My Parallel Universe

Some of my incredible widow friends, who help keep me sane

I've had a really tough few weeks.  In some ways, it has almost felt like I'm right back at the start - crying from the moment I wake up without him in my bed until I pass out each night from exhaustion.

Thankfully, it has lifted again in recent days but in the depth of this latest low I realised I was withdrawing from the people in my life in a way I hadn't done before. I just felt so disconnected, like no one could relate.

When Dan died last July, the shock and pain resonated out from me in waves through our family, friends, neighbours, work colleagues and acquaintances.  People openly grieved, their lives halted while they came to terms with this unimaginable loss - this wonderful man taken from our world in such a tragic way.  In the weeks and months that followed, there was unquestionable support and understanding, people were so gentle with me, everyone 'got it'.

But it's different now.  As the seven month, eight month, nine month milestones were passed, the support grew quieter.  The phone calls and messages from most of those closest to us slowed down and then stopped.

Eventually I started feeling like people had forgotten.  They had gone back to their routines and life went on, in some cases, largely unchanged.  Dan's death was something they faced sporadically, whereas I am still sitting here, struggling to breath from the pain of missing him.

I understand why... my husband played the leading role in my life but a supporting role in others’.  For me, his presence was constant and intricate.  His absence has left a gaping black hole that I navigate around every waking moment. 

Coming up to the first anniversary, I am still in my 'early days' of grieving.  I accept it's going to be a long road.  But when I'm laying in our bed, in our empty house, crying for him, aching to hold him again... I can't help feeling like the world has left me behind.

I will never 'get over' losing my husband but my friends are celebrating pregnancies, enjoying romantic weekends away, cuddling up with their partners on the couch to watch the Game of Thrones finale... living a normality that I can only envy from afar.

I felt so detached from them.  It wasn't exactly that I was resentful, or jealous even - I just felt like I was existing in a parallel universe.  I couldn't call for help even if I had the energy, because no one could reach me.  I was in a very lonely place.  A place they couldn't understand. To be honest, a place they wouldn't WANT to understand.  

Then I realized, there were some people who could understand - my widow friends.  They got it.  They hadn't moved on.  They may not have known my husband (because I met them after his death had connected us), but they knew my pain. My widow friends were a shining ray of light, breaking through the despair during these dark days.  I think this realisation is what pulled me out of that deep sadness. 

Then, as the grief started to shift again, I began to feel really, really excited.  It hit me - in two days time I will be getting on a plane and flying from Brisbane to Los Angeles, before travelling down to San Diego for Camp Widow West.  Where I will be surrounded by the kind of understanding and support that only a widow can give.

When I think about attending Camp Widow I feel a mixed up version of excitement, nervous, relieved, hopeful, scared and anxious.  I can't wait to meet Michele, the founder of Soaring Spirit, who has been an incredible inspirational to me since I met her via email six months ago.  I can’t wait to talk to her about the possibility of bringing this event to Australia, for all my friends here and the countless women and men joining our ranks every week. 

Despite being quite shy, I am also surprisingly excited to meet new friends. As a very introverted person, I only really become confident and outgoing when I've had the chance to grow comfortable with someone.  So travelling to a new country, on my own, to explore new cities and attend a three-day event with people I don't know is waaaay out of my comfort zone.  Yet, I am doing it because my urge to connect is stronger than my urge to hide.  I know my husband will be by my side and will be proud of me and excited for this new path I'm exploring. 

So for those of you travelling to Camp Widow next week, keep an eye out for the quiet, slightly awkward Aussie and please feel free to say hello and give me a hug.  I really miss hugs.  See you soon USA!!

Gone on the Fourth of July - Again.

So, today is the 4th of July. I do not have any plans. In exactly 9 days from now, on July 13th, it will be the 3-year anniversary of Don's sudden death. I think that what happened is that I got so anxious and determined to make sure I had a plan for that day, that I completely forgot about the major holiday that comes the week before, and all the trauma and guilt and anxiety associated with it for me. So now, here I sit, wondering once again, just like last year, how to handle this very complicated day, which brings sadness and numbness to me, usually without even trying.

