A Week and Counting

Time marches on, and quickly!! It was only May when I got engaged, and the big day is coming up next week! I can hardly believe it. I make that statement with double meaning. I can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed since May, but it's more than that. I can hardly believe it.

I remember a time when I was convinced I'd never remarry. I loved Daniel more than anyone in the world (excluding Grayson :) and there was no way I would ever find someone like that again, much less allow them in. I wasn't even going to look. Dating? Maybe. I mean, I'm human so it wouldn't hurt to at least go out every once in a while, but long term? Forget it. Men are generally stupid and I'd already had the cream of the crop. Marriage? Forget about it. It would be a cold day in hell before that happened....well, it looks like the temps in Hades are dropping rapidly!

I think Carl slipped in when I had a rare moment of "guard down". I had decided I was interested in finding someone - I had arrived at the conclusion that I wanted someone in my life for real, not just a fun date. But, I had become the two date master. I could eliminate a guy in two dates (a couple of posers made it past my radar, but those are another story), and I had serious doubts that I'd find anyone 3rd date worthy.

Along came Carl. He charmed me with his easy humor, his fabulous smile, and his ability to talk to me about our bumpy past lives. He disarmed me completely and when I looked up...it was date 3, and we were booking a trip to New Orleans...and he hadn't even kissed me yet! Seriously? When did he slip me the love potion!?? Fast forward a year, and Carl, on one knee, blew me away. I still don't think I've recovered from that romantic moment :)

Almost two years later, we have bought a house, and the big day is coming up fast. I can hardly believe it! Who knew this was possible? I think several of my friends wondered if I'd go this route and had serious doubts - much as I did. I didn't, and still don't think that "moving forward" after Daniel means finding a man. "Moving forward" means finding yourself again and building a new life for yourself. I moved forward - and buckets of tears and a few years later, I found myself. A stronger, harder, more cynical version of me, and also a softer, more sensitive, and more loving me... but still me.

Who would have thought that new me would end up counting the days until her wedding? Certainly not ME! ;-) A week away and counting....I can hardly believe it!!

I am not alone (why I am glad I blog)

I'm sitting here, calmly typing this and it's been 622 days since my husband died.
I know exactly how many days because of my regular blog.
But to think that I can type this without tears would have been unthinkable a year ago.

I began writing about my pain just over a month after the accident.

I blogged everything because I knew I'd always be able to find it ... the internet being forever and all.

Now I read those posts back and tears stream down my face.
Was that me?
How did I ever survive such pain?
How did I keep my kids functioning and how on earth did they get from those first jagged, razor-sharp days to these days of a duller, aching pain?
(Pain which still flares up both rapidly and unexpectedly but the jagged edges are not quite so sharp).

and the short answer is that I don't really know how we got here.

... but I do know that time has helped.
I do know that friends and family have helped.
I do know that routine has helped.
and I do know that blogging has helped.

My blog helped (and continues to help) me pour out the hurt, anger, fear, rage, devastation, worry and horror of this journey.
...and *this* blog helped me see that I am not alone in these feelings.

Widow's Voice was one of the first blogs I read in The After.

I've cried and nodded along to more posts than I can count.
I've marvelled at how brave other widows and widowers are.
I've recognised similarities and differences between my journey and the varying journeys we are all on (for our spouses were unique ... as we are ... so no two of us are on the exact same path).
I've laughed at the dark humour.
I've rejoiced at the finding of new love, but seen that it's not a magic bullet that takes away this pain.

But most of all, I've realised that

I
Am
Not
Alone.

...and nor are you.

Two Year Anniversary

We are joined today be guest blogger April Torres. Thanks for sharing your story with us April!

 

 

About April: In January 2009, I found out I was 5 weeks pregnant. A week later my soul mate and the love of my life passed away unexpectedly at 32 years old. I was 29, pregnant and grieving. The darkest, saddest, most miserable days followed. I thought I'd never smile again. But, 2.5 years later, I have a beautiful, healthy son who makes smiling easy. I don't think I will ever be 100% and will never stop missing my love, but I have slowly realized that I can be happy and that life does shift forward, no matter how much you may want it to pause and stand still. 

 

The quickness of time bewilders me. Two years has passed since you were taken away from me. Two years, and yet my heart still wears the imprints from your last touch. Two years, and yet I can still close my eyes and smell you. I can still taste you on my lips. It astonishes me – how well my senses know you. How they remember you so vividly. I still hear your laughter; still see that smile.

Someone asked me a random question the other day without knowing the situation. They asked me how long I had been single. It was a simple question but one I could not answer. I didn’t know how to explain that this question had no simple answer. Should I have provided the technical answer to this simple question and responded with: two years? Or the truth; no matter how complex that answer would be. 

Should I have simply said that I am not? That I am still very much in a relationship. Still very much with someone. That even though it has been two years since I last had physical contact with you or a face to face conversation, that you have been with me, every day. That we have shared conversations, even though they were one-sided. That you have answered random doubts I have had, in some form or another. That you have still been my “date” at many a gathering.

How do I explain that I still wake up to your face smiling down at me? That you are still the first and last thought of each day. So much time has passed and yet, you have never left my side. Or rather, I have never left yours. You are still my sun. How do I explain to someone that even though we’ve been apart physically for two years – we’ve grown closer than the two years + that we were together? 

How do I explain to someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to lose your love, that even though yes, the answer to the question might appear to be: two years, the truth is: I’m still very much in love. That my heart still very much belongs to you. I don’t. I won’t. I can’t.

Home

Six parts of your Widow's Voice home at Camp Widow 2010

Home is where you hang your heart, not only your hat. When Phil died, the four walls of my home became both a refuge and a prison. I hated going out; I hated staying in.

