I Still Cry ....

Picture from here


.... when I talk about Jim.
Not every time.
Not always.
But if the conversation has depth to it, or if it's been a particualrly hard week (for whatever reason) .... I still cry.
I still miss him.
After 4 1/2 years.

I have been spending this week in Oregon, with family I haven't seen in 20 years. People I haven't seen since Jim died.
We've spoken on the phone, of course, but we haven't seen each other, spent time with each other .... they hadn't met the "after me", until a few days ago.

They still love me.
They still hurt for me.
They're still here.

I find myself telling them some of the things they've missed over the past 4 plus years. And I cry.
In one way, it's like going back in time and re-living the last 4 years to catch them up. Thus the tears.

But in another way, it shows me how very far I've come and how strong I've become. With no tears.
Not that tears are an indication of growth .... or non-growth. I don't believe that at all. Some days are just teary.

And then there might be a oouple of months that go by with absolutely no tears.

Sometimes there are indications that waves are to be expected.
Sometimes, there are no indications at all. But truthfully. those times occur less frequently now.
Though they still occur.

This has been a wavy trip. And I didn't expect the waves. I don't even remember to look for the waves too often now.

I think that this will increase as time goes by .... the "not remembering to look for the waves".
And I think, that no matter how much time goes by .... even if I live to be 100 (which I sincerely hope I don't) there will always be tears.

Just as I don't think tears are an indication of growth, or non-growth. I don't think tears
will ever be an indication of where I am in my grief .... of where I am emotionally.

I know that I am ready to meet another love.
But another love does not mean that I wll not miss/love/cry for .... Jim.
And that love will understand that.
And still be secure in my love for him.

I guess my point in writing this .... is to let you know ..... that the tears will still come.
But that's ok.
No matter how much time has passed.
No matter where you are in life.

So don't worry.
Don't doubt your progress.
Don't doubt your strength.

Some days .... are just teary.

Maybe I'm crazy

Sometimes I am positive I get signs from Greg.

Like psychic stuff. 
(...and now you will all think I have finally lost my ever-loving mind for thinking I can talk to dead people).

I am a  scientist for goodness' sake. 
I am trained to be a sceptic.
But sometimes I have dreams.  *Clear* dreams.  Clear dreams that sometimes eventuate soon after.  Like when I dreamed Greg had died and woke in a cold, gasping sweat ..... about a month before he was killed.Never had a dream like it before or since. 

I had a series of "things" happen recently that resulted in me making a giant leap forward (and a tiny backwards step).
I think that was Greg pushing me onwards because he knew I was so frightened to take that first step. 
...and that step started with a dream.

Sometimes I have  recurring dreams  where I am thrilled to have finally found Greg after searching for so long.  ....and we hug and talk and connect and then I beg and beg and beg him to come home or to at least visit the children ....and he refuses every time.  It's like a rejection from the one man I could always count on to love me no matter what.  ...and a rejection of our children, and I know they were his pride and joy.  He always explains that he would if he could, but no amount of wheedling and begging results in him agreeing to return to us.  He is uncharacteristically and annoyingly firm on that score.

 Once, when I found him in a dream,  I asked him WHY he had to die.  WHY him? ...and his answer was a clear as could be: "there was a car accident".  Derrrrr.  He didn't have the all-knowing Reason either.

Maybe this is all just my brain trying to fathom the unfathomable; process the un-processable.
That's what Scientist Me would say.
...but then I add the dream to the coincidental "thing" (out of the blue phonecall from someone straight after a dream / extreme "luck" following a dream about that same thing happening / flashing neon light in front of my face / just *knowing* stuff/ before I could possibly know / almost always knowing who is going to be on the end of the ringing phone / etc etc etc) and it adds up to a coincidence so huge that it is almost impossible for my mind to accept that so many "things" could just be "coincidental".
...and Psychic Me declares "SIGN".

 ....

It's crazy, this place my mind inhabits. 
Where hard science and para-science sit side by side, not talking, not even acknowledging each other.
.....but then, I believed (still) in God for so long without questioning the idea that my beliefs and scientific knowledge sat side by side, nodding to each other and in perfect agreement in my head ... one is the process that describes the other.
 Why should this belief be any different?

Maybe I am crazy.
Maybe I am not.

