happy birthday.

it wasn't the kind

of birthday celebration

i would have chosen,

for her

but then

there's very little

about this situation

that either one

of us would have.

but after three

of them

without her

this was by far

the best.

not because i'm

over what

happened or because

i've moved on

(i prefer the phrase, "moving through," implying an active process vs. one that is finished),

but because

the community that has

supported us since

it happened

came together to raise

money for others

like us.

i can honestly

tell you that i never

imagined i'd

be doing the things

that i've done

since that moment

in march 2008,

and i'm glad

i didn't do

what i've wanted

to do so often.

i didn't give up

then, and i haven't

given up since.

it's stupid

to even think

about, but if she could

just see the good

that has come

from so much

sadness, i know

she'd be

pretty fucking proud.

And So It Goes .....

.... and goes and goes and goes.
This thing called grief.

I just got back from a fantastic trip to Germany.  I was with a group of 46 other people and we toured around for nearly 2 weeks.
It was my first trip "alone".
I've gone on trips with the kids or with friends, but I went by myself on this one.  I stayed by myself in all of the hotels.
Most of the other 46 people were couples.  I knew some of them and am quite close with the couple leading the tour.
But .....

You know where I'm going with this, don't you?
It was basically my first trip without Jim.
After almost three years.

I've been planning this trip for over a year.
I thought that I'd be fine and that there would be no waves.
Why in the world was I stupid enough to think that?
Because it's what I wanted to happen, I guess.

But of course, I was wrong.

I did well until about the 3rd or 4th day.
And then I didn't do so well.
I missed him.
I missed having him take my picture in front of something cool.
I missed taking his picture.
I missed holding his hands like so many of the couples were doing.
I missed sharing all of those amazing sites with him.
I missed sitting beside him on the bus and on the plane.
I missed having him sleep next to me in all of those hotel rooms.

And so it goes.

I found it amazing how lonley you can feel in a crowd of 47 people.
Or .... on that particular day ..... in a crowd of thousands (as we toured castles, churches, etc.).
I hung out on the edge of our group, keeping my sunglasses on so that no one would notice the red eyes and the tears.

I was not the only single person on the trip.
In fact, I wasn't even the only widow.
But the other widow had her two daughters with her.
Me? 
Just me.

And so it goes.

It was a wonderful trip and I certainly wasn't miserable the whole time.
Just one bad day.
And only a few teary moments at other times.
Which, in the long run, is pretty good .... in my opinion.

About two days after my "bad day" I noticed something that made me catch my breath.
Literally.
I realized on that day ..... that exact day ..... that I missed C (we've been dating for almost a year).
I missed C and I didn't think about Jim while I was missing him.
This realization actually smacked me .... that day.
It felt almost physical.
And ..... this is the really strange part ....
it felt good.
Because I realized that the fact that I could miss C without thinking about Jim at the same time ..... was a very positive step.
In my opinion.

And so it goes ......

The Beginning of the March...

This month begins the "death march". That annual walk down memory lane that takes me from the last family trip we took when he was feeling somewhat healthy, to the 3rd diagnosis, to M.D. Anderson, to a brother's graduation, to a stressful birthday in the ER, to a series of specialists, to yet another hospital, and finally to a cemetery on a beautiful hilltop in the country.

From September to November each year, each day has a meaning for me. Each day in this time period 5 years ago brought something new, not always bad, but some new challenge for us, some new emotion, new thought, new fear, new reality. I can't describe how it all felt, but each year I feel it again. Less intense than the year before, but it's there anyway. Each day between now and the first week in November has a specific memory associated with it. All of it leading up to the end. It's beautiful and terrible, and it sucks. But, like all things on this path, this will not go away. There is no way out but through. I'm putting on my waders and trudging on.

Waiting

Special thanks to Dan for guest writing for me today! Michele

This is the part no one tells you about. This is the part that many do not know. When your spouse dies, you are left with a void, a big void. Your mind constantly reminds you that he is gone, and that what lies before you is an existence that must begin without him. The only problem is, how do you do this? And, what exactly is this new existence like? For me it's about waiting.

When my husband Michael died I was not surprised. After all, the doctors told us two year prior that he would in fact die. We spoke of it often. We prepared for it legally and emotionally. When it happened I was thrown off course. All the talking and planning didn't prepare me for an existence without him. In those first few weeks I sat on my living room couch in shock. Hours went by, and there I sat. I sometimes imagined that I was sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus to come by. I would board the bus, and it would take me away, away from my new existence. I knew that it wouldn't take me to Michael, that part I understood. I just needed it to take me away from where I was, which was feeling lost.

It's been 11 months now, and still I wait. No, I don't sit on my couch all day long anymore. I do have my kids to tend to, but at night, I do sit and wait. I'm waiting for a sign that tells me which way to go. There is no bus that will be arriving, so if I want to move forward I must chart the course myself. And to be honest with myself, I have started this movement. Yet, there is still so much that I am lacking. There is still so much that lacks meaning for me. So I wait. From my bedroom window I can see the city lights. They tell me that life continues to move forward. But tonight I sit here perched in my tower of grief. Waiting.

http://daninrealtime.blogspot.com

A Different Widow Card

So there's this guy...he likes me and I like him
And when we are together, we giggle.
With him, I remember how much I like to laugh, the kind of laughter that makes my belly hurt.

And then
there's this other guy, who when he smiles at me
I can't say a damn thing intelligent.
The energy coming off of him says "Good kisser."
If only I could find the courage to see if I'm right.

