Homeward Run

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I'll keep on the theme Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation has run on their facebook page for International Widows Day - what I've achieved since Ian died. 

Well, working on achieving.

One of the big changes I made was to go back to school.  I knew my job would end about 12 months after Ian died, and I opted to work towards a change in direction.    But one semester into my 2-year accounting course, I was a bit unsure if it was the right direction, even though I'm getting decent marks and enjoy the studies. 

I stumbled across Financial Counselling, which here in Australia is offered as a free service by social services organisations to help those struggling with low income and/or significant debt  - a combination I've heard so many are facing in the widow community.  The financial counsellor works with the client to come up with strategies and plans to stretch what they have as far as possible, or get on a path of paying off the debt.  So I added a 6 month, on-line course for that this time last year.  Insanity - two qualifications at the same time! 

This week, I got over a hump that had me quite negative about the financial counselling - I passed the counselling skills face to face practical module.  I tried last year, but John was sick on the assessment day, barred from child care and I didn't have alternate care for him.  Then I personally found the alternate assessment they set up for me a negative experience that had me struggling to even fire up the course page. So I opted to repeat the face to face element.   It looked like this round was going to be a "John is sick, I can't do it" repeat, but thankfully I had another care option this year.

I've learnt a bit about myself doing both qualifications - I enjoy the numbers and strategy/technique side of both. I am soooo not a counsellor who could do one on one counselling, but I have a passion for financial literacy and improving that generally in the community. 

So I'm now on the homeward run to wrap up the financial counselling course since I've only got 7 weeks to go.  And this is the community education module, and my face to face widows group have agreed to sit through a session so I can complete the requirement!  You never know how your widow friends will help you, or need your help.

It will be interesting when I finish; something I've thought about as I've progressed through this short qualification.  This will be one of the first big, significant taking the bull by the horns life directions change things I've done, start to finish, since Ian died.  That he never knew about, since I had no idea I'd go down this path and probably never would have if he hadn't left us. 

And I'm not sure how I'll react when it's complete and I have that parchment in my hand.

Things that have changed

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At the moment we are in the middle of our city's 'Mad March' that consists of a motorsport carnival, an Arts and a fringe festival, concerts, other sporting events.

Many of these things I used to go to, before I met Ian, and after. 

Last year I didn't really want to go to anything.  I think I went to one event, compared to the 'record' a friend and I have of averaging 3 shows a day for a fortnight (parenthood for both of us has put the kybosh on trying that again for a while, though).

This year,  I'm aware of the buzz around the city.  I'm conscious I'm not getting to as much as I would like to.

I know with a child, I wouldn't be able to attend shows and events to the degree I had.  Ian was happy to stay with John, but I couldn't get to as much as I would in my single life.

But as a single parent with limited care options, I'll get to one show.  And that's because it's the show of a long-standing friend and my parents understand that I try and get to one performance per season to support them. 

There is one significant change this year however.  I'm not getting to as much AS I WOULD LIKE TO.

I want to get out and engage with what's happening.  I'm now conscious of the disconnect I've had.  I may not choose to go to my usual list of shows and branch out and see new acts, but I want to be out there.

This is a good thing.  It's frustrated by circumstance, but a good thing none the less.

This Is Hard ......

                                                                 Long Live Love!!!!!!

...... in fact it's one of the hardest things I've had to do.   Not THE hardest  of course.  I've already done that.
As have each of you.

The time has come for me to say good bye.
Not good bye for good.
Michele has said that I can sub in whenever she needs me.

And I'll see many of you at a future Camp Widow.
Whoop!

But it's time for me to stop writing on a weekly basis.
Here, anyway.

You all have been wonderful for the almost 6 years I've been writing here.
You've put up with my sometimes TOO honest posts (and just so you newer ones know, I did write about sex once.  Here.  :)
You've hung in there when I've ranted about depression and suicide ..... and my thoughts about them.  
You've stood by me through dating for the first time, with a man who was a better friend, than partner.
And you rallied behind me when my first on-line relationship (and last ...... so far) turned out to be a psycho SOB who targets widows ..... and their money.
That one was tough.

You've been sad with me when waves of grief continued to knock me to my knees ...... and you've been happy for me when the smiles started coming more often than the tears.

I couldn't ask for a better support group.
And I can never say thank you enough.

But I will ask one thing of you:  please don't congratulate me for leaving because I'm "healed", or "better", or "moving on".  I've never enjoyed reading those posts when other writers have stopped writing.  
I don't know about everyone else, but I didn't write here to help me heal.  Yes, that may have been a perk sometimes, but that's not why I wrote.

I haven't had any kind of epiphany or vision ...... nor have I been struck by lightening (or anything else).  I just came to the realization (several months ago) that I have less to say, especially to newer grievers who don't really want to read about "Hope", or feeling better, or learning to be happy without him/her.

For years I have written for two reasons and only two reasons.
1.  To give you Hope ...... about anything and everything.
And,
2.  To let each one of you know that you are not alone, you're not crazy, there's no timeline to follow, and there are no set-in-stone stages of grief.  It simply is what it is, for as long as it is.
                                          
I hope I've done that for most of you.
Thank you to all of you who told me that I did.
Because every time you did that, you helped my Hope continue.
And that, my friends, is one of the best gifts we can give to each other.

