"There"

I went there.

My craft studio.

It's been untouched for 29 months. When I moved, my mom and sister in law had to pack it. Because I couldn't step foot into it. The unfinished projects, unfinished memories, were far too much for my little brain to handle.

It's all still boxed up from when I moved over a year ago. The studio has become a dump all / avoid at all costs - room.

I haven't had the emotional power to even put my fingers into the unfinished projects.

The unfinished memories.

I went in there looking for supplies for a project me and some local widow friends were doing yesterday.

We made dream boards.

Dream Board my widow friend made

As I was digging through the boxes, I found my unfinished wedding album.

The album I was working on when Seth died.

The album he nagged me about finishing for 5 years. (Silly him, he didn't realize one page took me hours or even months, because it had to be perfect!)

The same album I almost cremated with Seth when he died.

I haven't seen or touched my wedding album in 29 months.

While looking at my wedding album, I realized my "new" bedroom has the same theme as my wedding album. Victorian theme.

Same colors, same designs.

I didn't realize both my bedroom and wedding album were themed the same. Funny how the brain works. I loved the Victorian theme in my wedding album, so why not my bedroom? And before I realize it, I have made my bedroom to match my wedding album. Thanks brain.

I also didn't realize how much monarch butterfly stuff I have. For anyone that doesn't know, the monarch is the one thing I swear Seth sends to me.

It's almost like I knew about the butterflies before his death. So I was "stocking up" on monarch butterfly stuff. Just in case, of course.

Talk about future, past and present.

I haven't touched my hobbies since Seth died, other then my photography.

While going through the boxes - I realized I miss my craft studio. At our house, I had an amazing craft studio, that Seth built for me. I was always working on multiple projects at a time, and always had all of my projects spread out. I would get stuck on one project, so I would work on another, and return to the original project later.

I miss doing my oil painting. I miss the way the old me processed things. I miss making home made cards. I miss scrapbooking my memories. I miss attempting to sew (I am horrible at sewing). I miss making everyone's Christmas presents.

I miss disappearing into my studio to sort through some sort of mental frustration. My hands would be busy working on a project, but they would also be busy on working on what was on my mind.

Busy hands = Clear brain

I have a desk in my garage for my craft studio that has just been sitting there since October. It's a desk that is made just for crafting.

The desk has just sat there. Staring at me. Reminding me that my car can't go in the garage, and sits out in the snow, because I refuse to venture into the craft studio.

I realized I have been missing my hobbies. I realized I am sick of avoiding that room. I am sick of scraping snow off my car.

So I set some goals.

My 1 month goal - Get the desk moved into my craft studio, and at least get the boxes sorted into separate piles. Painting, paper crafts, photography, the list is long. So I can handle unboxing one box and one hobby at a time.

Gives me time to process what is no longer a important hobby to me.

Time to accept that some of the things I used to love, died with Seth.

My 1 year goal - Finish my wedding album and finish the oil painting I was working on when Seth died.

((Deep breath)) Here I go!

Dodging Bullets on New Year's Eve

New Year’s Eve is my #1 most difficult holiday. More than Christmas, more than Halloween and more than Maggie’s birthday weekend (2nd weekend in December.) Saturday will mark the third without a midnight Maggie-and-Chris lip lock. It’s difficult to imagine kissing someone else on that day and at that time since her lips are the only ones I’ve kissed at that special moment since 1999. Because of tradition and love and respect, it seems like that special moment is reserved, forever and ever, just for her. But this year I was going to try it and see how it went. I’m pretty sure my intended date had no idea the significance of the place she stood because she’d have no doubt bowed out for that reason alone. But it doesn’t matter; for unrelated reasons I’m going stag…. Again.

The last two New Year’s Eves have been less than pleasant. Each time there were two gun shots right to the heart – a double tap, executioner style. The first bullet is the silence just following the “THREE! TWO! ONE!” as the group kissing-fest begins. The second is the line of sympathy hugs from friends I get right after the kissers realize “Oh, Chris, the lonely widower!” Click, click! Boom! Boom! And I’m out.

