living
I have lived and died already
many lifetimes in this body.

Some years
the cold front whisks in
with a freshness of
possibility

Other years
and apparently this one
it feels more like
it steals something from me
my breath
my heart
a piece of me

Just by its bare reminder
that I will never have memories with
any of these three people in my life
ever again.

I have gained so much
I have a life full of love
full of incredible people.
But I think some years
no matter how long its been
(23 years for my mother,
5 years for my father,
and two for you)
The cold front still steals away my ground
and leaves me floating once more.

I am not What Happened to Me

Showing my strength at Waimea Canyon, Kauai, Hawaii. 

A week ago, I had a really big moment. It was defined the by a very simple difference in word choice. It was not something anyone else would have noticed or defined as big - unless of course you yourself are widowed perhaps. While at the gym, one of the other girls in class asked if I was married and had kids. And I said - in this effortless, matter-of-fact way - "No, I'm widowed, so the kids thing is pretty much out of the picture for right now". And then I just continued about my workout. Just like that. No big emotional breakdown. No desire to run and hide. No real care for whether or not this other woman was pitying me. It just rolled out naturally. A fact. Plain and simple.

This was a big deal. Something felt really different about it. The more I thought about it, I began to realize what it was. I said "I'm widowed". It's the first time since he died that I have said it that way by default. Every other time I have said "I'm a widow". I AM a widow. It's a small difference in words, but it feels like a huge difference in perspective.

In that moment, I realized that a shift is happening. I'm starting to feel like this is something that happened to me, and not that it IS me. For the past two years, my world has been so completely consumed by his death and by my grief that it's been hard so see myself as anything other than a widow. I hate that. Because I was so many other things in my past life. A rock climber. A kayaker. A skydiver. A lover of hockey. A friend. A sister. A photographer. When he died, suddenly, I was just a widow. I stopped doing a lot of things I enjoyed - although not all. And even though I was still a friend and a sister, it's like I was wearing a pair of glasses in which the grief tinted everything and made any other parts of me very hard to see.

But lately, I've poured myself into my photography and writing in a way that I never have before. I've had a different kind of focus and a feeling of purpose about it. It's helped me reclaim that part of who I am. I've added new things too… things that the old me in my old life would have never been gutsy enough to try. In February, I signed up for Crossfit class - a very high-intensity, total body workout that's been a big trend the past few years. I have to explain this by saying that I've never been very physically fit in my life, and Crossfit is definitely something I never in a million years would have imagined I would sign up for. Not only has it been healing to try something I'd have never done before his death, but seeing my body get stronger over time has in turn helped my mind and soul to feel stronger, too. Each day I go to that class, I lift a little more weight, or run a little farther, and that progress in strengthening my body seems to be carrying over to my mind and spirit too.

For the first time since he died, I feel like I am more than just a widow. And don't get me wrong - I am actually damn proud now to call myself a widow. It means I am part of an incredible community of some of the strongest people I've ever known. But you all get it - it's still the club you wish you didn't belong to. And it's still important for us to find other parts of ourselves on this journey so that we can begin to see ourselves as more than just widowed. Rediscovering the other parts of ourselves - or perhaps discovering them for first time - is what helps us to be able to find something about our new life that we can feel proud of and even joyful about. It helps us to embrace the new life, which in turn helps us to better honor the person we will love forever and the life we shared with them.

Photo Note: This is photo taken of me by my best friend just a few days ago at Waimea Canyon on the island of Kauai, Hawaii. One more thing that I never imagined that I would ever do is visit this place. Upon seeing the Grand Canyon just a few months after Drew died, I decided to visit a canyon every year somehow. This is the third. Both a humbling and empowering place to look out on. 

To Be Changed

Source

Last night just before going to bed, for some reason I felt called to go back through some really old journal entries from the years leading up to when I met Drew. I don't always pay attention to those little cues, but last night for whatever reason I did. 

I smiled to read some of the entries about our first days together... about how safe and natural and trusting it all felt. How much fun we had together. The adventures we went on, like sky diving and hot air ballooning. But where I ended up reading more - and where my truth really was - was a bit different. 