Please keep commenting.  Comment to the authors and comment to each other.  We all need to know that we've made a connection.

So I'm taking my leave.  But I'll never be far away.  I'll continue to read here ...... and comment.
And if you decide that you just can't make it through a day without my humor, wit and sometimes boring posts ...... just shoot me an email and I'll tell you where you can find me still spouting off about life.  Mostly my life, but one never knows what I may pontificate about on any given day!  However, it's most likely to do with living in NY (was that a spoiler?).  :)

For those of you who are new here, I started a blog 3 months before Jim's sudden death, and continued it for 6 years.  It's still there.  I won't take it down because I know that it can still do someone good.

And I started a new blog after I moved to NY this past year.  It's a bit different, but I'm still a widow, so that will likely always be a part of my writing.

Now just so you know, I'm leaving you in a pair of very capable hands.  The hands of an adventurous woman, named Alison Miller, who joined our ranks in the spring of 2013.  
In 2009 her husband, Chuck, retired and the two of them decided to hit the road and travel, rather than settle down in Florida (or any other popular place for retirees).  They enjoyed being "Happily Homeless" and driving all over the country ...... until cancer caught up with them, and took her wonderful Chuck 3 weeks later.

And then Alison did something I couldn't have done ...... she decided to keep traveling, for both of them.  She painted her car pink (so "he'd be able to find her easier out there!) and she got a trailer, which she had trimmed in that same pink.  
Is that awesome or what?!!  :)

She still grieves, of course, but she's out there ...... on new roads with her new life, and I'm sure Chuck is cheering her pink self on.

Here's what Alison has to say:

"I've always thought of myself as a strong woman.  It's only now that my husband died that I'm finding out how strong I really am.  I'm determined to survive, and thrive, beyond this pain.  Dying of a broken heart isn't as easy as it sounds, so, since I haven't died, I've decided to create a new life for myself that will set the world ablaze.  I'm hurling myself into new situations: indeed, my entire life is vastly different from what it was with him.  All I have left of him is our love, and that is my guiding force in life as I full-time it on the road in my PinkMagic rig."

I know you will enjoy her fresh and different perspective and that you will welcome her with open arms (and lots of comments!).

You all rock, so much more than you know, and I am going to miss the hell out of you.
Thank you for always making me feel special.
I consider you my friends and look forward to meeting as many of you as I can in the future.

Take care.
Hold on to Hope.
And keep breathing.

With gratitude and love ...... and a few tears,

Janine

(For blog sites, email me at Janinee@sslf.org)

Crap..

I’m sick of death.

I’m sick of the 27^th of every month.

On July 27^th, I passed the three year anniversary of my husband’s death. That same day a friend I have known since Jr. High passed away.

August 27^th (The 37^th month of my husband’s death) my childhood best friend became widowed.. without warning.. at the age of 30.

This friend I have known since I was about five years old. She was three years old.

I was very young when she was in a horrible car accident and was in a body cast from the chest down.

I pulled her around the neighborhood, in her body cast, in my red wagon.

Because she was cooped up and bed ridden, I pulled her around.. to get her out.. for some fresh air and fun times.

Now I have vowed to pull her again. Drag her through the “neighborhood” of widow land. I might need a wagon. I might need to drag her kicking and screaming. But I refuse to let her step into this strange and foreign land alone.

While I wasn’t alone when I started this journey, I didn’t have anyone that truly understood how devastating losing a spouse is. I felt like I had nowhere to turn.. nowhere to go for support. I refuse to let her face this alone. Sorry Michelle, I’ll be up your ass for quite a while.. so get used it.

When she contacted me this week and told me the news of her husband I swear my heart fell out and shattered on the ground.. shattered all over again. How could this happen??

When I got news of both my friend passing away and my friend becoming widowed.. I instantly was pissed off at Seth. Where was he? Why was he not protecting my friend and her husband? What is he doing?? Off playing in the amazing after life while we are left to fend for ourselves?

Why in the hell am I watching my friends die and become widowed at 32 years old??

What happened to living the long, amazing life? What happened to growing old and gray together? Sitting on the porch in rocking chairs watching our grandchildren play?

What the crap happened??

Watching all this unfold is crap.

It’s crap that at 32 years old I know the pain of being widowed, and I am now watching it happen to my friends.

Pure crap.

There's a Certain Light ......

...... that leaves your eyes the moment your loved one dies.

It's like that part of me, the light that lived in my soul and lit me up from within,  left with Jim's soul as he took his last breath.  I wasn't in the same room, so I didn't actually see this happen, but I certainly felt that light, that energy,  leave my body.

For the longest time I hated looking at pictures of us ...... of me.  Both "before" and "after" pictures.
I hated seeing that light in the "before" pictures, but I felt something worse than hatred when I looked at "after" photos and saw that it was missing.  I felt hopeless.
There are so many photos of me over the last 5 years that are very difficult to see.  There's definitely part of me missing.  And my eyes look, well, for lack of a better word, my eyes look "dead".

I know I can't be the only person who noticed this.  I know I'm not the only one who's eyes looked dead after the love of my life died.

But here's something that I started noticing in the past year or so:
My eyes are starting to shine again.
It might not be the exact same light that was there "before", but once a light starts to shine, it's difficult to distinguish it from any other type of light.

