Be thankful. Or don't. It's OK.

source

I remember Thanksgiving two years ago, just a couple weeks after Jeremy's death. Well, when I say I remember it, I actually don't remember much about it other than I was deep in the pits of despair and grief. But what I surprisingly remember was the the sense of responsibility I felt to voice being thankful in some way. I remember putting up a status on Facebook about trying not to dwell on what I lost and trying to focus on what I could be thankful for.

But the truth was, I was not thankful for anything.

I'm not so blinded as to not understand that I had things to be thankful for. But I didn't feel thankful. I couldn't image my life being any worse. I was even pissed that I was still around to suffer through the days without the love of my life. Why did I have to express thankfulness?

Because that's what we're supposed to do...

This holiday tends to start a chain reaction of responsibility and expectations for grievers through the end of the year. It sucks. Sometimes empty. It's hard to feel thankful when the person you were most thankful for is no longer there.

Knowing things could be worse doesn't take away the pain of losing someone. Knowing we have much to be thankful for doesn't lessen the injustice of what we've been through. Sometimes the insinuation is enough to make things worse.

Here's what I know: don't worry about the expectations of others or even the expectations we tend to put on ourselves. It's OK to not get into the hype and hoopla of the holidays. Don't feel pressured to please others or keep up with traditions alone if it hurts too much. It's OK to take a break for awhile and keep things simple. It's OK to feel angry, sad, or irritated with others for getting to celebrate what you have now lost. It's OK to do things YOUR way.

Here's what else I know: If you do feel thankful, that's OK. If you feel blessed that you've got a second chance at life even in the midst of losing something so special, that's OK. If you're in a place where you can look at your blessings and appreciate them in a way that only grief will let you, that's OK.

Don't let others dictate where your heart is at. This holiday season, be true to you.

My Birthday + Halloween = Life Insurance

Halloween 2004, two months after we got engaged

Today is my 32^nd birthday.

Its official, my birthday is the hardest event or holiday I go through without Seth.

Seth’s birthday is on the 24^th, so we always did a big, combined party.

It’s my 3^rd birthday without my husband.

My friends and family threw me an amazing party at my favorite bar.

The bar Seth and I always celebrated both of our parties at.

And even with it being my 3^rd birthday without Seth, I still expected to walk into the bar, and see his smiling face.

I walked into the bar, and was smacked with the reality, all over again, that my husband is dead.

He’s not here to celebrate with me.

I can’t throw him a huge party and spoil him with his favorite candy and beer.

Seth was always 2 years and 20 days older than me.

I am now 1 year older than him.

It’s so weird when I think about Seth’s age. He will always be 31 years old.

And I will always get older with each passing year.

We got our first snow fall in Utah. I walked outside at 6am, saw the snow, breathed in the cold air and let out a huge sigh of relief.

I have never been so happy to see snow and winter.

Summer was always my favorite time of year. Seth and I were always off doing something. Camping, backpacking, boating, playing at the lake for days.

Now summer is the hardest, most depressing time for me. Everything about summer reminds me of Seth. Reminds me of the times lost.

Winter has now become my favorite time of year. I guess it’s because I don’t have to deal with the death date, going camping without Seth, going to summer parties without him.

Winter doesn't remind me a whole lot of Seth. Sure, Christmas and Thanksgiving does, but nothing like summer time.

Halloween got me thinking about all the people that have passed. It got me thinking about what’s left in the wake of someone’s death.

It got me thinking about life insurance, and how badly I struggle financially.

I know what you are thinking. “Oh, I have $20k” in life insurance, we are fine!”

“We are too young to worry about life insurance”.

You are wrong. Dead wrong.

If you are married or have children, you need life insurance. And far more than $20k.

Please check your policies. Most of them have a suicide, drug or alcohol rider on them. Seth’s did.

Even if you think you or your loved one won’t die from suicide, drugs or alcohol, I would have your policy reviewed and possibly get a new one.

When I took out the policy on Seth, I didn't expect his death to be suicide. I also didn't think I would be widowed at 29 years old.

