Waiting for the Crash

So last week I put it out there that I’d been feeling happy and ‘doing ok’.  I seriously didn’t realise how scary that would feel, as if I was tempting the universe.  As the weekend came and went, I found myself full of anticipation and it took a while to work out what I was waiting for.   Then I realised, I was waiting for the crash. 

I know it’s coming.  It may not be today, or this week, or even for another couple of weeks, but I know for a fact that it will come again and I’ll feel foolish for my cockiness.  I know this, because there’s a proven track record.  The grief always seems to build and build and then surge into a wave that drags me under again.  Sometimes it’s dramatic and I find myself mid-meltdown in public, scrambling for a safe place to take cover while I try to keep my head above the tidal wave.  Other times it sneaks up on my when I’m not looking – I’ll wake up one morning and it’s back, just smothering me in its heavy cloak of misery.   

Gee, what a pessimist, huh!?  Here I am feeling pretty good, but rather than just soaking it up, I’m fighting this internal dialogue: ‘Hey lady, who do you think you are!  Don’t you remember that your husband died!?  HELLOOOOO!!  Who are you kidding, pretending that you’re not only coping – but actually finding some enjoyment in this world?  Pfft, good luck with that, enjoy your DENIAL, fool!’  Yeah, my niggling negative voice is harsh.

There it is… denial.  That’s what I’m worried about.  Am I really doing ok at the moment or am I just in a temporary state of denial where I’m subconsciously pretending that Dan isn’t really dead, he’s just gone away for a while.  Is it possible that I’ve just blocked out the horror of his suicide because it’s just too painful to deal with?  Maybe I’m not actually taking steps forward by feeling happy in my life, but rather, I’m regressing into a shock-like state where my brain is just having a holiday from the trauma? 

How exhausting it is to be constantly questioning and judging myself. When did I lost my confidence in my ability to know my own heart?  Why can't I just trust myself?  I think a big part of it is that I didn’t see Dan’s death coming.  I was so happy in my newly-wed glow, so secure in our love, so excited for our future together, so confident that Dan’s treatment was on the right track, so sure that he’d talk to me if he didn’t feel ok.  Now I look at that person and just think – you were so naive.  It’s always there – I missed the signs, I let him down, I failed him.  Will I ever trust myself again?  Will I ever let myself off the hook for not seeing how much he was struggling

  

I really hope so.  I know it’s not my fault and I didn’t cause his death, but I can’t imagine ever not wishing that I’d been able to save him. I will miss him forever.

Happy

There is a lot going in my life right now that I can't share here.  It's too personal.  But it's good.

What I can tell you is that I am happy.

I never thought I would ever meet this mystical beast ever again, but here it is, showing up in my day and making me smile for no good reason.

Not the legendary, mythical HAPPY that we all hear about in fairytales.

But the happy that comes from lifting your eyes from the floor and seeing that life is really not so bad.
OK even.

I have chosen to believe that my one-sided conversations with Greg are really two sided and that he is letting me know what he thinks and feels about things. 

Case in point ....
I had an attack of the "uglies" the other day.  Not that I am a particularly vain person, but the last time I allowed myself to be vulnerable to another human (other than Greg) was when I was 22 years old and 22 years younger than I am now.
Growing up, I had two grandmothers who were determined that vanity was not a sin I would ever have and so they both managed to convince me that I was a "solid" girl who was plain.  I don't hold it against them - that was the thinking back then.  But I wished I'd listened to my mother who told me what a beauty I was.
Anyhooo  - there I was, having an attack of the uglies last Friday night when I decided to look in a cupboard that contained yet more of Greg's "stuff".  ... and I found a motherload of his old photos.
 He had photos from the night we met (I looked shy and a bit lost) and he had photos from our early dating life that I had never seen.  I looked young and fresh and positvely beautiful.  Certainly not "solid" or "plain".
...and he had a couple of photos of me (and he) all dolled up at a friend's wedding that were positively smokin' hot!

