Sleep

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I think I've forgotten how to sleep for more than 4 or 5 hours at a time.

This is a side effect of my second life that really challenges me. I can feel the anxiety I've held at bay all day bubble up when I wake up in the middle of the night. It waits for these dark, quite, vulnerable moments to get a good foothold and then it's a battle between me and the anxiety.

I breathe deeply, in for four counts, hold for two, out for four counts. It only takes one or two cycles of this for my body to tense up again and my brain to swirl with worries. So I repeat the process again and again. Sometimes I can short circuit the anxiety and I fall asleep again. Sometimes the anxiety wins and I give up on sleep and read my book until the sun rises and then I get up.

The anxiety that tries to take over my brain isn't even specific worries. It's not like I wake up and think about all I need to accomplish the next day, or how I'm going to get through some difficult upcoming event. It's just generalized anxiety in a physical form. A racing heart, tense muscles and adrenaline-soaked brain synapses.  It's a fuzzy, non-specific "life is in flux and I feel scared" sensation that sinks down from my brain into my chest and gut.

I want very much to not become dependent on medications to sleep through the night, but the truth is, without meds, It's 50/50 odds at best right now. Half the time I sleep a relatively decent amount and the other half of the time I barely sleep at all. I've adjusted to this in that I don't freak out about it as much. I don't think that I won't be able to function the next day and I don't cancel stuff so I can lie around and somehow make up for the deprivation during the day. I just keep going. I don't freak out as much in the middle of the night, faced with the fact that sleep just won't come to me. I've learned to let the insomnia in and adjust to it. I learned to think of it as extra reading time or something that won't last anyway.

The problem is, I know the one way to avoid it and that's the meds. So I want to take them every night, but I don't because I want to remember how to sleep on my own, so I'm trying to wean myself off them.

Maybe I need to consider that weaning myself off right now isn't as important as sleeping but I wish I could remember how to sleep without them.

How the hell do you sleep through the night again? I can't remember. I used to be really good at it.

Hope for Hope

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This week, I completed the camp widow survey (see it here)

There was one question that made me think.. made me wonder. Without spilling the details of the survey and question, here’s what my answer was…

I hope to have hope again. The hope for hope, brings me hope.

I realized, I still have a long ways to go in my quest for hope. I realized it’s a little sad that I all I have is to hope for hope.

But I do.

I hope for hope.

Because hope makes me hope for a better for tomorrow.

Makes me hope for a less grief stricken life.

Hope that one day I will “get over it”, “move on” or “forget about it”, in the words of the none experienced.

Hoping for hope, keeps me going. Keeps me pushing. Keeps me from giving up.

Because hope matters.

And if all you can do is hope for hope that is enough.

Soaring spirits (If you are unfamiliar with them, see them here), brings me hope.

They keep me strong.

They have picked me up, wiped my tears, and told me, that one day.. it will be okay. Not “I accept it - okay” but kind of like “this isn't going to kill me after all, and that’s okay.”

I was talking to Michele this week and she said something to the effect of “I am grateful for the courageous honesty you show week after week on WV. You are a widowed rock star.”

I’ll be honest, I don’t feel like a widowed rock star (really, what is that?)

I have struggled… wondering if my blog helps and supports anyone. Or if it’s just me spilling my emotions every week to the written land of never never. I have had writers block like no other. I have scrapped the bottom of my soul barrel, trying to put my struggles into words. Trying to make my struggles make sense to the outside world.

I have had a friend (that is really good at writing) take my written ball of shit, and turn it into writing that makes sense to everyone else. But I write every week, because I made a commitment. A commitment to share my experience and struggles every Sunday, no matter what… that commitment gives me hope. Because come Sunday, I know I have a job that needs to be done.

Having Michele believe in me, gives me hope. Hope that my experience can help someone, if even in a teeny, tiny way. Having someone believe in you, when you don’t believe in yourself, matters.

This life matters. Even in the most shitty of shitty situations… there is a reason to go on.

Even if I don’t know what that reason is (yet) I hope to figure out that reason.

Because well, hope matters.

Break Up

“The relationship you have with the world is just like any other relationship. Every now and again, even if it’s pissed you off for no good reason, you have to look it in the eyes and say: I love you.” - Iain Thomas

I broke up with life in May of 2007.

For obvious reasons.

My soul mate was killed.

But as the days, months and years passed.

As the smiles grew from corner to corner, laughter escaped, inhaling was appreciated... we made up.

But then another loss. Another break up from the big L.

Then he wined and dined me and we made up. All past issues forgiven ;)

But the past 4 years, when May or December came around, I didn't just end our longstanding nuptials with a break up, but insisted on at least giving life the cold shoulder.