I am going to copy below, a portion of the blog that I wrote in here last year on this same day. Not because I am too lazy to write something else, (well, maybe that's part of it) but because what it says is EXACTLY the same thing I want to say again this year, because I still have not been able to figure this all out in my mind, and I still don't like "celebrating" on the 4th of July. It is sort of weird that, in this particular area, I feel like I have not had forward motion or any breakthroughs at ALL in my thought process. I had hoped I would feel differently about this day now, than I did a year ago. But I don't. So that is why the exact same words I wrote last year, are just as relevant today. Here is a part of what I wrote last year on this day:

"I have no last words with my husband. No goodbyes. No good morning. No goodnight. We both sort of fell asleep the night before, I think, and I cannot recall anything that was said to one another. The next day, I woke up, and he was gone from the apartment, and gone from this earth. Sometimes it still doesn't feel real. How can someone just disappear like that? And why the hell can't I remember anything about the days and weeks leading up to his death? Was our life really that dull in those weeks that I cant chalk up one happy memory?

I do remember one thing, and it haunts me. It feeds me with guilt and sorrow, and I hate it for having that hold on me. It was the 4th of July. We had two invitations to hang out with friends that night. Our neighbors down the street, a married couple, asked us to come to their apartment, have drinks, and hang out on their high-rise balcony and watch the fireworks. My best friend Sarah and her husband Julio also invited us over to their Long Island home for a night BBQ and fireworks from their neighborhood park. Or, we could just stay home, and walk across the street together and see the fireworks by ourselves.

Don did not want to do any of those things. On that night, he seemed really tired, kind of bored, and had a lack of energy to do much of anything. He was working his normal job as a paramedic, and had also picked up a second job stocking dog and cat food, as well as helping with pet adoptions, at our local Petsmart. He was exhausted:

Me: Boo, let's go to Sarah's place, it will be fun.
Him: You go, Boo. I'm really tired and I just don't feel like going out.
Me: But it's the 4th of July, I wanna spend it with you. Let's go to the neighbors, they have an awesome view from up there.
Him: Nah. I just don't care about fireworks really.
Me: Okay, well you and I can just walk across the street and see them then, by ourselves.
Him: Nah. You go. I just want to stay in tonight, play some guitar, relax.
Me: But it's right across the street. You're saying you won't walk across the street with me to see fireworks?
Him: I'm saying I don't care about fireworks.
Me: But they are right here. All we have to do is look up. You are refusing to look up?
Him: It'll be hard to look up when Im taking a nap. Go to Sarah's house. Have fun, Boo. I'm fine.
Me: Okay. I guess I will then.

I did go to Sarah's house that night, and I felt really sad about it. Don and I almost never fought, and this wasn't even really a fight either, but it made me sad that he didn't want to spend time with me like I wanted to spend time with him. And that he wouldn't walk across the street, simply because I wanted to. But now, since his death, I feed myself with guilt and ask: Why didn't I stay home with him that night? Why did I leave him? I should have stayed home. The poor guy was tired. He was working two jobs. Why did I make him feel BAD that he didn't want to watch fireworks? Why was watching fireworks more important to me than hanging out with my husband? These questions loop inside my heart, over and over, relentlessly.

And it bothers me that THIS is the LAST thing I remember about our life. This stupid, silly conversation about fireworks and being tired. After this night, everything else turns to fog.

And now, today, and every 4th of July, even if the fireworks are right outside my window, I refuse to look up and see them. I don't want to see them. Not without him. Not without my husband. It sounds incredibly stupid, but watching fireworks on the 4th of July feels like I'm betraying him. Like I'm leaving him to go hang out with my friends and look into the night sky without him.

