Processing

The dark mark on the fence marks The Spot.

For a while now, I have been able to get through every day with only missing Greg and not get caught up in HOW he died.

But then up until recently, I avoided most of  the details on the HOW and limited myself to knowing the barest facts of the accident: Greg was the passenger; neither speed nor reckless driving was a factor; and he died instantly.

But.....

On Sunday, through a cruel twist of fate and an unholy bridge closure which meant I had find an alternative way home.

But while "following my nose" along half-remembered routes from a former job and a former abode, I was more intent on avoiding the aforementioned unholy traffic nightmare on the "closed for maintenance"  freeway and so the fact that I was fast approaching The Bad Place snuck up on me. 
As I stopped at the lights at the top of the hill (just around the bend at the top of the picture), I looked ahead and realised what lay 250m in front of me.
Thankfully the traffic was light and I turned down a side street and avoided it.

I have successfully managed to avoid being anywhere near The Bad Place ever since the accident.  Its not hard - it is half-way across town and on a road that I rarely ever used anyway.

But coming so close has really shaken me to the core ....  but it is done: I've now driven along the the road that Greg and J drove along seconds before they died.
Another first out of the way.

....and so I now process this next bit if grief that has been far too hard to even think about up until now. 

 I will be stronger for it.

Little steps.

My "Mr Right"

I recently heard about another widow I know …widowed after me … she has found someone new.

She is quite in love.

This makes me sad.

Not about her happiness.
Just that I am nowhere NEAR being there. I don’t even want to look for someone new, even though I just want to be happily married again Right Now.
….but I want to be happily married to Greg.
Nobody else will do.

I guess it is good that I know myself well enough to see that I am not ready. That I would only be using another person as a crutch...
... expecting characteristics and quirks that only belong to Greg and me...
...expecting another person to drag me out of this hell.

I know I will never be that same, undamaged person I used to be.
That's OK.
....But I do want to be comfortable in my own skin.
Comfortable with my own abilities to steer us through this life.
I want to be able to give as much as I get from someone new....

But.
I’m Not there.
Not yet.

When I met Greg, I had a deal with God that I’d have a thumping realisation when I met my “Mr Right”. I’d had enough of rubbish boyfriends and I didn’t want to spend any more time with people who were … well … just NOT right for me.
So at the tender age of 22, I had sworn off men until I got that kick, that thump, that nod from above that *This One* was my Mr Right.
… and frankly, Greg couldn’t have come with any more bells and whistles.
It was almost like he was wearing a flashing neon sign saying “I’m Mr Right”.
It was obvious to both of us from the minute we met.... obvious to everyone else at that party too....
.....we were Meant To Be.

So what worries me is that while I’m here, forsaking all others, pining after a dead man …. that I may miss the next flashing neon light. But it’s a risk I will have to take, and just have faith in my gut feeling that I won’t be alone for the remaining (50?) years of my life.

I just hope that the next good man to come into my life remembers to wear his "Mr Right" name badge so I recognise him.....

My name is Amanda and this is my story...

I met my soul-mate on February 6, 1993: it was love at first sight. Greg was the fun-loving, farm-boy to my shy, inquisitive city-girl. He was an engineer who loved all things mechanical and I was in the midst of my PhD in eco-botany. We just clicked straight away and seemed always to know what the other was thinking.

We married in 1997 and after living and working in the tropical paradise that is Australia’s north for a few years, we eventually settled down to married life, buying a house and having our precious daughter in 2002 and wonderful son in 2004.

I was so happy and lucky and loved and I took it all for granted.

Now I am someone different: I am a widow. The man I love beyond breath was killed in a car accident whilst carrying out his normal duties at work on March 1, 2010 – the same day I began my new career as a teacher. He was 47 years and 5 days old; I turned 40 a month later. If it wasn’t for my sheer determination to keep going in the weeks and months that followed, the mawing pit of grief would have swallowed me whole. But I have stubbornly refused to give in to despair, instead pouring my grief into my personal blog.

Today, most of me remains... I am still a Mum to two beautiful children. I am still a teacher. I still am a botanist. I still love Australian native plants and gardens. I still have fantastic friends. My brain still functions on a reasonably good level (short-term memory is a bit wonky though). I still love Holden cars and meat pies and good people everywhere. I still love the beach and the bush and I still love a good laugh.

