Cliff Diving

Lately I've been taking some risks with my emotions. I don't know if I'm feeling stronger, or that I am learning that memories can begin to heal me. For the longest time I didn't look back to any of my prior writings. I put pictures and albums away, and have yet to unpack them from my move last year. Yet, in the last week I have begun opening some journals, and looking back at early entries in my blogs, both pre and post Michael's death.

Yesterday I had my extended family visiting. They don't live that far away, yet most of them had not taken the time to drive south to see my new home, or to really check in with me. When the weekend arrived one of my brothers called to ask what it was I really needed right now. Do I need quiet, or do I need company. He said he was aware that it was that time of year again. The time of year that is counting down to Michael's final days two years ago. He said he realized it must be quite difficult for me. I said yes, it was that time of year, and yes it is difficult most days. Yet I told him that more than anything, I need to have family around me. I need to know that they are there for me, and I need to be able to sit and share my thoughts and memories with them.

On Saturday we were all gathered, and my mother asked if I had any video, or recordings, of Michael's voice. I said that yes, I had a DVD of our wedding day, and Michael is saying his vows, and later giving a toast. I also told her that I haven't watched that DVD for about 18 months, as it always knocks me to my knees with grief. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and turned to focus their eyes on me. I could see that they were feeling the intensity of my emotions. My sister in law said of course it would be too difficult to watch right now. I took a deep breath, and moved the conversation in a different direction. I began reminding them of how much Michael loved all of them, and how much he loved our family gatherings. It was a very nice day.

Since then I have been replaying some of the last conversations I had with Michael. Today I was remembering the last birthday celebration I had with him. We had gone to Sedona for a week, and had a beautifully peaceful time. He gave me a beautiful pocket watch for my birthday, and a card with a picture of a cliff diver on it. He wanted to remind me, before it was too late, of how fearless I was, and how much he loved me. I cherish this card with all my heart.

Today, I have chosen to share it with you. I will edit out the beginning, as it is far more personal than I am prepared to share, but I do feel like I want Michael's voice to be heard today. After all, he is why I am here. And no, it is not my birthday, just a random memory that serves to remind me of who I was in his eyes. By remembering this, I can continue to reclaim the me that I thought was lost forever.


My Dearest Husband,

I suppose cliff diving would not phase you too much by now. You've taken so many great leaps of faith (like marrying me!) already.

Thank you for all your love, support and faith. I love you more and more each day. Like a fine wine you really are getting better each year, and I somehow got so lucky to share in your life.

Happy birthday, and every day after. Hope you like the watch. When you hear it ticking, think of my heart beating with yours.

I love you so much.

Michael

Memorial Day

Memorial Day is a United States federal holiday observed on the last Monday of May. Formerly known as Decoration Day, which was first recorded to have been observed by Freedmen (freed enslaved southern blacks) in Charleston, South Carolina in 1865, at the Washington Race Course, to remember the fallen Union soldiers of the Civil War. The recognition of the fallen victims was then enacted under the name Memorial Day by an organization of Union veterans — the Grand Army of the Republic — to honor Union soldiers of the American Civil War. Over time, it was extended after World War I to honor all Americans who have died in all wars. Now known as Memorial Day, it is a day of remembering Armed Forces. the men and women who died while serving in the United States.


That is a little bit of history, by way of Wikipedia. I turned to the net to get a clear understanding of what this holiday represents, and how it came to be. Today I was out, just like most Americans, being a part of the hustle and bustle that is the last weekend in May. It is often considered the beginning of the summer season, and signals the onset of weekend BBQ's and family gatherings. I noticed while running around town, that their were a few homes that hung American flags. I began to feel bad, because my flag is still in storage, not that I think to fly it very often.

I was remembering when 9-11 hit, and we as a nation were left stunned. What I remember most, after the communal feeling of devastation, was that we all became quite patriotic. Many of us, including myself, ran out and bought shiny new flags. How is it that we have so quickly returned to that place of disconnect. I don't mean this to be negative, or judgemental,as I include myself in this. Some how, for most of us at least, we forget to remember that for many, this is a difficult day of remembrance.

Today we honor all those men and women, from every walk of life, who selflessly chose to defend this country, and have given their lives in exchange for our continued sense of security and freedom.

