....by the way

Photo from Auburn University

I am seeing all sorts of old and familiar faces since we moved back to my hometown. It's been great getting reacquainted with now-grown children of my youth. We discuss how the town has changed. That the one stop light in town is no longer the one stop light in town. Gossip about the nastiest boy in our class has changed and where he is now.
I find it so very interesting to know who or what the townsfolk have become, who they've married and how many children they've had. Looking at the faces of their little ones makes me grin seeing the familiar face of their parents as children staring right back at me.
Somehow during the conversation I seem to blurt out, almost Tourette's like, "My husband died."
I feel like a dork when I say it. But I can feel it building inside me like a burp and suddenly spew it out at my long-lost aquaintance. The moment after resembles the pause that I could imagine occurring if I had indeed loudly belched in their face. My burped words seem to echo between us.
If I somehow manage to come away from our brief visit in the parking lot without this almost involuntary admission, I feel as if I have mislead the other person somehow. That they are missing some huge part of the puzzle. But if I include it, it's an echo invoker.
I still, after two years, do not know what is the appropriate way to include this humungous tidbit into a brief summary of my life.....and socially, I don't know if any one really wants to know?
I wonder, is this normal? Do other widow/ers have this compulsion? Should I try to stop?

written words

today, someone asked

me what i do.

when i told her

she asked,

“how do you come up with them?”

“i don’t know,” i said.

“i can’t make them stop.”

and it reminded me that

i used to wonder,

are there enough of them?

they seemed so hard to

come by before that

moment, but now,

they’re as plentiful as

the rays of light

blanketing los angeles

in july.

these things,

they’re that rope

i found hanging from

the sky that day,

the one i held,

floating away

as the rest of

the world disappeared.

and as tightly as

i’ve clung to them,

they’re the reason i

can let go

of some things.

Feeling Guilty ....

.... for falling in love again?

Ummmm ...... not so much.

I've heard and read a lot about this topic lately.

I've seen what others have written about it.

And I've seen quite a bit of guilt.

Why?

Why do we do that to ourselves?

I use the word "we", even though guilt is not an emotion that I am, or have, felt since I started dating again (after not dating for over 27 years!).

I know, with every fiber of my being, that Jim would want me to date.

I also know, with every fiber of my being, that he is very happy that I have found love again.

And I know that C's wife .... who died almost 9 years ago .... is up there with Jim, happy that C has also found love again (and probably thinking that it's about time!).

I would absolutely want that for Jim .... had he been the one left behind.

Would any of our spouses want to see us sitting home alone, not dating, not finding a new love?

And yet many of us beat ourselves up over this.

I consider myself very blessed.

I never, ever thought I would find someone who could love me as much as Jim loved me.

I was wrong.

And I am very glad about that.

But I never would have found someone to love me if I had stayed home, thinking that Jim was the only love of my life.

I never would have found love again if I had hung on to guilt over him not being here.

There is no guilt.

Neither of us chose this outcome.

And neither of us would want the other to be alone for the rest if his/her life .... however long/short that may be.

I also would never have found love if I'd listened to my teenagers, who would rather I sit home and pine away than love someone else.

I get that.

I know that they are grieving.

It's only been 2 1/2 years.

They've only seen me with one man ..... ever.

So this is hard.

But they will go on to live their lives.

And I must live mine.

In spite of their protestations.

In spite of their unhappiness over my happiness.

In spite of the guilt they try to load on me.

I refuse to feel guilty for something so wonderful.

For someone so wonderful.

For .... living.

I think two years of not living is long enough.

Two very long, very sad, very lonely years.

Jim would say .... "Enough."

So ..... I did, too.

Enough ..... is enough.

Feeling guilty over loving another man?

I think not.

Not guilty ..... just very blessed.

Time Flies!

Ten years ago my little guy came unexpectedly into the world. He was six weeks early, our house was not quite finished with a last minute remodel, and I had been hanging sheet rock the day before....yes, I know this sounds like a bad idea. :)

Ten years later, I have the good fortune to be the mother of a fabulous little guy (or not so little, he's officially passed up one of his grandmothers in height and is well on the way to passing the other).

To celebrate his "double digits" we went to San Antonio this past weekend. My dad came in from England for the occasion, we had some great friends go with us, and a wonderful time was had by all. It was a 4 day celebration, and we loved every minute: roller coasters, water slides, sunburns, all the right things to mark a great vacation!

It's hard to believe he's 10. He was 5 when Daniel passed away. He's lived almost as much of his life without his Dad as he did with him. Sad. That is the only part that is sad though, the rest is joyful. Happy birthday Grayson Dippel, you are a gift to me every day. I love you my little guy.

Happy Tuesday! - Michelle D.

“Oh, What Shall I Do?”

Special thanks to our guest blogger today, Wendy Diez. We appreciate you!

Chris and I had season tickets to the opera. He was passionate about the art form and I enjoyed it enough to go with him. I continued our subscription after he died and have started a new tradition of bringing a friend or family member with me to each performance.

One of the operas I saw last fall was Faust, which is about a man who sells his soul to the devil. Not surprisingly, this decision causes much angst and chaos throughout the opera. In one scene, a minor character dies (it is opera, after all). When his wife is told of his death, she collapses to the floor and sings mournfully, "Oh, What Shall I Do?" over and over again.

Anyone relate?

