Disappointment

I received an email from a friend today. She decided that she needed to be direct with me about the status of our friendship. She said that she doesn't know how to be in a friendship with me anymore, and that she has felt this way ever since Michael died. She feels like any pain, loss, disappointment or loneliness that she has experienced in her lifetime, just doesn't rate in my mind. It has made her feel like she has nothing to offer me, or that there is no room for her to share what's going on in her life, especially if it is something positive.

When I first read this I felt quite hurt. Then as I sat with my thoughts and feelings awhile longer I came to the conclusion that she is right. I haven't made room for her experiences to be of comfort to me. I have closed myself off to people that used to be in my life. I have felt anger and disappointment with how friends responded to me in the aftermath. That said, there is nothing I could have done differently.

I have not been a very good friend to anyone these past 18 months. Well, that's not true. I have been a good friend to my fellow widowed bloggers who have taken center stage in my support system. I can do that because they are going through what I am going through at the same time. There is no need for explanations, no need for expectations, and no need to apologize for my ability to engage or not engage.

The other side of this is that I have not, and still do not feel, like I have much to offer to anyone right now who isn't widowed. I am so broken, that I am somewhat immobilized. I often don't return calls, and rarely reach out to connect with anyone. This is because I am so lost. When I look at myself from the eyes on the non-widowed, I feel like a disappointment. I feel like I am failing to move on. I feel like I am not willing to separate from my widowed role long enough to see the positives in life. I am a failure.

I know that I should be reaching out, but don't. I know that I should start giving back to those who gave to me early on. I know that I should stop waiting for old friends and family to come find me. I know that I should be willing to put my grief aside long enough to make room for their happiness in spite of my loss. All this said, I still don't know how.

Earlier today I was visiting my parents. My father has been in the care taking role with my mother for a very long time. I see how it is affecting him, and I see how sick and miserable my mother is. I do reach out to them, and try to help as much as possible. But, in the end, I know that in spite of their ongoing predicament, they still have each other. While at their home one of my cousins dropped by with her husband and two daughters. My cousin has the same illness that my mother has, and so has taken to bringing my parents a meal now and then, and to compare information about their individuals treatments. I sat there, with my parents on one couch, my cousin and her husband on the other, with me across the room on a single chair. I felt sorry for all the challenges both couples are going through, but my empathy kept waning in the process. I couldn't move away from the fact that even though they are not well, and have many worries, they at least have each other.

I feel like a bad person when I recognize this. It's the dark side of grieving the death of a spouse. How do you continue to interact with couples, who in spite of difficult times, still have so much? I feel like everywhere I go, I see people who have it better. I see people that truly have happiness. I see people who have, or got to have, their spouses for many years. I see couples who have children with not so many challenges. I see people who are having a better life than the one I have been given. Am I angry and disappointed like my friend said? Yes.

I look into the eyes of my children, and I also see disappointment. I feel like I have let them down. I feel like I have put myself ahead of the line too many times. I feel like I should be able to will myself better, if not for myself, then for them. I sometimes wish that I could just disappear so that I wouldn't have to see that look from anyone again.

I also don't know what to do about my writing anymore. Clearly my friend has been reading my personal blog, and taking some of what I say personally. All to many times, friends have said that they are needing to catch up with me by reading my blog. This is often said in a quick email, or on a Facebook post. I think that many have become used to reading about my life rather than actually asking me about my life. My blog is my wailing wall. It is quite personal. It is quite honest. It is not filtered. It was not meant for their eyes. It was meant to give me a place to purge my grief as I experience it. It was also meant for you, my fellow widow(er)s.

I'm not sure where to go with this at present. Do I stop writing? Do I start editing myself? I don't want to carry the burden of those around me not knowing how to connect with me. I don't want to worry about how I make them feel. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want to turn anyone away. I feel like I either need to kick myself in the ass and move on, or completely let go of old relationships. I know that it doesn't have to be one way or the other, but I end up feeling so guilty for the way I have responded to my loss.

Bitter. Angry. Resentful. Envious. Hurt.

Have I closed the door to possible joy? Have I allowed myself to be defined by my loss to the point that I have turned people away? Someone recently said to me, "oh, so you identify as a widower?" The question felt so judgemental, even though I know that is not what the person meant. But, it really has stuck with me. Is it not okay to identify as a widower? Are people asking widows the same thing? Or, is it because I am a man that it comes into question. Am I supposed to just man up, not take on the descriptive identity, and carry on as a single person who just happened to have had a husband who died?

I am so lost and confused. What am I doing wrong? Everything?

Ugly and Forgiveness

This is post from March 26, 2010
I've been going back to find myself, to ground this experience, to find a way to mark the growth, the good changes and all the challenges I have overcome.
I'm been going back to find courage.
This is what the post said.
-------

“He’s in our thoughts and prayers.”

“We are sending a blanket of love.”

Those are words I read today about a boy, who like Art is

battling his second round of cancer.

He’s doing a better job than Art did

and I’m NOT doing a better job at begin gracious.

