Proud

After two weeks living in my new place, my new city, my new life, I am feeling at peace most of the time. The anguish of living in "our" house has lifted. My new life matches the new me a little better.
I'm meeting wonderful new people and finding new ways to heal. I've been sleeping through the night more often, a reflection of the peace I've been able to create for myself here.

Every time I think of the pain I felt while making the decision to sell the house and the actual moving process, I feel my mind shut down a little. I think that is its protective way of allowing me to forget just how bad that pain was. I remember it being painful but I don't remember exactly how that pain felt, viscerally. Thank god.

I am learning more than ever that we make of a situation what we want to. We manifest so much by the mindset we take on and that it is within our control to find the good in the bad.

But I can read about how I felt during this heart-wrenching time. I found a draft of a post I was going to work on and then publish but forgot about in the chaos of the move. I must have written it about four weeks ago. Reading it now is a good reminder of how sometimes my mind can be so convincing. It's in my power to make it convince me of good, instead of bad. Thankfully, during the pain, I held on to what, somewhere deep within me, I knew was right for me even though I was scared down to my bones.

Because now I'm where I need to be. As hard as it was. As much as it hurt and as much as I risked, I trusted in myself and I'm glad I did.


Here's the entry I wrote:

I've uncovered a new level of my feelings about selling the house. There was an offer. A good offer. And I accepted. Getting an offer I wanted on a house that's been on the market for one month is not something I think I can pass up. It's just that now I have a month to clear out. Eleven years' worth of a life, Dave's life and my life, to sift through and somehow put in two categories. Keep or let go of.
I've had to let go of so much already. I'm so tired of letting go.
But, I can't back out now. I have to confront this. I have to let go. Letting go is the lesson I have to learn. Over and over.
One of the things I've been feeling recently, that I was just able to identify, is how sorry I am that I'm letting go of our house. I feel like I'm letting Dave down. That house was our pride and joy. It was filled with love and light and comfort. And he helped to make it that way and now I'm giving it up to someone else. Am I giving up on it? I feel like apologizing to Dave.
I know that I'll carry his love, our love, in me no matter where I go. I know that the house is just stuff. Sticks, bricks, siding, furniture, not our actual beings or our actual love.
But when I let the feelings come, that's what surfaces. I feel sorry. I feel like I've let Dave down. I feel like I'm giving up something too wonderful to ever find again. I guess I'm worried I'll never have that peace again. And the house is just the physical representation of that.
Nothing changes the fact that a BIG house on 12 acres is not something I want to try to deal with on my own. That kind of isolation might be great for someone who is settled, but I'm just no longer settled. I'm finding my way in a whole new life. I have to let go. I am not married anymore. Accepting that is heart breaking.

There have been several moments since I've moved out that have made me imagine Dave rooting for me proudly. I can just see him pumping his fist in the air and yelling, "THAT'S what you're capable of! I KNEW it!"

I think he'd respond to those words I wrote in a dark time, "Don't be sorry. Don't you dare. You did what you needed to do and I'm so proud of you".

So I'm not sorry. I didn't let him down. I didn't let us down. I make him proud and, even more importantly, I make myself proud.

Spider Cracks

It’s almost midnight and she lies in a hospital bed at the all-too-familiar emergency room.  Tears emerge as the nurse pushes the needle into her arm - in order to find a “good” vain for the IV.  This is the nurse’s second attempt, the first one only producing a puncture that will be sore for days.

I stand hopeless next to the bed, lightheaded with dueling emotions of anger and concern.  I hate being in the hospital, hate seeing her in pain, sick, scared.  The nurse finds the vain she is looking for and finishes up.  She starts to walk out the room as she says, “We just need to do a couple of tests Mr. Croke; this IV should stop the vomiting.” She walks past me; her scent is sweet and uplifting, it doesn’t fit the atmosphere of the room.  “She’s a brave little girl.” the nurse adds as she disappears through the curtain.  I sit on the bed next to my six-year-old daughter.  She looks so much like Lisa right now - something about being in pain that matures ones face by 10 years. 

As I look at my daughter, my mind keeps replacing her with Lisa.  I touch Kelly to comfort her, but rubbing her cheek transports me back to four years ago and I'm in the same ER, looking at all the tubes and machines around my wife.  The smell of disinfectant is still the same, it starts with a pungent odor you can taste in the back of your mouth and soon evolves to a smell that is disturbingly comforting.    