And not only do my eyes have some light back in them, but so do the eyes of people I've loved these past 5+ years.  People who's eyes also looked lifeless several years ago ...... for the same reason mine did.

I'm sharing this Hope with you today ...... the Hope that light will return to your eyes.  I don't know when, or why ...... I think everyone's timeline is different, and so is the reason our light returns.

But here's proof of the Hope I have ...... and the Hope I want you to hold on to:

Every single person in the above photos lost their light several years ago, just as I did.  I knew them back then ...... back when all of our eyes were a lot more dim.

But I started noticing over the past couple of years that each one of us looked a bit different.  It wasn't just a change in makeup, or hair color ...... or even adding a relationship.
It was just ...... time.
And love.
And Hope.
And joy.

They don't all arrive at the same time, but they do come wandering back ...... little by little, bit by bit.
And once they start congregating inside of us ...... they can't help but put off a small spark of light within us.
No, that light isn't there every day ...... not at first.  It's just a spark so it has to learn how to survive and hold on to its energy.
And it does.

You don't have to believe me.
But pictures don't usually lie.
I have loved these people for over 5 years.
And I've seen that light grow in each of them.

I've seen it grow in some of you, too.
You'd be surprised at how very different the eyes of someone coming to Camp Widow for the first time ...... look when they come back the next time.  And then the time after that.
It's wonderful to see the light starting to glow in their eyes.
Most of us don't even notice it at first.
Not until someone points it out, or we're surprised by a picture of ourselves.

Keep breathing.
One breath, one day, at a time.
And keep Hoping.

I can't wait to see your eyes in the near future.
:)

There Have Been More Good ......

...... people in my life since Jim died than not-so-good people.

I hope that's true for all of us.

In the days following his death, my brother in law told me something that I've always remembered, and passed on to others.
"This (Jim's death) will bring out the worst in some people, and the best in others."
I have seen the very worst in a few people.  But only a few.

All of the other people in my life, which number too many to count, have been nothing but wonderful.  I have been grateful for their love and support and help since Day 1.
I would not be here without them.

And yes, life keeps moving forward and that means that even the people who love us ...... have to move forward, too.  They have to get back to their families and find their "normal" again.  Or maybe, like us, they find their "new normal".  Because the death of our loved ones affected more people than we know.  Deeply.

It's difficult to get used to our "new normal" by ourselves.  Even five years later it has its painful moments.
But sometimes ...... some very special times ...... it has moments of wonderfulness.

I found these on my doorstep today:

Someone snuck up to my door, having just barely missed me getting my mail.  They also just missed the guys picking up our trash.
And, most amazingly, they snuck in and out without setting my two large dogs off into a barking frenzy.
I still don't know how that was accomplished, let alone how I didn't notice anyone when I went out only moments before the flowers arrived.

I was very surprised.
To put it mildly.

This was with the flowers:

No signature was added.  No signed card was left.  No one rang the door bell.

But here's what this person did do:  she made my day (no, I don't know for certain that it was a she, but I'd be willing to place a rather large bet on that assumption).
She made my week.
Heck, she made my month.

I've always had wonderful people in my life.
And I still do.

In spite of the past 5 years ...... or maybe because of them ......
I am blessed.

And ...... I feel blessed.

And for the first time in five years, I don't feel sad or even angry that Valentine's Day is tomorrow.  Yes, I wish my Valentine were here.  I know we all do.  But for the first time, I feel glad for all of those who do have their loved one.  I hope they take the time to tell them how loved, appreciated and "not taken for granted" they are.  I hope they make the most of every minute with each other.

These flowers didn't make my feelings change about this holiday.  I had already realized that I didn't feel the same way this year.
But the flowers, and more importantly, the person who brought them ...... reinforced my wishes for other couples.
Besides that ...... she made me smile.
All day long.

So thank you ...... whoever you are (I have my suspicions:)
Thank you for thinking of me.

Actually ...... thank you for remembering me.
It means more than you know.
:)

One Year Older ......

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...... or not.

Monday was Jim's birthday.  He wasn't here, of course, but it was still his birthday.
I wonder if anyone else remembered?

I almost forgot ...... for a while.
I mean, I knew it was coming ..... I always know that it's coming.
But last week I was in the middle of moving to NYC (part time) and in all of the flurry I didn't think about it while I was there ...... until Saturday.  When a widow friend, our kids, and I were walking around the city, talking about big dates ...... like birthdays.  (And no, B, that was not a bad thing. :)
And then it surprised me to remember that his was just a couple of days away.

I imagine that most of you, being newer on this road than I am, cannot imagine this.  I also imagine that you won't like reading it.  I get that.  I understand that you cannot, for the life of you, think there will ever be a time when your every thought will not be of your loved one.
And that you never want to not think of him/her.
I really do get that.
And I remember feeling/thinking those exact same feelings/thoughts.
Just try to bear with me.
Please.

I also wonder if some widows/widowers would feel guilty for "forgetting" for a while?  Maybe earlier on this road I would've.
But not today.  Not now.  I refuse to let those negative emotions even rear their head around me.
And even if you can't imagine feeling this way,  I think that "forgetting" ...... for just a while ...... is a good thing.  I think that means that I really am moving forward and enjoying life more.
That in no way means that I'm leaving him behind, but it does mean that he, and his death, don't consume my every moment, my every breath, and my every thought ...... the way they used to.
Five, four or even three years ago I could not imagine this ...... but for that I am very, very grateful.

