A New Word ......

...... that describes what I am.
Much better than the old, much-hated word.

I think it's very interesting that the hatred of that word is almost universal.
Men hate it as much as women do.
The word?
Any version of "widow".

Did you hate that word when you first found yourself described as one?
I can remember the first time I heard it ...... the first time someone used it in association with me.
Shock tore through me and sucked the breath right out of my lungs.
I was literally stunned.
And then furious.

That seems insane, I know, but the picture that word put into my mind was pretty much identical to the painting, "Whistler's Mother" (above).
And that was NOT me.
Hell, I didn't even feel like a widow, let alone look like one.
I still felt very much married to Jim and I thought I'd always feel that way.
I resented being called the "W word" and I refused to even say it.

But one day ...... that changed.
It didn't happen over-night, or quickly.  It, like almost all things on this path, took time.
And it took meeting several other people who had been here longer.
But there came a day when I heard that word ...... and I didn't hate it.  I think that shocked me almost as much as when I first heard it.

I realized then that the word "widowed" meant something very different to me than it first did.  And the picture that came to mind had changed drastically.
I no longer saw an old woman dressed in black, sitting in a rocking chair.

I saw a woman who was stronger than she thought she was, a woman who could do more than she thought she could ...... a woman who was a survivor ...... after being to hell and back.
That was the new definition I had for the word "widow"...... Survivor.

But now I have a new word, a word I never heard until I was driving the other day and listened to a song on the radio.  I immediately identified with that song ...... and that word.
"Overcomer"
I like it.  Because that's exactly what I am.
And what you are, even if you don't feel like one.
One day you will.

I have overcome so very much in the last 6 1/2 years.  Not everything, but a lot.
I'm still here.  And I'm glad.
I couldn't always say that.
There were many, many days (weeks, months) when I thought that Grief would overcome me ...... when I almost gave up ...... when I thought I couldn't stand one more minute of pain.
But I'm still here.
And though I feel that I've "overcome" Grief, he still comes to visit me once in a while.
But he doesn't have the strength to pull me under now.  Or maybe I've grown stronger, so I can withstand his visits now.

I will always, always miss Jim.  And I will always hate that he's not here.
But I've learned that it's ok to decide to move forward.  I haven't "moved on", because that seems to imply forgetting the past, getting "over" Jim's death ...... and those things will never happen.
But "moving forward" means choosing to live life and to live it as fully as I can.
In spite of ...... well, you know.  In spite of everything.
And because of everything.

I'm an "Overcomer".
And so are a few hundred of my favorite people.
:)

 

I Miss Touch ......

(It's been a crazy day and I'm suffering from writer's block, so I've decided to do something I rarely do ...... re-post.  I was going through some old posts and this one from Sept. 2009 caught my eye ...... because it still applies ...... almost 5 years later.  Except for the part about having 2 teenage boys at home.  

So I apologize for re-posting, but I hope that some of you can still relate.)

...... for the past week or so one fact has been glaring me in the face ..... and all over me:
I miss being physically touched.
Note that I did not say I miss being sexually touched (not that I don't) but those are two very different things. I live in a house with two teenage boys who aren't that crazy about touching, let alone hugging, their mom. They are normal.
And I am starving.

I miss the small reassuring pat as he walked past me. I miss the hug from behind as I stood at the sink doing dishes, or at the stove, cooking.
I miss the kiss goodbye ---- Every. Single. Morning.
I miss the kiss hello ---- Every. Single. Evening.

I miss holding his hand.
I miss rubbing my hand over his too-short buzz cut.
I miss doing his laundry.
I miss him picking me up and squeezing me hard to help pop my back when I needed that.
I miss his massages.

I miss dangling my short legs over his long legs when we sat in a movie theatre (for some odd reason, that habit started on our 2nd date and never stopped).
I miss crying in his arms when I was upset/frustrated/angry about something.
I miss him holding my face because he loved looking at the smile in my eyes.
I miss him pulling me down onto his lap to just sit and cuddle.
I miss falling asleep with him, hand in hand.
I miss gently touching him to wake him up when he was snoring so that he'd roll onto his side.

I miss hearing the loud clacking sound of his biking shoes as he walked through the house after a ride.
(I miss making fun of his biking shorts before he left for a ride.)
I miss shutting the pantry doors behind him because, as a male, he couldn't manage that.
I miss hearing him thank me for dinner ...... whether it was soup and a sandwich, or a wonderful steak.

I miss the "just because" phone calls during the day to check on me.
I miss the text messages he'd send from the school board meetings.
I miss him opening doors for me ..... and making sure his sons did the same for me and for their sisters.
I miss the light in his eyes when he talked about biking.

I miss him helping me zip up a long zipper on the back of a dress.
I miss asking him which pair of shoes looks best with an outfit.
I miss making eye contact with him from across a room when we were out at a party.
I miss trying to avoid making eye contact with him at a party because I wasn't ready to go home.

I miss his arms ..... he had great arms.

I miss watching him drive the boat at the lake and how much he loved being there.
I miss watching him freak out when the weather turned suddenly and the waves ripped in while he tried to dock the boat with out uttering too many four-letter words in front of the kids.

I miss seeing live theatre regularly with him ..... which he learned to love because I loved it and he loved me.
I miss his deep voice.
I miss his whisper.

I miss him telling me that I'm beautiful.
I miss him, when I would complain about the heat in a room, telling me it was because I was "so hot".
I miss telling him he was full of crap when he'd say those things, but thanking him anyway because I knew that he truly saw me as beautiful ..... even if I didn't.