Today, we also honor all those who are left behind, who continue to raise their children alone, who continue to seek meaning in their lives, who continue to attend college, or work, on a daily basis, because that is what they are expected to due. These are the survivors, and we must not forget them. Not today.

I just finished my BBQ. It consisted of burgers with two 13 year old boys. The discussion at the table was summer camps, and the daily joys of skate boarding and scootering. How young, and naive they both are. The world is still about the daily joy of doing nothing, or doing whatever they choose to do. I sat there listening to the nonsense that was coming out of their mouths, and hearing the laughter when realizws how ridiculous they both sounded to this old guy across the table.

The meal has finished, and everything has been cleared away for the evening. I returned here to my computer, to finish this post. The sun is still out, and it's a clear indication of sunny days ahead. Yet, for those of you who have lost a loved one due to war, or any type of service to our country, the night is not quite over yet, is it? You still have grieving on your agenda.

When the sun does finally decide to set, I will light a simple white candle, and hold vigil for those that have served, and for you that mourn. You are remembered today, just as they are.

as I remember

Photo from here...

When telling a story, Jeff or I would occasionally correct each other's rendition of the tale. Although I am always as truthful as possible, there were times when either of us would need a reminder of the facts of a past event and it was comforting to know that I could always ask him some small memory that was remembered by both of us. "How long was Liv's labour?" "Remember that road trip to Hardy? Why did we camp at the side of the road?"

It seems, however, that my grief stricken brain rewrote a little part of history without my consent.

It all starts with the question I would sometimes get after Jeff's death, "When are you planning to take off the ring?"

I'd stare down at it as I had for years and say "I've never taken it off since he put it on...."

It's not that I was proud of this or felt that it validated my love or loyalty for Jeff any more than it would for any other widow. It was just that it seemed so much more...insurmountable because I had never taken it off....ever. I wanted to moment I removed it to be "just right" and I hadn't found that moment yet.

So last summer at Camp Widow, while sitting with Matt and Mel, I slipped it from my finger. My hand felt naked and odd, but no earthquakes rumbled beneath my feet and birds in flight above the building stayed in the sky.

It felt appropriate to be with others who understood and knew just how big this moment was to me....after all, I had never taken it off, right?

And then, recently, while looking through photos from the days just after Jeff's death, I found one of Jeff's ring....enveloping mine. It was not on my hand. It was on the kitchen table. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I think I may remember this moment now. Jeff's sister had asked to see the ring, I think, for comparison to his mammoth-sized band.

I find it odd and, truthfully, a bit scary that I had forgotten this. I went around believing that I had never, ever taken it off. I wonder if anyone else noticed my lapse in memory or if it was just me. Who, other than photographs, will be my 'fact checker' now?

Yellow Roses

The day this posts, April 11th, is my daughter's 20th birthday. No longer a teenager. Maybe not quite a full adult, but a day to let her know how much I love her, and how I wish for only good things in her future.

Rather than buy her some new gadget, I decided to spend a little extra, and let her know what I truly thought of her. She is my diamond. She was our diamond.

Many years ago, when my husband Michael and I were first dating, the day arrived for my daughter to celebrate her confirmation at our church. Even though we were new to each other's lives, Michael and I knew that we would be together forever, so we bought our daughter something special, something that would last through time. We bought her a beautiful white gold cross, with a single diamond in the middle. My daughter loved it. She cherished it then, and especially now. It has never left it's place around her neck.

Today as she opened the box that held two small diamond stud earrings, placed in a delicate white gold setting, her eyes beamed, and a lovely smile came across her face. Funny me, I didn't think that it would automatically take her to a sacred place in her heart. As I looked into her eyes, they began to change from pure joy, to bittersweet recollection, as her hand gently moved to embrace the cross that hung close to her heart. She looked down, but just as quickly raised her eyes back up to me, then moved across the table to give me a strong embrace.

We held each other silently, then she gave me her thanks. She began remembering the day that she received her first diamond, the first gift from us as a couple. She knew that this simple gift was an indication that there were now two of us where there used to be one. And though there were the typical bumps in the road that occur when a single parent begins to share his time with a new love interest, she, and her brothers, quickly realized the benefits to having two loving parents by their side.

As she sat back down in her chair, I could see where her thoughts were leading her, and I hoped they didn't take her to a dark place of grief. Instead, she allowed her thoughts to linger in a place of loving remembrance. "Dad. You know, if Michael were still here I would have received a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses." Yes daughter, I know. "Michael always gave me yellow roses. Every birthday. Every special occasion." We both took a deep breath, and smiled that knowing smile. Let's choose to be joyful.