What's more ...... when I'm in NY I think about him, and his death, far less than I do when I'm here, at home.  It's like a completely different existence ...... where there are no closets, no books, or no garage that hold concrete reminders of him ...... and his absence.
That may sound horrible to a widow who's new on this road ...... because she doesn't want to stop thinking about her husband.  But after 5 years of more pain than good, I have to say that feeling good definitely outweighs feeling all of that pain.  Calm waters vs. the constant tsunamis that threatened to constantly drown me ...... are a welcomed experience.
Besides, it's not forgetting.
It's moving forward.

He's in my heart.
He's in my children.
He's in our memories.
He can never be forgotten.
Or left behind.

He can only be carried with us.

Happy Birthday, Honey.
I miss you more than one would think possible ...... and love you more than that.

And So Time ......

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...... moves forward.
Despite what we want.
Despite how we feel.
Despite who we've lost.

So it's now 2013.
Wow.
It's interesting how my concept of time has changed since Jim died.
I mean, I was always aware of how fast time seems to go.  When you've got children you're more than aware of that.
But back then, in my "before", if someone asked about when an event happened, and I had to figure out the year, I'd try to think how old the kids were then.  Or how many we had.  My children were always the ruler for how I measured time.

But in the last 5 years, here in my "after", if I have to figure out a year ...... I first have to remember if Jim was alive ...... or dead, when an event occurred.
And for some reason, that's getting harder to do.  I don't know if it's due to "widda brain", or if it's because it seems like a thousand years ...... and yesterday, all at the same time.

Today Son #1 and I were watching Jeopardy and a question was asked about something that happened in 2003.  Once I knew the answer my thoughts turned to this:  "How long did Jim have left when that occurred?"
His death, and his life, are now my ruler for measuring time.
It's either, how long had Jim been dead when that happened, or how long did he have left before that night that came out of nowhere.  The night that changed my life, and my children's lives, forever.

Of course, once I figure out how many years, or months, or days we had until our world as we knew it ended, I then wonder what, if anything, we would've done differently ...... had we known.

I haven't come up with a firm answer ......  yet.
Of course we would've spent more time together as a family, but would things have changed drastically?  Some widowed people, many of you who are reading this now, had a certain amount of knowledge, or estimations, on how long you had left.  Did that cause the two of you to change things in your lives?

We had no knowledge, nor forewarning ...... no matter how much we should've had.  So I can only speculate.  I can only guess.
My first thought is that Jim would've quit his job and all 8 of us would have traveled together, spent time doing exactly what we wanted, or maybe have moved somewhere tranquil and beautiful all by ourselves.
And then I come to my senses and know, with certainty, that had we done that, we (ironically) would've killed each other.
Because families can stand only so much "togetherness" all by themselves ...... before someone breaks. And goes off on someone else.
Really, it's only a matter of time.
Time.

If we had decided to run away from it all to a place of beauty and tranquility, we would've had to take 2 of our daughters out of college and all three sons out of school (Son #1 was in his senior year when Jim died).
I think that, though the kids would've appreciated that thought, they would also have been a bit tense about the thought of interrupting their educations.  Well, all except for the youngest two (Sons 2 & 3), who would've been overjoyed at leaving school behind, with the thought to never return again.

And then I also realize that Jim made a good living.  Good enough to pay our bills, own our home, and send our kids to college.
But if he had quit his job to just hang out with us, it wouldn't have been long before we'd all been hanging out under a bridge somewhere.  I think tranquility and beauty can get pretty expensive.  Especially for 8 people.

So, had we known, I have no idea what we would've done, if anything,  to change our lives.
Years ago, Oprah asked a question of her studio audience:  "If you only had 2 weeks to live, what would you do?"
One man stood up and said, "I'd have my mother-in-law move in with us, because she can make two weeks seem to last forever."
Which of course is hilarious ...... and yet something to ponder.
If you had the chance to change your lives, knowing that your spouse would die in _____ (fill in the blank), would you try to live normally, or change things up so much that time would seem to last forever (meaning you, or someone, would be miserable)?

Time moves forward.
And while it takes us a while to get used to that, in our "after", and we many times have no control over what we are handed, we sometimes do have the ability to make the most of it.  While it's here.
It took me a long while to be able to do that, to grasp it.
I knew it, but I couldn't do it.
Neither can many of you.
But the day will come ...... that you will.
You will not only know it, but desire it.  You'll want to make the most of what you have.
And that's exactly what your loved one would've wanted.
As you would want for him/her if the person who died had been you.

That day will come.
You may not believe that today.
That's ok.
Just try not to get upset when I say, "I told you so."
:)

It Takes a While ......

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...... before happiness can be a choice.

Last week I wrote a post about a powerful fortune that I found in my cookie at a Chinese restaurant.
It was about looking for my happiness in front of me, not in my past.
Those words stunned and overwhelmed me, but not as they would have stunned and overwhelmed me in my first 2-3 years on this "path".