I truly don't understand how I've managed to stay alive this long with missing him so much, because this list of things I've missed is only a minute fraction of the things I miss. I can't believe that my heart has not just given out.
There are many, many days when I've wished it would, but there are starting ..... ever so slowly .... to be more days when I don't wish for that.
I watch my other widda friends who are further along on this path .... and they give me hope. I read the words of other widda friends and acquaintances who are further along, and they, too, give me hope.
I need hope.
Lots and lots of hope to help take the place of the things I miss.
I want hope.
I want laughter.
I want happiness.
I want to live so that I can encourage others and give them hope.

I want a lot.

And I think that's OK.

Another Birthday ......

                                                                 source

...... remembered, but not celebrated.

Jim would've been 54 today (as I write this it's Tuesday night).
Instead, he's forever 47.
And that sucks.
In more ways than one.

I hate that his birthday is so close to Christmas ...... which is so close to the day he died.
This time of the year can be one onslaught after another.
And yes, it still brings tears.

But it also brings warm memories.
Memories of baking spice cake for him every January 7th.
Memories of surprising him with a limo filled with friends ...... and a restaurant filled with more friends when he turned 40.
Memories of sitting around the table with the kids, having his favorite dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes.
More memories than I can list.
Which is a pretty wonderful thing.

Yes, I could sit here and write about all of the things he's/I've/we've missed out on.
But that would only serve to make me feel depressed and worse than I want to feel at the end of this day.
So instead I'm going to focus on doing more than I thought I would do today.
I'm going to do more than remember him.

I am going to celebrate him.
I'm going to celebrate who he was, and who he still is.
I'm going to celebrate the time we had, for as long as we had it.

I'm going to celebrate love.
Because it never ends.

Long live love.

New Year's Resolutions ......

                                                                      source
                                                         
...... whatever.

I don't have any resolutions.
I wish that I could say that's because Jim died 6 years ago.
But I didn't make resolutions before that.

I tried, for years ...... really.
But I found that most years, I failed at whatever it was.
Maybe I set the bar too high.
Most likely I set the bar too high.
But one year I just gave them up.

For me, making new year's resolutions is kind of like giving up something for Lent.
Which I don't do, either.
I think that I should always be in the process of bettering myself, of trying to give up bad habits, characteristics ...... people.

Not that I always succeed, but the purpose is to continue to try.
I don't want to do something because it's what's expected.
That's the rebel in me.  Of course.
And that's no surprise to anyone who knows me.

So as far as the year 2014 goes ...... I can only hope that it starts off better than 2013 is ending.
It's been a difficult week.  On many levels that are beyond my control.
Not a great way to end the year.

I know that Hope is real.
Even when I don't always feel it.
Hope is more than a feeling.
Thankfully.
Because feelings rise and plummet.

I cannot control anyone else in the world.
No matter how much I wish I could.
No matter what I want for them.

All I can control is me, and how I react.
I don't always react well ...... I wish I did.  I'm still working on that.
Maybe I'll work on that for 2014.
Not that I'm resolving to do that!
Not formally.

I'm just saying ...... maybe I'll try.

And thank you ...... to all of you who read and support us.
I know you'd rather not be here, so thank you especially for being here ...... in spite of that.

I wish us all a peaceful and Hope-filled 2014.

The Ghost Writer ......

                                                                             source


...... of Christmas Past.

I know that most of you out there wish this day was just an ordinary day.  Just the 25th day of December, no more, no less.
Actually, I know that most of you wish that you could've fallen asleep around December 22nd or so and stayed asleep until January 2nd.  Or February 15th.
I get that.
All too well.

In honor of all of us, I decided to go through my blog and give you posts of my past Christmases. Christmases that have occurred in my "after".
Maybe you'll relate to one or two of them.
Maybe you won't.

But here they are, for whatever they're worth.
I hope they help.

Year One:
12/23/08
"Let's Be Honest ......"

...... not everyone likes Christmas.

    Let me clarify.  It's not Christmas itself.  I mean, I'm thankful for Christ's birth.  I'm great with setting aside a day to be extra thankful for that and to remember that without this birth my life would be very black indeed.  I'm grateful that this birth gives me the gift of hope --- and the knowledge that I will be with Jim again.

     But I have oh-so-recently arrived on the "other side".  The "outside looking in" side.  And the people on the outside do not like Christmas.  Not the event, but the season.  Or more specifically, the way Americans celebrate the season .... starting before Halloween.  

     I've always been aware of the 'outside people', but since we're being truthful here, I didn't give them a whole lot of thought.  Of course we've donated to charities, we've worked for the homeless, we've bought gifts for families who had none, etc. etc. etc.  But once I'd done that, my attention shifted to MY family, MY shopping, MY celebrating, MY plans.  The thought that one day I'd be an 'outside person' never entered my head.  Never.

     Yet here I am.  Looking at the "joy" and the commercials and the shoppers and the commercials and the decorations and the commercials and the people who feel pressured to go out among the millions of crazy people shoppers to get one more gift.  Or maybe two.

And now I see, really see, for the first time, what a mess we make of this holiday holyday.  It's like my eyes had some kind of film over them "before".  The same film that millions of people have over their eyes.  Or is it thousands of people?  Or hundreds?  

     I'm not sure what's worse:  to have had the film and then have it torn away, or to never have had the film in the first place.

     My eyes now see how many there are of us on the outside.  I didn't see them before.  And now I am one of them.  And there are hundreds of them.  Or is it thousands?  Or millions?  There are more than you know.  Many of them clamp those masks on for this time of year, so they're harder to identify.  But I see them.  Most of them anyway. 

    I see the people who have no family.  No one to "celebrate" with.  No one that looks like the people in the commercials.  