I don't think I really care anymore.... if this crazy, magical thinking means I feel better about my life, then I'll take it over despair any day.

(But please tell me I'm not the only one here.  Please tell me I'm not crazy .... or that you are all crazy right here with me).

Or...You Could be Nun!

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I have a strange (and very strong) reaction to something people say to me. I'm curious about why I have this reaction and if I write about it, I'll most likely reveal to myself where it's coming from. (I love how writing is like a Ouija board to my innermost feelings.)

I've heard just about everyone I know tell me that they're sure I'll find true love again. My reaction to those words is so multilayered that I'll have to deconstruct the response to it before I can even begin to reveal the reason behind it.

Everyone from widowed friends to therapists have said "You'll find love again". When they do, my heart speeds up uncomfortably, my chest tightens and emotions come crashing in from several directions at once.

First, I hear cynical me say "Mmmhmmm....sure I will." with plenty of sarcasm. When Dave was sick, I tried to tell myself that just because he was sick, he wasn't going to die on me. I told myself that lightning couldn't possibly strike me three times. I tried to comfort myself with those proclamations (which were really heartfelt prayers) and he still died. So when I hear someone (even myself) say "You'll find love again", I scoff a little. "Sure!", I hear the cynical part of me say, "I'll believe it when I see it". The fearful part of me chimes in with "Let's not get our hopes up. Can you really be that lucky twice?".

Never say never has become my new belief system. Life is so precarious and you can't begin to predict what will happen, so don't tell me about outcomes as though they are going to happen. Might happen would be more realistic. As in "Dave might die now. He might die later. No one knows." Or "You might find true love again, or you might not. No one knows for sure."

The next thing I feel is fear. "You'll find love again" brings up thoughts of losing another love. Cynical me says "Sign up for potential widowhood again? No thank you. Just barely surviving this one. I'm good for the rest of my life being free of more of this." My heart can't take more pain. Even simple rejection right now is too much for this broken, patched-together, quivering little shattered heart of mine. A part of me is worried that every cough, sniffle and fever will send me into "he's going to die" mode and I simply don't want to feel that kind of fear again.

Then there's a part of me that thinks that the whole idea is ridiculous. Love someone again? Widowhood has left me bone-tired. It's a daily struggle to love myself. It's actually a moment-to-moment struggle if I'm honest. It's still hard to imagine working full time again, sleeping well, feeling at peace with my life, not being chased by fear at every moment. This road is long and often dark and scary. When will I once again be on solid footing enough to offer my best self to someone else? Right now it feels like it will take forever.

Then, down very deep, there's this primal part of me that responds with a quivering chin, brimming eyes and a heart afraid to hope that says "Do you really think so?". For so long I believed that Dave magically loved me despite my many faults and I was always a little surprised that he didn't hightail it out of there when I acted like an asshole (read: human). It was hard for me to believe that I was finally loved the way that man loved me. If I'm completely honest, I guess a part of me thinks that I'll never be loved like that again because I don't deserve it. Therapy and lots of soul-searching is helping me see that that's a story I tell myself, not the truth, but it lingers anyway.

You'll find love again. Such a hopeful, terrifying, bold statement. Seems so simple, doesn't it? I'm relatively young, not hideous, smart, adventurous and talented. Why wouldn't I find love again? Right? Turns out (as we widowed people know) It's not that simple at all. It's an emotional minefield.

Everyday, though, I see couples walking down the street, arms around each other or holding hands or sharing a meal and I feel something so primal and so deeply ingrained that I can't label it well. It's simply a longing. A longing for the feeling of someone else who fits with you so perfectly, that you can't believe you ever lived without them. Physical closeness. Flirting. Romance. Love. I'm wired to want it, but I'm terrified of it. I think about it all the time, but I'm not ready for it yet. I'm lonely, but the cure for my loneliness isn't a relationship.

One big conundrum.

So, if you tell me I'll find love again, you might see me avoid eye contact, change the subject, roll my eyes, or burst into tears depending on the day or what part of my brain is in charge at that moment.

 What do I want to hear instead? I have no idea. Maybe humor would help. How 'bout "Get comfortable with owning a lot of cats" or "Spinsters are pretty cool, too!" or "I hear being a nun is AWESOME!"

At least we'll both get a laugh out of it.


