Like a Wheel Within a Wheel ......

...... these are our wedding rings.  A circle in a circle.
I had them put together like this at about 9 - 10 months out.  I wear them on a necklace.
I haven't worn them in a while, but lately, I've felt a strong pull to wear them.  A lot.
I don't know why and I've learned to not question things that I feel pulled to do.
I have also felt the missing of him stronger lately.
I'm sure that one thing is connected with the other.
I don't know why, I just know.

Even now, at almost 6 years out, the thought of how very much I still miss him makes me cry.  I cannot speak (or type) the words, "I miss him" without crying.
Ever.

Grief, and my "after", are like a circle within a circle.  They are intertwined with each other ...... forever.  The missing of him will never end.  Like a never ending circle.  I will always miss him and I suppose that I will always cry at the depth of the hole he left behind.  Within me.

Don't get me wrong.  My life is good.
Yes, it could be better, but I'll take good.
Because I can't have him.

I am happy.
It's a different happy, but I'll take happy ...... however it looks and feels.
Because I can't have him.
And I can't live miserably ...... missing him.

But I can continue to live, feel happiness, feel joy when it comes ...... and feel love in many different ways.
Even if I can't have him.
Because I can't have him.

I'll continue to love, live, be happy ...... and feel peace, even while I sometimes feel grief.
And miss him.
And cry.

It's a circle.
Within a circle.
And I'm blessed to live in that circle.
Because I was blessed to have him.









Windmills of Your mind

Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnaval balloon
Like a carousell that's turning
Running rings around the moon

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it's own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walking allong the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

All the dumb things*

... people say.

Last week, a teacher I like and respect was chatting to me in the staff room before school.  She said "I've been widowing all weekend because my husband was away.  Amanda, I don't know how you do it".

..and I know, I KNOW that these kinds of comments often make the collective blood of widows begin to simmer.

But I didn't bite her head off or correct her because I know what she was trying to say.

She was trying to say that she admires me because I parent by myself all the time.
She was telling me with her clumsy words that she thinks I have strength and calmness that she knows is hard to keep up.
She was telling me that being a single (sole) parent who is working full time is a hard job.

...and it is.

.
.
.
People say dumb things all the time.  But they think they are being compassionate and kind.  ..and they often are.


At the moment, I am a useless bystander, watching, waiting and hoping that a little girl I know survives long enough to get a new heart.
Last week she went to the doctor with a cold.  By that same afternoon, she was in hospital on life support with cardiomyopathy as her diagnosis.

Lara is 6 years old, on life support and needing a new heart. 

This has stunned my collective friends to the core.
We are gobsmacked as to how this cheeky little girl has gone from having a persistent cough to having a ventilator in a couple of days.

...and like many of us have done in our time of grief (myself included), Lara's mother Ali has turned to facebook as a way of keeping everyone updated on her condition and venting when she needs to.
On the facebook page, she has posted pictures of Lara doing craft whilst hooked up to pipes and tubes and she has posted her fear over the upcoming transfer to Melbourne where heart transplant surgery will occur if a heart is "found".
I hang off every word, hoping that a heart is found (yet knowing another family has to suffer a tragedy for this to happen).
There's even a fundraising page which raised over $10000 in less than a week: people care.


....But this is also where all the dumb things are being said ... in the comments.


All the classics are there:
What a Little Angel / God is calling his little angel
What a fighter
Stay Strong

Don't cry
Don't worry
She needs you to stay calm
Let me know if I can do anything to help...

When what they mean is that the love Lara and her family.
That they are worried.
That they hope Lara doesn't die.
That they don't want to show how scared they are for fear of upsetting Ali even more.
That they are uncomfortable and don't know what to do when Ali airs her feelings.
That they know they should do something but don't know what exactly to do (so they put the onus back onto the one person who is stressed out of her gourd:, Ali).


What they are really doing is trying to let Ali know she is not alone.
That they care about Lara.
That they wish things were different.

They just tend to eat a fair bit of shoe while they are doing it.



People mean well and their love and concern is real.

This is something I know I need to remember next time someone drops an almighty clanger on me.

* All the dumb things is a line from a Paul Kelly song that I love and it seemed to fit this post....