I was only in my mid-twenties and had been through a lot already... my father suffered from alcoholism - which got pretty bad from the time I was 17 to the time I finally took off to finish college when I was 21. I left home with my boyfriend, who began to be physically abusive once we lived together. I stayed for the three years it took me to finish college – basically until I didn't need his financial support anymore. That ending was incredibly traumatic, and brought up the loss of my mother as well, which I had never really coped with. I then had an affair of sorts with a man who was nearly married (not one of my more proud moments). Around the end of that debacle, I started having some pretty bad anxiety issues and hit an all-time low. That is when I finally started working on myself. 

I went to therapy, devoured self help books and articles about dysfunctional families and abuse. It was one of the worst periods of my life - equally painful, but in very different ways, to losing the love of my life. I felt worthless, invisible, and very alone. In those years, I worked through an immense amount of pain and began healing a lot of my past.

By the time I was 26, I had been single for about a year and wanted nothing to do with men. Romantic relationships in my world were still nothing but overstepped boundaries, yelling, hitting, disrespect, and feeling trapped. And that is where Drew came in... with his kindness and patience, and his ability to never ever push me and to always allow me to step closer toward him on my own. He was careful with my heart in a way no man ever has been. Slowly my trust for him grew... and after about a year, I finally took the chance to date him.

And this is where the journal entries came in... at this time when I had just taken the leap into facing my fears about intimate relationships. I immediately tried to run away after our first date. And I freaked out at every single little twist and turn. At the slightest sign of trouble, boy, I was ready to hit the road. But I never did. It is astounding to look back at this girl years later… to read her thoughts…. thoughts which to me now, sound like borderline paranoia. She was just SO scared of being hurt again. Despite all her fears though, she still had the courage to try and open her heart to this man, no matter how much she wanted to run. And slowly, very slowly, he changed her whole world.

In those three short years we had together, I came to know love in a way that was deeper and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I continued to work on myself, and he did the same, and together we began to grow into the people we had always wanted to be. Or perhaps more accurately, the people we always had been, underneath it all. We helped each other heal, we remained careful with each other always. I gave more love than I even knew I had in me... and in return, I received more love than I ever fathomed another person could give. And now, looking back, I can see just how immensely the love we shared has changed me. And how it is STILL changing me.

Since he died, I have opened my heart to more people more deeply than in all my past years combined. I have learned to let the love I share with many many people become the way that he continues to give and receive with me. From the perspective that we are all connected, this is one of the most powerful ways that my relationship to him continues on past death.

I have been broken by life, over and over again. Yet I sit here now, a beautiful, confident woman. A woman who knows her worth and who values herself above all… who tolerates no level of abuse or malevalence in her world. A woman who is grounded in her soul and who lives by faith and intuition. Just 5 years ago... this is the kind of woman I dreamed of being, and one that felt lightyears away from where I sat. All of this is a thing that he set in motion in me... from the first time he stood by my side, to the last time, to the time he now spends on other side, working to help me become more fully the person I was born to be.

It seems maybe that his greatest gift was to allow me the space in which to decide to be changed... To first teach me how to love and be loved deeply by one, and then, in his passing over, to teach me how to do this with the rest of the world. There is not a day that goes by that I am not grateful that I took the chance to be changed… by life, by death, and by everything in between. 

Things that have changed

I am sitting here, marvelling at how far I’ve come since March 1, 2010; I am a different person with the same heart.

I can now look back and remember the sharp, stabbing grief of that day.  The insanity. 

 

The weeks and months directly  afterward where I alternated between shrieking pain and dense fog; I rocked and cried or I floated behind a thin wall, a sense of being elsewhere and detached.

The forced smile at work and the tears as I left the gate each day.
The craziness  at home.  My children  .. my poor children.
The first BirthdaysFathersDayChristmasNewYear  without him.   All the firsts.  I distinctly remember the first day I brought my children back to school afterwards and broke down at the gate, and the angel of a friend who saw me and walked me in.  She knew. 

That first, aching anniversary of his death.

The depression of the seemingly endless blackhole that stretched in front of me.
The hideous instability caused by my old boss who made it harder for me than it needed to be (because he is a petty, stupid man).
The desperation that I never spoke of.  To anyone.

The feeling that I was repeating history: I would repeat my grandmother’s and my great-grandmother’s long, lonely widowhood for decades to come.


The hopelessness.  The feeling of Just Not Bothering to do more than exist for the sake of my children; there were days that their presence stood (unknowingly) between me and oblivion.  I couldn’t hurt them, so I continued on.