 

Wall - Part 2

Last week, I wrote about seeing Roger Waters perform “The Wall” live at Wrigley Field.  A concept album released by Pink Floyd in the 1970s, Waters now is out on tour complete with a three-story wall that is built through the course of the concert.  While I kinda understood what “The Wall” was about, I really bought tickets to see rock and roll history at Wrigley Field.  I had no idea that this show – and now listening to the album over and over – would question and reflect on how I was mourning the loss of Lisa. 

Heading in to see this show, I would say I know about five songs from off the album. Never once did I equate any of them to my situation. Yet, it’s a 39 second lead-in track that made me stop and think how I was living my life. The title of this track is called “Empty Spaces” and these are the only words in it.

What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
Where we used to talk?
How should I fill the final places?
How should I complete the wall?

Empty spaces.  That’s what I was left with after Lisa died.  Plenty of empty spaces… Where we used to talk...  Before seeing this show, I never looked at it that way; wasn’t able to pinpoint the problem.  I had empty spaces that needed filling.  My time, conversations, memories trips, etc... These were going to have to be filled up.  How would I fill those empty spaces, what choices would I make, positive or destructive?

What moves me the most about this album is the concept of:  All in all it's just another brick in the wall.

I wish it were as simple as Lisa died and I built a wall around myself.  A wall built so quickly that it probably is not that stable and could be knocked down fairly easily.  But my wall was built brick by brick; placing each one to block another outside emotion from my vision.  Friends stopped talking to me?  Fine - more bricks on top of my wall - seems like the best way to deal with that loss of friendship.  But then came the day that those very friends started coming around trying communicate. I didn’t even want to reach back out to them, too many bricks blocking my feelings. These bricks I made with anger.  Mad my friends needed time to deal with what to do with me and the loss of my wife.  I lost perspective of the importance of human contact, I couldn’t see over my wall.

The wall was too high, as you can see.
No matter how he tried, he could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain

My wall started the year Lisa and her mother were both dying of cancer in 2008 (Deena would pass away in April, Lisa in July).  Deena’s first ex-husband, who I never met, got wind of what was happening and flew in from Florida. “Are we happy with the doctors?” being one of the first comments he made to me. “We? Who are we?  I’m happy with the doctors”, I thought to myself, immediately throwing bricks on the ground to get something up fast. 

After 20 plus years of being out of sight, he was looking to integrate himself into the family. My daughters were still very young and they thought grandpa was Deena’s second ex-husband.  When I informed ex # 1 that now would not be the time to tell the girls “Oh by the way, this surprise visit is by your biological grandfather. Any other life changes I can throw your way?”   He was not happy and later hit me with, “Well, you’re the one blocking my grandchildren from me.”  I knew then the only way to get through handling the aspects of a mother-in-law and wife dying at the same time, in the same house (we moved in with Lisa’s mom 5 years prior to help with her cancer) was to turn off some of my emotions.

I knew there was a train of pain coming down the tracks.  If I was going to deal with this and survive, part of my personality would have to go away.  I had to keep moving, I had kids who were losing their mother, had a new baby coming less than three months away, and a wife who would die a few months after that.  I would have to change my personality to handle this; I would have to start building a wall if I was going to function.

Hello, is there anybody in there?

Come on, now, I hear you're feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain
And get you on your feet again.

I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb 

 (Love that line from above, I can't explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am.)

Once Lisa passed, I was dealing with loss and trying to rejoin “normal” life activities. I felt like the kid at a prom without a date.  It amazes me how many adverse feelings we feel that can be traced to the simplest emotion, fear.  I was scared out of my mind about everything.  Can I keep going?  Can I raise my kids?  Can I live with myself for all the decisions I made during Lisa’s death?  So many questions about the future…

Mother, do you think they'll like this song?
Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?

Questions for which I didn’t know the answer, so the question that seemed like the best idea…

Mother, should I build the wall?

I specifically remember having that conversation with myself. I told myself that my life is simply one of function now.  I need to live for my children and I need to forget improving my life.  There is too much pain, too many memories, too many questions (fears) for me to try and live a fulfilling life.  No need to make new friends, no need to take classes to learn something new, no need to form new relationships.  The world can be a hurtful all-you-can-eat buffet and I’ve already had multiple plates of food.  I can function, but I will be miserable.  I even read up on Abraham Lincoln who was successful and yet led a miserable life.   Yes, this was a great idea!  I figured out how I was going to live my life…

Goodbye cruel world,
I'm leaving you today.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Goodbye, all you people,
There's nothing you can say
To make me change my mind.
Goodbye.