It feels wrong, and I feel crazy, but sometimes crazy is my best friend, because my real best friend disappeared into the night, that night. Gone on the 4th of July.

(pictured: My husband Don is in front, taking this "selfie" of us, with the group of friends we used to hang out with constantly. This was taken at our Jersey apartment, where the fireworks were literally across the street, so our friends would come over and watch with us. This is I think 2008, on the 4th of July, in that life I used to have that no longer exists.) 

Alien Life

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My life feels surreal.

A year and a half ago things were purring along with a familiar rhythm. My days were kind of predictable. I was married. I had a house. Things to do. People to take care of. Routines. I felt in control.

Ha, laughed the universe. 

Now I feel like an alien being..like I was transported to some other planet after Mike died.

A stranger in a strange land.

Some days, I just don't recognize my life. I go through the motions but there is always that weird little panic button flashing at the back of my mind. It's not in full alarm mode anymore, but it's still always there. I spend a lot of time trying to find normalcy in my head. Some new sense of familiarity in my life, my surroundings. New routines. It's not always easy. Mike made me feel safe. I always knew everything was going to be ok when he was around. But he's not around anymore.

Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

Now don't get me wrong. My friends and family who read this should know that yes - I am strong, I am healthy and doing good work on myself. And I am grateful for what I have. I think about that a lot. I'm grateful I had Mike in my life. I'm grateful for the support and love that I find around me now. And yes - I have a lot of beautiful friends and family that are familiar. But none of this is easy. It still all feels really, really weird a lot of the time. And kind of scary to face the world without him. Scary to make decisions without him. Scary that I have to make decisions whether I like it or not and I can't talk to him about any of it. So writing about this here has been downright therapeutic, because somehow knowing we're not the only ones with those feelings helps...maybe it helps us to feel less like aliens. Or maybe that we might all be on the same alien planet together, trying to survive. Planet Widow.

This past Saturday, Sarah's post here Fitting Two Worlds Together resonated deeply for me. It's weird to be becoming someone new, to be changing in ways we couldn't have predicted because our husbands are gone. It's hard to come to terms with the idea that their deaths irrevocably altered our realities. That the very individuals we are, our very essence, is being challenged and recreated because our life partners and best friends are not here with us.

I'm not Mike's wife anymore. That changed everything. We created a life together. That's what married people do. Now I have to create a new life without him. It's not only devastating and heartbreaking, but it feels bizarre. Surreal. Tilted at odd angles. Warped like those crazy mirrors at the amusement park.

Alien.

Who was I before? Who am I now? Mike changed me for sure. I learned things and grew and got older and wiser while married to him. But I'm still in midlife, and now the rest of the changes that happen will be without him around. Without his guidance, without his security, without his encouragement or support.

I'm learning my way around this alien landscape bit by bit. It's not something  I asked for but I don't have any choice. I guess I'll just take my protein pills and put my helmet on.

This~

I've been on the road for two weeks now with my daughter in this continuing Odyssey of Love.  Not necessarily by plan but happening nonetheless, we're traveling the same roads my husband and I drove in our first year out on the road.  Not by plan only because all we know is that we're headed north to Washington state, where we'll turn East and make our way eventually to the Atlantic coast.

This is incredibly painful and I don't know how I'm going to sustain it over the next 6 months except that I will because this is what I need to do.  This is the road Chuck set me on when he asked me to return to his favorite places and scatter his cremains.  He knew the kind of woman I am and that this is what would help me best manage my grief.  So, its okay within the parameters of everything really not being okay at all, if that makes sense. (and I know it does to you who are living this alone life now).  My only alternative is settling down without him, and I just can't do that.  Soldier on is my motto.  One step, one breath, one heart beat.

Beaches come across unexpectedly, the Redwoods, the gorgeous Pacific Coast Hwy...remembering back to the joy he and I felt to be out exploring this country together, to have so much time together, the conversations, the love...he spoke often of time wealth, which is what we had for almost 4 years on the road.  Until we didn't have time of any kind left at all.