But I find myself turning into someone new ... I find myself showing more kindness as I have been shown kindness. I find myself seeking out the hearts of others and hearing their story. …and I know one important truth: true love never dies.

~~~~~~~~~~
Widow’s Voice was one of the first blogs I found in the months after being widowed in 2010 and I am honoured to be taking part in this wonderful project. I know I have such big shoes to fill as the wonderful Matt moves on to bigger and better things, and I join with some truly amazing men and women who are also walking this horrible road of widowhood. I hope that I have something useful to say, something worthwhile, something that resonates with other people here and helps us all to feel that little bit less alone. Thank you Michele for inviting me and thank you all for welcoming me here.

normalcy

week three of

my trip around

the country

talking about

that thing I worked

on for madeline

it's been a week

 since i've seen

my baby.

(well a week since i've hugged my baby. I saw some photos that her grandma broccoli sent my way of maddy covered (and i mean covered) in temporary tattos, and some more that the other grandparents have sent my way.)

it has been

awful to be

away from her,

and i have been feeling

terribly guilty

but then i reminded

myself that if

things has been

different, they

probably would

have been the same.

(but yeah different).

i would still

be at my old job,

still traveling

to and from india

every few months,

still missing some

important moments,

still missing my baby.

all of it

to give her the

kind of future

she deserves.

so even though i

miss her more than

i can adequately describe,

it makes me

long for tomorrow.

(something i never expected).

and i hate to say it

bit its nice to know

that i can

(finally?)

find some

normalcy in our situation

(something i never expected).

Written by Matt, posted by Michele due to some technical difficulties....

Last Person Standing

A week ago I showed up for a meeting in a different state, that was planned over a month before, to find that the person who was in charge of the agenda was missing. The reason for her absence was that she just found out her best friend has cancer, and her dear friend's diagnosis was delivered to her around the first anniversary of the death of her brother from the same awful disease.

Later that day,  I was able to sit with my fellow non-profit director and listen to her tell the story of her friend's diagnosis, the heavy reality of the prognosis, and witness the stubborn look in her eye that said, "I will be there until the very end." I just sat in awe of the strength and grace that is required to be the last person standing....the one who will empty the bed pan; the one who will read or joke or sit quietly depending on what the mood calls for; the one who will give a pedicure, wash the hair, and brush the teeth of the person they love; the one who will relish the 'good' days and stay steady through the bad ones. What a priceless gift to give to your loved one, caregivers are heroes. I realized as we talked that I was not only looking at a person who was capable of this courage, but that I have become that person as well.

You see I literally watched my husband die, but I did not have a chance to nurse him or feed him or comfort him. In fact, up until a year ago I was almost sure he felt no pain when the car hit him. I believed his life was literally knocked out of him. But through the trial process I discovered that in the moments after his death one tear rolled down his cheek. I wish I knew what that tear meant, and more than anything I wish I could have been there to wipe it away. But that was not our course.

I have been asked countless times which is worse...to suffer a long good-bye or to get no good-bye at all. To be honest this question makes my stomach turn. Death is a personal tragedy, time and time again. Who am I to say what is more or less painful? People argue about this, because our logical minds want to make some sense of death, when there is none to be made. The eternal question of why will not be answered in this lifetime, nor will comparing one death to the next mitigate the pain of either party. Death sucks in every form and someone somewhere will be left reeling in its mighty wake each time a life ends.

So though I never uttered a good bye to my Phil, I know for sure that given the opportunity to say a long good-bye to someone I love in the future that I will not hesitate. I won't waste time wondering if I am strong enough, because I am. That crazy truth is another lesson learned through grief. I know the meaning of courage. I know the value of facing my fears. I know that avoiding the end won't avoid any of the pain of loss. I know that I will want to be the last person standing. Thanks for that strength grief, before I met you I didn't know I had it in me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am filling in for Michelle today because she is in the hospital after having her appendix removed. I will confess to many moments of anxiety (because of all the lovely lessons grief has taught me!!) as I awaited the news that she was out of surgery and recovering well, but I am happy to report that she is and if you'd like to leave her some get well wishes please do in the comments and I will pass them on!