The reaching out to others in the widower community.  The voice that would weave across an ocean and give me ways to distract myself from misery. The women and men who wrote about their experiences and I realised that I was not alone in this pain.

Then a chink of light with a friend offering me work at a new school.  This move has changed my life for the better.  I now have a permanent job as my new boss is made of clever and awesome and fought to keep me.

And then... and then ....  the confidence to once again try dating.  For real. 
....and the meeting of a person whose mind is like my own.  Whose situation is like my own and whose heart is like my own.  Healing slowly, together.

The realisation that my life is not over and that I can see a new future. A future built on hard-won battles and scars of resilience.  A future that acknowledges the injuries of the past and weaves them into its beautiful tapestry.

I have come so far since March 1, 2010.

Routine

source



Ian used to call me Sheldon, as in Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.

In order to keep up with the housework and household management, I followed a routine through a website.  And it worked pretty well for me for years and years.  To the point I'd get antsy if it wasn't followed.  Heck, I got antsy if he mopped the house from the back door to the front door.  That wasn't the right way!!  It's front to back!!

And Ian teased me about my 'Sheldon-ness' all the time.

But since he died, the old routine I just can't do. It got me through his illness and the first couple of months of autopilot, but no further.

Some of the long standing practices have stuck, like doing a weekly budget and menu plan. Money is now tighter, and I have to watch it carefully, and these two practices help with that.

But the housework side of things... nope.  The routine is gone, and although the mess and dirt honestly drives me nuts, it's not enough to get me off my butt regularly and actually do something about it.  It was easier in the early days when friends dropped by with limited notice - I'd need to do a spruce up.  Particularly since one friend actually verbalised his expectation that the floor be clean.

But their jobs change, the kid's activity lists grow, they move, DIY tasks around their home need doing, their lives happen, so the visits drop off.

And so the housework drops off. 

I've tried a few times, but I just can't get back into the old routine.   I think partially I just haven't cared enough to be consistent and/or disciplined about it; partially because I didn't want to be living here  (I wanted to move since before I even met Ian, and we had plans, but lately I've come to accept I'll be here for a while longer).

But mostly because that's part of my before, a part that we shared good humour about. 

However since I've accepted that I'm staying put for a while, I need to do something before the place goes to rack and ruin.

A few weeks ago I came across a different routine to try.  And this last week I've started to use it.  Haphazardly, but I'm working on it.  I'm hoping that the simple fact it's not what I used before will allow me to actually get a new routine embedded. 

Because I know, before or after, I'm better with routine.

Frozen

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Since he's been gone,
So much has changed.

Sometimes I can't believe how much he's missed, and how much has changed since he was here last. Our favorite artists have come out with multiple albums he's missed, his favorite sports teams writing more history, buildings he'll never see, restaurants he'll never try. I could go on and on to the point where it sickens me. Will there come a time where the world as Jeremy knew it won't exist anymore?

Perhaps.
But, there are some things that I cannot bring myself to change....or touch, or alter. Things are just his. It struck me last week that there are still quite a few things that haven't changed since he left.

The 4 digit code I create whenever I need one - it's still the one he created.
The tons of awful music on our itunes that I'll never listen to but can't seem to get rid of because he put it there.
The background picture on his old ipod that my son uses...I can't seem to change it because I know Jeremy set it.
His bible I still carry in my purse with a set list scribbled on a paper and used as a bookmark that I can't seem to move.
His way-past-its-prime old pillow that sits in my closet that clearly needs to be thrown away, but I can't move it.

There are just some things that I cannot bring myself to alter or change because it feels like I'm erasing the few tangible things left that Jeremy touched. It's always surreal to sit and look at his handwriting and know that at some point, he was here - living and breathing - and writing down those words. So insignificant and now suddenly one of the few things I have to hold on to, and it means everything to me.

Life will continue to change, no matter how I feel about it. It won't freeze to where Jeremy left it. But there are some pieces of him, frozen in time, that I hold on to for dear life in hopes that the world won't alter so much without him in it.

When two worlds collide

source

So much of my life has changed since Jeremy died.

I live in a different house, a different city.
I drive different vehicles.
I shop at new stores that weren't around just three years ago.
I have super long hair, which Jeremy has never really seen.
I have some new, amazing friends.
I've lost some friends. Heck, I've been lifted out of some of my own support groups.
I have new family.
I got re-married.
I am a different parent than I used to be.
I've had new experiences that have changed me.