They're hard months with hard dates.

Not this year.

No.

Event though we've had are disagreements and what at times seemed like a total divorce, life and I have stuck it through.

'But how? Life has done some pretty messed up things to you?!'

I know. It's a question asked by many and many times by myself. Please, let me explain.

Life has its flaws. Undoubtedly. But so do I.

Life has sometimes made me question my very existence. But Life never Life never left my side as I figured it out for myself.

But enough about Life..I must admit my own discretions in our relationship.

I've hated Life with my very being. I've spit on it and told it to never come back. I threw its clothes to the curb. I've cursed it to all around me.

But through it all, Life consistently let me know that it was there for me. Life knew that it wasn't perfect, and most importantly, Life never gave up on me when I had given up on it and myself.

Life understood what I needed to realize for myself....

That it wasn't perfect, but it was something that many didn't even have the honor of having in its presence. That it couldn't give me everything, but if I were to reflect, I'd realize that it had and would give me more than I could have ever asked for or dreamed of.

This May (and after), I've made a pact with what I some thought to be a hellish relationship, to really opening my eyes to the utter beauty and unconditional love it has and will show me as long as I'm willing to embrace it.

Life is a gift/relationship denied by many (even by myself at times)....but no longer, hot stuff. I'm on to you and all that I blinded myself from seeing before.

I love you....and I'm so in love with you.

Maggie's Angel Day v4.0

So I’ve been sitting in front of this keyboard now for about an hour waiting for the inspiration to hit me.  I’ve never been one to search for things to say (or type) but tonight, while the oddly cold Texas wind blows a gale outside and the house tries to expunge the smell of freshly delivered Indian food, I sit stymied at the keyboard, not lacking in things to say, but instead, wondering where to start.  But it’s my day to write and I’ve got to start because I need to finish because I have a date with a glass of very old scotch and I need to show a box of Kleenex who’s boss.

Maggie and I met in the oddest way – a mutual acquaintance brought her to my house as one of a cadre of girls.  His carrot for them was “He’s got a boat!”  His carrot to me was “I have girls!”  Obviously, the man knew how to work deals.  Days later, on June 14th, 1999 she and I were stuck together for life (although we didn’t quite realize it yet.)

The more time we spent together, the more strongly we bonded.  Unlike all the other women I dated (and the numerous other guys she dated, the little floozy), I liked her more and more every single day!  It was a new experience for me and for her.  We shared much later about how our respective pasts were filled with frequent exercises in gently crushing our ill-matched dates’ hearts.  But when she and I met, it was if everything lined up perfectly.  Ms. Yin, meet Mr. Yang.  It was as if our souls exhaled, saying, “Ah, there you are!  I’ve been looking for you!”  So, on February 28, 2004, we called it a done deal.

Now, I wasn’t exactly the “I want to get married” type.  I may (or may not) have put up a little bit of a hissy fit (but there's no evidence since the only witness went off and died on me.)  My compromise was that we’d have two weddings: one for her and one for me.  HER wedding was February 28, with all the frilly and food and flowers and penguin suits.  MY wedding was the next day, February 29th….  In Las Vegas… with Elvis…. With me dressed as James Dean and her as Marilyn Monroe with 30 of our closest friends in assorted movie star costumes in tow.  Tell me that’s not awesome!  ☺

Fast forward only a few happy years and she was following her dream in law school at Baylor.  My dream of business school was just around the corner.  Then the shit hit the fan. In December 2006, at her birthday party, she pressed my hand against her chest and asked, “Does this bump feel weird to you?”

That was how it began.

Tomorrow, at 7:30 PM CST, just four short years ago, after she said, “Come closer” and after I skooched my body up against her as tightly as I possibly could, it ended.

I cannot imagine the man I’d be today had all I just described to you never happened.  But I can tell you these things without a doubt:
- I am a better man because I had a friend who unabashedly used me for my boat
- If you think you need a doctor’s opinion, GO TO THE DOCTOR!  NOW!
- Like keys fit locks, souls definitely have a “Oh, there you are!”
- Wishes, hopes and dreams don’t mean shit.  But believing they do make for happier days.
- You choose your state of mind.  But damn, sometimes it seems like there’s a huge crowd arguing against you and they are very convincing with their logic and/or threats
- When in doubt, don’t be afraid to apply a good scotch and lots of Kleenex… liberally

... And, Maggie, just in case you are reading this, Good night, My Love.  I love you no less today than I did yesterday.  And no more than I will tomorrow.

Now, about that scotch.  And Kleenex....