I never thought I would find myself in a position where when people ask me what I want for my birthday, I say “food”.

It was embarrassing and heart breaking. Despite my best efforts, financially, it’s a juggling act.

I wasn't prepared for a pipe to break and flood my neighbor’s basement. Leaving me scrapping together any cash I can find.

Looking back, I wish I knew. I wish I knew I would REALLY need that life insurance policy. I wish I wasn't naive enough to think that $20k was enough and that I wouldn't need that money any time soon.

Boy could I use that money now!

Please don’t leave your spouse or children in a position of where they have to ask for food as their birthday present.

Please.

Facing my birthday without my husband, scraping together money I don’t have to fix my neighbors basement, and having to ask for food for my birthday, add it all on top of each other, and it was a lot more then I could handle.

I have been in tears all week. Waiting for my party to arrive. The anticipation of knowing Seth wouldn't be there was extreme.

Knowing I would be walking into a party with friends and family, showing me pure love, but knowing the one person I wanted to see most, wouldn't be there.

Another birthday passed without my love.

Another night of fully enjoying myself, only to come home to an empty house and bed.

I have learned the difference between feeling alone and being alone.

Remembrance Candle

            I know the holidays are way over, but I wanted to share a Christmas experience I had with my children, when we lit a candle in remembrance of Lisa.

            The monthly grief group my girls and I attend has a holiday service where the family lights a candle for the person we are remembering.  Our family was not able to make the event this year, but a one of the widows thought of us and took Lisa’s candle and dropped it off at our house. 

            On Christmas Eve, I always let the girls open a couple of gifts as a way to get Christmas started –  truth be told, I basically get the night off as they are busy playing with new toys.  It’s a win win for both the girls and me.  This year, I sit them in a circle with their gifts to my left.  I pull out the candle and let them know that tonight we will be starting the holidays by lighting this candle to symbolize mom.  The holiday music behind us sets the perfect tone as Bing Crosby croons "Silent Night".

            I pull out the matches as the girls sit on the floor looking at me.  I put match to box and strike.

            “Tonight, we will start Christmas remembering our Lisa,” I say and light the wick.  “As we light this candle, let it be a symbol….”

            “Oooh, can I blow out the match?” Haley asks.

            “No Haley. I’ll blow it out,” I say and try again.  “As we light this…”

            “How come she gets to blow it out?”  asks Kelly.

            “She’s not. No one is blowing it out, let’s focus…”

            “Me me me me me.” my three-year-old, Molly, joins in.

            I blow out the match to end the discussion. “Girls, please, this is about mom.”

            “I wanna say something about mom.” Kelly says.

            “Sure Kelly… I was… talking first though, trying to say some…”

            “Are we done? Is it time to open presents?” Molly asks.

            “Hey Dad, If I say something first, can I open up a gift first?” Haley asks.

            “No! That’s not fair! Dad said I was going to say something first.  Right Dad?”

            “Girls, everyone stop,” I pick up the candle.  “Can’t we just focus a little for the sake of mom?” I pause, holding the candle, waiting for them to self realize their insensitivity.

            “Dad, careful, you shouldn’t hold that candle so close to your face.” says Haley.

            “Hey can I at least blow out the candle.” says Kelly.

            “No, me me me.” says Molly.

            I watch them fighting and bickering, so I decide to try a different approach. 

“Who wants to open up presents?”

            A chorus of “I do” explode with hands shooting into the air, accompanied by three of the sweetest faces and a look of… well, of kids about to open presents at Christmas.

After the girls are playing with their new toys, I go into my bedroom and redo the candle ceremony – party for one.  About 20 minutes later, Kelly comes wandering into my room holding Tinkerbelle, flying her through the air.  She sees I have re-lit candle and there’s a new burnt match on the side.

“Shoot, you blew out another match, I wanted to try it.” Kelly says.

            “Here,” I say and reach over and light a match.  Her eyes widen and a big inhale is followed by an even bigger exhale as she blows enough air to knock out 50 matches.  She picks up Tinkerbelle and flies her out of the room.  I sit back and watch the candle when Haley and Molly come running in.