Because now, at almost the 5 year mark, I have the ability to choose to be happy.
Most of the time.
Way more often than I did in those first few years.

I wrote that post as encouragement to those of you who are behind me on this path .... and who have yet to be able to choose happiness.  Or sadness.  Or what's for dinner.  It's difficult to make almost any choice in the beginning.  I get that.
I remember that.

But in writing that post, I think I unknowingly put pressure on some of you who aren't there yet.  Those of you who don't have the ability to choose ...... yet.
And who can't even imagine EVER being happy again .... by choice or otherwise.

And for that, I apologize.
I hope that you now are familiar with me enough that you know I would never intentionally cause any of you pain.  Or sorrow, or grief, or pressure.
My goal is to let you know that you're not crazy, that you're perfectly normal in a perfectly abnormal situation, and that your timing is the perfect timing .... for you.  No matter what your friends or family members might say.
My goal is to let you know that you're not alone and that there is no ONE right way to grieve.
My goal is to give you hope.
Not pain.

So while I wrote about choosing happiness ....... I should have made it more clear that I was writing about me, and only me, being able to choose happiness now.
It's taken almost 5 years, and The Happiness Project, to show me that.

But just because I'm at a point in my life where I can choose to be happy (most of the time) doesn't mean that I don't remember, with every fiber of my being, those first few years when happiness was not a choice I had.
In fact, there were very few choices that I had.

Grief ruled over me with an iron fist.
He was a very cruel and a very stealthy ruler.
I never knew when he was going to show up .... which was often at the most inopportune moments.  He would pour his hot, horrendous pain all over my body, but with particular preciseness .... he'd slice it straight into my heart.
And it didn't matter where I was ..... at home alone, sitting in church, driving down the freeway, or in a business meeting.  He'd show up and leave me in a mess of tears and sorrow and pain.

Sometimes I knew when to expect him.
Interestingly enough, the pain at those times wasn't as bad as I had anticipated.

But there were far more times when he would descend upon me out of nowhere.  I'd never see him coming, never hear a warning bell, never be able to prepare myself for his onslaught.  Those times required a longer recovery period.  They left me emotionally and physically drained.  I often wondered how much more I could take.
And how many tears I could possibly physically make.  I never understood why I wasn't constantly dehydrated from all of the tears I seemed to constantly shed.

Yes, I remember those days.  We all remember those days.  Which makes me all the more passionate about sharing hope with you.
I didn't know many widowed people in my early days out here.
I didn't know of any websites where I could find encouragement and support from people who understood, mostly, what I was going through.
I wish I had.
Maybe my dark, dark days wouldn't have lasted so long.
Maybe my darkness wouldn't have continued to grow so dark that the only escape I thought I had was death.
Maybe.
Maybe not.

The "maybes" don't matter so much to me anymore.
What matters is that I'm still here.
I am a survivor.
I have experienced the worst thing that I can ever face (in my opinion).
And I'm standing.  Tall.
Well, as tall as a person who's 5'3" can stand.
And that's a lot taller than you think so don't even ponder making a short joke!!

I have been through "THE Valley".
It was a very long, very hard, very painful and very exhausting trip.
I thought I'd never get out.
But I did.
One day I looked around and found that I was climbing upward, approaching the lip of THE Valley.  And someone ahead of me was there to reach down, grab my hand and help me climb over the top.

I made it out.
But I still didn't have the ability to choose happiness.
That didn't come until a year or so later.
It just kind of snuck up on me ..... like almost everything else on this path.

So what was the point of this very long, very boring description of my time on this path?
My point, or rather, half of my point, is this:  to tell you that I get it.  I remember.  I will never forget the days, weeks, months, years that all I could see in front of me was cold, dark blackness.  No future.  No joy.  No happiness.
And no choice.

And the other half?
To tell you that you won't always see only cold, dark blackness in front of you.  You won't always despair at having a future.  You won't always believe that you'll never be happy again.
And you will one day be blessed with the ability to make a choice.

I can't tell you when.
I can't give you any short cuts.  Because there aren't any.
I can't walk through this Valley for you, though there are many, many times when I wish I could.

You will get to the other side when you get there.
Don't measure your progress against anyone else's.
No two journeys are the same.
You will walk through the whole Valley.  One step at a time.
Some days you'll just sit, too exhausted to take a step.  And that's ok.
But you will get through it.
You have to.
Because that's what you'd want for your loved one ..... if he/she had been the one left behind.
And it's what we do ...... fight to survive.
And it's a fight, believe me.

So many of you, right now, can't imagine happiness.  You can't imagine a future any longer, because the future you looked to so very often, will never exist.
And again, that's ok.
You don't have to imagine it.
I will imagine it for you.
Others who are further along than you are will join me in imagining it for you.
We will keep hope alive for you.
Because we can.

Just as you, too, one day will do for the person behind you.

So for today ...... for right now ....... if you can't believe that you have happiness in front of you, let go of that.
And just believe that I do.
I have a lot of happiness before me.
I believe it so much that I know it's certain.
Believe me.
Because, though you aren't aware of it, though you can't feel it, as you believe me ...... belief in yourself will be planted within you.  It grows slowly, so you won't notice it for a while.  But it will grow.
It will grow into Hope.
And once Hope arrives, fully formed ..... Happiness comes soon after.

