Death colored glasses

(Interesting tidbit about this photo: Googled it, found this picture, and discovered 

that the source was actually Taryn Davis, from an old Widow's Voice post)

I found an old post I wrote on my personal blog that has given me a lot of new meaning...

12.31.2010

Everything is different now.

Everything I do now has a different meaning, a different pain attached to it. Every movie I see and song I hear has a different meaning now - and they all seem aimed at making me miserable and reminding me of what I've lost. Every smile and laugh is masking hurt and despair. Every thought I have has attached to it a dreadful afterthought. Everywhere I go I am marked with a Scarlet letter, only it's a giant W on my forehead for everyone to pity.

Looking at the world through death-colored glasses makes everything dark and gray. It takes so much more effort to see anything, to want to see anything. It makes it hard to find joy in the little things. Instead it makes me want to wallow in my own self-pity. The only problem is, the world won't stop for me to wallow. No matter how much I've begged it to.

I hate this. I deserve a moment to stop and process. A moment to figure things out. Shouldn't everyone know what an incredible man the world has lost? Shouldn't everyone stop what they're doing? Nope. The world keeps moving without me.

I've survived my first Christmas without Jeremy, somehow, without my consent. Even saying that makes his death seem so distant when it was still just weeks ago. I'm not ready to jump all these hurdles so soon. Or at all, really.  I didn't really face it until today how much I am dreading New Years. I knew it would be tough, but I was trying to face Christmas first. Now, I am getting sick to my stomach thinking about it. Facing a year Jeremy will never see, never be a part of, absolutely kills me. The first year memories will be made without him, the year his son will be born without ever meeting him...

The year I am forced to wear these damned glasses everywhere I go.

I'm dreading every second.

As I am quickly approaching the two year mark next week, I found myself reading this a few times, feeling the pain of these words. Obviously, my glasses have turned a rosier shade since then. It's not nearly as raw, however, it's interesting to me how true this post still is. Death has saturated every piece of my life. It's evident in the decisions I make, the traditions I keep, the way I carry myself. 

Only, I don't dread these glasses anymore. In fact, I wear them proudly. These death colored glasses give me a unique perspective that most people will never get to have. They show the true colors of life, they help me see my priorities, and they constantly remind me not to let what I've lost be in vain. Some things are darker, yes...but others things I see more vibrantly and clear. The misery I found in songs and pictures are now tearful smiles, thankful to have the memories at all. I still mask a lot behind a smile, but the smile becomes more genuine every day.

Once you see the world through death colored glasses, you can't go back. And that's ok because there's strength and peace and yes, even joy beyond the horizon. And you get to keep the glasses as a reminder that you loved and were loved and that life can be rosy again.

A very bad day

Last week marked two years since I was widowed.

It was not a good week.....worse than I could have imagined. ....
I arrived at school on February 29 to the news that one of my tiny little students had lost her father in a car accident the night before.
Horrific.
I did not cope well.

So I hope you'll forgive the repost of my own blog entry for March 1 ..... a letter to my husband....



2 years.

Two whole years that simultaneously feel like two minutes and two centuries.

The fog and numbness have gone this time – it’s just pure loneliness and loss this year: I miss you so badly.
I took the day off work …. I got some raised eyebrows when I did this, but thankfully not from my boss. (He is an odd boss – simultaneously infuriating and marvellous).
Plus I needed it after yesterday…

I took the kids to visit your grave.  Finally.  They haven’t been since you were buried.  I haven’t been because I don’t think you are there…..

I didn’t expect the reaction they had.
H cried.
K was quiet.
They sang a song in the car on the way “Our Daddy died on the first of March.  It’s the first of march today”.
sob.

They brought some stones they had decorated and carefully placed them on your (our) headstone.
…and we put in a solar light with a dragonfly on it.
Then we left.

I feel completely wrung out.
Too much sadness around me.
....and missing you more than ever.

I long to lay my head on your chest and fall asleep in your arms.
...and feel safe again.
even if only for a minute.

We miss you.
We love you.
XA

Two years

March 1 will mark 2 years since my beautiful life ended.

The life I loved.
The life where my best friend did everything with me.
The life where beautiful things were abundant and not edged with sadness.
The life where I felt safe and loved and content and happy.

Two years since that awful day.


Last year, there were lots of people around me on that day, but this year I know I want it to be just us so we can acknowledge it fully: crying when we need to cry, saying what we need to say and doing what we need to do.
After all, grief has to be acknowledged and lived and I can't do that when ten people are willing me not to cry (when I have every right to).

So this week, I shall wallow in the grief.
I shall acknowledge it, live it, and weep for the life I wanted for my family.
I will take that day off work and spend it with my children.
We will talk about Greg.
We will share our memories and look at old photos.
We will visit his grave - the kids will see it for the first time since the funeral.

...and we will grieve.

Together.

Then, we will pick ourselves back up and continue onwards into this different life.
This life that has replaced the beautiful one.

and we'll do it together.