And then there were those silly police officers
whose eyes followed me as I walked by their car.
So I swung my hips just little more than usual, I sashayed.

And it felt good.

I love men.

I adore how they stupid get, or how bold I feel around them. How quickly they lose themselves in "Excuse me, can you help me? I'm so frustrated."

And now I see, really see that, I am free to love men and that the one I choose is lucky.

And I wonder, is it fun and exciting because I'm NOT that widow who is forlorn and missing her husband so much she can't see the men in front of her. Or is it fun and exciting because I am discovering the new Kim. The "this is what I have to offer" Kim?

It's fun to be that woman who looks at cute men and goes
"Mmm, mmm, mmmm."

I get silly and goofy but this time, 17 years after Art won my heart, I feel the control. I remember...(or is it that I am experiencing it for the first time?) that I am a woman. I glorious sensual 46 yr old woman.

Tall (sort of), beautiful and quick witted.

I know how flirt. How to lay my hand on a man's arm at that exact moment when we laugh, or to salsa with that flare or to say "I really appreciate your effort." and mean it.

I remember how good it is to know they're watching me, wanting me in their simple man ways.

I love what a smile will do for them, and how I can get that extra discount, the little favor, the phone number with that smile.

Somewhere I remember that power. It was the power I had over Art, only then I didn't believe him. I didn't believe that he really loved me on my "fat" days or my "I hate the world days."

And I see. That his love was kind and warm and even now it gives me the courage and the power to put new pieces into the new Kim. To say, "No, you are not right for me." To stay in myself in a relationship instead of in him in a relationship.

And with Art's love from those 17 years, this is what I think I am:

Funny and opinionated and smart. Driven to make a difference and I like to have fun, goofy, let's not get caught fun. I'm the don't even come near me if you can't make me laugh or have never watched Monty Python or have not traveled to some place exotic gal.

I'm the emotional growth, spiritual person. So if you don't know what's in your baggage, if you don't believe in a higher power, if you have not done your work, if you have not fallen to your knees seeing all that you don't know, don't call.

I'm gratitude girl. If you have never appreciated the way your mail arrives 6 days a week, or how wonderful your nanny is or how on certain days, all the traffic lights are green, you won't even get my number.

And this body of mine?
Has the markings of a life well lived. It's sagging in the breast but has an ass that remains "young." This body has lose skin over it's belly. That belly comes alive and will writhe under just the right touch.....if you are lucky.

Did I mention that I laugh loudly and I will tell you when you make me mad? Did I tell you I love adventure but you will have to talk me into it?

I am all these things and I am not
all pretty, or all those things all the time.
I am stubborn and sometimes unkind. I have quick, sharp tongue that few have been able to rival.

But it is who I am and
it
is
all good.

Art taught me that.

This is the new widow card.

Say

I found this photo. Simply a picture of a memorial for some strangers lost loved one.

Raw. Honest. Candid.

Words that can be used to define the words left to commemorate this soul, this being.

What would yours say.

For Michael's Bench:

"A lover of steak, mechanics, calculus, Star Trek, not using directions, cargo shorts, foreign films. All he wanted was for everyone to love each other. Sit down, invite over someone you love. Love."

It's pretty hard, in retrospect, to choose what I'd want for others to put on some plaque for me, because for so long I felt as if I didn't know me or any sort of future after Michael was killed, but 3 years later, I know.

My Bench:

"A lover of her soul mate, life, sushi, ice cream, foreign films, Ross, Clarence, her friends, her dogs/children, sunny skies, overgrown grass in a strict HOA. Screw the rules. Make your own. Sit down and create them."

senseless socks

Photo from here...

One of the biggest lessons I've learned on this journey of widowhood is that grief is not logical. It makes no sense. It's arrogant and naive to believe that we think we know how we would react in any stressful or painful situation. Segments of our lives, portions of our morals and many of our ideals become frayed and scattered.

When we begin to remake our lives, things, us, are decidely different.

I've had people tell me that they would never be able to part with their husband's things should he die before they did. I've had others report to me that they have thought that I am clinging to the past by keeping some of Jeff's belongings. I don't know which camp is right....I just know that there are some things that I had never given a thought to and that now have such meaning....or maybe not 'meaning', just value to me emotionally that I am unable to part with them just yet.

There are items in this home that I will never be able to use, I can't remember a specific moment that signifies importance or that are truly undesirable to anyone besides myself. Logic does not, at all, enter my thoughts in the hoarding of these objects.

The specific thing I am talking of....Jeff's mismatched socks. Can't do it. I don't know if I will EVER get around to discarding them.

They lay tangled in a basket on the shelf above our washing machine with the kids and mine. The only distinguishing factor between the socks is that his are decidely larger....and dirtier. They no longer smell like him. I have never found their mate crammed behind the washing machine or at the bottom of the hamper. So they sit in the missing sock receptacle...and wait.

Everytime I reach into the basket to attempt to match the socks thrown in there at the end of a laundry folding session, I find his single socks. I don't know if it is the symbolism of being left behind, if it is the thought that these are the last of his personal effects that are tied in with our daily lives or if it is just that I can't bring myself to throw out something that holds proof that he walked with us. It's simply not logical.

But the lack of pragmatic thinking does not make me discard them. I still smile inwardly and occasionally shed a tear when I attempt to match his single socks. Because grief, it really makes no sense.