Wish me luck

dandelion kisses (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I love my job, but I need to have permanency of employment. I've spoken about why in a previous post....

By the time this goes out, I will have already met with the staffing officer who has the power to make me a permanent employee.
So I guess wishing me luck at this point in time may be like shutting the gate after the horse has bolted.

But bear with me.....

There's no way of knowing the outcome of her decision until the end of the year.... so I will still appreciate all spare wishes just the same.



Permanency ......... at my current place of employment.

It's what I need.

So I'm asking for any spare eyelashes, dandelions, shooting stars, wishbones, and penny-wishes you can send my way.

But only if you have any to spare....

Wide Open

Balch Creek, Forest Park

It has been 11 months today (I'm typing this on the 4th of May) since he left this earth. This morning was taken up by volunteering for the Audubon Society and I couldn't spend a lot of brain power on the significance of the date while I was looking for and identifying birds. And besides, every day is another day without him. Whether the calendar says "3" or "4" or "24", he's still dead, and my heart is still broken.

But later, as I walked in the woods, a place so sacred for us and so important in our relationship, the significance became more apparent. I experienced many so many stereotypical grief emotions in that one hour walk.

Denial: As I started out, it felt like any other hike and I could almost pretend that all I was doing was taking a walk in the woods, as normal as can be. Muddy shoes slapping on slippery trail. Rain dripping from leaves onto coat, onto dirt. Breath in, out, feet finding a rhythm. This is a normal day. Everyone carries on with their lives. I carry on. I hike in the woods. I walk upright. It couldn't possibly be that he is dead. Dead. Dead and Dave. No way those two words go together. No way in hell. No way that I'm still standing if he didn't live.

Anger: The woods were post-rains and the creek was swollen and raging through the valley below me. The new spring growth was chartreuse and actually glowed in the dim light that made it through the canopy. The green was something you could absorb through your pores. It was so vivid it almost buzzed. You should be here to see another spring like this!, I screamed silently. Can you see this? Can you see what you're missing? How could you be taken from me? How could life be that cruel? You will never get to see another spring like this with me and I hate that. I hate this.

Depression: As I hiked back from the halfway point, past some people I tried to hide my grief-ravaged face from, the rain began to pick up and I pulled my hood over my head. The drops battered the fabric, raising a roar inside the hood, filling my ears, and rice-sized hail began to ping off my head and bounce on the ground. My mind turned to a familiar groove. The "I don't want to be alone forever" groove. I thought for the millionth time that I want love again, but I'm so scared to risk feeling this way again. Maybe it's just not worth it, I thought. Maybe it's better to just be alone. Thankfully, this thought was quickly discarded. The thought of a life without my time with Dave because I'd decided love wasn't worth the risk is something I don't want to ponder. Miss out on love to save myself pain? I can't do that. I just can't. But the time I will spend without that kind of love feels eternal to me right now. To be loved so completely by someone for 15 years and then...nothing? To say that it's a shock to my system is a laughable understatement.

Acceptance: As I hiked along the banks of the creek, I imagined what he would be doing if he'd been by my side. He'd have been carefully inspecting the waters with a fisherman's eye. He'd comment on how muddy the water was and point out a pool or two where fish might find refuge from the current. But he's not here, I thought. We'll never have those talks again. We'll never be walking down the path together oohing over a chipmunk or hummingbird or marmot. He is gone and never coming back. This concept is one that I don't wear with ease. It's a new pair of shoes that I can put on and tolerate for a very short time, but all I can think of is kicking them off to end the discomfort.
My mind still bounces right off of this one, but it comes back to it more often these days, gradually getting more and more familiar over time.

As I left the trail for the pot-hole ridden parking lot, and climbed into my waiting car, I felt heavy with grief, but free of hopelessness. Sad but not bottomless-pit-sad. I realized that my heart is broken, but it's also been cracked wide open. While this makes me endlessly more vulnerable to pain, it also makes me more open to new things, too. New possibilities for ways to carve out this second life of mine. New empathy for others, new appreciation for the small things in life. New depth of spirit and softness of heart.

Maybe a broken heart can mean more room. I hope so.

Sue and Lisa

            I would like to donate my voice today to Lisa’s best friend Sue Austin.  Miss Sue who lived in New York while we were in Chicago and then hearing the news of Lisa’s cancer, offered to stay with us for a few weeks to help with the kids – being a computer programmer, had the luxury of working from anywhere.  Lisa’s cancer was spreading fast and Sue stayed all the way until she passed.  She stayed in the house a full year after to help me with the kids.

            Lisa called Sue her “soul mate”, and not in a way that bothered me.  I’m the first to admit I’m not able to spend hours on the phone like those two did.  I could try, heck, I can talk about men with the best of them, but after about three minutes I’d try to change the topic to baseball.  Sue and Lisa could talk about the insensitivity of men for hours.  I was thrilled Lisa had someone in her life who she could satisfy that outlet.  Sue made my marriage better without even meaning to.