            “Kelly said she was able to blow out a match to remember mom.  Can we do it also?” Haley says.

            “It wasn’t to remember…yeah sure.”  I pick up the box and strike the match for Haley.

            “Love you Mom, miss you.” whwhwhwwhhhh

            Next match for Molly.

            “Misssss you.” pthpthpththh  “Another one, another one!”

            “No Molly, just one,” I say, as they both leave faster than when they came in.

            My remembrance candle ended up reminding me, not to try to have the kids grieve like I do.  It also reminds me, I need to go with the flow, as where I think I may be failing, it might just be that I am creating a different tradition that could end up being better than what I originally had in mind.

Speaking to the Ghost of Christmas Past

The day Phil died, my world was irrevocably changed. No amount of crying, wishing, or begging could switch my new reality back to the reality of what seems like only moments ago. The first Christmas without him, I sat on the coach alone watching the kids open gifts that only I chose, purchased, wrapped, and stowed under the tree...barely able to keep from bawling all over their happiness. I swear I could hear my heart breaking again as reality slapped me in the face on what is touted as the merriest of days. I didn't believe the pain of missing him would ever lessen. I couldn't see how that was possible if Phil was still going to be dead...and unless there was some kind of amazing magic wand under the tree that could reverse my reality, Christmas seemed doomed for ever more.

What I know now is that the pain of missing Phil hasn't lessened. In fact, because the pain is part of my everyday life I have stopped watching it with a wary eye. So on occasion that powerful longing has the ability to sneak up behind me and sucker punch me in the gut...taking my breath for a moment in an unexpected swoop. But I now find this breathlessness bittersweet. Because missing him reminds me of how much I still love him. Temporarily being unable to believe that he really is dead oddly cements his memory over and over again. And each Christmas I find myself briefly visiting in my mind's eye the me that sat alone on the couch that Christmas morning in 2005, and wishing I could tell her that she will never forget the moments she is living.  In fact, she will revisit them time and time again. But not for the reason you may think.

So today, I'd like to share a few things with my Christmas 2005 self in the hope that if you find yourself sitting alone thinking that this will never get better these words may help you, too....

It's okay to cry. You won't drown, though I know you are afraid that you might. Let people love you. It really is the only thing they can do, on Christmas Day or any other day. Life could be worse. I know that is hard to hear right now, but it is true. Hold onto that. You won't forget. Even though the timber of his voice will fade, you will never forget the way he spoke to you or how his voice in your ear made you feel.

Life will keep moving whether you like it or not. And eventually you will move, too. It's okay. Phil did not take the best part of you with him when he died. No, he didn't. Don't argue with me. Forever does not apply to life, but it does apply to love. You will always love him. The holidays aren't the hardest days. Rainy days when he would have called you ten times hurt worse.

Ask for help. I know you hate appearing needy, but you can't do this alone. You need people who care. On that note, when you ask for help you give someone who loves you a gift. They want to help, but don't  know how. Help them help you.

Don't worry about always hating what has always been your favorite time of year. YOU will come back, it   just takes time. I know that patience is not one of your virtues, but this time you will have to wait it out. There is no shortcut.

This is not the end of the road for you. You have so much to do in this life, and so many opportunities to honor your love for Phil by living large. He would want that and deep down you know it. You will never be the same after losing Phil. Someday you will value this fact.

As the tears stream down your face many times today, know this: You can survive Phil's death. And you will.

The funny thing about the above list, is that even if I could have told myself all of these things, I doubt I would have believed them. But that's okay. I believe them now, for me and for you. One day you will value the tears you cry today. They are streams of love.

Merry Christmas, darling. Loved, and never forgotten.

All I Want for Christmas

Photo from here...

Anyone who reads this knows what each and every one of us would like for Christmas if we could have whatever we wanted....We also know that's an impossibility.

We could sit and count every moment that we are missing our love. Every scenario that lacks our spouse. Every tradition that falls flat without their presence.