     I see people who have "family" but cannot, choose not, should not spend time with people who don't deserve the title of "family".  

    I see people who have nothing -- who feel and see the pressure of "celebrating", but can't afford it.  And then feel worthless because they can't make their family look like the ones in the commercials.

     I see people who have only one thing in their life .... because that one horrible thing has pushed everyone and everything else out of it.  They don't want this thing, but don't know how to free themselves of the demon that it is.

     I see people who are angry.  I see that they were hurt first, and then became angry.  And that anger is their shield of protection to push everyone away.  They don't have anyone to "celebrate" with, but they also don't have anyone close enough to hurt them.

     I see the people like me -- the ones who's hearts are torn apart and hurting.  The ones who's bodies feel so heavy that smiling is exhausting, let alone "celebrating".  The ones who wonder if they'll ever want to "celebrate" again.

     

     But then I remember this holyday.  And what it's supposed to be about.  What it's really about.  

 I know that the film will never grow back over my eyes.  

But I think that's a good thing.

And I hope that my heart, though it will always hurt, will hurt a little less.

And I know that's a good thing.
****************************************************************************
Year Two:
December 27, 2009
"It's the Most Wonderful Time ......"

..... of the year.

Or not.

I wonder why we have three such huge holidays slapped right up against each other?  Who was in charge of that?!

I mean, really?  We (read: "outsiders") just get through the whole "being thankful" thing and then, a few weeks later we manage to barely get our head above the crashing waves of Christmas.  But we do.  We tread water and manage to survive the waves as best we can.

And then ..... just when we think the waves may be subsiding ...... the tsunami of New Year's roars in.

For us "outsiders", there is nothing ....... (well, other than that pesky 14th day of February) ..... worse than New Year's Eve.  

And I think that we make the "insiders" very, very uncomfortable.  They don't know what to do with us on those two days ..... so they don't.  

I can't say as I blame them.  

Really.

I envy them.  

I hope they realize how blessed they are.

I hope they don't take for granted how blessed they are.

And I hope they have a wonderful New Year's Eve.

And maybe toss a lifesaver out into the waves once in a while.
***************************************************************************
Year Three::
December 22, 2010

"You Should Be Happy ......"

.... is what someone told me last night.
Actually, the entire sentence was .... "All of your children are home.  You should be happy."
I felt like I had been slapped in the face.
I was on the phone, explaining to this person, through tears, that I was feeling sad.
And that sentence was the response I got.

Most people would probably agree with that statement.
But you who read this blog are not "most people".
Thank God.

My response was to almost yell into the phone, "Don't tell me that!  Don't tell me what I should be feeling!"
There was quiet on the other end.  But no apology.  No attempt at an explanation.
I said, "I AM happy that the kids are home.  But it's very bittersweet.  Yes, we're all together.  But we're not ALL home.  Jim is not here and that makes me sad.  Very sad.  Yes, even after three stinking years it makes me sad."

It's been a difficult week.  I'm content one minute, in tears the next.
I don't remember being this emotional last year, but then I AM a widow and so my memory is not what it once was.
I AM happy to have all of the kids here.  And so very grateful.
But the presence of seven of us is a huge reminder that there are not eight.
Just like the stockings that are hanging over our fireplace.
This is the first year that I did not add Jim's.
It just seems too painful to constantly see it there.
The stockings are such a visible reminder that he is not .... visible.

So yes, maybe in the eyes of some people I should be happy.
I am blessed.  My children are all healthy and they are all home.
I have many loving family members and friends.
I am financially secure.
I should be happy.

And I usually am now.

But this week, this month .... I am sad.
And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Except ignore the ignorant, thoughtless words of people who don't know what the hell they're talking about.
Sounds like a plan .....
*********************************************************************************
Year Four:
December 24, 2011
"I Have a Love/Hate Relationship ......"

.... with Christmas Eve.
Actually, I'd love to say that I weigh in heavier on the love side, but I don't think that would be true.
And I hate that I hate some of it.

Every year we go to one of the Christmas Eve services ..... and then we go to dinner with friends.
And every year I sit there and cry through most of the service.

Every year at least one person stops me after the service and says, "Are you ok?"
And every year I say, "No."
Sigh .....

It doesn't get easier.
It just ..... is.

I dread going to church on this night.
But I can't imagine not going on this night.
It's part of Christmas.
It always has been.

Staying home wouldn't do anything ..... it wouldn't make me feel any better.
It would just make one night different .... one night that should probably stay as much the same as possible.

And so .... it does.
I hope one day I will love it again.
At least more than I hate it.
*******************************************************************************
Year Five:
December 22, 2012
"December 22, 2012 ...... A Date That Will Live ......"

...... in my memory.
Forever.

This is the day ...... the very first day in 5 years and 5 days ...... that I have truly, unquestionably and finally ...... felt 100% happy.
Happy without reservations.  Happy without "if only".  Happy without having to add "mostly".

I have all 6 kids under one roof (although only momentarily because Son #2 has to leave shortly and Son #3 just returned home).  And we have two additional friends here, spending Christmas with us.
Nine stockings have been hung by the chimney with care.  Two dogs are frolicking around our family room (and I'm good with that ...... I'll soon have two more here permanently).  The beds are all full, as are two additional air mattresses.
The pantry and the fridges are full.  The games are out and ready to play.  The packages are wrapped (don't get me started) and under the tree ..... almost dwarfing the tree this year.  (The problem with doing all of your shopping on line is that you sometimes lose track of what you've bought .... and who's been ordered what.  I'll have to do a much better job next year).