Instead, when I read those words of love

And support

Ms. Cynic thinks

“Save your breath!”

“Those good thoughts and prayers

Don’t work.

If they did,

I wouldn’t be writing this column.”

Silly, stupid, people.

-------

That boy died earlier morning on Friday, March 26.

The grief sucked me down its whirlpool, shame followed

And anger was fast on its heels.

Only this time, I bobbed to the surface

Before I got too much water up my nose.

The whirlpool didn’t take me down as far and I am not as disoriented.

I cry because I know where his mom will go.

I know the journey of loss

and the idea of someone I know walking it

Makes me scream myself raw

and punch trees

and crumble to the floor and say

“Why her? Why her?”

Brooks….I’m sorry.

I wanted those silly, stupid people to be right.

I really wish they had been right.

-----

I re-read these words and at first, I feel shame

and then oddly

it is followed by forgiveness.

In the wake of the last few months

I have learned to forgive myself.

To forgive myself for:

not calling his doctor sooner,

for not convincing him to try alternative treatments

for not singing to him the moment he died

for not being too tired on Saturday to visit him so I could have alerted the doctors sooner

for not waiting to hold the memorial service so our friends from across the country could attend

for not kissing him on the lips after he died

for not staying in bed for days and days and days like I really think I should have

for not playing the widow part good enough

for not being more loving to him when he was around the last few months

for not being kinder to stupid people

for trying so hard to please all those around because somehow I felt their attention was unworthy

for it all

for crying too much or not crying enough

for my anger

for....

the list goes on.

In his death, I found my humanity and my imperfections.

In his death, I have discovered that it's not my fault.

In his death, I have discovered myself.

Me

“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”

- Scott Fitzgerald

I'm introspective.

You can still find me wandering the "Self-Help" aisles at a bookstore to find things to challenge my being and better my soul. Like art, all I took and take from those paperbacks is interpreted differently to me than others...and hell, I'm as flawed as a clearance item at a "Ross" store, so in seeing that each life...or in Ross standards..each item..is individual and unique..had been the springboard to me following the path that I am on.

I know the day I stop learning and growing will be the day I die.

Lately though, I've felt challenged for being the person I am. The way I do things and the life I lead.

It brought me down to a place I couldn't stand. It made me reflect, but in that reflection I just had to hold tight to me and who I am.

It's hard sometimes not having Michael (the most honest, loving, and caring individual I've ever known) here. He called me out when I was wrong, reassured me when I was right, and ever so delicately let me know that I am perfect as I am.

It was with that love and care, that I strive/strived to be even better at living, laughing, apologizing, and forgiving.

So the quote above is one I will repeat in those moments of feeling totally mis-understood in this big world....The moments where I can't physically hear his voice, but where I will pluck the cord in my being that he embedded in me. The cord that sang to me that I am enough......

rerecord

Photo from here...

Sometimes this whole 'widow' thing gets old. Like the chorus of an unhappy song that gets stuck in your head and keeps you awake. Over and over the words repeat singing those same lines again and again. You try to not pay attention. Try to forget the words. Try to listen to a new song. But your little brain has it so deeply embedded it can't be persuaded to "hear" something else.
I get tired of being a widow. I get sick of talking about it. I get annoyed with writing about it. I am over thinking about it. But still it sticks. Stuck in the groove. Firmly planted on repeat.
I'd love a new reality. To have something new to think about. A new conversation that didn't ultimately, and at times embarassingly, come around to the fact that my husband is dead. I want to be over it. I am sick of it. I don't want to think about it, breathe it, speak it or feel it. It's old.

march 24th.

i made the decision

to carry on a

tradition that i started

in 2009...

to take my

maddy on a trip

far away from everything,

to ensure that

the focus be on

her and her

birthday, rather than

the day that follows.

i'm happy to say,

i succeeded.









(i'm one lucky dad).

Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Back in the Water .....

.... another wave comes and smacks you from behind .....

I love the ocean.  Always have.
Jim did, too.  We were a "beach family".  Loved taking vacations to a beach .... any beach.  Even the one in Galveston ..... where the word "beach" has a whole different definition.  But hey, when it's the only beach you have within an hour's drive or so, you take what you can get.  Even if the water is brown.
So I find it a bit ironic that I've always seen my widowhood as being in an ocean. Always.

Anyway ...... just when I thought it was safe .... just when I thought I had things under control ....
It wasn't.
And I didn't.
I was surprised by how much I didn't.
Other people were, too.

I was having lunch yesterday with 8 other friends.  We are all on a tennis team together. We were celebrating all of the summer birthdays to come, before our season is over in 2 weeks.  We were having a great time.  Just 9 women having lunch and celebrating each other and how well we've done this season.

Then the captain of the team announced that our "year end party" would be a barbeque at her house, in May.  Sounds like fun, right?
Spouses are to be included, too.
Still sound like fun?

I am on a team with 9 other women.
Nine of us are married.
One of us is ..... not.
Guess which one is ..... not.