Or we can try to find the glow that once existed in the holiday season. We can remember the laughter and hope to feel the love that was and, hopefully, is somehow still held for us by our loved one.

There are times that I feel that the "celebration" part of December is lost on me. There are certainly moments that I fantasize about ripping off and stomping on those reindeer antlers affixed to jolly people's car windows.

But this year, I can't help but think, "What would Jeff want me to do at Christmas?" And under all my gloom and "bah humbug-ing", I find a little bit of holiday joy bubble up from somewhere forgotten.

I remember his beloved traditions - lifesaver books in the kid's stockings, homemade stuffing (dressing) in the turkey that resembled liver (he always had to make me a separate batch without the giblets), and drinking large amounts of Irish cream all day in his morning coffee.

My favourite memories involve waiting for the kids to fall asleep and attempting to be as quiet as possible while giggling maniacally over his rendition of a dark-haired, tiptoeing Santa Claus or his hilarious ways of wrapping my presents (in toilet paper for instance).

So this Christmas, I will buy the lifesaver books, stock the cupboard with large amounts of Baileys and attempt to create stuffing (aka dressing) that resembles an internal organ.

Although I will most likely forgo the strange wrapping paper, I will buy myself something that HE would have bought me. Something that would make me smile and feel loved. Something just. for. me.

And I will force myself to stop my fantasies involving vandalizing the ornamentation on Christmas revelers vehicles......Okay, maybe not. But I won't actually do the damage.

I am sure that there will be sad and lonely times. But I will be damned if I do not smile and let the warmth of his love and the love of my family warm my heart. Because, really, that is all anyone could want or need.

Bittersweet Christmas

I got up this morning with one important task to accomplish, decorate the front of the house with holiday lights. I've notice the number of houses in the neighborhood slowly being lit up with beautiful lights of every color. My daughter has been asking when we would show our holiday spirit by lighting up our house as well.

As I don't do anything small scale, I ventured out to find all the newest, and latest, house lights on the market. I found a nice supply at a local big box store, then came right home to get started. After setting up all the cool things I had purchased I decided that I needed more. I decided I would head across town to a department store where they would likely have something different for me to choose from. After finding just what I was looking for I decided I should use the opportunity to buy some gift wrap, stocking stuffers and a couple of new stockings for the two new people in our lives. I grabbed one for my daughter's boyfriend, then another for my own new love.

The store was filled with shoppers. The shelves were stocked high with bright holiday items, and there was the continuous sound of beautiful holiday music. As I pushed my cart down the isle I could feel the earth beneath me sinking. No the ground was not actually sinking, but my heart was becoming so heavy that it felt like my whole being was caught in some kind of quick sand. Within a minute or two I was fighting off the crowd, trying with all my might to get to the damn cashier. I felt like I could barely breath, and then it happened.

Tears.

Why does it still hurt so bad? It's been over two years since he left. It's been three years since he was here to celebrate Christmas with me. It was four years ago that we celebrated Michael's "perfect Christmas." He knew that he was dying, and he didn't know if it would be his last, so he wanted to have the perfect old fashioned Christmas he never had as a child. We did it up wonderfully. It was just that, perfect. The following year he was still around. That year he called it his "bonus Christmas." He wasn't doing as well by then, so our celebration was much quieter, and modest.

In the year that followed we had a white stocking that hung in the front room. Throughout the days leading to Christmas the kids and I filled it with hand written memories and some of his favorite treats. Last year was a bit easier, as I was busy moving into a new house, and didn't take much notice of the holiday until the last minute.

This year there is someone new. I think I will call it my "bittersweet Christmas." I've noticed a phenomena that occurs throughout my week. The days that my new love, Abel, is around I am at peace. I feel loved, and I feel quite content. The days that he is away I feel Michael's absence. I remember his love, my heart feels heavy, and I feel sad. I know that in time I will be able to better blend the love I feel from, and for, both of these two beautiful men. In fact last night I had a dream, and in my dream both Abel and Michael were one being. I remember being with the him they became, and feeling both loved and confused. I know that I continue to struggle with the emotions of my heart. I continue to seek a better understanding of who I am. Michael's husband, Abel's boyfriend, a widower, someones lover.