This year I was hell-bent on changing things up a bit. I was going to bring a date. (Gasp!) And I was going to kiss her right there in front of everyone right at midnight. Oh yeah. It was going to be epic. But stay with me; I had given this a lot of careful thought. Yes, I’d get some attention from those in the crowds who knew me only as half of Team Maggie-and-Chris. But my thought on all that attention is that they’d have to deal with that themselves; I can’t be held captive to other people’s emotions. Most of my brain power, however, went to pondering how I would feel. Holy cow…. The crowd. The countdown. The smell of champagne. The memories of kisses past. (A thousand tiny cuts, it seems.) Then holding not-Maggie in my arms and kissing not-Maggie’s lips. Then holding not-Maggie’s hands and (the biggie) smiling and pretending like this was the night of my life! I gotta summon poker face. Could I do it? Could I pull this off?

Here’s what I came up with after a LOT of thought: It doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t really matter if I can “pull this off” because what matters is that I try. What are the chances that I break down into a puddle of mess right in the middle of the celebration? Not huge. Not insignificant but not huge. What are the chances that I shed a silent tear and look a little pensive for a few minutes? Pretty good, actually. What are the chances my date notices? Probably also pretty good. What does it matter her reaction? A) She could be upset which tells me a lot. B) She could even make a scene which would tell me even more. C) She could rock the tender moment by squeezing my hand, smiling and letting me work through my complex emotions while giving me gentle, silent support (and maybe even running a little social interference for me while I get my game face back on.) But no matter her reaction, I win. I win because I did it! I took a huge step forward and conquered one more first - the first New Year’s Eve kiss with a not-Maggie.

But, alas, despite all my ponderings, I’m going stag. Taking not-Maggie as a date for the night-of-all-nights is not going to happen, for unrelated reasons. So here I am facing a two-shot firing squad again. But this year I’m not going to have it. I’ve made a plan. For better or worse, I’m leaving the party just prior to midnight. I really don’t want to experience that discomfort again so by the time the ball drops, I’ll hopefully be at home with my puppies drinking a beer by myself. Actually, now that I think about it, if I make it home by midnight, I’ll have plenty of kisses at midnight - stinky-breath puppy kisses. Ah, they won’t care if I cry. Suddenly, this plan just got better!

a better widow than me

Photo from here...

Last night, I finally threw Jeff's toothbrush in the trash. 3 years, 7 months and 22 days, since he used it to scrub his teeth clean.

This action was precipitated a few days ago when I had spoken to a dear friend who is known for being outspoken and blunt. She doesn't mean harm at all but is very Northern European in the delivery of her very strong beliefs and feelings.

During our visit, she told me that I had to "get over" Jeff. She said it was time to stop grieving and that I needed to get rid of the active reminders of, not only his death, but his life as well. Photos, personal effects, etc. All these should be removed.

She told me that I was teaching the kids to grow up grieving. That they would never "get over it" if I didn't move on. My lovely friend told me that she had lost grandparents who she had been close to and favourite friends and that she had had to move on.

Although I told her that I didn't agree that I was stuck in my grieving process and defended my beliefs and action; the confidence that I have grown in the last three years in my abilities, my intuition and strength took a bit of a bruising.

For the last few days, I have intensely analyzed all my post-Jeff actions. I have wondered if they are "normal" and "appropriate". I have scrutinized my grief and that of my children.

I find it interesting that to someone outside our home, it looks as if I am still struggling horribly in my grief. But inside our home, Jeff's life is celebrated and because of this, ours is so much richer. We have lost so much but manage to laugh and share a closeness that many other families do not. Death is not a taboo subject in our home. Neither is joy, anger, frustration or love. All types of emotions are wrapped into the learning experience we have all had due to Jeff's death...and we don't hide them. Just as we have these thoughts/feelings due to Jeff's death, we have a truly rich life that has nothing to do with our loss. Three lives that are celebrated everyday for the mere fact that we still live and will do so, richly and happily, until each of our time comes.

Ultimately, I have come to the conclusion that grief, specifically the loss of a spouse, is something that you have to live through to truly "get". I feel that just as everyone is the best parent they will ever be and know exactly how to parent BEFORE they ever even have their own children, everyone is the best widow/er before they have lost a spouse to death. I, too, have lost my beloved grandfather, very close friends, even an ex-boyfriend, but nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could have prepared me for this.

So this morning, I fished that old toothbrush out of the garbage bin.....and put it in my sock drawer. No one has to see it any more, but it is still there, marking his place. Marking his existence until I am ready to remove it from our home.

old shoes and wooden spatulas

Photo from here....

I've been sorting through our cupboards and closets and purging the least needed/most outgrown items lately in anticipation of living mostly indoors again after a summer in the backyard and beach.