Believe me.
And just breathe.
One breath at a time.
I'll do the believing for you.
For now.
:)

Small Words ......

...... can add up to one powerful sentence.

Or two.

Monday I went to lunch with several friends.  We decided on Chinese.  The food was good.  The company was better.

At the end of the meal came the traditional passing around of the fortune cookies.  We always open our cookies and then take turns reading the "fortune" out loud to the others.  

This time there was one difference:  I didn't read mine and no one seemed to notice, for which I was glad.

It was a simple strip of paper.  With ten simple words.

Those ten words made two very powerful sentences:

I was stunned when I read those words.
And suddenly felt overwhelmed.
But in a good way.

And that surprised me.

If I had read those words in the first two years of my "after", I most likely would've felt stunned, overwhelmed and very, very grieved.
I could not have dealt with the thought that my happiness was not behind me.
Because behind me is where Jim is.
As is the happiness we had.
And that was all the happiness I would ever have.
Or so I thought.

But I was wrong.
Back then ...... so fresh in my "after".
And, even if it hurts to read this ...... so are you, if you think that all of your happiness is behind you.
I'd like for those words to give you hope, and not hurt.
But in the beginning ..... which lasts as long as it lasts for each person ...... just about everything hurts.

Even ten small words.

But now ...... now at almost 5 years in my "after", those ten words made me smile ..... not cry.
They reinforced the hope that has been planted in my heart.
Yes, they are only words.
No, I don't truly believe that fortune cookies hold the truth to my future ...... or anyone else's.

But I do believe in the power of those words.
And I believe there's a reason that they were in the cookie that I opened ...... and not in the eight others that were opened.

But what's more important, at least to me, is that that little slip of paper was powerful ...... but only partly true.
I do have happiness behind me.
And I treasure it.

But I also believe that I have much happiness before me.  I don't know what that looks like, but I do know that it's my choice.  If I choose to spend all of my time looking behind me, I'll miss out on all that is before me.
That doesn't mean that in order to be happy I have to stop looking behind me completely.  I don't.
I know that I can glance behind me, and yet stretch my hands out in front ..... to catch hold of the happiness that's there.
I can remember what I had, and yet look forward to what is yet to come ...... whatever that is.
I don't have to forget Jim ...... that's just physically impossible.  He's part of me, and will always be.
But I can take him forward with me ....... because he helped make the woman I am today.  And the woman I'll be tomorrow.

I am happy.
Now.
Where I am.

And I'll be happy in the future.
Because of the happiness and love I had in the past.
I know what's possible.

And I know that ten little words can pack a lot of power.
If I choose to believe them.

And I do.

The Subject That No One ......

                                                   source

...... talks about.

Yes, I read your comments from Monday's post.
And many of you stated that no one talks about ...... well, you know.  That thing no one wants to talk about.
Except for some of you.
Some of you really do want to talk about it.

As one of the writers on this blog ...... I kind of took that as a "dare".  You know, as in "I dare you to write about it".
And unfortunately (or fortunately, for those of you who want to talk about it), I'm the kind of stubborn person who hates to turn down a "dare".

And so here we are.
Getting ready to talk about "it".
Hopefully you'll all jump in and comment ...... and talk about it.

The subject of the day is ..... S.  E.  X.
Or actually, the lack thereof.

Widowhood ...... and the lack of sex.
Not something that most of us thought about in the first few days on this journey.  Or maybe even the first few months.
I didn't.  I don't know why, but it's not something that popped into my head for a while.
It wasn't that sex wasn't a vital part of our marriage.  It was.  Regularly.
(I sincerely hope that none of my children decide to read this post.)
I guess it was just part of the shock of being thrust into this new reality so suddenly.  And maybe it was also due to the fact that I was just trying to make it from one minute to the next, one breath at a time, that I didn't have the energy, time, or capacity to think about sex.
Or the lack thereof.

But one day, I'm not sure exactly when, it did pop into my head.
And I realized that I missed it.
I missed it a lot.

At first, it wasn't actually sex that I missed.  It was just physical touch.
I had never before realized how important touch is.  I know they've done studies of infant orphans
who've been left in their cribs, with very little warm physical touch, for the first year or so of their lives.
The outcome is not good.
Someone should do a study on widowed people and the lack of warm physical touch in their lives.
Except maybe I don't want to know the outcome.

I didn't realized how important touch had been to me, how much it had been a part of my life.
A warm hand holding mine (we held hands all of the time).
A loving touch on the shoulder, back or arm.
A fun pat on the rear (which made any and all of our children recoil in horror, and some utter the words, "Gross!  Get a room!", which of course meant that they secretly were glad that their parents enjoyed each other).
I longed to just be touched.  I needed to be touched.  I missed being touched.

But mostly ...... mostly I missed the hugs.
Oh my word, how I missed being enfolded fully in Jim's arms and hugged.  Hugged hard.
I missed it so much that I even asked some of my girl friends to tell their husbands to hug me whenever they saw me.
Some did.
But I didn't see them all that often.
I still miss those hugs.

One day it wasn't just the hugs that I missed.
And it wasn't what some people call "sex".
I missed making love.
Which is totally different from "sex".
In my opinion.