Bittersweet.

My life has become bittersweet.

Holidays...

....are not the same without Greg there with us.


Two weeks ago, the kids and I holidayed at a little island just to the north of where we live. It's a cheap and cheerful sort of place and only an hour away from home.

We've always holidayed at this island.
Greg taught the kids to ride bikes along its many bike paths, and he showed them how to use a shovel to make enormous sand castles.
I taught the kids to boogie board on the little waves on the surf-side of the island.
We stayed in the same house every year and made more and more memories.

This year, we holidayed in a different house. My parents came with us - Dad brought the fishing gear and Mum just made things happy.
We went fishing: the kids both caught lots of fish.
We went walking along the trails and the kids rode their scooters to new parks.
We examined strange animals washed up on the beach and we spent an entire morning at the new island museum.

But it wasn't the same.

It wasn't completely awful though ... we just made new memories and reminded ourselves that it is OK to relax even if it isn't the same as before.....

Broken Hearts Club

Well, it's Saturday night, February 12th, and I'm sitting here alone. My son has a friend sleeping over, and I can hear their laughter in the distant room, but other than that all I hear is the sound of a fountain next to my front window. I have been here most of the evening, sitting on my couch, doing some writing, surfing the net with a profound boredom, and staring into space.

I do this a lot.

It's a good thing that I like my own company, because that's about all I seem to have these days. Funny, or rather sad, my phone has not rung all evening. My home is made up of mostly glass doors, and large windows, so as I sit here, I am able to see most of my neighborhood. 360 degrees of it. And, as I sit here I wonder what is going on in each of my neighbors houses. Is there anyone else just sitting on their couch alone?

By some cruel joke of luck, I just realized that I am stuck writing a post on Widow's Voice for Valentines Day. Why me? Couldn't we just closed down the blog for the day? Surely we widowed don't need to be reminded about how alone we are. I also feel a sense of responsibility that I would frankly prefer not to be feeling right now. It's bad enough that I am feeling extremely sad and alone tonight. Now I need to worry about all the sad and alone widows who will be turning to Widow's Voice for support today.

Fuck!

Oops, sorry ladies. No, I wasn't raised that way. My mother would be very disappointed to hear me talk this way. In fact, most people I know would be very disappointed to know that I am still wallowing in my pain. I'm still angry and lost without Michael in my life. I'm still resentful of all those happy couples around me who will be making big plans for this stupid holiday.

It all makes me remember something some high school friends and I did one year around Valentines Day. We were all so fed up with being alone for the holiday that we formed a Broken Hearts Club. We would meet during lunch in one of the closets. Now I know by nature I'm supposed to have an aversion to closets, but it was a rather large closet, and it provided us with a quiet place to share our thoughts and feelings. It was a place where, for only a short time each day, we could stop pretending, and really talk about what it was like to be surrounded with people who were happily paired up. There was a lot of dark humor shared, some laughs, maybe some tears, and we all came to care a lot about each other.

So that is what I am providing here, a Broken Heart's Club. You are welcome to become members. Hell, there is really no invitation to the club, you are actually a forced member. You get no choice in the matter. Don't like clubs? Tough shit, your in. Never been much of a joiner? Oh well, your names on the list. So now that you're here, why not sit back and make yourself comfortable. None of us wanted to be here, so you are certainly not alone. Some of us may be better at hiding it, but the truth be told, we are all still struggling to mend our broken hearts.

So what are you doing to mend yours? Not in general, but today. How will you get through the day?

Well, today, being the weekend before this gets posted, I bought myself a beautiful orchid. I was shopping for groceries, saw the beautiful arrangement, thought to myself that it was far too expensive for an impulse purchase, started to walk away, then kicked myself in the ass, and told myself to march right back, and put it in my shopping cart. Let's be real, no one else will be buying me flowers, well, not this year at least.