And .... for some reason, this came at me like a wave .... smacking me from behind.  I didn't see it coming, so the force of it came in much stronger than it would've, had I been able to brace myself for it.
Once the excited chatter about the event died down, I looked up at our captain .... who is a dear friend that I've known for years.  She was sitting directly across from me.  She knew, from the look in my eyes, which must have been on the "wild" side, that all was not well.
I have to add .... that out of these 9 women, I've known a few of them for years.  And years.  And years.
Jim and I knew them.  We did things with them .... and their husbands.
I know their husbands and care very much for them.
But ............
My friend looked at me .... studied me for a moment or so .... and asked, "You'll come, right?"
I paused ..... tried to gather my thoughts and figure out where this wave came from ..... and then answered, "I'm not sure.  But really .... I don't think so."
She looked a bit surprised.
I felt a bit surprised.

Our conversation was heard and passed on down the table.  There was much murmuring going on while she and I looked at each other.
Then I heard, from the other end of the table, someone exclaim .... in a rather loud voice, "Are you kidding me?!".  Those four words were translated to my brain into these words .... "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of!!!" ..... by a friend who knows me well.
Or so I thought.
I wanted to scream at her ..... at all of them .... "You DON'T get it!!!  You CAN'T get it!!!  And you should be VERY thankful that you don't .... that you can't!!!"
But I sat in silence, staring at my good friend from across the table.
She quietly asked, "You won't come?  Even though you know M, and J, and D (the husbands that I know well)?"
I told her no.  She looked puzzled.  I felt puzzled.  I thought I was past this.
I was wrong.

I tried to explain to her what I was feeling.  I told her that it was one thing to hang out with one couple or two.  Couples whom I love and who love me and who loved Jim.  That was a small group and I felt safe there ..... for some reason.  But .......
.... the thought of being in a group of 9 couples ..... 18 people who belong together, who love each other, who are bound together through the years ..... and being the last number .... number 19, was overwhelming me.
She asked me again, as if trying to break out of the fog of incomprehension ..... "Even with our husbands?  Those you love and feel safe with?"
I looked into her eyes for a moment, struggling to find the words to explain the panic that was forming in my stomach .... and in my heart.  But instead of words .... tears started to form .... and I had to look away.
I said, "I just can't.  It hurts.  It hurts very much."
She saw the oncoming tears ..... and she stopped.  She knows me well enough to stop.  And she said, "OK."

And that was exactly what I needed to hear.  I needed to hear that she "kind of" understood, even if she didn't really.
I needed to hear, "OK".  I did not need to hear, "Are you kidding me?!!"
She asked me to not make a firm decision just yet, but to play it by ear.
I told her that I would.

And I will.
Though I doubt that my mind will change over the next month or so.
I am not a "couple".
I was.  For a very long time.
I was supposed to be ..... for an even longer time.

And then, one day ..... I wasn't.
After over 2 1/2 decades ..... I had to learn how to live differently.
Single.
And I slowly became used to it.

After a couple of years .... I met someone.  And I became a couple again.
I didn't realize how much I had missed that ..... until it was gone .... again.
I'm back to being single.
To being the "third wheel".
Even though the other people in the room don't feel that way, don't think of me in that way .... it doesn't matter.
It's what I feel that matters.
It's the fact that my heart hurts that matters.
And it's the fact that I know my limits now ..... I know a wave when I see one.
And I know a wave when I feel one.  Even when I didn't see it coming.

So I probably won't go to a function where, out of 19 people, I am the odd number.
I will not go and stand in an ocean full of waves.
I may feel differently on that day.  And if I do, I will go.
Anything is possible.

I am strong enough now .... to know myself.
And know my heart.
And know when I can ..... or cannot, withstand the waves.

Yes, I am almost 3 years "out".
One would think that I'd be "over" this, wouldn't one?
One would be wrong.
I .... was wrong.

I am stronger.
I am happier.
I am living .... and living well.
I am content.
I am ..... blessed.

But I am also living in a world that still has a few waves in it.
Not a lot.  And not very often.
In fact, the waves are almost a rare occurrence now.

And I'm still here.
I have survived.
And I know myself better than ever.
I am strong.
Strong enough to say "no" when I need to.
No matter what anyone thinks.
Or what anyone feels.
It's my heart.
And I'm the one in charge.
Finally.

I think I'll go for a wade in the water .....

This must be the place

Grayson and I had a talk this week about where home is. It was in the context of a homeless man we saw at an intersection, and Grayson was saying that he wondered where the man's home was. We talked about our own home, and what a "home" really means to you. I told him my home is where I find the most comfort and feel the most loved and that I feel that I'm "home" when we are together. Home isn't where your house is, it is indeed where your heart is. Moments later this song came on the radio, and I've been humming it since then. This must be the place.

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - BORN with a weak heart
(So I) guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
ake it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time
Before we were born
If someone asks,
this where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth O
ut of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

Really love this version by Arcade Fire: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7J-900xpiI0