Just Keep Swimming....

Just Keep Swimming is what my lovely friend Kim says to me when she knows things are a bit rough.  ...and it helps in a number of ways.

Figuratively of course, it means to keep going, one breath at a time. 

.....and then .... DORY! 
Who doesn't smile when they think of her?

But there is a far more literal comfort I take from that phrase too....

My facebook friends know that I love to swim.
It has become a private joke which is probably only funny to me that I update my status with some cheesy line about loving to swim at least a few times each summer.

Not in public swimming pools where my propensity to suddenly flip over and just float whilst gazing up into the sky seems to irritate the other swimmers. 
Sometimes at the beach when the weather and water are perfect, but an allergy to sunscreen usually curtails such swims. 
But always in our friend's shady pool which they graciously let us use any time while they are away on holidays.
...and currently, they are away on holidays.

I am not a strong swimmer. 
I am also not a fast swimmer. 
But I can swim (at a slow pace) for hours. 
Just stroke after stroke, up and down the pool. 
Aware of each breath.


Peaceful.
Quiet.
Floating.
Happy.
Calm.


So as you wake into the new year, my wish for you all is that you are able to Just Keep Swimming through all the rough patches you encounter in 2013 ....  whether you have been grieving for days or years.  My wish is that you will find a spot of calm when needed ... and joy wherever you can find it ( if its a struggle, ask yourself  'What Would Dory Say?').

Just Keep Swimming  ......

3, 4, 7 and 14

Source

3, 4, 7 and 14.

My lucky numbers.

I am anxiously waiting for the New Year to begin. After all, my lucky numbers will be part of the New Year. 2013 and 2014.

I don’t know why, but I feel it in my bones. I know the next two years are going to be “better” then the last two years.

With the New Year, I am pushing forward. I am pushing to not be “idle” anymore.

For the first time since Seth’s death, I have goals, plans, and even started a bucket list.

Some of the goals are short term, some are long term. Some goals I will see in 2013, some I won’t see until 2014.

But I am excited.

I have goals! 

Who would have thought that 2 years after Seth’s death, I am just barely setting long term goals.

Who would have thought it would take me 2 years to see past tomorrow.

One of my goals is to work hard on myself and my grief. I am ready to push through and break out on the other side.

Part of me knows it’s because I’m stubborn. I am sick of being mentally exhausted, so my stubbornness has kicked in with “Let’s get this over with!”

But my brain keeps going there “The 3 year sadiversary is coming”. 

It’s not until July, and I’m already anxious about it. Maybe because I am learning my triggers, and looking 7 months out, I know the sadiversary is going to drop kick me to my knees – again.

I might fall flat on my face, again.

But I will get back up, again.

Life will still go on, I will learn more about myself and my grief, dust myself off, and tell myself “Let’s not do that again”.

When I was 6 weeks out of Seth’s death, I went to a support group. There I met another widow that was 4 weeks out. We instantly became best friends.

At one point, we talked about going to camp widow the following summer.

We both laughed and said “I will be over this by then!”

Silly me. Stubborn me. So naive.

Here I am 29 months later, still grasping for air. Still grieving. Still trying to get a grasp on life, and learn to roll with the punches.

Since Christmas I have found myself in a slippery slope of death and despair. Grasping at anything that will catch my fall.

I don’t want to hit rock bottom, again. I never want to hit the bottom again.

So stubborn me, has chosen to not hit bottom. To not let the depression sneak in again. Why? Because I deserve better then rock bottom. 

Been there, done that.

And I didn't even get a damn t-shirt to prove that I have hit rock bottom. And lived.

A lot of people have asked me how I have survived Seth’s suicide.

The only thing I can think of is “I’m too stubborn to give up”.

Really, what other choice do I have?

Cheers to the New Year!

I can feel it, it’s going to be a great year!

If it’s not a great year, it will still be better than 2012.

I have hope and faith for 2013.

Hopeful New Year

No tears tonight. (It's New Year's Eve as I write.)

Tonight I celebrate what lies ahead of me. Tonight I take notice of what prior New Year's brought my way. I know that tonight a friend is celebrating a wedding anniversary without her husband. I know that tonight another friend is remembering this as the day she met the husband who is also no longer beside her. Yet knowing each of these women, I'm sure that even if tears are falling, there are beautiful smiles on their faces.