You know, I'm a big romantic at heart. I loved showering Michael with small gifts, and special plans. We both loved to go away for weekends, or have a nice quiet dinner out. Our life was good, rather, it was great. Well, as great as it can be with a brain tumor coming between you. Anyway, that was then, this is now.

I wish you all a day of remembrance. Remember the love you had, the love you shared, and the love you still keep alive within you. Wrap your arms around yourself tightly. Feel the strength in your arms, because it is there. Our strength to get through this does not come to us on our own, it is a strength that was built out of love. Yes, they are no longer here with us, but we must find a way to access that love, and allow it to bind our broken hearts while they mend.

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.

this day

As you wake this Christmas morning, you may feel alone lying in your bed. You may feel far from your beloved that you've lost. You may cry and feel sorry for yourself. You may watch your children open their presents as tears roll down your cheeks.
But know that we are not alone. We are all facing this together. Your loved ones are with you, if in spirit, memory or in your children, whatever you may believe.
I know that, for me, knowing that you are experiencing a similar morning is enough to make me not feel so sorry for myself. I am not really alone. You know. You understand. You are facing the same day as me.
Try to find the light and joy in the day. Be thankful for all that we do still have left. Find joy in remembering all that we have had and the memories that we keep so close to our hearts. Remember to make new joyous memories.
I am thinking of you all today. Merry Christmas!!!!!

Growing Pains

For Halloween this year each of my teenagers were occupied with their own pursuits. What used to be a kid focused holiday full of parental supervision, has become a mom on her own holiday hoping the kids are safe throughout the festive night. Though my boys were close by, I found myself sitting on the back of my car handing out candy at our Church carnival. Alone. To my left was a large family (moms, dads, grandmas and grandpas, kids of assorted shapes and sizes) and to my right was a man eagerly decorating his car while waiting for his family to arrive. The way the cars were arranged, chatting was not managed easily, and we were all quite busy with the kiddies coming and going from our decorated trunks.

I sat, tucked into the back of my car, greeting little ones and their parents, commenting on cute costumes, and generally attempting to be involved in the activity at hand. But I was lonely. There was no one with whom I could enjoy the pageantry, whatever thoughts popped into my head just rumbled about between my ears, and the only person I could reach out and touch was Jack the Pumpkin King. As I watched the world go by from my perch I thought to myself...this is not how I want my life to be.

Dreaming about how Phil would have helped decorate the car, being certain that he would have found a way to meet all the "neighbors," knowing that he would have loved the Mexican themed decor of one big SUV, or thinking about how much fun it would have been to hear his comments on all things Halloween was not enough. Somehow missing him used to fill a void. Now missing him just emphasizes the emptiness in my life. His absence has become a different sort of pain.

Jackie's post this week really spoke to me. Kids experience all sorts of growing pains, and I am discovering that widows do too. Healing has led to growth that I did not expect or desire. I have always feared the grief stage of "acceptance." I don't want to accept that Phil is dead, but he is. I don't want to accept that life will go on without him, but it does. I don't want to accept that my body will evolve and change while his stays exactly the same, but the proof is in the mirror every day. I don't want to accept that if Phil were to come back today he wouldn't know many of the most important people in my life, but four years later that is definitely true. I don't want to accept that one day I will need more than memories as my daily companion, but that truth is becoming more clear every day.

Knowing that today I need more than the memories of Phil can provide hurts. Knowing that the time we had together is all we will ever have hurts. Knowing that I have to make the conscious choice to move forward every day hurts. Acceptance does not cause the ripping pain that accompanied the first realization that Phil was really dead. Nor does this phase cause the drowning feeling I knew so well as I learned to tread the waters of living life without my husband. I imagined arriving at this moment throwing a massive temper tantrum. Instead I feel resignation. Acceptance isn't what I thought it would be. Now I know that there is no such thing as 'done' when living with grief, but I also know that growing pains actually do lead to growth.

Somehow a monkey, a giraffe, two lady bugs, several princesses, a few pirates, and a really cute guitar pointed out that growing up is a life long experience.