Scary

source

Everything is so damn scary for me these days. Just speaking up and saying what I think feels like too much of a risk. It's as though my confidence died with Dave.

I know I'm courageous only because I can see now that I acted many times since Dave died despite nearly crippling fear. But I don't feel courageous. I feel so scared that I want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world.

It's the acting even when you're scared out of your gourd that means you're courageous. This is something that took a long time to sink in for me. It's still sinking in. In fact, it doesn't register until someone else tells me. It's as though my own brain can't do the math (Fear + Acting anyway = Courageous) unless I'm reminded by an outside source. And even then my brain goes right back to telling me all about my fear.

My therapist said that I'm holding the fear right up in front of my face so I can't see around me. Good stuff might be out there, but I don't see it because all I can see is the fear. I try to picture myself setting the fear down in my lap long enough to look around. It is NOT EASY.

In an attempt to help this sink in for me and really examine how I've been gutsy and brave lately, I'm going to start thinking and talking about my achievements more. I downplay. Always downplaying. And then I forget those accomplishments as my brain goes straight for the fears and the doubts instead.

I'll start here, knowing that you lovely people won't think of it as bragging but as a way to survive and triumph over negative thinking and paralyzing fear. Also, I'd love to hear about your accomplishments in the comments. Don't leave me hangin'!

1. Recently, while at a nearby cafe, I told the owner I could make her blackboard menu for her. I've now become a blackboard artist. A 4' x 8' blackboard is in my house while I work on it. I love working on it. I'm good at it. I was worried I wouldn't be able to do it.

2. I'm scared at a primal level to love anyone again and yet I continue to confront this fear daily by reaching out to people, including the man I'm dating, to be vulnerable. I can't do it without mouth-drying, hand-shaking, stomach-churning fear, but I'm doing it anyway because what's the point of living if you're not opening your heart, right? Sheesh.

3. I just made an appointment to talk to a career advisor at Portland State University so I can decide what I want to do when I go back to school. Which I'm going to do. I've deliberated over it for so long. Time to stop deliberating and just do it. Here we go.

I suppose the hard part about really seeing my courage is that before Dave died, I don't think these 3 accomplishments would have come with so much fear. Some part of me thought that brave equals no fear. So my brain thinks I used to be brave and now I'm not. Where did I get that? When did my brain decide that brave means no fear? I guess it's our society, isn't it?

It's cool to be confident and brazen and fearless and it's a little shameful to be terrified and shaky and blundering. But then again, how brave is it to do something you're not afraid to do? Not really brave at all.

Okay. In that case, I'm brave. And so are all of you.

Selfish

Source

I’ve been meaning to write this blog.. but I have been processing it.

A couple of weeks ago, I went on a date (gasps).

During the course of dinner, the topic of how my husband died came up.

My date started talking about how selfish suicide is and how I live in the past by “celebrating” my husband’s death every year.

I sat there.. sipping my wine and listened to his opinions.

And just thought to myself.. this.dude.doesn’t.have.the.first.clue.what.in.the.hell.he.is.talking.about.

Does not get it at all.

Surprisingly I was able to put his words behind me and enjoy the date.

The next morning as I was slowly waking up.. I started thinking about the night before and conversation we had about my husband’s suicide and how I live in the past.

It dawned on me I have turned some type of corner in my grief.

If someone, let alone a date, would have told me a year ago that suicide was selfish, I would have came unglued. Possibly told the guy to shove it. He might not have walked away from our date without a fork sticking out of his forehead. I could see myself handing him a “You are not alone card” and tell him to call me when he is suddenly thrown into widowhood. And most likely would have got my stuff and left him sitting in the restaurant alone.

But I didn’t. I wasn’t angry with him. I actually took his words with a grain of salt, took his opinions with me and have been processing it for a while now.

I guess with the three year anniversary behind me, I turned some kind of grief corner.

A corner where I understand people don’t get it. But also understand that they have the right to their opinion. Even when their opinion doesn’t mean anything to me.

A corner where I no longer care to try to help someone understand.

A corner where I realized I don’t owe it to this person to explain myself or my husband’s death.