            When Lisa passed, at least I have a word that describes me with all of the crap and sadness that goes along with losing a spouse. Widower.  Not a word I want or take joy in, but I own it and when people hear it, will cause a reaction – for better or worse.

            Sue doesn’t have a word.  She doesn’t get the satisfaction of the full reaction of talking to a stranger and if the topic comes up, pulling out the grief bomb, lighting it and let it explode.

            “Here you go sir, and would you like to upgrade and buy something for your wife?”

            “No, my wife has passed away.”

            “Oh, I am so sorry, let me throw in a couple of sample products to take home.”

            “Here you go young lady, it’s two for one today, like to buy something for a friend?”

            “I actually just lost my best friend to caner.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that, however, the extra coupon can also be used for a pet.”

            Sue doesn’t know I’m writing this post.  She doesn’t complain to me about losing Lisa, doesn’t bemoan how much it hurts, doesn’t ask for a piece of the attention-grief pie to be sent her way. 

            The day I realized Sue’s situation was when Lisa was in hospice.  Lisa was in her room while a bunch of us family members and Sue were out in the gathering area – Rainbow Hospice is set up as a circle, where the rooms are all at the outer wall, with the middle of the circle filled with chairs, tables, and couches for loved ones to gather.  Lisa’s sister and I were talking to the doctor, assessing Lisa’s situation.  We were coming to terms with Lisa dying.  Other family members were on the couches next to us, and we would share with them the news.

 

            As the doctor spoke, I remember looking past her shoulder and seeing Sue five tables away all by herself working on her computer.  There were family decisions to be made and she gave us the space to discuss.  She too,  was coming to terms with the death of Lisa, but was using computer programming to get through the day.  Like in a comedy Western movie where the hero punches the villain – but is still standing - the hero then blows gently on the villain, causing him to fall over.  If anyone walked over to Sue and blew on her, tears would pour down her face.

              So Miss Sue Austin, today my post is for you.  Even though you stayed in our house for a year, it was such a blur for both of us, I’m not even sure I thanked you for everything you’ve done.  Did I even help talk things out with you while you were there?  I know I would come home from work and you would retire to your bedroom for the night.  We did have one TV show we watched, Arrested Development, that helped get through some of the tough days.

            Having been in the position of people not knowing what to say to me, let me be on the opposing side and express what I’m not sure helps at all.  Sue, I know you lost your best friend.  I am so sorry for your loss.

05

May.

Maaaayyyyyy.

How I loathe thee.

Not in totality, but it's not at the top of my list of favorite months in a year.

This year will mark the 5 year anniversary of my love's departure from this world, and now...to top it off...the one year mark of our beloved, Charlie.

I layed in bed last night thinking of it.

But if there is anything that I've learned, it's that it's the self induced stress and apprehension, that is the culprit for most of my pain and grief.

So I stopped myself from thinking of how much I can't not wait for those days to come, and instead, decided to think of all of my favorite memories I've shared with the,...even decided to write one memory down each night of the month, to turn to when my mind starts going to that dark place.

Our cuddles, walks, laughter, and everything in between.

I'm proud I've made it this long, and pretty sure their proud too, and I refuse to let May go to the shitter without giving one heck of a try to make it a little bit better than the one the year before.

May....you may be three letters that unwillingly contain the crappiest 2 days of my life...but I owe you, and me, the chance to see what the other 29 are all about...let's do this...bam!

Maggie's Angel Day v3.0

Three years. How could it possibly be three years?

I feel like I’m still waiting for her to walk though that door while I timidly busy myself to trick time into passing. My bold forward movement in life has been replaced with a time warp of what-the-hell-do-I-do-now. But, damn it, it’s been three years!  How could it possibly be three years since the last time I held her hand?

I feel like I’ve failed in so many ways. I can’t help but think that she’d be kicking my ass from sunrise to sunset because of all I haven’t done. Making it worse, it’s so easy to compare my progress (or lack thereof) to those who have moved forward in ways that I look at with wonder as if what they’ve done is magical because it can’t possibly be real.  Yet it is; they’ve made progress in ways I haven’t. “Ergo,” (said with my best arrogant professor-esk lilt) “I must be a failure” (making sure I raise my eyebrows, squint my eyes and look down my nose at myself.)

Yeah, screw that.  But I fight back with less punch than I’d prefer.  Days can still be difficult and despite all my blowing, I don’t have much of an enthusiastic wind blowing my sails…. Yet.  But I’m certainly not a failure.  I’m still just trying to find my center.

It’s interesting to hear about how people observe their loved one’s Angel Days.  Each tradition is so unique and steeped in meaningful reverence.  Yet, I don’t do anything specific.  In fact, I’ve been careful thus far to prevent accidentally creating a ritual.  Maybe at some point I’ll find comfort in one but for now, like I’ve written before, May 4 really is just another day, just like all that have come before it. All are tough and every single day I miss her so I don’t really need a “special” day to remind me my sweet wife died.