Somehow

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No matter how many times I've come to expect it, grief still manages to catch me off guard somehow.

Last week, I watched my 2 year old get the biggest kick out of a whoopie cushion at Mamaw & Papaw's house. He was jumping up and down on it, literally laughing himself silly. When you watch a toddler laugh like that, it's impossible not to join along. And then suddenly, like a flash of lightning, my laughing came to a halt as I choked down tears. 4 days before Jeremy died, he had bought the kids a whoopie cushion and took a small video of each of them on his phone to capture how hilarious they thought it was. And realizing that Carter never got to be a part of that or never will be a part of that overcame me. I almost had to get up and leave the room.

I read about how well the Toronto Maple Leafs were doing this season, and I ache. Not because I care about hockey much, but because Jer waited his whole life to see this day, and now is missing it, and it somehow makes ME emotional. My mother posts a picture on Facebook of my son looking exactly like his daddy and it tears me up inside. I see my daughter finally start to outgrow the shirt that her daddy bought her, and it's too much to know so much time has gone by and she's grown so much without him. I still can't sing his favorite songs at church, because it hurts (not to mention, sung at his funeral and my brother's funeral) and the words cut through me like glass.

No matter how much time goes by, no matter how content I am with my life now, grief always finds a place. I know this, and yet still get mad at myself for not anticipating it better. Darn you sneaky grief, I'll figure you out somehow.

Oh wait, grief doesn't really work that way. Dang it. Guess I'm along for the long haul.

He Comes Into My Dreams ......

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...... far less than I'd like.
I think.

That's the way it's been since the beginning.  I can't remember how long it took before I finally had a dream with Jim in it, but it was several weeks after his death.

I remember the first dream vividly.
He and I were sitting at a table, across from each other.
We both knew he was dead.  But he came to reassure me that he could see the children ...... and me.
And that he would always be there.
Then he disappeared and I dreamed another scene, without him in it.
After that scene happened, he came back.  And proceeded to tell me everything that had just occurred, to prove to me that he really could see me.

That the was the first, and best, dream.

As I said, I seldom dream of him.
But when I do, most of the time he reappears after all this time, only he's alive.  He tells me that he just left for a while.
And usually I stare at him, open-mouthed in disbelief.  And I want to be very, very pissed at him.
But I never am.
I simply tell him everything we've been through in his absence.
In the belief that he was dead.
And I am so ...... well, as you can imagine ...... beyond relieved, joyful, happy, etc., that he's not dead.  And that he's back.
That's about the time I usually wake up.
Damn it.

A few times, like last night, I've had dreams that left me ...... unsettled, for lack of a better word.
So unsettled that I'm glad I don't dream of him more often.
I don't remember as much about those dreams when I wake up ...... except that he's always dead in them.

I have no idea what any of these dreams mean.
Or actually, if they mean anything, which I doubt.

And I have no idea why I haven't dreamt of him more often.
Or what that means, if anything.

But ...... just as I remember the best dream ...... I also remember the absolute worst.
Which sounds like a good dream.
On the face of it.

Jim came into the house while I was still in bed one morning.  I woke up and saw him going into the bathroom and I started crying, almost hysterically.  He came to me and held me and asked me what was wrong.
I told him that I thought he had died ...... and I told him everything that had happened since.
He assured me that he was very much alive ...... and that I had only had a nightmare (shades of "Dallas", anyone?)
The dream kept going after that ...... with him being very, very alive.
And there was no containing my happiness.

And then ...... I woke up.
And I believed, for almost one full minute, that the dream had been real.  And that this whole thing had only been a nightmare.
Then, after that glorious, wonderful minute ...... reality woke me the rest of the way up.
And I cried.
And cried.

I still cry, remembering that morning.
It was horrible ...... to wake up thinking that life was as it should be again.  And that I had only dreamed a nightmare.

Instead of actually living in one.

Maybe I am glad he seldom comes into my dreams.
It's easier to find hope again when you don't dream the impossible.
At least for me.

Small steps

I took this photo on Friday evening.
After sundown.
On the beach.
Just as the moon rose over the island.
Out of my comfort zone ...  and yet feeling perfectly at home.

On Saturday, I did an actual photoshoot for a friend's family.
Like professional photographers do.
Feeling nervous that these people trusted me to capture the essence of their family on film.  Hoping I didn't stuff it up completely.
Out of my comfort zone again.


I am challenging myself to do things out of my comfort zone.  .... in very small steps.

I know I have a long way to go. 

But it feels good to be trying new things.... getting a bit of the old me back.

The old me that Greg fell in love with.....

Maybe, just maybe, I can glean a little confidence from knowing that he would be proud of me....