 ...and just like that, the "uglies" went away and I knew that my boy had shown me what he saw when he looked at me.

So yeah - happy.
It doesn't come in with a fanfare and a show of light.
It sneaks up on you and surprises you when you think it has gone for ever...

The holidays are over....

Australian children have just come back from their 6-week summer holidays.
So have their teachers....

The first year after Greg died, I dreaded the Christmas holidays.  All those long weeks of just me and the kids.  NO trips away (every holiday doubles in price during the holidays as we all know).  No will to do more than walk the tracks to the beach near our home and photograph things. ... and always the uncertainty of what work I could come back to.

I'm not sure that the second year was any better.

By the third year, I had some coping strategies - meet up with friends.  Go to the parties you want to go to and skip the ones you don't.  ...and I had a job to go to.

This year was the first summer holiday where I felt completely relaxed and OK in my own skin.  I relaxed.  I dreamed.  I looked forward to doing things ....
Maybe this is me, getting used to not having Greg here.
Maybe this is me, feeling comfortable in my (now) permanent job that I would return to.
Maybe this is me, feeling excited about catching up with friends.
one in particular.......

I'm not sure what it is but I am so much calmer and happier than I was 4 short years ago.

Conversation

 

source

You should be grateful. You got to have love.
All the gratitude in the world wouldn't take away the pain. This pain. It doesn't go away. It doesn't get fixed by gratitude. It's because I was grateful that I feel this pain. It's because I loved that I feel this pain.

Don't worry. 
As though I can stop. As though I wouldn't have already stopped if this were a possibility. This new life is full of worry. Worry that doesn't listen to logic, or commands to stop. Worry that wraps my brain in a hot, vibrating blanket of buzzing bees, tormenting me.

Get out! Have fun! Live!
Every day I try. Every. Day. Living fully after losing him is the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm pulled back to the space inside a protective shell every time I think of him. His last moments, lying on that gurney, his last words, my last words, the way his beard felt against my cheek, the way his voice sounded, the way he looked at me and conveyed whole thoughts with his eyes.

You should organize a memorial celebration for him. Make something meaningful out of his death.
How? How can I organize anything? I can't organize my own thoughts.

You should get a job. Stay busy!
I am busy. Busy trying to reassemble a heart and soul that has been blown apart. Trying to navigate a new world. Trying to heal. If I worked at a job all day, I'd still be facing this pain. How do I function in a world that seems to move on without acknowledging what's missing? How do I put my pain aside? How do I find my motivation again?

How long is this going to last? After two years aren't you better?
It's not easier, I'm just getting more accustomed to carrying it around. I've mostly forgotten what it feels like to live without this weight on my chest, without constant exhaustion, and without anxiety and worrying.

Just because bad things have happened to you, doesn't mean more bad things will happen. 
Do you remember learning about probability in school? If you roll a die 10 times, and you roll a 1 every single time, on the 11th roll there's still the exact same chance of rolling a one again. All the ones that came before don't predispose the die to finally land on another number. I think this applies to the universe too because I don't believe there is mercy in fate. I don't think someone is keeping score for me and saying "Okay, she's had enough. Let's let her live in peace for a while". It also means, though, that there's the same chance for good to happen, too. I just no longer think that I have earned a free ride from here on out. I fight the fear of the other shoe dropping every day. I cling to what's left like it will soon be taken from me too. When I leave my house for the day, there's a part of me wondering if it will still be there for me when I get home. I know this doesn't serve me. I know this makes it harder for me to enjoy the present. I don't want to think this way and I fight it. But it is there anyway.

He'd want you to be happy.
But he's not here and he's not living this life. I'd want him to be happy too, if I'd left first, but now that I'm living it, I can see how hard it is to be happy when you're heart has been torn out of your body, jaggedly reassembled and shoved back in to your chest where it flutters half-hardheartedly.