For crying out loud, I have more of Jeremy's children now than I did when he was here!

It's safe to say that things look very different. But what I find so frustrating and yet so odd is how much I hate that he is missing the very things that are only in place because of his death. Experiences that I was only able to have because Jeremy died, I ache for him to see it, to talk to him about it, to celebrate/laugh/cry with him about it. Only, my two worlds will never collide. The irony is not lost on me.

Somewhere, in a land created of 'what-ifs', there's a place where I get to talk to Jeremy about Steve, where I get to see his reaction to a new song that came out, where he smiles and celebrates the milestones in my life I only get to have in light of losing everything. The opportunities that were created out of his loss are the very things I want him to witness. I would never have been able to move to this home if Jer were still alive. And yet, it feels like he's missing here. I would never be able to claim Zada and Reagan as my beautiful daughters if he were alive, but I want so badly for them to know each other, for him to love them like I do.

I try not to venture into the land of 'what-ifs' very often, cause it generally just leaves me exhausted and unsatisfied. But every once in awhile....

....I would just love to see my two worlds collide.

6 Month Slump

I have been in a slump.

It started with me catching a cold in October. I had a nasty cold, it didn't matter how much I slept, I was beyond exhausted. I couldn't stay awake for the life of me, even driving the 10 miles to work every day was a little sketchy. I chalked it up to depression, a different kind of depression.. a kind I have not had before. I thought the exhaustion was just depression, even though the depression I had before left me suicidal with no will to live. I had just passed the two year mark, so of course it was depression, why wouldn't it be?

I never really got over that cold. After 2 months of having a never ending sore throat, and sleeping 14 (plus) hours a day, I decided it wasn't just a cold anymore. I went to the doctor and had a full physical. They did full blood work, to check all my vitamin levels, hormones levels, even checked for cancer. When my doctor told me she was going to do a blood panel to test for cancer.. my heart broke all over again. Getting cancer after my husband’s death would be the end. I don’t think I would have the will to go on and fight it. I didn't dare tell my mom about the cancer talk my doctor and I had. I just couldn't do that to my mom.. unless it came back positive. (My mom is now just reading this and learning about this, yes mom.. there was serious talk about cancer. I am sorry I didn't tell you!)

After an anxious wait, my doctor called me with my results. Everything came back normal... 

Except I tested positive for mono.

I took my doctors advice, and whenever sleep came a knocking, I slept. I slept non stop. I called into work several times, just to sleep. I wish you could have heard my bosses’ voice when I would call in and say “I’m too tired to work today.” He was always like… “Err.. ok??” He didn't get it, and that is okay.

This was the beginning of this slump. I have been exhausted since then. I still have had a never ending sore throat. But now my blood work shows I have an “old” infection of mono, not an active infection.

The last 6 months have been pure exhaustion. Every day is a struggle. I haven’t had the energy to do the “normal” things in life, such as cleaning or grocery shopping. In fact, it has been so bad, I would rather just not eat then go to the grocery store or fast food joint because going to get food took far too much energy. Energy I couldn't afford to waste.

I took this exhaustion phase and just accepted it. I decided to “sit” with it. Not fight it. Unlike in the past, I have fought the depression, anxiety and exhaustion, until I crumble under the pressure. So I decided to just be with it. Just allow myself to be exhausted. Allow myself to sleep as much as my body tells me to. Allow my house to be a mess. Allow my life to be a mess. All to take care of myself.

I started thinking I would never get out of this exhaustion. I started wondering how I would manage life when I don’t have the energy for any of it.

I grieved a lot during this. Because I refused to push my body past its limits, I sat with it. I sat with the grief. Sat with the mono. I had 6 months of a lot of sleep and time on my hands. I had some really bad days. Days where I was sick of being sick, sick of the exhaustion, and sick of the grief. Days where I couldn't see an end to it all.

Today, a day after the 33^rd month anniversary, I realized I have come around a curve. I have more energy. I want to do the things I enjoy again. I want to be out in the sun. I want to be out and meet new people and try new things.

How did this curve happen so slightly, that I didn't notice at first? Why can’t I take a very sharp turn, look back, and think, HA! I passed a turning point!

I am pulling out of my 6 month slump.