However this year I’m taking a liberty: I’m taking the day off and I’m going on a long motorcycle ride. There’s just something about riding on two wheels that quiets the mind.  Two-wheeled Prozac and a long road in the country.  Yes, please, I’ll take some of that, thank you.

Reunion

source

Steve and I just finished reading this book called "Heaven is for Real" - it's a boy's account of his visit to Heaven and back while he almost died from appendicitis at age 3. Whatever your beliefs are about Heaven, it's definitely a great book that will give you a lot to think about.

I went through a phase in my grief where I longed for Heaven constantly. I longed to see Jeremy again with an ache that was so intense, I couldn't think about anything else. I remember writing multiple blog posts about Heaven - it was the first time in my life where I had actually spent any significant amount of time thinking about what Heaven would be like.

One thing that changed when Jer died was that I no longer feared death. No matter how excited I am about the future, no matter how many things left unfinished here, no matter how much my kids need me here...I know that I'm ready to go whenever. But the thing I feared for awhile was wether or not I would get my reunion with Jeremy in Heaven. I've dreamt about it and thought about it so frequently that the idea that I might not get my moment in Heaven with Jeremy was one that made me feel so sick.

As Steve and I were reading this book together, there's a chapter in which Colten (the little boy) asked his parents about his sister that died in his mommy's belly. It is a chilling account since Colten had never been told about the miscarriage his mother had, nor had his parents known the sex of the baby. But Colten tells them he saw her in Heaven and that she was waiting for them and couldn't wait to see them. I was reading the book out loud in the car, and I had to put it down because I couldn't hold my emotions in.

Even though the story was compelling, that's not what got me. It was the idea that Jeremy was waiting for me in Heaven, that his anticipation to see me was as strong as mine to see him. But not just him...my brother popped in my head and the thought of seeing him and giving him a hug also tugged at my heart in a heavy way.

It's weird that something that seems so hopeful and peaceful can be so emotional - that so much pain is tied in with it. But I know the emotion is really just the pain of having to wait. The pain of knowing I can't see them now. It was a painful yet peaceful thought. I'm not a cooky person and up until I experienced it, I would have never believed that Jeremy's presence would be so strong in my life after he died. But I've heard him, I felt him watch over me, I felt his blessing over my relationship with Steve - I feel him protecting me and loving me through my relationships. And in that moment, through the story of someone else, I felt his anticipation to my arrival.

I can't wait for our reunion.

Not Very Private .....

.... and definitely not exclusive ......
is this club we're in.
You know.... the one no one wanted to join.
And yet here we are.

It's not a club we chose.  It's not a club we applied for.  And it's definitely not a club any of us pictured ourselves joining.
Ever.

It's not a club for only wealthy people.
In fact, the cost of membership is way too steep for anyone.

And the initiation period?  While it seems to be a different amount of time for each person, it rarely ever ends at the 'magical one year mark', contrary to society's opinion.

And though some clubs end their initiation periods with a "hell week", almost every week is "hell week" in this one.  At least in the beginning.  And sometimes in the middle.

All in all, it's a pretty horrific club to find yourself in.
But there is one positive thing.
And from what I can tell from my four-plus year membership .... only one.
And that is ..... the membership.

I have never been in a club with such amazing members.
People who don't want to be there, but still do all they can to encourage, love and support the members who join after them.
People who definitely feel the pain of each other.  And feel, as well as show, compassion.

Today I "met" a brand new member.  A friend of mine who's never set foot in this club's door gave me the phone number of a stranger she met in a store a couple of weeks ago.  A stranger whom she watched cry because her husband had died four days earlier.
And though my friend isn't a member of this club, she knows someone who is.

And so last week she sent me this stranger's phone number.
I called her today.  And we were not strangers, once I introduced myself.
Which is very, very common in this club.
As is what I will do the moment I see her tomorrow night:  give her a very long and very hard hug.
She needs it.
And I need to give it.

I formed a "chapter" of this club over 3 years ago.  I needed to be with other young members .... and the need felt as great to me as the need for food & water.
Greater, actually.  I thought I would die if I did not find them soon.
So I spread the word through my friends, who spread the word through their friends ..... and that chapter went from my great need 3 years ago, to about 13 or so members today.

We meet every other week for dinner and bonding.  And lots of laughing.
Sometimes we cry.  Most times we laugh.  And all of the time we support each other.
Tomorrow night, we will meet a new member.
And I guarantee you that I will not be the only one who gives her a hug.

In fact, though lately we've had less than 8 of us at the last few meetings (as tends to happen this time of year as school gears up to let out for the summer), after I sent out an email today telling them about this new member, not one single woman wrote to say she couldn't make it.
Instead, each email that came in notified me that each woman would be there.
Because that's what we do.

A club we wanted to join?
No. Never.
But a club that supported us and made us want to support others?
Yes.  Indeed.

And a club of which I'm very, very proud.
You guys rock.
:)