I have found mismatched gumboots, lost flashlights, a dried up snail and the odd coin. Most surprisingly, I have unearthed copious amounts of Jeff's clothing despite thinking that the vast majority of it had been distributed among family, friends and the Salvation Army.

As I have worked on this task, the kids have been playing together...or re-enacting small-scale wars in the back hall. Today, their fighting somehow led to the playroom door (for which there is no key) to be locked.

Since I imagine myself to be somewhat of a handi-woman, I attempted to pick the lock. Failing this, I attempted to break into the room from an exterior window. Then, I removed the door knob not really realizing that the bolt would still be intact...without a knob. After this, I tried to shoulder the door open with brute force. Sometime later, I gave up and called a friend.

As he kneeled on the floor peering through the impenetrable knob hole, I stared at his large sock-clad feet which brought to mind a pair of new, brown leather shoes I had unearthed at the back of the laundry room closet.

"Hey, Dave," I said, "Do you need any shoes?" He turned and looked at me quizzically.

"I found a pair of brand-new shoes of Jeff's at the back of a closet and thought that maybe you could use them."

"Um. Well. Not...I don't know, Jackie," he stammered, "That's...um, very nice of you. But, um, weird." He went on to explain, "I have never had anyone offer their dead husband's possessions to me. It feels really odd...and wrong."

I sat and pondered for a moment. I thought about how uncomfortable I would have felt in the same situation three years ago. How I may worry about accepting some one's beloved's possessions would ultimately upset them or that I may be terribly close to catching "dead".

But then I started to laugh, "Dave, I am sure when we are in our 90s and most of us have lost many of our loved ones and close friends, offering a pair of unused shoes or a wooden spatula that once belonged to a dead person will be nothing short of common place. This is just the beginning, my friend! And really, Dave, I do not think that you have to worry about Jeff needing them back."

But this evening as I washed dishes, I wondered again if it was wrong of me to ask a friend if he had use for something that had once belonged to Jeff? WAS it odd? Did I cross some taboo barrier? Was this a "widow's faux pas"? Am I still too young for my peers to "get" how ridiculous this attachment to a dead person's unused possessions is? Or is my way of thinking off-track?

I truly just wanted someone who could use them to have them....I suppose it will have to be a stranger who will use them. And that is okay too....they won't have to know that the shoes have "dead germs" on them. :)

Winnie the Pooh on Grieving

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”

-Winnie the Pooh

Always be with me….. I really hope so. But I know her and her curious, wandering ways and know that it’s much more likely that she’s off exploring the wonders of wherever she may be. Sure, I’ll bet she checks back occasionally but she’s busy, busy, busy learning, reorganizing, teaching, and talking. I don’t take any offense to that. Heck, no, that’s part of her special sauce and part of why I fell in love. She was so… alive.

Time has smudged up my memory of her and I’m sad for reasons that you can understand but others can’t. But rather than be sad or deep or whatever is my proclivity, I have a list of questions that have been on my mind lately:

- Is she really with me always, hanging around, watching what I do? Or is she off doing her own thing and I really am alone?

- Do our puppies remember her? If they do, do they miss her? Do they recognize her smell on anything and wonder, “Hey, where’d Mom go?”

- If she’s with me, can she hear my thoughts or do I have to talk out loud for her to hear me?

- Can she change things or make things happen? Does she?

- What would her life be right now if I was dead and she was me? Would she be dating? Would she have thrown my clothes away? What things of mine would she have kept? Would she be happy?

- If she’s seen all that I’ve done (because she’s been hanging around checking on me) is she upset with anything I’ve done or not done?

- Are my memories of her going to continue to fade until she’s just a reflection of the pictures that I have of her?

- If/when I find another love, will my mind confuse how it felt to hold her with how it feels to hold my new love? Will my hands remember what it was like to hold the back of her neck or the small of her back? Can I let go enough to ever be ok with that?

- What do I do with her shoes? Purses?

- Why don’t any of our friends mention her name?

- Why is it worth living if when you die no one talks about you anymore?

I miss her so much. It makes me even more sad that no one seems to miss her as much as I do. And the people that know how much I miss her act as though my continued pining for my sweet wife is a sad failure, like I’m not doing my part to move forward. Maybe I’m not.

What would Winnie say? Oh yeah:

“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”

-Winnie the Pooh