It's been a very good day.  We didn't go anywhere.  Or at least I didn't.  Daughters #1 and #2 left to get a couple of presents and to go to the airport to pick up Daughter #1's friend tonight.
We've watched great classic movies.  And Harry Potter #3, which I don't consider a classic.  Not for quite a few years.

Son #2 came over after he got off work.  We all had pizza for dinner.  And a little wine. (OK, we ALL didn't have wine ..... 2 of the 9 are too young, much to their chagrin).  And momentarily, as soon as HP3 is over, there is talk of doing something called "Irish Car Bombs", which is a hugely politically incorrect name of some kind of "shot".
But I'm a game girl and willing to hang in there with the young people ...... for at least one of them.
And then praying I'm not upchucking all night long.

Tomorrow we will meet at Son #2's apartment and then go out for lunch.  Then we'll attend a Christmas Eve Service, and then come home for a home cooked meal.  We haven't decided what that will be yet, but most likely, Italian.  And maybe the start of a new tradition.

I.
Am.
Happy.

And so happy that I'm happy.
It's about time.
It's beyond about time.
It's been 5 years.
And 5 days.

Yes, I wish Jim were here.  But he's not.  And I can't do anything about that.  So I will enjoy who I have, while I have them.  And remember him and treasure his love and him ...... in my heart, where he'll always be.
So, in a way, he's here, too.

It feels so great to feel 100% happy.
T.A.N.W.*

Thank you to all of my loved ones, who've waited for this day with me.
Thank you to all of my readers ...... who've rooted for me and for the arrival of this day.
Thank you to all of you who are on this path with me, both ahead and a bit behind.
Don't lose hope.
Ever.

While I know there will still be painful days, and still be tears that come from nowhere, I am still happy.
And that's very, very huge.
************************************************************************************************************
So there you go.  Five Christmases without him.  Today is number 6.  
And I can truthfully tell you, though while I wish with every fiber of my being, that he could be here, it's still going to be a good day.
He would want that.  As I would want that for him and for our children.
Christmas, just as every other day of the year, is not the same.
But that doesn't mean it can't be good ...... again.

It's been a long road.
A very long road.

For all of us.
Please know that today I am thinking about all of you.
And wishing you peace, love and contentment.
They might not come today ...... but they will come.
Please hang in there.  And hang onto Hope.
Because someone is on this road, right behind you, 
thinking, "If he/she can make it that far, so can I."


*T.A.N.W. = There Are No Words

Wistful ......

                                                          Source

...... is probably the best way to describe how I am feeling today, the day that marks the sixth year since Jim died.
It also happens to be the birthday of my sister, my brother and my step-dad.  Which totally sucked for them 6 years ago.  I hope it sucks less now.

I'm at a good point in my life, and yet ......
...... I miss him.
So very much.

I'm looking forward to Christmas, for the first time in six years, and yet ......
I'm also sad that two of my sons will be back in Texas, while the rest of us are up east.
I know that this eventually happens with most families with adult children.  And with six children, I can't really expect that we'll all spend every holiday together, no matter how much I'd like that.

I love living in New York and I truly feel that this is home now, and yet ......
the tears have flowed this week, and flow as I write this.
That's because I can never, EVER say, or write/type the words, "I miss him", without crying.
Even after 6 years.
God, how I miss him.

But I am in such a better place now, even with the tears.
Rather than feeling depressed and hopeless this week, I mostly feel wistful.
Which is so much better than how I've felt the past six years.
I looked up the definition of "wistful" and here's what Merriam-Webster's says:

wist·ful

 adjective \ˈwist-fəl\

: having or showing sad thoughts and feelings about something that you want to have or do and especially about something that made you happy in the past

Wow!  That pretty much sums it up.  I'm having sad thoughts and feelings about someone I want to have, and especially about someone who made me happy in the past.  Wistful, but not full blown grieving, because I've moved forward and know it isn't possible to have him back.  And I know that focusing on my grief at this point in my life will keep me from seeing the good in my life.
It will keep me from living in my "now", and enjoying the people and things I have now.

Hell, that doesn't mean I wouldn't trade everything to have him back.  That will always be a "given".  It just means that I now accept the fact that I'll never have the chance to do that.  But I do have a chance, every day, to focus, and enjoy my "now".  
That doesn't mean that there won't be more tears today, or in the future.
It doesn't mean that things are always great, or that they will always be great.
I'm not a fool.

I'm just a woman who's grieved very, very hard ...... and is relieved to just feel ......
wistful ...... on this day.
And during these holidays.

I wish that for each of you ...... in your own time.

I love you, Jim.  And always will.
No matter how many December 18ths come and go.

Tears Amongst Happiness ......

                                                                          source


...... is what I've experienced this week.
Yes, this is the time of year when I usually experience my annual "death march".  The time that my body marks, better than any earthly calendar.  The days leading up to Jim's unexpected death on December 18, 2007.

This has been a good year.  In many ways.
And yet, it seems unbelievable that I am coming up on 6 years.

It seems even more unbelievable that I'm not experiencing the usual depression and hatred of all thing Christmas-related.

But that doesn't mean that there haven't been tears.

The other night I was writing to a friend, telling her how happy I was that she was able to be traveling all over the world with her husband right now, with her kids in college.  As I started to write those words, the tears began to flow.  And I admitted to her that I am envious.
Envious because that is what I should be doing right now, with Jim.
But I'm not.

I'm still able to be happy for her, and to smile through the tears.

Tonight, I took my mom to see Billy Crystal's one-man show, entitled "700 Sunday's".
I had no idea what the title meant, I only knew that it was about his life.
And that he's incredibly talented.
And that I truly enjoy him.

But ...... here's what I found out:  "700 Sundays" refers to how many Sundays he estimates that he had (his favorite family day of the week) with his dad ...... before he died when Billy was 15.