I look at the front of my T@b trailer throughout the day and the letters that shine forth in raspberry pink splendor.

Those 3 letters tell me in no uncertain terms that I will get through this because this is who I am.  Each day I consciously live into it.  Those letters allow me to feel all of this devastation and get up and do whatever needs to be done no matter what.  Chuck knew I'd make something of this and I may not have much sense of anything any longer, but I do have determination.  Or at least what passes for determination.

There is so much love out here.  I want to tell you all that.  And I want to encourage you to tell your own story because there are people who care.  My daughter and I are meeting people every day, whether its along the road traveling or when we stop to camp.  They all have hugs for us and oh, those hugs mean so much as I feel them enfold my soul and broken heart.

I picture a yoke across my shoulders with a bucket on each side.  One bucket holds grief and the other holds Love.  Throughout the day both spill over and lay calm and spill over again but, at the end of the day, if both buckets are fairly well-balanced, then I consider I've had a good day.

Grief is love and love is grief and both are magical and the same thing in some way that I haven't yet defined except that I know love spills from my eyes frequently, coming straight from my heart and I allow it all to happen and I hug and receive hugs and even though there is so much horrible missing-ness of my most beloved husband, it is still okay and I'll somehow be okay again too.

That's all.

A New Word ......

...... that describes what I am.
Much better than the old, much-hated word.

I think it's very interesting that the hatred of that word is almost universal.
Men hate it as much as women do.
The word?
Any version of "widow".

Did you hate that word when you first found yourself described as one?
I can remember the first time I heard it ...... the first time someone used it in association with me.
Shock tore through me and sucked the breath right out of my lungs.
I was literally stunned.
And then furious.

That seems insane, I know, but the picture that word put into my mind was pretty much identical to the painting, "Whistler's Mother" (above).
And that was NOT me.
Hell, I didn't even feel like a widow, let alone look like one.
I still felt very much married to Jim and I thought I'd always feel that way.
I resented being called the "W word" and I refused to even say it.

But one day ...... that changed.
It didn't happen over-night, or quickly.  It, like almost all things on this path, took time.
And it took meeting several other people who had been here longer.
But there came a day when I heard that word ...... and I didn't hate it.  I think that shocked me almost as much as when I first heard it.

I realized then that the word "widowed" meant something very different to me than it first did.  And the picture that came to mind had changed drastically.
I no longer saw an old woman dressed in black, sitting in a rocking chair.

I saw a woman who was stronger than she thought she was, a woman who could do more than she thought she could ...... a woman who was a survivor ...... after being to hell and back.
That was the new definition I had for the word "widow"...... Survivor.

But now I have a new word, a word I never heard until I was driving the other day and listened to a song on the radio.  I immediately identified with that song ...... and that word.
"Overcomer"
I like it.  Because that's exactly what I am.
And what you are, even if you don't feel like one.
One day you will.

I have overcome so very much in the last 6 1/2 years.  Not everything, but a lot.
I'm still here.  And I'm glad.
I couldn't always say that.
There were many, many days (weeks, months) when I thought that Grief would overcome me ...... when I almost gave up ...... when I thought I couldn't stand one more minute of pain.
But I'm still here.
And though I feel that I've "overcome" Grief, he still comes to visit me once in a while.
But he doesn't have the strength to pull me under now.  Or maybe I've grown stronger, so I can withstand his visits now.

I will always, always miss Jim.  And I will always hate that he's not here.
But I've learned that it's ok to decide to move forward.  I haven't "moved on", because that seems to imply forgetting the past, getting "over" Jim's death ...... and those things will never happen.
But "moving forward" means choosing to live life and to live it as fully as I can.
In spite of ...... well, you know.  In spite of everything.
And because of everything.

I'm an "Overcomer".
And so are a few hundred of my favorite people.
:)