Looking ahead to the new year is our way of projecting hope into our future. For those of us who are widowed hope is not something we can always easily access. Yet for me, at this point in my life, I do have hope, and more of it than expected.

I know that years ago after learning that my husband was terminally ill, I thought I lost hope. Yet, in the days that followed his emergency surgery I found myself accessing hope that I couldn't recognize at first. It was that hope that spurred me on to seek out the right path for us as a couple, and it was that hope that allowed me to not get stuck so deep in my unexpected sorrow. It was also that hope that provided me with two more loving years with the man I gave my heart to.

After losing Michael I felt that once again I had lost all ties to hope. I was not able to see beyond the pain and sorrow, even as the days and months went by. I began to question if my future carried any real meaning. After surviving on scary night I decided to trust that hope was there, even if I didn't recognize it. I made a decision to set off in a new direction, and I trusted that there was something, not necessarily someone, out there for me.

Tonight I sit here in my home, with all the chaos that is included with a house full of kids and pets. I had hoped for a very quiet peaceful night, one like last year, yet it is clearly not what I am to have. The television is blaring, the dogs are running around, I have struggling with a miserable cold, and my new love is at work rather than sitting beside me.

Inside my head I keep hearing Mick Jagger singing these lyrics..."YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT." For those of us who find ourselves seeking out this blog, this is a bit of an understatement.

My point is this, no, I don't believe I got what I wanted. I got more. I got a lifetime of Michael's love. It wasn't my lifetime of love, but it was his. I know that he never stopped loving me, nor I him. I know that loving him gave me so much hope in my future. I know that loving him taught me that sometimes hope takes a different turn. Before meeting Michael I thought love had passed me by. I had somewhat lost hope. He renewed it. In learning that I was soon to lose Michael I thought I had lost hope. Once again, it was renewed. In losing Michael I was sure that I had lost hope. Yet, here I sit, being hopeful once again.

Let's all look forward to a hopeful year. Let's say our thanks for what we had, and let's be open to what the future holds.

Happy New Year.



You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

My Struggle with Acceptance

Since Phil's death, grief has caused a long struggle between the desire to overcome and the need to accept the realities that widowhood has brought into my life. The concept of acceptance when applied to Phil's death has always felt like giving up to me. So, I stubbornly planned around any roadblock that would slow what I thought was forward progress, though I had no clear destination. I think I believed that if I kept moving I could outrun the need to accept the fact that the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with was not coming home.

One woman I met just a few months after Phil died shared this idea with me, and I have never forgotten her words. When she was surrounded by the pain of either loss or loneliness after the death of her husband, she would challenge herself to "rest in the riddle." This was a foreign concept to my stubborn, planning, determined mind. I remember wondering HOW exactly she did that. Can you force yourself to rest in the riddle? Since resting would mean being still, would acceptance sneak up on me unbidden? What I can see now, that was not so clear then, is that I was terrified of being frozen in grief. IF I stopped what would happen to me. Would the darkness swallow me up? Would accepting Phil's death mean he was forgotten? What would I have to let go of in order to meet the acceptance criteria?

I have struggled with this answer for five years, and it has taken me every bit of that time to find a path towards acceptance that didn't feel like giving up, or somehow failing Phil. Eventually I embraced the concept that my life is a tapestry. By making my every relationship, word, effort, endeavor, friendship, challenge, and tragedy a part of my life work...nothing is ever left behind. Accepting Phil into my life tapestry, and weaving a pattern with his love so beautiful that it becomes a piece of the whole that is noticeably more vibrant than many others gave acceptance a purpose. His love shines through my weaving, but only if I can allow him to become part of me instead of an idea outside of myself. That thought turned out to be a form of acceptance I can live with...and a worthy place for the kind of love Phil and I shared.

As the New Year dawns we will each be faced with choices about what to add to our own piece of life art. Your loss will color the final product, but so will your love. The lost moments we so long for are often the smallest gestures, the quietest moments, the most unimportant seeming details...you are still creating those every day, and are slowly stitching them into your own personal tapestry. Stitch with flourish.

Wishing you all peace, hope, and love in the New Year.