He had a great childhood, to say the least, until his father died.
In the show, he talks about the night his father died, and how his mother came home to tell him about it, when he was in bed, asleep.

And as he talked about this point in his life, time seemed to swirl around me ...... and then it took me back to the wee hours of December 18th, 2007.
The night I climbed into bed with my 15 year old (and then my 13 year old) ...... and had to tell him that, in spite of what I had been told, what I had believed, what I had told him ...... his dad had died.

The tears would not stop flowing.  He talked about how his father's death affected his life, emotionally, physically and financially.  And suddenly, I could see December 18, 2007 ...... and its aftermath ...... through the eyes of my 15 year old.

I wish I could have seen it that way then ...... but I could not.  And, truth be told, if it were to happen all over again, I believe I'd react the same way.  I lost my husband, my first love, my best friend, my protector, my supporter, my cheerleader, my moral compass, the father of my children ...... my future, in one unexpected moment.
I doubt that I'd react any differently now, though I wish I could've.
It was what it was.

So tonight I laughed.  And laughed and laughed and laughed.
And I cried, and cried and cried.
It was a great show.  It was very moving and very emotional, which I did not expect.

Two years ago, this show would've done me in.
I would've been depressed for weeks.

But tonight ...... tonight I can see it for what it was.  A true story, with many, many laughs over happy memories.
A true story with many, many tears ...... because that's what life is.
Tears amongst happiness.

It used to be smiles amongst sadness ...... but that's changed.
I'm mostly happy.
Tears still come, as they have this week ...... and as I'm sure they will continue to come at this time of year.
But I am happy.  And I know that the tears will not come in waves that will pull me under.
Like they used to.

Everyone has happy memories.
And everyone has sad memories.
Which makes me ...... normal.

I thank God for normal.
Now.
:)

Life Does NOT Look ......

                                                                   source

...... the way I expected it to look ...... 6 years ago.

Six years ago he was still alive.
Although for only 14 more days,  unbeknownst to any of us.

Over the years, I remember looking at people I knew, who had lost their spouse, and wondering, "What were they thinking 24 hours before?"  Seriously.  I thought that.  I wondered.
I don't know why.
But I did.

And then it happened to me.
Suddenly.
Unexpectedly.
Horrifically.
Horribly.
Cruelly.

And I knew that other people were thinking, "What was she thinking about ...... the day before?"
Well, I'll tell you.
I was thinking, "Thank You, God.  All of the kids are now home."  The last one had arrived Saturday night.  She experienced a few hours with Jim on Sunday, before his aorta tore in the middle of the night on Sunday/Monday.
I was thinking, "I can't believe that Dan Fogelberg died today."  If you had read my blog back then, you would've seen that post.  The last post I wrote before Jim died.
I was thinking,"My Christmas shopping is done!  Now I can sit back and enjoy the time with my kids and the holidays."

That's the kind of thing I was thinking ..... only hours before my life went to hell.
Those are some of the thoughts I had ...... in my innocence, in my naivety, in my "before".

And now?  What are my thoughts now?
First and foremost ...... my life does NOT look at all like I expected it to look.

Oh, I had thoughts of living in NYC.  Jim and I had discussed the idea ...... a bit.  He thought it was a great idea.
And then he died.

So I had thought of us living here.
But I'd never thought of just me living here.
Me and two daughters.
With one son wanting to move here and my third daughter wanting to join us.

I pictured the two of us living in TX, where all of our friends were.
But I knew that we'd have to move in the next couple of years.  His job would have required that.  But we both figured that we would ultimately move back to TX one day.

It's funny (not ha-ha) how fast life can change.
One day you think you know how everything is, and will be, going.
You think you finally have a handle on things.
And then one day, you wake up to find that you don't.
And that you really never did.

So my life doesn't look like I thought it would.
But that doesn't mean that it's horrible.
It was.  For a very long time.
I don't like thinking about that time.

But slowly, sometimes at almost a snail's pace, things changed.  I changed.
I knew that I had a choice to make.
Finally.
Before that point I had no strength to make a choice.  Any choice.
But one day ...... one day, I did.
I had to choose to either ...... die ...... or live.
I knew what Jim would want me to choose.  And by then, I knew what I wanted to choose.
Life.
I was done with Death.  He had taken over too much of my life.  He had moved in and taken ownership over too many things.
It was time to kick him the hell out.
And so I did.

I never pictured losing the friends I lost.
Or gaining the amazing friends I've gained.

It didn't happen over night.  Nothing along this path does, with the exception of the actual death that starts us here.
It's a very long, very dark, very painful and very cold valley.  We all have to walk through it.  At our own pace.

I made it through that valley.  And now I can say that life doesn't look the way I expected it to when I went in.
I never thought I'd be happy again.
I never thought I"d enjoy life again.
I never thought my heart would stop feeling painfully broken.
I never thought I'd really want to live again.
I was wrong.
Thankfully.

I never thought I'd be a person who could offer hope to anyone else.
Seriously.
But here I am.
And that's why I write.
The only reason I write.

No, life doesn't look the way I thought it would ...... 6 years ago.
But that doesn't mean it's not good.
Finally.

Thankful ......

...... is not something I have felt a lot these past almost-6 years.
I mean, I've felt it for a few things, like my children, my family and friends who were there for me when I really needed them.

But it was beyond difficult to feel thankful, while at the same time not believing that Jim was dead.