I understand that he hasn’t taken care of a very ill spouse. I understand he hasn’t watched his spouse die piece by piece for an extended period of time. And he doesn’t understand the guilt I carry for asking my husband to keep fighting for so long when all he wanted to do was give up.

He doesn’t understand the sigh of relief I let out when I learned my husband was gone. When I learned he was no longer suffering. When I learned I no longer had to be a caregiver, that for the first time in three years I could take care of myself.. and only myself.

And he has never found himself in such a dark and painful place that suicide seems like the only option.

Janine wrote about her recent experiences with people saying suicide is selfish (read it here).

I couldn’t agree more. Amazing writing Janine!

I have been on the edge. Where suicide was the only answer. More times than I care to admit to. For the first three years I was angry every morning.. because I woke up, yet again. Yet again I was still alive. That the heart break didn’t kill me in my sleep.

At what point does it become selfish to ask your very mentally ill husband to keep fighting? At what point does it become selfish to keep him alive?

People don't understand that for the first time in six years, I can be selfish. If suicide is selfish and I am selfish, than where exactly does all this fit?

I am happy to report that something inside of me has changed. I am happy to realize something “clicked” inside of me. I am happy to say that I can actually see my progress.

A year ago I couldn't see any progress in myself. I saw progress as getting up in the morning and going to work. I didn't see the little things that have "clicked".

And I am happy to say my date walked away alive with all limbs still intact.

There's No Place Like Hope

I was spending my Friday evening perusing a used book store when my eyee were caught by this very catchy title.

Being an avid "Wizard of Oz" fan, the switch of HOME with HOPE struck such a chord with me.

Home, for me, has never equated to a physical structure, but rather a place to fully be me.


To be immersed by all that I love.

To let me hair down.

Dance around naked.

Talk out loud.

Find myself.

Cry.

Laugh.

LIVE...

A breeding ground to create memories and share moments with those I care about.

A place of peace.

Unapologetic.

Quirky.

Me.


When thinking of all that I hope for, I saw that it literally embodied what "home" was/is.

Hope is nothing more than us trying to find our way back to all that we are when we find ourselves in a space/energy/place that embraces all that we are and all those that add color to our canvas....hope in disguise.

I have no freaking clue what that darn book is about that stirred this realization...But I sure as hell know that it made me realize that there really is nothing like hope.

Nothing like 'home'.

Nothing like remembering where the yellow brick road leads to and what that homecoming means to one's soul.


Sometimes we just need to click the heels of our hearts and mind together to remember where it is.

Grief Is ......

Grief Is ... 

Grief is that feeling where nothing is flat. There are mountains and hills and mud, and giant pieces of glass. There is fire and lightning and floods, and you are walking in it, without any shoes on. In the dark. 

Grief is scolding hot and chilled to the bone. It gets in your nails and leaves you unwhole.

Grief is being jealous of your own brother, because he gets to have two beautiful kids with his wife. Envious of your own parents, because they get to be married to the same person for 45 years and counting. Grief is walking into a nursing home to visit an elderly relative, and walking out wondering what your husband would have been like at the age of 50. 65. 74. 83 ...

Grief is that migraine that pounds in your head and screams in your ear while you sleep. Grief is the monster that keeps you from sleeping. The illness that steals your reason. Your life. 

Grief is in your eyeballs, in your knees, in your feet. It's in your hips and your fingers. Grief lays in your stomach and churns. Grief is a pain in your arms. It's heavy, like carrying sandbags on your shoulders. Everyday. Every second. Grief hurts every inch of your body. All the time. Always.

Grief is the bear in the woods, waiting to pounce. It's a jumbled sentence. It's 157 emotions trapped inside of a tiny room - fighting. 

Grief is a silent Hell. Nobody could ever understand. Nobody could ever feel your pain. Nobody gets you. Grief is isolating. Lonely. Sick. 

Grief is nausea. Hysteria. Anxiety wrapped in panic. Fearing what comes next. Fearing right now. 

Grief is looking at a sunset and wondering if he can see it too. Grief makes you question. Makes you doubt. Leaves you unsure and unsafe.

Grief doesn't leave. It's that weird, annoying uncle who tells the same story over and over and over again, everyday, every year, on Thanksgiving. Grief is repetitive. Grief is repetitive. Grief is repetitive .....

