What I Have Forgotten

My journey as a widow began four years ago today. Four years seems like both an eternity, and an instant. Standing at the foot of his emergency room bed that day, watching his pulserate drop to zero, I saw the road ahead of me very clearly. Alone. That was the word that my brain screamed. Alone.

At first I didn't want to touch his things, for fear that my scent would overpower his. But as shock turned to despair, I reached out for him and found comfort in his sweatshirt, his t-shirts, his slippers.

For awhile I could hear his voice in my ears, but as time passed I could no longer hear the exact cadence of his voice. I became extremely grateful for the brief recording of our wedding.

In the early days everyone remembered the important milestones. But with the changing of many seasons the dates that used to fill me with sorrow sometimes pass unnoticed by anyone.

In August of 2005 the best I could do was put one foot in front of the other. In August of 2009 I have recovered the ability to dream.

I have forgotten how my stomach feels when I am desperate. I have forgotten which hamstring he tore in that race he insisted on running one June day. I have forgotten how it feels to have his hand on my hip. I have forgotten how I managed to get myself out of bed those first few months. I have forgotten what carrying a weight on my heart every minute of every day felt like. I have forgotten the bitterness that haunted me for years. I have forgotten the initial revulsion I felt for the word widow.

But I remember how to love Phil. I remember the joy with which he filled my days. I remember the comfortable feeling of being loved. I remember his silly antics, the way he charmed people, and the intensity with which he cared for his family. I remember the pride I felt in being married to Phillip Hernandez.

It has taken me four years to realize that what I remember is more important than what I forget. And that love is the only thing that never dies.

In Loving Memory of Phillip Hernandez
11/12/65-8/31/05
A Life Well Lived

What I Miss

I miss familiarity. I miss being known. I miss lapsitting. I miss having a guaranteed birthday celebration. I miss the knowledge that if I break down on the road Phil is coming for me. I miss every day cell phone calls, transmitting news by just a look, and the daily irritations of sharing life with a partner.

I miss Phil's smile. I miss the fact that he always could be counted on for chopping duties in the kitchen. I miss his ability to get to the heart of a disagreement in thirty seconds flat. I miss him jumping out of bushes to scare me. I miss running with him. I miss laughing with him. I miss listening to him sing when he forgot other people were within earshot. I miss the way he complained about chick flicks. I miss his eagerness to experience new things. I miss his sense of adventure. I miss hearing his old rock station blarring out of the garage. I miss the neighborhood kids stopping by to get their bike tires pumped up. I miss weekend getaways, and family vacations.

I miss the basketball games he led in the driveway. I miss him collecting the gossip from the neighbors. I miss being able to tell him that the drain is backed up again. I miss discussing options with him. I miss his irreverent sense of humor. I miss grocery shopping with him pushing the cart. I miss listening to him complain about driving out to my parent's house AGAIN. I miss the way he talked to his mother. I miss watching him listen to the kid's stories with real interest. I miss watching him put together a plan for work. I miss standing by him while he chatted with a stranger about where they might know each other from since the person looks so familiar to him. I miss him bringing home spiders he thought the kids would like. I miss unexpected flowers. I miss his good night kiss.

All of this I have missed for 1459 days. Tomorrow will mark the fourth year of living life without Phil.

My Big Fish

I had seen this movie before Micheal's passing. After everything happened I had a yearning to see this film again, and it was afterward that I knew why. There are so many scenes that can relate so closely with. The scene below is one that reminds me of sitting in the car after the service. We sat in it right afterward to listen to the bagpipe player play "Amazing Grace" and I remember sitting in the front seat, folded flag in hand and staring at the large group that surrounded us, and stared. Strangers, people that were Micheal's childhood friends, others acquaintances, some just onlookers who had been able to glimpse into the moments of our everlasting love.

Enough of my jabberings though, I hope you enjoy it.

Dancing Lessions

I have always felt like a flunky on the dance floor. At my college roommate’s wedding an elderly man (he was probably the age I am now) asked me to dance. I politely said that I did not know how to dance but he insisted that it was simple and all that I needed was to follow his lead. Ignoring my protests, he grabbed me, leaving me little choice. The next five minutes were horribly awkward and embarrassing. I clung to him for dear life as he shuffled me around the dance floor, flinging me left and then right, trying to get me to twirl. I resisted him mightily and I am sure he had no fun. Served him right.

So when I decided to make a concerted effort to cure my loneliness, dancing lessons seemed a reasonable answer. The way I figured it, dancing lessons would allow me to rest in man’s arms without actually being in a relationship, smell a few pheromones, and breathe in a little testosterone. And perhaps I might learn to dance, and maybe live a little, or whatever it was that I was supposed to be doing when I was really at home watching Fraiser reruns. I was tired of pretending that I had a life and was instead ready to have one.

My worst fears were realized when I walked in and saw that the class was filled with couples. They arrived together and they planned to dance together. Half of them were young, preparing for their wedding dance, and the other half were 50-somethings, preparing for their children’s wedding dance. I was pretty sure that they were not interested in tripping the light fantastic with some 48 year-old widow looking for her life.