But this year ...... this year is different.
These are the things I'm thankful for, even in the midst of missing him every single day:

1.  The first thought I have when I wake up every day isn't, "Jim is dead".
2.  The last thought I have before I fall asleep every night isn't "Jim is dead".
3.  I rarely think, "I can NOT believe that this is my life!"
4.  I smile more times than I cry when I think of him.
5.  The future isn't inky black for me anymore.
6.  I learned who my true friends are.
7.  Jim was such a good husband that he prepared for something neither of us thought
    would happen ...... at least not for another 50 or so years.
8.  My sons look very, very much like their father.
9.  Pictures of him don't stop me cold and send in tsunami-like waves of grief.
10.  I no longer constantly feel like I'm going to drown in those waves.
11.  I no longer wish I were dead.
12.  I no longer hope that I'll be hit by a bus, struck by lightening, or be in a plane crash.
13.  I no longer believe that I'll never be happy again.
14.  I don't fear for my children's lives every time they drive away now.
15.  I don't see those looks of pity on a regular basis.
16.  I don't get pissed off when I see cyclists on the road (Jim was one and I used to want
       to run every one of them down after he died.  Insane?  A bit.)
17.  I now have enough concentration to read books and watch movies without
       falling asleep.
18.  I don't resent old couples walking hand in hand anymore.
19.  I know that Jim would be proud of me, and of his children.
20.  I didn't have him long enough, but I did have him and I know I was loved better
       than most people I know.

I could probably go on with this list, but I won't.
You're welcome.
:)

If you are not at the point where you're able to feel gratefulness ...... please don't worry. Don't knock yourself for that.  It doesn't mean you're ungrateful or stuck or whatever.
It only means that you're normal.
You'll get here.
One breath at a time.

Running Away ......

                                               The holiday ice skating rink in Bryant Park, NYC

...... or moving forward?

I could use the trite saying, "You be the judge",  but I don't really care to hear any judgements.
Go figure.

I'm back in NY.  The place where, at this point in my life, I love to be.
The place where, at this point in my life, I feel happy.
The place where, at this point in my life, I feel at home.

This will be the first Thanksgiving and Christmas that my family (most of us) has spent here.
This will be the first Thanksgiving and Christmas that we haven't been in our previous home (for one or the other, or both, holidays) ...... since Jim died.
Almost 6 years ago.
Six years ago ...... the week before Christmas.
But who's counting?

(As an aside, I've always found it interesting, and pretty damn amazing, that my body seems to keep count ...... even when my brain doesn't.
I would bet that most non-widowed people would scoff at this thought.  Or think I (we?) was crazy.
But I don't think it's just a thought.  I think it's a fact.
How many times have I (you?) felt "unsettled", or very emotional (more than usual, anyway) and not really known why?  Until it suddenly occurred to me (you?) what date it was.
And then my (your?) brain caught up with my (your?) body.
Or is it just me?
I know.
That was a very long aside.)
:)

I know there are those of you who don't want to hear/read this, but I think there are more of you who need to:
For the first time in almost 6 years ...... I am not dreading Thanksgiving.
Or its aftermath ...... which has been Christmas.
Or New Years.
And.
That.
Is.
Huge.

I don't think for one moment that these holidays won't end up smacking the air out of me ...... again.
All I know is what I feel right now...... at this point in my life.

I know this has to do with being here, somewhere new.
Somewhere where "we" were not.
At least for the holidays.

And I know, as sure as I know that Jim loved me, that I am not, as some have said, "running away".
I'm not running away from our home.
I'm not running away from the memories.
Like that's even possible?!

I am moving forward.
As I know he would want.
I'm choosing to start the next chapter of my life.
And it doesn't happen to start where the last chapter ended.
For some people ...... it does.
But not for me.
And I'm ok with that.

This is not how I saw my life going.
Seven years ago.
Or even four years ago.
But then ...... life often throws curves, doesn't it?
Curves that no one saw coming.

I'm not running away from this curve.
I'm choosing to follow it ...... in my own way ...... and see where it goes.

I've Met The Most Amazing People ......

This is a post I wrote on my blog ten months after Jim died.  I thought that I'd share it with you today.  I don't go back and read most of my posts.  I don't like re-visiting that "cave".  Especially those days where that cold, inky blackness totally engulfed me, filled every pore of my body and threatened to completely suffocate me.
But once in a while I'll remember a "lighter" post, which trust me, were few and far between back then.  I thought this one was interesting.  I hope you do, too.

October 10, 2008 
   Well, it's another late night so I have no idea where this will go.  I don't have the energy to find a picture of Jim to put here so I'm just going to "emote".

Note:  any time you see the word "emote" on my blog you should immediately run away.  If you have a Mac you should go to the top left corner and click on the X.  If you own a PC you should exit from this page (is it the top right side?  I can't remember).  

Anyway, you have been warned.  "Emote" = run away.  Proceed at your own risk.

     OK, here are some of the thoughts I've been thinking.  

First, I can NOT believe that it's been almost a year now in my "after".  A year.  Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty five (six with Leap Year) days.  A milestone.  A marker.  An anniversary.  An incredibly horrible amount of time to commemorate an incredibly horrible day. 

Incredible.  Horrible.

     I know it's only been almost 10 months, but 10 months is incredibly, horribly close to 12 months.

     It seems that it's been only a moment in time.  I blinked and now it's October.  Ten months later.  I need to stop blinking.

     The next thought is about my "new normal".  I know, in my head, that I have a new "normal".  But my heart has been waiting for the old normal to show up.  My heart has been waiting for things to get better.  My heart has been wanting life to carry on in the "before" way.

And now my mind is telling my heart, "Face the facts.  Life will never, ever again be "normal".  This will never, ever get better.  Your life will never, ever be the same and you won't feel the same.  You now have to adjust to the new "after".  And one day, the "after" will become "normal".  