Maybe it was mono. Maybe it was depression. Maybe it was grief. Maybe just pure exhaustion from the busy life we live. Maybe a combination of all of this.

Or maybe it was meant to be. Meant to make me sit still. To sit with grief and life. Maybe it was to make me slow down, rest, and do the bare minimum… for once in my life.

One thing I learned out of my 6 month slump is.. just to sit with it. Accept it. It’s okay to dwell in it. It’s okay to have a pity party. It’s okay to have my house a mess. It’s okay to be lazy. It’s okay to sleep all day long.

After all, worse things have happened then dirty dishes. The dishes will still be there tomorrow, but if I don’t take care of myself today, I might not be here tomorrow.

I have realized life is too short to dwell in having a spot less house and an empty soul. I choose to do what makes me happy, and not do the things I am “supposed” to do.

The dishes will still be there tomorrow, they aren't going anywhere. But will I do them? Probably not. My soul needs to be outside, working in my garden, and not dwelling in dirty dishes. 

Symbiotic Comforting

source

I turned 37 on the 2nd and simply didn't care or want to give my birthday a bit of acknowledgment.

My life right now feels a bit unsteady. It's as though it's on the cusp of something. What, I don't know. The unsteady feeling is rough on me and my anxiety levels have been high lately. The weather is all weird and I'm restless and anxious and irritated.  I'm infinitely sad that Dave isn't here and lately reminders of him abound.

I saw an Ellen episode tonight that featured a scientist. The guy did some fun and flashy science experiments that I know just over 21 months ago, Dave would have gotten so thrilled about and would have doggedly gone to work creating those demonstrations for his middle school science students. He then would have come home and shown me a million pictures of his students lit up over science because of the hard work he had put into the lesson.

I sat on the couch watching this guy and wanted so badly to turn to Dave and start discussing how we could make the demonstration work in his classroom. I wanted to cry and I couldn't. I can't quite freely cry right now as I type this, though I want to. It feels like I need a good cry but it's stuck within me.

Replacing the crying is worrying. I worry about so much these days. I don't quite know where the worrying has come from. I haven't felt this consumed by anxiety since the days Dave was in the hospital and right after he died. It is beginning to get even harder to be alone for so long. I've been longing for someone to just come over and stay the night with me. Just to know another human is in the house with me. I'm suddenly afraid to be alone and I haven't felt that since right after Dave died.

And yet, I still have much to be grateful for. I did get to have someone stay the night last night, my beloved girlfriend who was also there for me right after Dave died. I slept better because she was there. The other girlfriend who was my constant companion after Dave died got me a beautiful rose for my birthday to plant in a big planter for my balcony. The name of the rose is New Year. A new year of hope. I can't wait to watch it grow.

There is someone very new in my life, who was also widowed, who feels like a special gift I was lucky enough to find.

I have choir which lifts me up like nothing else and I have these sweet cats who shadow me everywhere I go, even more so when I'm feeling bad. I have a big trip to look forward to. I have life to live.

I just can't wait for this fog of worry and anxiety to pass so I can once again breathe deeply and enjoy the little things again. I can't wait to feel at peace again. 

I guess more than anything I wish I had someone with me right now to hold me and let me be really weak for a few hours. To cry while supported by loving arms. To hear reassurances from a voice other than my own. I get so tired of reassuring myself. It feels better to hear it from another source, somehow. I feel like maybe I've been so strong for long and I've simply run out of strength.

If anything, the last week or two has shown me so clearly, once again, how I have to reach out for help, earlier on rather than once it's reached a level of complete breakdown.

I need to allow myself to take a break from holding myself up and ask for someone else to do it for me just for a while. It's also shown me that at times, I still have to retreat to a deep grieving place where I simply need to treat myself like I'm in intensive care again. All but my most basic needs have to be put aside until my strength returns and I must get used to claiming that rather than pushing it away as something that is weak. It's damn strong to admit you've run out of strength. It's brave to say "help me because I can't help myself right now". I just forget that sometimes.

If you get to the point where you feel as though you don't have any strength left and even the normal little things that usually bring you comfort don't, I know. I know how hard it is. I know how scary it is. It won't always be. Things never stay the same.

I suppose I'm reassuring myself as much as I'm attempting to reassure you right now, but that's the great thing about this blog. It's symbiotic comforting.

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