The outside world was too bright. I felt blinded by other people's lightness, innocent happiness, and especially by their apparent disregard for the fact that the world had stopped. I kept forgetting that their world didn't necessarily halt because mine did. I remember very clearly (and it has been 1,981 days) that when I was in public I felt see through, as if there was no substance to me.

But when I was home the familiarity was excruciating. Everywhere I looked there was some misleading evidence that Phil would be right back. Shoe in the corner, lunchbox on top of the fridge, toothbrush in the holder...all signs that the owner of these items had just stepped out. Loneliness seeped from my pores and left a miserable residue on every surface. Home wasn't home. There is a line from a Mercy Me song (Homesick) that best described this feeling for me: "If home's where my heart is, then I'm out of place." Oh how I ached to be home.

Then I found you. This community became a safe, homey place. My widowed friends held bits of my heart for me while I picked up the pieces that were scattered by the winds of grief. Each time I found another sliver, I could just hand it to the people who would eventually help me work out how those fractured shards could once again take the shape of something beautiful. 

On the blog this week this comment was addressed anonymously to a new reader who is hoping that finding this community will help him deal with his loss:

"Come back here. To this blog. I can tell you - it saved my life. I almost didn't make it this winter, it was too painful. It was a very dark time. When it was at its worst, I came here. To the place where others understood. Where someone knew what it felt like to not want to carry on. The widows voice community has offered such wisdom and support and hope. That I can say now 7 months from my spouses death. I am doing better than I was. I still have dark days and hard nights but when I do - I know I am not alone. I come here and read the stories and hear the way others have coped and I know I can carry on. I hope you do return."

Thank you anonymous.

This is what I mean by home. You are home to me, and we are home to each other, and as you heal, grow, and make your way through this whole new crazy widowed world...I hope you will always remember that one home is only a click away.

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.

Alone Together

I just got off the phone with my good friend Dominic. We don't talk to each other too often, maybe once a month, but when we do, I always feel so good. He lives up in the Bay Area, from where I moved from last year. We have been to many of the same places, and always have similar stories to share with each other. He's originally from my new home city of San Diego, so we also often talk about our favorite places here, and share recommendations about places to eat or visit.

I have so much in common with Dominic. We are both gay men, who also happen to be Latino. This kind of grounds our connection in a common culture as well. In our conversations we laugh, encourage each other, and listen to each other's worries of the day.

Did I mention that I have never met Dominic? I don't even know what he looks like. If we passed each other on the road, we would never even know. Well, he might know, as he found me the same way as several other of my newer friends have, by way of my blog. You see, Dominic is also a widower. Not only that, he lost his spouse to the same brutal brain tumor that took my husband Michael.

Isn't life strange. You can live a somewhat parallel life as another person in your own community, and never really have the chance to make their acquaintance. Then you lose your husband, find yourself feel alone, grief stricken, even suicidal, pack it all up, move to another part of the state, get settled into your new home, and BAM, your paths cross. Suddenly, although there are almost 500 miles separating you, that person becomes so central to your life.

This is not the only relationship I have like this. In the past 20 months I have come to know, and love, so many people that I would never have met if Michael had not died. These are such loving, supportive, sad, and joyful people. If you are reading this, then most likely you are one of them too. It's a strange dynamic really. You can talk to them on the phone, share emails online, or trade text messages, and yet, all the while, it dawns on you, "I only know the person, or have them in my life, because of death."

In death did us part, Michael and I, but in death did all of you arrive. Each week seems to bring more and more wonderful, and interesting people into my life, by way of my writing, or by communities formed here on the Internet. Last year I had the wonderful opportunity to meet so many of you at Camp Widow. Let me tell you, it was like magic. I saw familiar faces, or heard voices saying, "Dan?" "Are you Dan In Real Time?" and then I would see the spark of acknowledgment, and be filled with joy. It was the most wonderful experience, and I can't wait to repeat the experience once again this summer.

Camaraderie is the most wonderful of gifts. Camaraderie during times of such extreme need, feels like being bestowed direct grace from God.

You know, in tonight's conversation with my friend Dominic, he shared with me that he attended the San Francisco Brain Tumor Walk. It is an event that is so close to my heart. Michael and I walked with our family two years in a row during his battle with the disease. I then walked the third year without him, and followed up with the same event when I moved here in San Diego. Dominic shared with me that he spoke with people who knew me, either through my participation with the National Brain Tumor Society, or through my blog. It felt so good knowing that they still thought of me, and that I was still a part of their community.

In a way it sounds kind of odd to acknowledge this, but it also serves to remind me of how fragile and isolated I continue to feel. You know, I have come a long way in the past 20 months, and I have made many new friends. Yet, deep inside of me, I am still that broken, and pain stricken, person that was left standing alone in this world. Now some would say, "but Dan, don't you have three kids? How alone can you truly be?" Well, very alone. Yes, I move about in this great big world, with people all around me, yet at the end of the day, I enter my bedroom alone. I brush my teeth alone. I wash my face alone. I get into bed alone. And, I share my day's thoughts or feelings with, oh yeah, no one. And, even at 20 months out, I still struggle to fall asleep each night in that big empty bed.

Who else really understands this?

Who else is struggling with this at the same time each night?

You.

We are alone, or we are not alone. We are newly widowed or we have been at it a long time. We are very young, or we are considered older. We come from this walk of life, or we come from another. We look similar to each other, or we don't. We might have previously chosen to be friends, or we might not have. Yet here we are. We are reflections of each other. We share that knowing look in our eyes. We have the ability to touch each other's hearts, and souls, in a deep and profound way.

By reading, you have shown up for me. By writing, I have shown up for you. Whoever you are, whether we ever meet, speak, or exchange written words, thank you. I value your presence, and I acknowledge the loss which has brought you here.