No matter how much I don't want that.  

       

     Here's the next thought (if you haven't run away by now I'm giving you one last warning.  It only gets worse):

     I really, REALLY hate it when people say, "So-and-so was healed because your prayers worked."  Or "God answers prayer".  Or "If you have enough faith God will answer your prayer" or "So many people prayed for him/her that God healed him/her."

     To all of those trite and incredibly naive statements I want to answer, "Really?!?!?!!  Are you freakin' kidding me?!!".  Why is it that some peoples' prayers "work" and some don't?   Don't tell me it's the number of prayers because that has NOTHING to do with it.  I know this from personal experience.  And do NOT tell me that I did not have enough faith and so Jim died .... because that's EXACTLY what you say when you say that thing about having enough.  I had nothing but faith.  Nothing.  I had no doubt .... none, zero, zilch .... that Jim would come through that surgery with flying colors.  Not for one second.  

I.  Never.  Doubted.

And look what happened.

     If I learned anything through all of this it is this:  God is not Santa Claus.  Not even close.

We cannot give him a list of what we want or do not want and expect that He will grant our wants.  Even if that want is for physical healing of someone.  No matter how hard you pray.  No matter how many people pray.  No matter how much faith you have.

No matter.

Prayer is for you and you alone.  Prayer is for you to get closer to God.  Prayer is for you to learn to rely on God.  Prayer is for you to turn to God.  Prayer is for your relationship with God.  

Prayer is not to get your wish list.

God knows what's going to happen and what's not going to happen.  Who are we to think that we're so vital to His plan that we can change His mind?   Don't get me wrong .... I know that He loves me.  I know that He wants only good for me.  But I also know that if I weren't here He would use someone else.  

Cynical?  Maybe.  But then, all I have to go on is experience.

I love Him no less that I loved Him on December 17th, 2007.  In fact, I love Him more.  In spite.

He has been here.  Even when I don't feel Him, He's here.  He's carried me, he's wiped my tears, He's cried with me.  He is here.  

But he didn't allow Jim to live.  In spite of the prayers.  

In spite of .....

I'll never understand why and I'll never see the "good" in allowing him to die.

I can see Him using my "after" to help others.  I can see Him using my "after" for good.  But I can't see him letting Jim die so that I can see good.  I cannot believe in that kind of god.

And I can't/don't believe in a god who says, "OK, you prayed hard enough for this person....I will let him live."   Or "Hmmmm, it's too bad that you didn't pray hard enough, or get more people to pray.  Now I'm not going to let him live."

The God I believe is is not an egocentric, punitive God.  He is a God who loves me so much that He uses the horrible to do something good.  He loves me so much that He continues to bless me.  I may not see the blessings every day, but that doesn't mean they're not there. They are.  Always.

So enough of what I believe and don't believe.

Here's what I know:  I have met the most amazing people in my "after".  The women who are on this path next to me are incredible.  It's difficult to explain to the people who are not on this path.  And I pray that you never have to get on it.  But if you do, I hope that I can walk beside you.  I hope that I can be just a fraction of the support that these women have been for me.

These are both women I've met and women I have yet to meet in person.  

My Circle of friends is such a healing group of women.  They get me.  They support me.  They listen to me without thinking I need serious psychological help.  I can say anything I feel ... and they get it.  I love being with them and miss them when we're don't get together.

And that goes for certain friends that I've "met", but haven't met.  The women who share their walk with me by encouraging me with their comments.  We've never met but we've connected.

They share their lives and their experiences on their blogs and with their comments.  They are a blessing to me.

Neo, thank you so much for calling me tonight to just check on me.  For being a concerned friend.  For giving me your time.  For caring.  

I appreciate you.  And can't wait to spend some time with you!!

    

And now it is after 11:30 at night and I can't keep my eyes open.

Literally.

Have a good Thursday and thank you to those amazing women on this path who have commented.  

Good night.

Finding A Balance ......

                                                              source
                 

...... is sometimes difficult to do.
In all areas of life.
And on this blog.

It's difficult to write posts that will connect with everyone.  If we write about how horribly dark and depressing and hard-to-survive those first days, weeks and months are ...... we don't connect with those who've been in this "club" for quite a while.

If we write about finding happiness again (albeit a different happiness) and that life is once again worth living, we don't connect with those who are drowning in grief.

We can't always reach everyone.
So what do we do?
We write what we know.
We write what we're living.
That's all we can do.
It won't always be enough, but that's why there are seven of us.  Hopefully at least one writer will write something that will make you feel less alone, less crazy, less ...... lesser.

There's no doubt about it ...... having a reason to be here, reading this ...... sucks.
And that's putting it mildly.
I came kicking and screaming into this club.  I didn't want to be here, I didn't think I belonged here, and I hated being associated with anyone who was here.
And while I still hate that I have a reason to be here, I've come to accept that ...... here is where I am.
No amount of kicking or screaming, or hating that Jim is dead ...... will bring him back.

That acceptance did not come easily, and it did not come quickly.
At least not for me.
I grieved hard.
But then, I loved hard.
I had him for a long time.
Not long enough, to be sure.
But long enough to ensure that I was going to grieve a long time.

I'm not dumb enough to believe that I will reach a point where I'll never grieve.  I will always miss him.
Always.
But I have arrived at the point where I am no longer sitting in the bottom of that deep, dark, cold cave that is grief.  I slowly managed to walk out of that cave.  And I do mean slowly.
In the beginning, I thought I'd never get out of that cave.  I imagined I'd die in there.
And I almost did.
Almost.

But I was stronger than I thought I was.  I made it out.
It took longer than I wish it had, but hey ...... out is out.