And it was more than just missing it.
I started to feel like an addict going through withdrawal.
I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
I hope that makes sense.
I don't know how else to describe it.
The need to be that close to someone.
The need to feel like a woman again, not a widow.
A need that was suddenly with me almost all day.
And all night.

Yes, there are ways to work around some needs.
There might be "friends with benefits".
Or occasional "one night stands".
There are "toys" that can be purchased (yes, I saw that episode of "Sex in the City").
But all of those are for the need of sex.
Not for the need of making love.
That's a need that nothing, and no one, can fulfill.
No one except for someone who loves you deeply ...... and whom you love deeply.
In my opinion.

I am almost at the 5 year mark (a fact that seems unbelievable and almost obscene).
I still miss making love.
I try to not think about it.
It doesn't affect me like it did when it first hit.
It doesn't occupy a lot of my thoughts.
Most of the time.

I seem to go through phases.
A few months may go by and I don't really think about it.
But then another month comes ...... and it becomes a need again.
A need that, at this point in my life, cannot be fulfilled.
Which makes for a very long month.

I hope that I will find love again.
And I hope that it finds me.
I hope that I am loved as deeply and as fully as Jim loved me.
I hope that I will again have a fulfilling sex life.
(I still hope that my kids aren't reading this!)
I hope that my days of making love are not over.
And I hope that I am able to be that close, that intimate, that "as one" with a man again.

But that's all I have.
Hope.
No guarantees.  No promises.  No one in my sights.
Just hope.

So hope will have to do.
Hope, and staying very busy.
And exercise.  Lots of exercise.
During those months when I think about sex.

Or the lack thereof.

It's Just a Cord ........

                                                      (not wound so perfectly after I used it)

........ or at least that's all it appears to be.  Right?
Yeah, that's what I thought, too.
A very long, very bright extension cord.

One day last week I noticed that some of our shrubs were looking like they had "just woke up hair"(yes, I do have some "shrubbery", for those of you who know what that means!  :)
Branches were sticking up at embarrassingly odd angles ...... kind of like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

So I decided to give them a trim, before I received an ugly note from our home owners' association (don't get me started).
I hauled out the hedge trimmer and the extension cord to get the job done.
But then something hit me ...... and I was stopped cold.

The extension cord was not just an extension cord.
As improbable as it seems, it was a "wave".
Not a huge wave, but enough of one to really stop me in my tracks and take a few deep breaths.

You see, Jim was the last person to use, and thus wind, this cord.
It was perfectly and tightly wrapped around the plastic frame.
Still tightly wound after he last used it ...... 5 years ago (which I realize gives you more of a mental picture of what our shrubs looked like :)

When I reached up to take the cord off of the shelf, I never suspected that it would be anything more than an extension cord.
I didn't see that wave coming, so it hit me from out of nowhere.
And as I sit here and try to tell you this story, it seems very silly and rather difficult to understand, as well as to write.
But I know that you get it.
Or at least I hope you do.
It makes more sense in my head than it does in written form.
But I'm going to forge ahead and hope that it makes sense to someone else, too.

No one had touched that cord since Jim had.
And for some odd reason ...... that realization hit me like a wave.
I was going to have to unwind that cord, thus erasing yet another sign that Jim had existed.
I was going to have to un-do something he had done.
And even though it was a silly orange extension cord, it mattered.

I stood there in my yard, letting the wave wash over me.
If a neighbor had been watching, he or she would probably have wondered why I was hesitating so long ......  just standing there staring at a cord in my hands.
And if someone had asked me what I was doing, I would've replied, "Remembering."

Because that's exactly what I was doing.
This wave that had snuck up on me wasn't the usual type that threatens to knock you to your knees ...... and seems to suck all of the air out of your lungs.

It carried several emotions with it, as they usually do.
But it also carried memories.
And they were good.
As were most of the emotions.
I think it was the first time I didn't mind getting hit by one of the waves.

I still hesitated about unwinding the cord, but not for very long.
Yes, unwinding it would be un-doing one more thing Jim had left behind.
But now I know that there are very many things he left here that cannot be undone.

Like our children (who can't be undone even though there are sometimes brief moments when I might wish otherwise!).
Thankfully, the different ways that they each look like Jim cannot be undone.
Nor can the love that he filled them with.
Or the lessons he taught them.

The impact that he made in our community and the legacy he left behind in our school district can't be undone.
They might one day be forgotten, but not for a very long time.

The time that he spent on a weekly basis with a group of middle school boys in our church can't be undone.
Nor can all of the Indian Princess/Indian Guide campout memories he gave to our children.
Or his wonderful, dry, sarcastic sense of humor.

And, no matter how much time goes by, or how many things change during that time ...... no matter who may come into my life, and into my heart ...... the love he gave me, and the woman it grew me into, will never be undone.
Ever.
I am who I am today because of him.
The unconditional love, support, acceptance, accountability, security ...... and confidence he gave to me  will be with me for the rest of my life.  And with my children.

So yes, that extension cord was more than what it seemed.
It was a wave.
But it was a wave that left me smiling, rather than crying.

And I'll take that kind of wave any day.
:)

The Happiness Project ......

                                                     source

...... has been making me think this week.

I'm not sure how I became involved in this, but I am.

I think it may have been through an email, though I can't be sure.
But I also can't think of any other way I would have agreed to do this.