I'm doing this and I'm strong and it's hard for me to admit just how hard it is. But it is. It is the hardest thing I've ever done and I'm so very tired. There is nothing more I want or need than to be cradled like a baby and sung to, and tucked into bed and reassured. I've worked so hard to be independent and strong and positive and it's left me tired to my bones. And it's STILL up to me, as an adult without parents of my own, to perform the self-love and self-care I need when I really don't have the energy to do that all the time.

Care for me, cradle me, love me, give me a rest from doing this on my own, I beg.

But, the reality is, the people I beg this of are gone from this earth and even if they were here, I'd still have to face my demons alone. With help, but still essentially alone. We all do.  I suppose it's making me stronger than I can imagine is possible, even though I feel so weak all the time. I suppose one day I'll be able to see what a warrior I was. Am.

Now I'm just so damn tired.

happy?

Photo from here....

Originally posted on my personal blog after one year of widowhood....

Occasionally, I am now bouyed by a lightness and happiness that I can't explain. I worry at times that I have 'lost the plot' so to speak. That I'm a nut job about to slip over the edge. I mean, really, I've had a shite of a last year. I lost my husband/best friend, my sweet and wonderful grandfather and my beloved 15 year old dog. I am scraping to make ends meet. I am alone. My kids are somewhat damaged from the monumental changes in their short little lives....But somedays, inexplicably, I am happy.
I feel traitorous saying that and even worry that some people will misinterpret these pockets of joy thinking that I don't miss Jeff with every breath I take while wishing he were here to enjoy these upswings and bubbles of bliss.
In fact, I only think that it is because of the loss of Jeff that I can feel this. Before he died, I was bogged down with worry about vacuous and frivolous shit. I could see how I had been wronged in every situation. I could find fault and anger everywhere. I am still 'blessed' with this ridiculous and terrible gift....but I am also learning to be able to turn it off. I am concentrating so hard on trying to see the positive, to feel joy, to search for the good in an effort to not drown in grief, that I am learning to shut out that sinister and nepharious self-destructive voice. When that voice is silent, I feel joy. Pure, warm joy. I can feel sadness and pain alongside it, but I can still turn my face to the light and smile. This, the ability to force myself to stare through rose-coloured glasses, has been the largest gift that Jeff has given me....it is just such a shame that it has been in the loss of him that I have found this gift. I wish we could have shared our life together with this realization in mind....and not just the cognitive recognition of this, but the actual realization that I have had since losing my love.

Pretty Panty Problems

Photo from here...

There's an old adage that says that you should make sure that you are always wearing nice underpants in case you end up at the hospital and some health care worker witnesses the terrible state of your undergarments.
I remember this and other silly issues causing me concern at one point.
I could worry about this still...if I worked at it. But now, it is a choice.
I can care that someone believes that I am too old for my nose ring. I may occasionally wonder if I appear to be a socially responsible human. I might stress about the length of the lawn.
Since Jeff's death, I truly realize that "Life is short". All of us reading this blog are painfully aware. Our hearts ache and we may wonder 'why' this has happened. Why we have lost our loved ones.
But if we can look through the mesh of fear and sadness that our loss has created, we can see the gift that this loss has given us.
It's the gift of knowing what is important. Truly important.
It's not the whole-y undies that matter - it's the person that's wearing them. Their deeds, their heart, their memories. Well-loved and saggy, rainbow tie-dyed underpants can be replaced. The fabulous human who sports them cannot.
Although this lesson has come with a heartbreaking price, I am a kinder, better and more fun and confident person because of it....And if you look inside, I bet you are to. And I now feel that many of our everyday issues rank down there with pondering "pretty panty problems".