So what's my point?
Just this:
We are all grieving.  Yet we all grieve on our own time line.  There's no right way ...... or wrong way.
We grieve the way we grieve.
For as long as it takes.

But hopefully, once we get past those oh, so very hard first months ...... or years ...... one day we look forward, and notice that the air around us is a little lighter.  The future has turned from coal black, to dark grey.  And for the first time, we feel hope.
Hope that the sky will become lighter still.
Hope that we'll one day be able to take that last step which will take us, finally, out of the cave.
Hope that one day we'll smile again ...... and feel it.

So even though you may not believe it, or want to hear it, hope is out there.
You don't have to believe it ...... yet.
Some of us will believe it for you.
And we'll be here ...... when you're ready.

So while my words won't connect with all of you, I want you to know that I was there.
In that cave.
And if I could make my way out ...... anyone can.
I promise.

Happily Ever After ......

                                                              source

...... is just a line in fairy tales. 
No one knows that better than those of you reading this blog.

But then ...... if we're honest ...... it always was.

Yes, many of us had great marriages.
But none of us had perfect marriages.

Many of us had terrific partners.
But none of us had one who was perfect.

I always found it interesting how suddenly perfect Jim became ...... after he died.
Don't get me wrong, he was a good man and a great husband.
Most of the time.
Those are the four words that people seem to forget ...... "most of the time".

Sometimes it's the widowed who see our loved one through the veil of grief that separates us from our true memories.
But most of the time, at least for me, it was others who suddenly seemed to promote Jim to the level of sainthood ...... or as close to it as a non-Catholic can get. 

In the beginning those comments were comforting.
But after a while they started to get irritating.
And then very irritating.
Because seriously?  Could anyone actually live up to the selective memories that people tend to gain after someone dies?
Not only that, but would anyone actually want to live with someone who was that perfect? I don't know about you,  but I would've found a such a spouse to be a huge pain in the ass.
Plus, it always felt like the closer Jim came to perfection, the further away I drifted. 
And I was nowhere close to it when he was alive.

So maybe I won't be living happily ever after because I'm widowed.
But I'll settle for how I would've lived ...... and how I'll continue to live, with or without a spouse:
Normally ever after.
With happiness stuffed in there as often as possible.

Drifted Back to NY ......

...... and the relief I felt as soon as I sat down in my seat on the plane yesterday morning was amazing.
It was like I had been carrying 500 pounds on my shoulders (causing a lot of pain in my neck!).  As soon as I dropped into that seat,  all of that weight lifted.
In fact, I was so relaxed that I slept through most of the flight ...... which is a rarity for me.
Carrying all of that weight is exhausting.

Letting go of it is almost exhilarating.

I'm feeling less adrift right now.
Funny, I always feel that way when I'm here.
Always.

Maybe I should stop over-thinking things and just plan on moving here as soon as my house in Texas sells.
Who says I can't change my mind at a later date?
Who says I can't find somewhere else to live if this place turns out to be less than "home"?

It seems so strange that a place so large and so full of strangers ...... feels more like "home" than any other place on earth.
I think it's the freedom I feel when I step off of the plane.

I'm free to be myself ...... and no one's bothered by that here.
No one here knows that I used to be different ...... that I had a "before".

I'm free of the concerns and responsibilities that threaten to pull me under when I'm back there.
I'm free of the memories that lurk in every corner of my house, and on almost every street of my community.

I'm free from the relationships that also used to be different ...... in our "before".
I'm not the only one who was changed by my husband's death.
Not by a long shot.
But I am the one, along with my children, who have to live in it, day in, day out .....
every.
single.
24 hours.

Who knew that freedom would come in a city of over 8 million people?
Not me.
But now that I know ...... I'm accepting it.
And grabbing hold of it with both hands.
And enjoying every second of it.

For as long as it lasts.
:)

Feeling Adrift ......

                                                                 

                                                                     

                                                                     source
...... like someone alone in a canoe ...... with no oar, no compass.

I feel as though I'm living in some kind of in-between layer of life.  It feels like I don't belong anywhere anymore ...... like a tree that's been cut away from its roots.
No place feels like "home" right now, or whatever "home" used to feel like.

My house in Texas is on the market and most of the time I feel like that's the right decision.  But then the shadow of doubt creeps in and starts to cloud my mind and I don't know what's right for me.

I love NY, but I wonder if I'll be too lonely in the long run.  I know that sounds crazy to most people ...... how can you feel lonely in a place where almost 8 million other people live?
I also know that I don't have to explain that feeling here.  You get that.  You have most likely felt the same dark loneliness in a room full of people.
I used to feel that way often in the first year or two of grieving.  I thought that it had passed.
I was wrong.

I seem to feel lonely no matter where I am.  Not all of the time, but definitely more lately.  Home is no longer "home", but then ...... neither is anywhere else.
I miss my roots.

I have no doubt that I'd be feeling something quite like this if Jim were alive.  After all, our youngest child left for college 2 months ago.  I know that this is partly "empty nest syndrome".
But I also know that this "rootless" feeling is another result of his death.
In a world full of couples, of shifted relationships, of empty bedrooms ...... the person I most belonged with is missing.  The one relationship here on earth that I knew was as solid as stone no longer grounds me ...... no longer helps me feel that I belong.

Experience tells me that this feeling will most likely pass.
It also tells me that it may take some time.
It does not, however, tell me what I should decide.
Or where I should put down new roots.

That's where hope comes in.
I hope that this loneliness will fade soon and that I'll be able to decide what my next step should be.

And I hope that I will once again feel a sense of belonging.
Wherever my canoe lands.