Funny how a simple interaction with our children can be such a great teaching moment. Most people think of teaching moments as time for us to impart a lesson on our children, but in this case, I was the one taking in the wisdom through observation. I know that I won't always be in an emotional place to embrace such a lesson, but for today, I am wanting to emulate my daughter's approach. I want to smile, and remember the simple joys that Michael brought into my life. I want to place my grief gently beside me, knowing it will always be there, but giving myself a moment in time to smile, to appreciate, to remember.

My husband, all of our spouses, was so much more than a deceased spouse. I know it's so hard to remember this at times. I don't like that in my mind, he is now mostly thought of as the one who I lost, the one who died. I want to remember that he was very much alive, and that in my heart he can continue to be very much alive. I don't wear any jewelry, so there isn't anything for me to hold onto when wanting that tangible connection. I will have to seek it elsewhere. It will have to be found deep in my heart, and through my recollection of special moments, and simple little gifts.




Like yellow roses in a beautiful bouquet.

three

This morning will mark three years since I've held your warm hand. Heard your snores. Felt safe knowing I was yours.

My life doesn't stop today as it did three years ago....although I partially wish it would. There are appoinments to be attended, childcare to sort out and errands to run.

I'd like to lay in my bed and think of only you. To keen quietly and close my eyes to the empty side of our bed.

But I am terrified that by allowing myself to sink into the grief that still runs so deeply through my heart, I will fall back into that pit of loss. The dark and scary place where time does stop and all I feel is the loss of you.

So I fill my day. To the brim.

I will take the kids to the beach with our notes for you attached to helium balloons. I'll barely allow myself that hour to let the sadness sink in...I need to keep my heart up and my eyes sharp for my little ones.

When this tradition is fulfilled I will begin running again. Focusing on dinner and bathtime. Fingernail clipping and playing referee to intermittent sibling discord.

But after the night has brought quiet and our two children rest, I'll truly feel the loss of you. I'll remember that first night without you. The enormity of the loss. The confusion and unbelievability found in your death. I will cry out for you. I will hold the last dirty shirt of yours close and attempt to smell the long lost scent of you. I will wonder at the ability of others who naively went about their day unaware of this day's significance. And I will miss you as fiercely as I did that first day.

I love you, Jeffrey, with all my heart. I miss you still. And I don't think I can, or will, ever stop.

who you were

Some of the fishing companies that Jeff had worked for would provide jackets for the crew with their name embroidered on the shoulder. Once when asked what Jeff wanted marked on his sleeve (he had a plethora of nicknames that could of been used in his name's stead), he had remarked, "Just Jeff". When his coat arrived with "Just Jeff" scribed upon the arm, he had thought it was ruined. I had thought it described him perfectly.
Recently, I have noticed that the person who Jeff was and who Jeff is now imagined to be has shifted. I feel that I alone (aside probably from his mother) can remember him with his real faults and with his true strengths. To others, he has become an icon.
I've heard him described as a 'Viking'. I've heard another express that he thought Jeff would have loved playing a Wii. When telling a dear friend how Liv had a MASSIVE temper tantrum and that I had (in the heat of the battle) told her that her father would have not stood for her hitting and kicking me, the friend said, "Oh yes, he would have. He was a sucker when it came to her."
I understand that the phenomenon that occurs when someone has died - they become someone in many people's eyes that they actually weren't while they breathed. But it angers me. I find myself correcting other's opinions, recollections and estimations of Jeff's personality. At times, the listener wants to stubbornly hold onto their new 'version' of Jeff. They argue with me, "I know Jeff would have given Briar a toy gun!"
But they're wrong.
He was huge, tall and strong. He could be crushingly terrifying - but he wasn't a warrior....at least not once he was old enough to have some sense. Jeff hated video games and thought they were a waste of time. Although Liv had Jeff in her pocket, he believed that children must treat their mothers with respect and kindness and at times, he was annoyingly intolerant of her childish ways. Jeff did hunt. He had guns. But he swore that they were not toys and that he would teach both of our children the proper use of these tools.
I am amazed and resentful that some people believe that they knew him like I did. I despise the image that they have created. I want to remember him as he was - Just Jeff.