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.

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.

Holiday Feelings

I just returned home for an early Christmas celebration with my extended family. This is somewhat of a novelty, and we now live close enough to be a part of these type of celebrations on a regular basis. I had a good time, and love my family, but I did need to get in the right type of space to handle it.

Earlier in the week I wrote about this on my personal blog. It is always difficult being around my family because each of my brothers have been blessed with very long marriages. While I enjoy all of their company, I can't help but be reminded by them of what I no longer have. I usually try to keep my visits brief, as too much time together seems to drain me emotionally.

Driving over there the kids and I were listening to Christmas music on the radio. We were having a good time, then suddenly Michael's favorite Christmas song came on. Immediately my daughter looked to me, and we fell silent. By the end of the song we were both in tears, and she had her arm around me while I tried to keep focused on my driving.

Throughout the day there was a lot of laughter, and a lot of sharing stories. Comments were made by everyone about how happy they were, or how blessed they have been this year. Each time I would hear this I felt myself pulling away. Eventually I would find myself sitting off to the side, needing to take some space. While I had anticipated this, and prepared for this, I didn't think to prepare the kids for this. On the way back home to San Diego, my daughter began talking about how hard it was to hear these conversations, with me sitting there, not feeling quite as blessed. She felt angry that my family was being insensitive, and felt like she should have said something.

Soon into this conversation my daughter was in tears, really feeling her grief. She spoke of how much she misses Michael, and how others don't seem to get this. She talked about her anger that we had him in our lives for only such a short time, and how others around us seem to bask in their good fortune, while we sit there feeling hurt. Soon the boys jumped into the conversation, and it went in many directions. They spoke of their birth mother, and how she had died before they could ever meet her. There was so much emotion in the car, which led to quite a deep conversation about how they judge the quality of our life as a family.

In the end we agreed that we needed to appreciate the blessing we have, and at the same time feel fine about our anger. We need to be proud of our accomplishments, even if they don't compare to those around us. Our life as a family, and the lives that my children have lived, has been a difficult one, yet we survive. I reminded them of how proud I am of them, and given the hardships that they have had to face, they, we, are doing just fine.

May each of you feel comforted during this holiday season.

Full Circle

I have been feeling kind of lost lately. I'm a bit unsure about a lot of things. For one, I have been renting a house for the past few months while I sell off my house in San Francisco, which has provided the kids and I a temporary home while we get settled into San Diego. As of today, I no longer own a house. Yes, my house sold, which is good, but it also comes with mixed emotions. I lived in that house for 17 years. It is the house where the kids and I have many happy memories, and also some sad ones, such as Michael dying. I suppose the latter is not strictly a sad memory, as it was also a beautiful experience providing Michael all the comforts of dying in our own home, and in our own bedroom. Yet even with all these positives, it was time to move on.

Ever since Michael died I have had an urgent need to leave my home, and start over somewhere new. I know that it goes against conventional wisdom to make such a big move, such as leaving your job, home, city and friends, during the first year of grief. But I knew it was a good move for me. By the time the first year anniversary of his death came around, I was already in a new environment, which helped me get through that terribly rough time. I think it would have been even more difficult for me if I was still in our home at the time. Maybe this wouldn't be helpful for most, but for me it was exactly what I needed.

Last week was the second anniversary of our wedding. It wasn't the first time for this occasion to come around without him, as he had already died when our first anniversary came around. One of the things that came about with our first year anniversary was my decision to begin blogging about my grief journey. The experience of writing about my process on a daily basis was quite cathartic for me. There were definitely some very dark days, days in which I didn't think I was going to make it. But here I am, full circle, one year later, and I have survived.

I think about where I will be by next year, and I kind of come up empty. Not that I don't have expectations, more that I don't really know what I want, or what I can expect. All I do know is that after coming full circle this time around, I can honestly say that life is getting easier, if not better. I now have the benefit of looking back, and clearly identifying the many changes and milestones that I have successfully grown through. This is my history, and if history repeats itself, then I can expect this next year to get even better.

Anniversary Gift

I am quickly approaching what would be my second wedding anniversary. Can I see a raise of hands as to who thinks this might be a difficult time for me?

A no brainer, right?

I have come to have a really negative visceral reaction to the word anniversary. It is a sad reality, but I like other young widowed people, missed out on a lot of things that other people take for granted. A basic one that I missed out on was wedding anniversaries. And I won't lie, I am bitter as hell.

I grew up in a home where anniversaries were really big deals. My parents have been married for 54 years. As a child, and as an adult, I have been present for many of their wedding anniversary celebrations, including their huge 50th wedding anniversary. My brothers and I helped my parents plan a renewing of their vows, and a wonderful reception filled with friends and family. In the weeks leading up to their celebration I met a wonderful guy. He was sweet, he was sexy, and he was quickly capturing my heart. I remember feeling an urge to invite him to the celebration, which was in Southern California. I resisted the urge, as we had only been dating a short time, and I didn't think it would go off very well if I brought a date to the anniversary party. I remember standing outside the church, posing for a family picture with my parents, my brothers, their wives, and all of our children. The whole time I stood there waiting for the picture to be taken I had this gnawing feeling that Michael should have been there. It's hard to describe, but I knew that he would have a place in my family. Two and a half years later, we stood in a similar pose in San Francisco, with all of my family members gathered around us.

Our wedding was as traditional as they go. We felt that we deserved to have all the rituals and celebrations that go along with getting married. We looked forward to that first wedding anniversary, when we could toast to our first year together as a legally wed couple. The thing was, we knew that the day would likely not come around for us. Michael had a death sentence, and while we loved with a passion each day that we were blessed with, we also lived with a harsh reality, which was a brain tumor. I lost Michael on September 13, 2009, and celebrated without him on October 19, 2009.

The gift that I received on September 13, 2009, was the beginning of my Year of Firsts. The first anniversary of...since his death. I have been celebrating these anniversaries ever since. I tell myself that I have plenty to be grateful for, and I have wonderful friends who have tried to reach out to me on these difficult anniversary dates, but in the end, I have to celebrate them alone. It's not that I am ungrateful, or that I don't think about the wonderful times we had in the past, but at the end of the day, I am alone. There is no avoiding this reality.

Unfortunately for me, death was a gift that keeps on giving. I'm told by some that it gets easier, and to be honest it has. Yet, if not easier, then at least it has become more familiar. I have also been told that the second year of anniversaries is more painful, because you now face them without the numbness that surrounded you the first time out. Great. Happy anniversary to me.

I'm going to work hard at reframing my thoughts about anniversaries this year. I won't pretend that I am not already feeling enormous pain associated with my upcoming second wedding anniversary, but I do want to find a way to make the word, anniversary, not feel like such a punishment, or torturous reminder.

In my darker humorous moments, I say that my first wedding anniversary gift was as traditional as they get. Paper. I received a death certificate. I know, it's horrible to say. But my second wedding anniversary gift will is cotton, and I received it a bit early this year. While at Camp Widow my wonderful friend Susan presented me with a pillow case quilted out of Michael's well worn cotton shirts.

Special days such as this will certainly bring tears, but we all know how absorbent cotton is.

What a blessing.