Grief is a pimple that won't ever pop. It's a sadness that lives inside you. Grief is feeding yourself poison, everyday. Standing still, but feeling seasick. Overthinking, but incoherant. An ocean filled with dirt. Music that pierces your eardrum. Grief is the sky inside of your throat. Trapped. Scared. Waiting to be freed. 

Grief makes you ugly and mean and cold. It's that thing that won't let you go. Won't let you move forward. The elevator with no floors. The escalator that doesn't stop. A board game played for eternity. A merry-go-round forever. Grief is that friend that won't take a hint. It sleeps on your couch and doesn't pay rent. It's a scream and a whisper. A push and a pull. A stab and a dull.

Grief is guilt. So much guilt. Guilt for bad thoughts. Good thoughts. Guilt for feeling joy. Guilt for existing, while he lies there dead. 

Grief has no logic. No sense. No soul. 

This is my grief. You get your own. They are the same, but not at all. Grief does not share. It is selfish and rude. Grief will not go. It stays. It changes. It shifts. It hurts and it pains and it stomps and it punches. It ebbs and it flows. It calms, and then pours. 

There is no start. No finish. No middle. It's just there, all the time. Like breathing. 

If you survive it, and if you breathe through it and with it, you might emerge someone new.
Changed. 

Darker. Evolved. Different. Awake. 

Higher. Lighter. Re-born. Relieved. 

Grief is an endless loop. A book with no last page. 
Grief is nothing. 
It is everything. 
It is selfish and all-consuming. 
It is vague and grey and cloudy.

Grief is a circle, and you are inside.
Going 'round. 
and around and around. 
Keep going around.

Don't fight it. 
Just roll.

Perspective

The moment I walked out of my front door in Michigan for the last time, tears fell without warning and without permission. It was as if my body knew what my mind wouldn't allow me to think about or dwell on - that I was leaving behind a huge history and pieces of my heart that would never be found in any other place (cue Monica from Friends screaming as my inner dialogue, "It's the end of an ERA!")

As I drove away towards our new home in West Virginia, I did feel the sadness of leaving behind so much, but the closer we got to our destination, the more I started to feel other emotions. Excitement. Anticipation. Wonder. Eagerness. 

The biggest driving factor for me in moving, besides supporting my husband wherever he ended up, was the chance to start somewhere fresh. Somewhere without baggage, a place to create new relationships without fear of judgement or pity. A place where I could feel useful again, instead of forgotten and broken. It was a place where I could have a clean slate and reinvent myself. I could be anyone I wanted to be. 

I immediately thought of the way Jeremy saw me. The person he thought I was, and the person I've always wanted to be. Even in death, he found ways through others to show me how he felt about me and the way he talked about me to others. I thought I might finally have the environment that would cultivate the woman he always saw in me. No one would be there to remind me of my mistakes, to hold me to the person I've been before or their perception of who I am now. 

While in theory I couldn't wait to 'fix' all my flaws and recreate a better version of myself, I've quickly realized that it's not as easy as it sounds. 

First of all, I am already different than the person Jeremy saw in me. I've tried to hold on to those pieces, but I've added so many layers onto my skin, my heart, and my life experience. I am capable of so much more than I ever realized and somehow it took Jeremy's death to discover it - he somehow showed it to me through his life. 

Second of all, I want to take the past with me. Of course, I'd love to leave the baggage and the flaws but without them, I wouldn't be who I am now, and all those things have Jeremy's love and hand carved deep inside. I wouldn't dare leave without those. 

While I started to feel unsettled in my new surroundings already realizing that creating a new me wasn't what I thought it would be, I figured out it was because I was doing it wrong. I don't need to be someone different or someone new. I just needed to let me see myself through the eyes of the man who loved me. Luckily, I get to see her in the man who loves me now, but somehow it took a separation from the place I thought I was most comfortable to see what I am really made of. 

Seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you is the best way to look. It changes everything. It can carry you through any storm, any heartache, any transition. It can transform the way you think about yourself and your own capabilities. It is your clean slate.

As Michele so perfectly put it, long live love.