I am a volunteer for this project.
Which entails me receiving 3 texts a day, 7 days a week, for more than one week.  I think.  I can't remember how long this is supposed to last.

But I get 3 texts every single day, asking me to rate my level of happiness at that given moment.
On a scale of 1 - 10.  One being very unhappy.  Ten being ecstatically happy.

I've been doing this for a week now.
And it's made me really think.
I mean really.

The first time I received a text asking me to rate my happiness level, I had to stop and consider.  I thought about where I was at that point in time, and how I felt about being in that place.
And just the process of stopping and taking inventory of my life, and my current situation ....... made me stop and realize something.

I am very, very blessed.
And I have many wonderful friends.

And ...... I am pretty happy at this point in time.
Yes, it's a different kind of happy that I had "before", but it's still happiness.  And that's huge.

I've never been able to give it less than a 5.
I gave one 5.  That was the minute I got back to my home after chasing down two dogs.

I am happier than I thought I was.
At first that was amazing to me.

But not any longer.
I've come to realize that I am much happier than I thought I was on a daily basis.
I wouldn't have been able to say that three years ago.  Or four.
Or even two.
Not by a long shot.

But time has moved forward ...... even when I didn't want it to.
And that's turned out to be a good thing.

That's not to say that I'm ecstatically happy 24 hours a day.
But I am happy most days.

In spite of being a widow.
And an only parent.

In spite of so much.

I am blessed.
In so many ways.

And I hope that that gives you hope.
Things will not always be as dark as they are now.
I promise.
You will experience happiness again some day.
I promise that, too.

In spite of living daily life on this path.
In spite of losing all that you lost.
Like me.

I experienced true love.
With the love of my life.
With my other half.
With the best man I knew.

Not everyone can say that.

I don't take that for granted.
But I do appreciate it.
Every day of my life.

And that makes me happy.
In spite of ....... well, you know.

I'm glad that I signed up for this "project".
I needed to be reminded ....... of how very blessed I was ...... and still am.

You will get here.
Before you know it.
And you will feel grateful ...... for how blessed you were.
And still are.

Many of us experienced a love that most people never get to know.
Most of us were blessed.
And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be blessed again.

But even if we're not ...... we can still be happy.  And grateful.
Because we had something huge.
Very huge.
And most people can only dream of obtaining that.

So stop and think about how blessed you were/are.
And realize that, in spite of so much, you can be happy.
One day at a time.
:)

Flame

from here

Some days I wander around the place a little aimlessly, crying off and on in an almost distracted way. Going from calm, humming, puttering mode to ugly crying, hands-over-face-snotty-mess and back again, easily. Today I was in this phase of back and forth, talking to Dave, working on a poster for a friend, and doing laundry when it occurred to me that I will have to protect my delicate urge to do something new with my life. I will have to think of that tiny flame as a precious, precious thing and guard it, fight for it, claw and gnaw my way to it, until it is a roaring bonfire. I will have to be like my own little superhero, inside myself, beating back thoughts of doubt and fear. I have to bludgeon the hell out of them or they’ll extinguish the little flame. I have to build a little shelter around it and tend it.

I sat at the desk in front of the window, taking a little break from drawing and talking out loud to Dave. It’s one of those days here when the sun keeps playing peekaboo with the clouds and it suddenly broke through a thick clot of steel gray and shone down directly on me. I thought of Dave sending me that sunbeam and realized how much his death has made me the kind of person who entertains thoughts like “my dead husband sent me a sunbeam”, instead of explaining it away with science and coincidence. Now, it’s simple. Nothing is explainable anymore. Nothing is impossible. If Dave could be taken from this life like he was, than anything is possible.  And I honestly don’t care if the sunbeams come from Dave or not. I don’t care what might be true. Only what could be.

That sunbeam was like a blessing. Encouragement from the Universe (which to me, IS Dave. They are indistinguishable to me).

You can do it. You can do what most people try without success to do. You can fiercely protect the urge to find happiness. You can beat back the fear of taking the leap and let the flame grow. You can do what you thought you couldn’t. And, in fact, that is exactly why you should do it. Because you thought you couldn’t.

I want to write and make art and see how those things make others happy. Or changed. Or different in some way. I want to do those things because I want to, not because they will make me a living. What I want has to come first and the rest will come along for the ride. This is the hardest thing for me to tell myself. I’m the daughter of a man who had a depression mentality. He worked his ass off because that’s what you did. You didn’t take time for “yourself” because that was ludicrous and self-serving. You did what would bring in the money whether you liked it or not. You go to school to get a good job and make money. Period. And I was with someone with similar values for 15 years. The voice of logic is very loud and convincing.

Hey, the economy sucks and you are giving up a job that pays well and has great benefits AND gives you tons of time off. ARE YOU NUTS?!

Well yes, I am, but that’s beside the point. Maybe I might have to work at a job I don’t love so I can do what I love. But maybe it’s possible to make a living doing what I love, too. It could happen. It might take sacrifice. It might take hard work. It might be scary, scary stuff, but it could happen.

So I’ll keep tending that flame and protecting it like a mama bear protects her vulnerable little cub. Keep it close and warm and treat it like the miracle it is. And I'll keep letting the sunbeams remind me that I'm on the right track.