 I shake my head to bring myself back to the present - if anyone were to see me right now, they’d think I had bees in my ears.  I see Kelly trying to rest, but she won’t take her gaze off the needle that stays inserted in her arm. With a quick breath, she sucks in air through her teeth to express discomfort.  My imagination once again replaces Kelly with Lisa and she says, “You would think if they can invent a motorized body board, someone could invent an IV without needles.  You know, create some patch that could administer the fluid.”   I shake my head once again to break my imaginary conversation. I summon all my focus to stay in this world with Kelly.  I was hoping these images of Lisa in the hospital would fade as time went on, but seeing how my mind keeps replacing Kelly with Lisa, I come to a stark realization that my journey will never end, only evolve.

We are a thin plane of glass and the death of a loved one is a rock hitting us square in the middle.  Sure you can patch where the rock made the mark, but that won’t address the hundreds of spider cracks that have formed around the hole, finding its way to every corner of the plane, each crack a different issue.  While Kelly’s ER visit turned out to be nothing more than a spastic stomach flu that anti-nausea medicine fixed, the whole experience had lasting effects that kept me up for more than a few nights.  It looks like I haven’t fully addressed the last few weeks of Lisa in hospice.

So, if you see me walking down the street and I look like I am down.  Chances are something happened that either reminded me of Lisa, or made me go back to a darker time. I hope my above story will explain that if you approach me, and say, “Why don’t you go to a movie, try to take your mind off things.”  I may respond, “Okay, maybe I will,” but my face will show, “Thanks for trying, but there are still a few more spider cracks I need to repair that a movie won’t help fix.”

Paris

I'm here!

My once in a lifetime/once a year trip is on it's last day and It's been one full of reminders on why these are a necessity for my heart and soul.

Exploring new places, new food, new art has made me feel him so much. As I've realized, it's always been those moments of filling my heart with wonder and life that I know he is always with me....smiling in his heart, hopefully, right along with me.

I'd write more but have Rodin to observe, flea markets to shop, escargots to be eaten and his love to keep filling.

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” - Jack Kerouac

My Best Friend Got Married

Michele is filling in for Michelle D. today...who is currently lounging in St. John....

My best friend, and fellow widow, is now married.

The readers here have a unique view of this new marriage, because the majority of us have outlived a spouse. We KNOW how it feels to be "parted" from our loved one by death.

I'd wager that many of us said the word 'never' if asked when we were planning to date (let alone remarry) after becoming widowed. I can tell you first-hand, Michelle did. In fact, I believe we each said, and meant, 'never' regarding the possibility of another love in our lives as we navigated the waters of grief on our side-by-side surfboards.

For us, I believe the word never was fueled first by pain, and then by fear. During the darkest days of grief we couldn't figure out why the sun had the audacity to shine, let alone imagine a future that wasn't full of painful longing for the life from which we were unwillingly separated. The pain caused by death was blinding, all consuming, disorienting, feverish. I wanted to claw my skin off to stop the agony. There was no room for fear at first, because desperation and disorientation ruled. We were so lucky to find each other. Each time one of us dangled over the pit of despair unable to summon the strength to tie a knot in the proverbial rope with which to hang on for one more moment, the other one stepped in and provided a reprieve.

As the pain dulled slightly, fear came to visit. We began, each in our own way, to mold new lives. We dove into the multitude of tasks and responsibilities that were once shared, but now managed only by two hands. Every day brought a new challenge, and we shared them via phone calls, text messages, e-mails and sometimes late night tear-filled cryfests. Fear hovered in the background, and time and again we pushed it away in tandem, challenging each other to face the darkness and choose the light.

Over the years we have become accustomed to facing fear, choosing hope, encouraging each other as well as our larger widowed community to take the risk of loving life. Because at the end of the day, that was the source of our deepest fears. What if we truly love our life again? Will the carpet be swept out, and the fall into despair begin again?

The answer, of course, is maybe. Life gives no guarantees. Ironically though, hiding from life doesn't keep you any safer than living it large. I guess that is the lesson Michelle and I have taught each other. Live big, love big, and face your fears with a good friend by your side.