These words convey the sentiment that most people feel in the minutes they learn their spouse has died or is going to die. For me, as the mother of a toddler and soon-to-be newborn, no truer words could have been spoken when I learned that Chris had a brain tumor. "Oh, What Shall I Do?" sounded in my head like a relentless gong as I processed the fact that I was going to lose my dear husband. I was going to be a single mother. I was going to be a widow.

As the reality of the situation began to sink in, I realized I had to make a major mental shift. I had to devise a new set of commandments to match this new life of mine. I have needed to repeat these new life rules to myself many times in the past 17 months.

I shall allow myself to be humbled and let people see me as vulnerable when I am feeling that way.

I shall not only accept help when I need it but I shall ask for it before it is offered.

I shall relinquish some control and let others cook us meals, play with my kids, wash our laundry and load the dishwasher (even if I reload it the right way when they aren’t looking).

I shall expect to fall apart at the most unexpected times (t.v. commercials are especially good for this). And when this happens, I shall allow myself to be put back together through the love and care of family and friends.

I shall give myself permission to consider chocolate a food group.

I shall accept the fact that I am in the .005% of widows who gain weight while grieving as opposed to losing it (see above).

I shall learn to accept cluttered playrooms, messy kitchens and disorganized offices as part of my new normal.

I shall feel an immediate kinship with a community of amazingly strong people who call themselves "widowed".

I shall come to understand that I am much stronger than I ever imagined.

I shall reach deep down inside me and use my inner strength to start envisioning my new life and begin implementing it.

And the most important new commandment? Like this new life of mine or not, I shall survive. And you shall too.

TMI?

Please welcome back guest blogger...Matt Croke. Thank you Matt!

What do I tell the kids when they get older? Specifically, what do I tell Molly, the child Lisa carried in her womb while fighting cancer?

Do I tell her that her mom cancer spread when she was pregnant? Even though the doctors said the cancer was estrogen negative and that didn’t affect the cancer. Do I still tell her?

Do I tell her a Doctor wanted Lisa to terminate the pregnancy because she had fluid around her heart and they had to go in and remove it so it wouldn’t collapse? Do I tell Molly how Lisa looked at him without missing a beat and said,

“No, find another way. I am not giving this baby up due to unknowns.”

Will Molly think it’s heroic that Lisa told them to stick a needle in her chest to remove the fluid while she was awake because she couldn’t be put under? Or will that make Molly sad to know all the pain and sacrifice Lisa went through to save this child while trying to save her own life.

There is so much I don’t know about raising three girls alone. There is so much to guide them through and it scares me that it’s never going to end. Even when they are become young adults the questions will soon arise about Mom. When they get married, when they have kids, when they lose someone close…the more they understand life, the more they will realize that this was a big deal. This loss will always be there as a reminder.

Question is what should that reminder be? Do I tell the kids when they get older? Do I tell them everything?

Kora

It started with a call from CJ (my brother in law), letting me know that him and Kenzi we're heading to the hospital to have their baby girl.

Rewind to 9 months earlier, it was another dinner and movie night at our home and Kenzi and CJ walked in, stood in the entrance and announced they were pregnant. When the words came out of their mouths, it was one of the moments in which the finality of Michael not being there to be a part of this chapter of their lives sank in.

Those moments aren't few and far between, but there are those certain times where it really hits you that the moments where you are supposed to be hand in hand to congratulate your sister on her pregnancy, or see another sister walk down an aisle, or my mom and dad hold their first grandchild, aren't going to happen.

You see, in the 3 years that my baby's been dead, I've come to terms and accepted the reality of us not having our beautiful children, sharing exciting moments in our lives with family, and growing old together. I guess I wasn't quite prepared or had even thought about what it would be like when our loved one's started to do those things, and how I would react.

But as they stood in the entrance, waiting for my reply that October evening, I smiled and the first words to exit my heart and then my mouth were, "Congratulations! Wow! All I can say is that Michael would have loved to be here to tell you how much I know it means for him to be an uncle to your child."

I knew that over the duration of her pregnancy, and the duration of Kora's life, I'd be able to physically show them my excitement and joy in being her Aunt, but at that moment, I just wanted them to know what was most important for me to have them understand, and that is the fact that as Michael's soul counterpart, he will be there in everything I do, and in all the moments I have with her, and that is something I had learned that only other widows may truly understand.

But with tears in her eyes, She smiled and said, "I know."

After that understanding and acceptance of what I know to be true, I became their biggest cheerleaders during her pregnancy. Cards for first ultra-sounds and doctor appointments, taking pregnancy photos, creating a stock of ultra cool baby things that Michael and I would have laughed over, and even buying her alcohol-free wine for our dinner nights.

I was liberated by the fact that not only me, but Michael, could celebrate in this special occasion, and they knew, understood, and liked it.

Today I went to the hospital to see the new family, and the first thing they did was open the card I brought. Signed by my family: Michael, Me, Charlie and Maximus.

They set it on display and for the next 3 hours we laughed about how big Michael was when he was born (10.5lbs), talked about who Kora looked like, and for a moment, it was if Michael was standing behind me as I held Kora, his warm hands placed on my shoulders, looking down on our niece. For a moment, life was as perfect as their baby.

If it hadn't had been for Kora, I wouldn't have learned that as some life's big moments occur sans Michael, that I actually have him there more then ever, and feel like life is as it's supposed to be.

Thank you, Kora.

I promise you that Michael and I will show you the love that we have shown each other, and with that, I know your life will be amazing.

It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us aunts and uncles.
~Johann Schiller