I found it easy to use the wall as a crutch and I was quick to put anyone or anything that seemed like a threat for me to experience feelings of an almost human nature. This will not do.

So up against my wall they would go…

There's one in the spotlight, he don't look right to me,
Get him up against the wall.
There's one smoking a joint!
And another with spots!
If I had my way,
I'd have all of you shot!

I’ve written in one of my previous blogs about the time period where I hated myself, beating myself up for not being a “good enough” parent or person.  I didn’t know it at the time, but my isolation was starting to wear on me, I was behind a wall and the worms (mental decay) were working its magic.

Sitting in a bunker here behind my wall
Waiting for the worms to come.
In perfect isolation here behind my wall
Waiting for the worms to come.

At some point I had enough and knew I was living an emotionally unhealthy lifestyle.  A mindset that is not sustainable.  This understanding might have helped me knock down a couple of bricks, but not enough for me to fully engage.  With my new realization came the fears and regrets of moving forward.  Did I lose my opportunity to move on?  Have I pushed away too many people?  Can I really start over at age 42 or am I too late…

There must be some mistake
I didn't mean to let them
Take away my soul.
Am I too old, is it too late?,
Will I remember the song?
The show must go on.

These thoughts held me back from fully committing to making a positive choice.  Do I really want to lose my best excuses for trying (trying) to get back into the world?  I know it didn’t mean I’m over the grief, but it meant I’d be vulnerable to getting hurt again.  It’s not an easy fence to straddle.  So there I sat at Wrigley Field, as one of the final songs called, “The Trail” blared in front of me.

The evidence before the court is incontrovertible
There's no need for the jury to retire.

Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear
I sentence you to be exposed before your peers.
Tear down the wall!
Tear down the wall!

The judge is right.  No need for the jury to retire.  The wall has to come down.  It doesn’t work.  No matter how angry you are, how put-out you feel, how wronged you believe you’ve been treated, how maddening it is to watch happily married people, how pissed you are at what people say to you, how nobody else understands what you are dealing with… building a wall doesn’t work.  Sooner or later, the worms will come and mental isolation will take its toll.

For Pink, one of the first bricks he builds is when his dad dies overseas fighting in the war.  He wrote these lyrics and even though they might mean something different for him, when I heard them, it meant something else for me.  What Roger Waters sang was…

Daddy's flown across the ocean
Leaving just a memory.

Daddy, what d'ya leave behind for me?
All in all it was just a brick in the wall

What I heard was…

Lisa's gone to the great beyond
Leaving just a memory.

Lisa, what d'ya leave behind for me?

I sat up all night thinking of what Lisa left behind for me.  Not only three beautiful girls, but she left me with all the tools to keep going out there and putting myself in position to get hurt again with friends, family, and new relationships.  She wanted me to keep living, she wanted to me to keep failing and trying again.

It’s a very difficult and hurtful world out there and we are given plenty of bricks to build walls around ourselves.  I think I’ll take mine and make a patio to throw a party.  I’ll build a fireplace in the middle, a bar off to the right, seats in a circle, and no walls.  That way, people can enter from all sides.

Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all.
Together we stand, divided we fall.

Fear

 

Fear is not the real you that you must somehow fix or improve or overcome. Fear is a very useful signal along the path to freedom. The stronger the fear, the closer you are to what you are seeking. If you want to stay 'safe' (i.e. stuck where you are), fear tells you to stop what you are doing. But if you want to be free, fear lets you know you are on the right track, it is a signal to push ahead in the same direction, to pick up the pace. 

 

This quote really spoke volumes to me.

 

After Michael's death I believe that I had no fear.

 

My worst fear had already taken place (thought spiders and needles always linger).

 

But in relation to the quote, I've seen the "signals" in different aspects of my life that haven't allowed me to fully evolve to become all that I am meant to be.