P.S. Nice undies!!!!

the wishlist

My children are aware that Christmas is in 23 days. Already they are making their preparations for the big day. Snow flakes already adore most of the windows in our house, our advent calendar is hanging above the fireplace and letters to Santa are ready to post. After ruminating long and hard over what she would write, my eight year old daughter, Liv, stood up from the kitchen table with a letter for Santa clutched in her skinny, little hands. Hope and excitement lit her face.
"Do you think Santa can bring whatever you ask for if you only ask for one thing?", she whispered.
"It depends what it is, I suppose", I answered nervously imagining pink polka-dotted unicorns and hot-air balloon rides to the moon being requested. I was surprised when she handed over her note.
Her words make me vacillate between laughter and tears....
I don't know what I'd do without these little people who make life so much harder and some much more bearable in one motion.

P.S. Briar asked for a remote control monster truck taller than his head. Not as emotionally charged, but certainly enough to strike fear in a mother's heart. How the HECK is Santa going to pull off Christmas????

those in the know

Today I begin my journey to the Soaring Spirit's Loss Foundation's Camp Widow. I feel as if I am running to the arms of dear friends.....although some of these people I have never met.

I will spend my time with a couple of hundred people who know what widowhood is. Really know. Not an abstract idea that is hard to fully wrap your mind around until the day it settles its' weight around your shoulders. But those who have felt the fear of knowing that when our lives are lost, our children become orphans. Known the loneliness of suddenly losing all the support and comfort of our partner. Become familiar with the uncertainty of not knowing who you are without your 'other half'. Discovered the joy of finding out that you are still whole - even missing half your heart. And, hopefully, the excitement that can one day happen when experiencing the rebirth after your past life has ended.

I am ecstatic to be with this communtiy once again. To know I am not the only one. To know I don't have to explain. To know, that at least here, I am not alone.

lucky me

"Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened." ~ Dr. Suess

After Jeff died, I had this quote printed in vinyl to stick above my bed to remind me just how 'lucky' I am.
I read it in the hard moments when the kids are in bed, the phone hasn't rung in two days and my poor-me's are flowing.
It reminds me that I'm lucky. We're lucky. Everyone of us who were touched by Jeff's existence is lucky.
He wasn't 'perfect'. He was FAR from a saint. But still, thoughts and memories of him make me smile. And his ability to laugh was second to none.
I got to share his life, his laughter, his love.....And I'm lucky for it.

I'm OK?

Today looked like this....

I got up.

I laughed before the big toe of my left foot hit the floor.

I left at 8:15 for an 8:30 class that was a 20 minute drive away.

I drove giggling...my lateness, some things never change.

I didn't know anyone in the class.

I didn't feel like knowing anyone from the class.

At the class, I didn't eat the granola bar, tossed the too sweet yogurt and drank 4 little bottles of water (borrowed from my the table mates, the ones I didn't know.)

I drove home and sang till I coughed.

I made a semi-nutritious lunch for my kids out of food I already had in the refrigerator!

I made a really nutritious lunch for myself. (Spinach, yellow peppers, avocado, pine nuts and goat cheese. Tossed with more balsamic vinegar than olive oil.)

I braved Target at 2:30 pm shopping for clothes with my two youngest. We didn't run over anyone while we were telling each other jokes.

I put together a telescope. I saw the pink-purple flowers of the Morning Glory way in the back yard REALLY well.

I dropped off my daughter for her (as of this minute) first successful sleep over in over 1 1/2 years.

I was truly interested listening to Ezra's hypotheses about weapons, bombers, fighter planes and tactical ways to win over an enemy.

I paid attention as he went on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

Just he and I went to see Avatar. It was a 7:45 pm movie. He's usually in bed by 8:30. We didn't get home till 11:00.

Now at almost midnight, I am laughing again.

I'm OK.

His death didn't destroy me.

Didn't remove my essence.

Didn't consume me.

And I'm still standing

and I find my feet are encased, ensconced in this new earth.

I wriggle my toes and notice that I cannot move the earth that covers them.

I laugh so hard....I pee.

My friend said, "How are you doing?"

Today, I didn't lie.

"I'm ok." I told her

And I am.