 As I shared your wedding day, my heart sang for you my friend. Long live love, and here's to jumping off of curbs!

trying

I am going to start by apologizing that my post for today is so late. I'll admit that I am frazzled and busy. I can also tell you that I tried to post last night but after an unexplained computer shut-down, I was sceptical that my article had posted. So at 5 AM, I checked. No post. No post and I had to get up to get the kids ready for school and get myself ready for work. I felt like crying. Actually, I felt like swearing and crying. So I did. Started the day with tears and obscenities.
This is the reality for me lately. Over-stretched and trying to get as many things done as I can. Attempting to patch up things needing repair. Hoping to provide all my kid's need and desire. Trying to live as "everyone else" does....
But I am failing. I feel overwhelmed and on the verge of tears much of the time. I am living moment to moment and stumbling through life hoping that in the years after my kiddos finish their youth, they can say they had fun, happy, love-filled childhoods. But I truly don't feel like it is working.
My kids used to be homeschooled. I was a stay-at-home mom. We lived on organic and home-grown food. We did crafts and played in the mud. They had two parents to love and provide for them. They had someone to spell off the frazzled and tired parent.
Now, they attend public school. I often work hours after school and on weekends. At times, my kids have prepackaged food in their lunches. I no longer spend hours in the backyard with kids and chickens chasing each other through the mud as I can just imagine the laundry these types of activities will burden me with. At the end of the day/weekend/morning, I am beyond frustration and am a crabby/crazy/erratic parent. A lone parent.
I am now known by my children from my cries of "I am TRYING!!!! I only have TWO hands!"
I feel guilty and tired. I am wondering if this is just the life of parents in general? Or is this exhausting situation that does not seem to let up or alleviate in anyway a symptom of living/parenting/grieving after the death of a spouse?
Again, I apologize for the late post. I am sorry that I have let those of you who rely on a voice through this path to be here when you need it. Please....bear with me.

I Am Not a Mind Reader ....

                                              picture from here

.... and I don't really think I want to be.

But it would certainly make some things easier .... relationships, for instance.  I wouldn't have to guess what a certain word is supposed to mean .... or a certain look ..... or the raise of an eyebrow.  I wouldn't have to wonder if all men like this, or hate that ..... or if all widows feel this, or cry over that.

I wouldn't have to question someone's motive ..... or worry that something I said or did may have upset someone.  Or was it something I didn't say?  Or didn't do?

I don't think there's anyone into who's brain I want to delve that deeply .... but it would be nice to know how grief feels to my  3rd son, versus my  2nd daughter ..... or me.
I hate not knowing that.
I hate not being able to really understand their grief and how it manifests itself.
And I really hate not being able to take it from them.

I'd like to be able to instinctually know what my child .... or even my partner .... needs me to say .... or do.
I'd also like to be able to know what they don't need from me.

I also sometimes wish that other people had this ability in regards to me.  I wish they understood that they can talk about Jim 24 hours a day and it won't make me sad.
I wish they understood that I want to be treated the way I was treated before he died.
I am not "special".  I am not going to fall apart over trivial things.  And after being widowed, most things are trivial.

But I wish they also understood that grief is life long.  It, like Jim, will always be a part of me.  And that's not a bad thing.
It's just the way it is.

So I'm not a mind reader.
But then .... neither is anyone else.
Which means we're all in this together.
Guessing, fumbling, wondering.

Sometimes getting things wrong.
But sometimes getting them right .... which feels all the more sweeter.

So forgive me for not being able to read your mind.
But I'm awfully glad that you can't read mine, either.

Some thoughts are for keeping to one's self.

Grief Vs Depression

I have been involved in an argument on facebook about "grief" this afternoon (very mature, I know - there were some classic lines that I should send Supa for "shit-people-say-to-widows").

But it actually turned out to be a misunderstanding where the other person had confused grief with depression.

To me, grief is something that I live with everyday.
It is simple: I miss Greg. I wish he was here. I feel sad about the loss of the life we should have had. It makes me feel fearful and anxious at times and at other times, it helps me to feel compassion and understanding.
Talking about it here (and on facebook and letting the demons out on my personal blog) has really helped me to learn to live with it.
It lives with me, it bites sometimes, but it no longer controls me: I hold down a job, I care for my children and I watch them develop into decent, caring human beings.

Depression is something very different. I have tasted it. I have spent evenings wallowing in it. I have tried constructing "exit plans" at two in the morning (which were destined to fail).
I have contemplated drinking myself into oblivion on more than one occasion (but haven't - somebody has to be the parent here).
I'm fairly sure most of us have felt depression's darkness at some point.

But I recovered from it.

I know I wont ever "recover" from grief.
...and I don't really want to.
Grief is as much a part of my life as joy is.

The darkness and the light sit side by side.




PS - Sorry if you were expecting a valentine's lament today, but we never really fell in for the hype, so it's not something I think about enough to construct a post on.