Anyway, I would have cut my losses and run except that the teacher had already spotted me, and to leave would have been even more humiliating. Plus, I really did want to learn to dance.

For the next 8-10 weeks, the instructor was my partner, the Female instructor. Every Monday night I dragged my sorry feet to class, and every Monday night I danced with Helen. She called out instructions to the class, made sure they understood, and then took me in her arms, and off we went, dancing the Rumba, the Waltz or the Foxtrot.

Sometimes Helen had the class rotate partners. This was not helpful. I was secretly convinced that she did this just to get me off her hands, and I could tell that the men were not thrilled to let go of their wives and dance with the other female students. We all pretended that we were fine with it however, smiling embarrassed smiles. But the experience was not pleasurable and I would have rather just stuck with Helen. She was a born leader, didn’t grumble when I stepped on her feet, and I didn’t mind her frequent commands, (shoulders down, head back!); at least she talked to me.

One night Helen announced that she had made some phone calls and a man, a single man, was to arrive any moment! I practically vibrated with excitement. A real man. What good fortune. Sure enough, in walked Thomas. Thomas was lovely and gracious and he knew how to dance. He was fun and funny and he had pheromones and testosterone. He even looked into my eyes every now and again. He was the perfect dance partner.

The next week Helen materialized yet another man, an embarrassment of riches. I began to look forward to Monday nights in a way that I had not looked forward to anything since before Mike died. I purchased real dance shoes, I wore flouncy skirts and I put on make-up. There were evenings when I changed my outfit three times before class. I felt feminine. I learned to move my hips in a manner that would have made my Dutch-New England mother faint, may she rest in peace. I smiled a lot. I was happy.

Dancing lessons were the beginning of my waking up.

I believe in dancing lessons.

Mie Elmhirst

Widows Breathe Coaching

Our Mountain

I remember when I was able to trust with everything in me. Trust God. Have faith. I knew I was blessed... Our lives were difficult, yes, but it was good. When the rug was pulled from under me I wasn't sure if I was going to ever reach that place again. The place where faith was second nature and trusting was never a question.

David and I used to describe that kind of trust like jumping off our mountain. We took in the scenery at the top of it and were always ready to give it all we got to jump off. We jumped when we joined the Army. We jumped when he deployed. And we jumped when he was stop-lossed. But I took the elevator straight down and off of that mountain when he was killed. I felt like a joke had been played on me my whole life. Or maybe I had no idea what trust and faith really was...

This month I've found myself back on our mountain... and I was asked to jump. I realize more and more that Love is the product of faith and trust... and trusting didn't mean I couldn't be scared out of my mind. I know what the bottom of my mountain looks like... so this month I've been appreciating being at the top of it again... looking out... preparing to jump... Loving the trust and trusting in love.

Aching

This morning was the first day of school for my boys. I went to work very early; then planned to get back in time to make them breakfast and make sure they were set for the day. As I was driving home from work, I started to feel it. The dull ache. The one that began on the first day of school four years ago.

That day was much like today. I went to work early, and got home to make breakfast as a send off for the kids on the big day. Only Phil had already started the pancakes by the time I arrived. I walked in the door to the smell of butter sizzling and batter turning into the "brown around the edges" pancakes for which Phil was famous in our house. I was greeted by him at the door for the last time, but I didn't know it.

Today feels frighteningly like that day. But I know how the story ends this time. As I cooked the breakfast, checked the backpacks, straightened the shirts, handed out lunch money, and finally gave the send-off hug and wish for a great day...I avoided the word fabulous. Because that is the word I said on that other day, the one that is haunting me now. I wished all my kids a fabulous day in a cheery, jaunty voice and ten hours later the world was no longer a place I recognized.

Four years later, I live in a new world. I love this world, too. But sometimes, on days like today, the pull of the old world is so strong that I can barely catch my breath.

Stay by you, when it don't come easy.

During Daniel's last few months and during the peak of his illness, he told me that a song he'd heard made him think of me, and of us, and the crap we were going through. At the time, the song made me cry and think of all of the ways we supported each other and how scary it all was. Now, the song makes me think of him, it still makes me cry, and it makes me think of how much it applies to the life I never wanted to live without him.

Red lights are flashing on the highway

I wonder if we're gonna ever get home

I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight

Everywhere the water's getting rough

Your best intentions may not be enough

I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight

But if you break down

I'll drive out and find you

If you forget my love

I'll try to remind you

And stay by you

When it don't come easy

I don't know nothing except change will come

Year after year what we do is undone

Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run

I wonder if we're gonna ever get home

You're out there walking down a highway

And all of the signs got blown away

Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction

But if you break down

I'll drive out and find you

If you forget my love

I'll try to remind you

And stay by you

When it don't come easy

So many things that I had before

That don't matter to me now

Tonight I cry for the love that I've lost

And the love I've never found

When the last bird falls

And the last siren sounds

Someone will say what's been said before

Some love we were looking for

When you break down

I'll drive out and find you

When you forget my love

I'll try to remind you

And stay by you

When it don't come easy

When it don't come easy

Patty Griffin, Impossible Dream - When It Don't Come Easy

Happy Tuesday - Michelle D.