This is the year that I am taking a stance to push through the fear that I didn't even know was there. The fear to try things that are totally foreign to me. The fear of pain. The fear of discomfort. The fear of the unknown. The fear of what a certain challenge may entail.

It's amazing, also, when you start to recognize the signal going off. The small bit of anxiety that sets in and the heat racing. The fear eating at your subconscious saying it can't be done.

But when I push through it. Walk toward the goal at hand. A sense of relief and excitment run through my veins.

I'm "picking up the pace" and it really feels great!

The Not So Little Guy

Yesterday was Grayson's 12th birthday...one year from being a teenager, one minute from being too big for his britches, and 7 years from his last birthday with his Dad.  We had a great day, Carl and I both took the day off and had a marathon of kid activities with G and one of his friends.  It's hard to believe how big he is now.  When he was born 12 years ago, he weighed just a little over 4 pounds, was 13 inches long, and was the tiniest, most perfect thing I'd ever seen.  Now, tiny isn't a word ever used to describe the child who is only a couple of inches shorter than me (and measures that difference in height almost daily!).

I've had people tell me over the years how much he looks like Daniel and I've been able to see it most of the time, but he still looks just like Grayson to me. Occasionally I see a flash, so very clear, of Daniel when he was young, and it just jumps out at me. His appearance isn't the most amazing part though. Its his behavior. He was only 5 when Daniel passed away, so there wasn't a lot of time for him to pick up Daniel's habits.....however, he is his father's son in so many ways it makes me laugh out loud.

My little guy is always right, knows everything about everything (even if he really knows nothing), and will argue a point until all other parties give up. He talks like him, has facial expressions like him, sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating like him, sits like him, etc.  He is Grayson, his own person with unique qualities, but he is definitely Grayson Dippel. A chip off the old block, for sure!

Happy birthday to my G, it's been an honor to be his mom and watch him grow up into such a great kid. 

The call to do something

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For a long time now, I've felt God calling me to do something with my story, and with Jeremy's legacy. To somehow help others through what I have been through. However, I had no idea where to start. And more importantly, and most selfishly, I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to let God use me because I was too angry that it had to be at the expense of such a great loss. I wasn't ok with me or my children suffering such heartache in order for other people to benefit or learn something.

I can honestly say that I still sometimes struggle with this battle. But the pull I've felt on my heart to help, to follow the calling I feel like I've been given, has been outweighing my selfishness. The stirring that I have felt has started to bubble over and I've finally felt ready to take a step forward.

Last week, a dear friend and her sister stop by our garage sale to see me. Her sister had just lost her husband weeks before. He died suddenly of a heart condition as well, leaving behind two children and a very distraught wife who wanted to come talk to me. As she hugged me and sobbed on my shoulder, my mind raced searching for something to say - just one thing that someone had told me when Jeremy died that helped in some way that I could offer back. I realized, though, that nothing I could say would make her feel any better. Death sucks, and grieving can never ease with words. Only time. I don't know that she was looking for words of wisdom (and if she was, she definitely wasn't gonna find any from me), but just to be in the presence of someone who 'got it'. Someone who survived. My heart ached for her as I recalled those first few weeks and months after Jeremy died. I still relive those moments every once in awhile like it's still happening. The confusion, the injustice, the anger, the desperation, the defeat...the heartache. I don't know if I helped her in any way, but she's been in my prayers and on my heart ever since.

I realized that even though I'm ill equipped to really move forward, God has really been using my story to help without my knowledge or even my consent for quite sometime now. He let me kick and scream and throw fits (and still does) while continue to bring beauty from the ashes.

I want people to know that grieving is a dark and terrible part of life that never leaves.

I also want people to know that there is hope and healing.

I want to do more.

Steve and I have been praying that God work through our redemption and relationship to bring a unique perspective to others and somehow use that to help, and bring hope.

I am excited to announce that Steve and I have been asked to host a workshop for Camp Widow. Ironically, the workshop is titled "Mad at God: A conversation." Uh, yeah - I have some experience in that department, I'm not ashamed to admit it! I am anxious, excited, nervous, and overall humbled for the opportunity to help in some way.

I can't wait to meet some of the inspirational people that have been integral in my own grief journey. I'm thankful to have Steve by my side to share this passion with me. I hope this is just the beginning of many other opportunities to finally step forward and feel like I'm making Jeremy proud.